Part 17 (2/2)
”'How dare you use a dog in that way?' he cried.
”Then he took me in his arms and carried me into his own van, and gave me a bed of warm straw. Heaven bless his brown beard, wherever he is; but for him I should have died.
”I was left to starve again at the London station, and here by sheer force I pulled my head through my collar and fled.
”That is my story then,” said Rover, ”and it proves that the world is not all bad, and that there are many good guards on railways who are kind to travelling doggies; and once more I say, Heaven bless their brown beards where'er they may be.”
”A very nice stoly indeed,” said Ida.
”And now me,” said Maggie May.
”Well, Maggie May, I see you have got Mysie there to nurse, so I'll put a p.u.s.s.y in your story, if you don't mind.”
”Yes.”
”Then Frank will fiddle again, and after that we'll all go to bed as gipsies ought to at this time of night.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
JUST LIKE TINY.
”The family friend for ten years or more That basked in the garden and dozed in the hall, And listened for songs on the mat on the door.”
Tupper.
”Just like our Tiny!” said little Ada Mair when she first saw the subject of my present sketch. ”Just like our Tiny!” repeated her wee sister Ailie, going directly up, throwing her arms about Charlie's neck and kissing him.
Charlie, you will understand, was the dog's name, a small black and tan, with a coat as dark as a raven's wing, and as soft and sheeny as satin.
Not, mind you, that it was soft in reality, only it felt so. The tan in Charlie's cheeks, and eyebrows, and neck and feet, was of the richest mahogany, and his eyes were like the eyes of a young seal, or some lovely gazelle. Altogether we were all very fond of Charlie, and not a little proud of showing off his tricks to strangers, and we were positively astounded when one day we were told by a gentleman who knows a very great deal about dogs, that although our Charlie was ”a very pretty fellow,” still he was not quite well enough shaped in the head, too short and broad in fact, to take a prize at a show.
”O! you _must_ be mistaken,” said our maiden aunt, bristling up; ”_we_ think him perfection.”
I smiled, but said nothing, for I knew the critic was right.
”And just like our Tiny!” said Ailie again, as she repeated the kiss.
Charlie was seated on a chair, a favourite location of his, because he was out of reach of the old cat's claws. Tom the cat never agreed with Charlie, and there was no love lost between the pair of them. The truth is Tom was jealous, and took every opportunity that presented itself to make poor Charlie's life as miserable as it could well be. Tom used to invite Charlie to have a drop of milk out of his saucer sometimes.
”Real new milk!” Tom would say; ”have a drop, Charlie, it will do you good.”
”Do you really mean it?” Charlie would ask, talking with those great eyes of his.
”Of course I do,” puss would reply.
About a minute after this, Charlie would be coming flying up the back stairs as if the house were on fire, with Tom behind him, whacking him all the way, and crying:
”I'll teach you to touch my milk.”
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