Part 27 (2/2)

Men and dogs alike abhor ”spring-cleaning,” and William's heart died within him.

There came a day, however, when things were calmer. The echoing, draughty house grew still and warm, and a fire was lit in the hall.

William lay in front of it unmolested; but he felt dejected and lonely, and laid his head down on his crossed paws in patient melancholy.

Late in the afternoon, there came a sound of wheels in the drive. Hannah and Anne Chitt, decorous in black dresses and clean ap.r.o.ns, came into the hall and opened the front door, and in three minutes William knew that happier times were in store for him. The ”station-fly” stopped at the door, and regardless of Hannah's reproving voice he rushed out to welcome the strangers. Two children, nice children, who appeared as glad to see him as he was to see them, who wished him many happy returns of his birthday--William had forgotten it was his birthday--and were as lavish with pats and what little Fay called ”stlokes” as Hannah had been n.i.g.g.ardly. There were also two young ladies, who addressed him kindly and seemed pleasantly aware of his existence, and William liked young ladies, for the three Miss Walcotes had thoroughly spoiled him. But he decided to attach himself most firmly to the children and the very small young lady. Perhaps they would stay. In his short experience grown people had a cruel way of disappearing. There was that tall young man ... William hardly dared let himself think about that tall young man who had allowed him to lie upon his bed and was so kind and jolly. ”Master”

William had called him. Ah, where was he? Perhaps he would come back some day. In the meantime here were plenty of people to love. William cheered up.

[Ill.u.s.tration: William rushed out to welcome the strangers. Two ... nice children.]

He wished to ingratiate himself, and proceeded to show off his one accomplishment. With infinite difficulty and patience the Miss Walcotes had taught him to ”give a paw”; so now, on this first evening, William followed the children about solemnly offering one paw and then the other; a performance which was greeted with acclamation.

When the children went to the bathroom he somehow got shut outside. So he lay down and breathed heavily through the bottom of the door and varied this by thin, high-pitched yelps--which were really squeals, and very extraordinary as proceeding from such a large and heavy dog.

”William wants to come in,” Tony said. He still always accompanied his sister to the bath.

Meg was seized with an inspiration. ”I know why,” she exclaimed. ”He expects to see little Fay in the big bath.”

Fay looked from Meg to her brother and from her brother to Meg.

Another dismal squeal from under the door.

”Does he tluly espect it?” she asked anxiously.

”I think so,” Meg said gravely, ”and we can't let him in if you're going to be washed in the little bath; he'd be so disappointed.”

The little bath stood ready on its stand. Fay turned her back upon it and went and looked over the edge of the big bath. It was a very big bath, white and beautiful, with innumerable silvered handles that produced sprays and showers and waves and all sorts of wonders. An extravagance of Anthony's.

”Will William come in, too?” she asked.

”No; he'd make such a mess; but he'd love to see you. We'll all bathe William some other time.”

More squeals from outside, varied by dolorous snores.

”Let him in,” said little Fay. ”I'll show him me.”

Quick as thought Meg lifted her in, opened the door to the delighted William, who promptly stood on his hind legs, with his front paws on the bath, and looked over the edge at little Fay.

”See me swim,” she exclaimed proudly, sitting down in the water, while William, with his tongue hanging out and a fond smile of admiration on his foolish countenance, tried to lick the plump pink shoulders presented to his view. ”This is a muts nicer baff than the nasty little one. I can't think what you bringed it for, deah Med.”

”Deah Med” and Tony nodded gaily to one another.

Hannah had made William sleep in the scullery, which he detested. She put his basket there and his blanket, and he was warm enough, but creature comforts matter little to the right kind of dog. It's human fellows.h.i.+p he craves. That night she came to fetch him at bed-time, and he refused point-blank to go. He put his head on Meg's knee and gazed at her with beseeching eyes that said as plainly as possible: ”Don't banish me--where you go I go--don't break my heart and send me away into the cold.”

Perhaps the cigarette smoke that hung about Meg gave him confidence. His master smelt like that. And William went to bed with his master.

”D'you think he might sleep in the dressing-room?” Meg asked. ”I know how young dogs hate to be alone at night. Put his basket there, Hannah--I'll let him out and see to him, and you could get him first thing in the morning.”

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