Part 12

Douglas cowered in the corner, and wondered what new sorrow had befallen him. The other poor things were as frightened as himself. Two were black and white puppies scarcely bigger than kittens, and two were pretty black-and-tan pets. A large mastiff looked out of her great brown eyes, trembling from head to foot. One shepherd dog was poor and thin, but most looked well cared for, only they had no collars, and their owners had not paid their license fee.

The wagon soon reached a barn-like structure, and the animals were hastily emptied into a pen with sawdust on the floor. What was in store for them they could only guess. After a time they were offered a mixture of meal and meat, but most were too frightened to eat.

All the next day they listened for footsteps, hoping that some friend would come for them. Douglas lay in the corner and expected nobody. Miss Benson did not know where he was, and Teddy had never come back when he howled for him.

There was a large pen adjoining that of Douglas, and this was filled with dogs—fox-terriers, some black like himself, and several yellow ones. Cats, many of them large and handsome, were in cages about the room. Some animals had been brought to the pound, or refuge, by persons who did not or could not take the trouble to find homes for them. An advertisement in the paper saying that a dog had been found and would be given to a good home would in almost every case have met with responses, but this cost a little money and time.

A boy brought in two pretty creatures, one red and the other yellow, which he said he had found without collars. A woman had hired him and other children by paying each a few cents to do this work, which meant almost certain death to animals, believing, probably, that she was doing good.

Late in the afternoon Douglas witnessed a strange, sad sight. Every cat, fifty or more, was thrown into a large cage, and poisonous gas turned in upon them. The terrified creatures huddled together, as though they knew their helplessness in the hands of their destroyers, and died.

Then several men, as soon as the cats were removed, threw the shrinking, crying dogs into the cage, and they too were soon dead, piled upon each other. Douglas and the rest knew that their turn would come soon.

On the second day a lady called at the refuge because her own city contemplated establishing a home (?) where dogs could be killed, the license fees to be used to pay the salaries of the S. P. C. A. agents. Her heart was touched by the appealing looks of the helpless animals. She went away and found homes for two fox-terriers, paid the license fees and fines, and the dogs were released, licking her hands, as though they realized from what they had been saved.

Douglas crept towards the visitor, because he had been used to a woman’s voice. He was thin, but his eyes were as beautiful as when he was a puppy and responded to the petting of Miss Benson’s gentle hands.

“You have been a handsome dog,” the lady said to Douglas, “and somebody has loved you. I know of a place for you. A noble woman who loves dogs has provided a home for the homeless, as far as her means will allow, and is devoting her life to the care of such of God’s creatures as you are. Would you like to go with me?”

Douglas whined, and the other poor animals crowded around as much as to say, “Can you not take us too, and save us from death to-morrow? We cannot pay the license, but we would love and protect anybody who would pay it and take us home.” The lady could not take them all—the city and State, by reason of their wealth and humaneness, instead of license or tax, should provide homes for those committed to their keeping by the Creator. Douglas was let out, and followed the lady with a thankful heart, but with a downcast look, as though life had been so uncertain that he could not be sure of anything good in the future.

The lady hired a cab, and the dog lay at her feet. They were driven to an attractive-looking brick house, with several small buildings adjoining. A young girl came to the door.

“Do you wish to see the matron of the Dogs’ Home?” said the girl.

“Yes, I am a friend of the matron,” said the lady, “and I have taken a fancy to a homeless dog and have brought him here to find a home.”

The matron soon appeared, and, with one wild cry, Douglas sprang into her arms. It was Miss Benson, who, since she had lost Douglas, had been moved to spend her life and her fortune for other dogs who were lost.

“Oh, Douglas! Douglas!” she exclaimed, while the visitor looked on with amazement. “Have you found me and I you at last?” And the dog whined and caressed her till she feared he would die from excess of joy unless she calmed him.

“You and I will never be parted again. You shall live here and help care for other lost and unwanted ones.”

For years Douglas thankfully shared in the care and love of his mistress. She could not bear to see him grow old, but he had suffered too much to live to the usual age of St. Bernards. When he died his head was in Miss Benson’s lap, and his great brown eyes looked upon her face and whitening hair as the last precious thing to be seen in life. She buried him and laid flowers upon his grave, for was he not her devoted, loyal friend? A neat headstone tells where faithful Douglas sleeps.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:

—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.