CHAPTER XVI

TO LOVE OR NOT TO LOVE THE COUNTRY

Mistress laid down her work--she was always making things for the baby now--and gave a little shriek--“Rudolph, look here, what is this?”

“A dog on its last legs apparently,” he said, then he gave me a shrewd look. “Something Boy has brought in.”

“There’s blood on it and mud,” cried poor mistress, shrinking away. “Take it, Rudolph. Ring for Annie. Why, it’s been abused.”

Why, mistress was progressing. She actually could make out something from a dog’s appearance.

However, it was one thing for her to tell her husband to take it, and another thing for Amarilla to allow him to take it. She yelled with fright, whenever he came near her, and clung to Mrs. Granton.

“Some man has whipped that dog,” he said angrily. “The brute! Poor doggie; I would not hurt you for a kingdom.”

Protestations didn’t count with Amarilla. She didn’t like men, and Mrs. Granton half flattered, half annoyed, at last retired with her to the kitchen.

When she came back, a half hour later, Amarilla had been washed and brushed, and was wrapped snugly in one of Master Baby’s white blankets.

Annie put her in a chair near Mrs. Granton who sat ruefully surveying her.

“Rudolph,” she said, “what do you think this means?”

“From my knowledge of Boy,” he said, “I should judge that this is either a lost dog, or some poor creature he has coaxed from some kind of slavery.”

“Do you think he is as intelligent as that?” she asked surveying me kindly.

“As that, and much more so,” said my master. “I think there is a whole world of dog psychology open to those who will run and read.”

“I used to think dogs were stupid,” she said.

“In that you are not different from many persons,” said my master. “Cultivate an animal, and you find out how clever he is.”

“And human beings,” she said softly, “if you cultivate them, you find out that they are not as stupid as they appear.”

Master winced a little. He knew that in times past, he had allowed her to think that she was not clever enough to be cultivated.

“Claudia,” he said, “you are a very clever woman,” then he burst out laughing, and she laughed with him.

“Poor little frightened thing,” she said at last, stroking Amarilla as she lay beside her. “She was so hungry and thirsty, Rudolph. And her poor bones are almost sticking through her skin.”

My blood boiled in my veins, when I thought of dainty Amarilla’s previous life, and the cosseting she had had from the old lady in Boston, but I must listen to what mistress was saying about Beanie.

“Rudolph,” she said hesitatingly, “I was thinking of asking you if I could get Beanie back. I don’t think I treated him just right.”

Master stopped to think a minute, then he said, “Claudia, if I had given your dog to Mrs. van der Spyten, would you have asked for him back?”

“Oh, no, no,” she said quite shocked at the idea.

“Then why take him from a charwoman?”

“I suppose it would be mean,” said mistress slowly.

“And here you have a beautiful and valuable dog right at hand,” said my master, pointing to Amarilla.

“As valuable as Beanie?” enquired mistress.

“Twice as valuable. Her points look to me about perfect.”

“But she may belong to some one.”

“I’ll find that out,” said master, and he did, for he put a dog-detective on Amarilla’s track. The man found out all about her. She had been stolen by a tramp, who sold her to the dog-show man.

Master visited the show, and was struck with horror at the appearance of the animals. Sitting near the stage, he saw that they were all terrified of their master. He threatened the man with prosecution, took all his dogs from him, allowing him a good sum; and best of all, finding out that he hated the show business and wanted to be a chauffeur, but couldn’t afford the training, he put him in a garage and paid his way handsomely.

That was master all over--to make a good thing out of an apparently bad one. He and Mr. Bonstone were always doing it. Mr. Bonstone had more practical knowledge of the ways of evil-doers than master had. Master belonged to a fine old New York family, and had never lived with all sorts and conditions of men, as Mr. Bonstone had.

Mr. Bonstone was as ardent a dog-lover as master was, and he bundled the whole dog show out to his farm, where they were months in recuperating. They had been starved, beaten, not exercised, and two of them had to be mercifully put out of the way. There were left two white poodles, they called the Frenchmen, a mongrel, Yeggie by name, a miniature bull-dog called Weary Winnie, Czarina, a Russian wolf-hound, a Dandie Dinmont terrier called Cannie, and a bloodhound, King Harry, and after a while we all got acquainted with them. That was after the great change came in our lives--the moving from the city to the country.

I must not forget to say that Amarilla proved a great success as a pet dog for mistress. She did not care for very much exercise. She followed mistress from one room to another of the apartment--in fact, she was like a little shadow, and oh! how she loved the baby. She would sit by his perambulator for hours, and if any stranger came near, she barked in her little, shrill voice.

Now, I get very fond of certain human beings, and no dog could love a master better than I love Mr. Granton, but I never could keep at his heels all the time.

However, Mrs. Granton didn’t seem to mind being shadowed, and Amarilla adored doing it, so there was no reason why they should not both be satisfied. Every man and every dog to his liking, and that reminds me, how, oh! how am I going to like the country? The time is drawing near for our removal. Mr. Bonstone has found a beautiful estate for master. The change in my life is going to be positive. I don’t want to run away again. I want to stay with this nice man, but can I, if he leaves my beloved New York?

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