by Alfred Elwes
CHANGES.
The sun was just going down as I came in sight of the river and the rowof poor kennels which stood on the bank, many of them, like our own,projecting half over the water. I could not help wondering at the prettyeffect they made at a distance, with the blue river dancing gaily bytheir side, the large trees of the wood on the opposite bank waving inbeauty, and the brilliant sun changing everything that his rays fell uponinto gold. He made the poor kennels look so splendid for the time, thatno one would have thought the animals who lived in them could ever bepoor or unhappy. But when the rich light was gone,--gone with the sunwhich made it to some other land,--it seemed as if the whole place waschanged. The trees shivered as though a cold wind was stirring them. Theriver ran dark and sullenly by the poor houses; and the houses themselveslooked more wretched, I thought, than they had ever appeared before. Yet,somehow, they were more homelike in their dismal state than when they hada golden roof and purple sides, so, resuming my walk, for I had stoppedto admire the pretty picture, I soon came near the door.
It was open, as usual. But what was _not_ usual, was to hear other soundsfrom within than the voice of the old doggess, making ceaseless moans.Now it seemed as if all the doggesses of the neighbourhood had met in thepoor hut to pass the evening, for there was such confusion of tongues,and such a rustling sound, as told me, before I peeped inside, thatthere was a large party got together, and that tails were wagging at afearful rate.
When I stood before the open door, all the scene broke upon me. On herbed of straw, evidently at the point of death, lay my poor doggess. Hereyes had almost lost their fierce expression, and were becoming fixed andglassy--a slight tremor in her legs and movement of her stumpy tail, wereall that told she was yet living; not even her breast was seen to heave.
I had not much reason to bear love to the old creature for any kindnessshe had ever shown me, but this sight overcame me at once. Springing toher aide, and upsetting half a dozen of the gossips by the movement, Ilaid my paw on hers; and, involuntarily raising my head in the air, Isent forth a howl which shook the rotten timbers of the old kennel, andso frightened the assembled party as to make them scamper out of theplace like mad things. The sound even called back the departing senses ofthe dying doggess. She drew me to her with her paws, and made an effortto lick me. The action quite melted me. I put down my head to hers andfelt a singular pleasure mixed with grief whilst I licked and caressedher, I could not help thinking then, as I have often thought since, ofhow much happiness we had lost by not being more indulgent to eachother's faults, forgiving and loving one another. She also seemed to beof this opinion, if I might judge by the grateful look and passive mannerin which she received my attentions. Perhaps the near approach of her endgave a softness to her nature which was unusual to her; it is notunlikely; but, of a certainty, I never felt before how much I was losing,as when I saw that poor doggess's life thus ebbing away.
Night had come on while I sat watching by her side. Everything about thesingle room had become more and more indistinct, until all objects werealike blended in the darkness. I could no longer distinguish the shape ofmy companion, and, but that I _knew_ she was there, I could have thoughtmyself alone. The wind had fallen; the water seemed to run more gentlythan it was wont to do; and the noises which generally make themselvesheard in the streets of Caneville appeared to be singularly quieted. Butonce only, at another period of my life, which I shall speak of in itsproper place, do I ever remember to have been so struck by the silence,and to have felt myself so entirely alone.
The moon appeared to rise quicker that night, as though it pitied thepoor forlorn dog. It peeped over an opposite house, and directly after,shone coldly but kindly through the open door. At least, its light seemedto come like the visit of a friend, in spite of its showing me what Ifeared, that I was _indeed_ alone in the world. The poor doggess had diedin the darkness between the setting of the sun and the moon's rise.
I was sure that she was dead, yet I howled no more. My grief was verygreat; for it is a sad, sad thing when you are young to find you arewithout friends; perhaps sadder when you are old; but that, I fortunatelydo not myself know, for I am old, and have many friends. I recollectputting my nose between my paws, and lying at full length on the floor,waiting till the bright sun should come again, and thinking of my forlorncondition. I must have slept and dreamed--yet I thought I was still inthe old kennel with the dead doggess by my side. But everything seemed tohave found a voice, and to be saying kind things to me.
The river, as it ran and shook the supports of the old kennel, appearedto cry out in a rough but gay tone: "Job, Job, my dog, cheer up, cheerup; the world is before you, Job, cheer up, cheer up." The light windthat was coming by that way stopped to speak to me as it passed. It flewround the little room, and whispered as it went: "Poor dog, poor dog, youare very lonely; but the good need not be so; the good may have friends,dear Job, however poor!" The trees, as they waved their heads, sentkindly words across the water, that made their way to my heart rightthrough the chinks of the old cabin; and when morning broke, and a brightsky smiled beautifully upon the streets of Caneville, I woke up, sadindeed, but full of hope.
Some ragged curs arrived, and carried the old doggess away. She was veryheavy, and they were forced to use all their strength. I saw her castinto the water, which she disliked so much alive; I watched her floatingform until the rapid current bore it into the wood, and I stayed sittingon the brink of the river wondering where it would reach at last, andwhat sort of places must lie beyond the trees. I had an idea in my ownmind that the sun rested there all night, only I could not imagine how itcame up again in the morning in quite an opposite quarter; but then I wassuch a young and ignorant puppy!
After thinking about this and a good many other matters of no importanceto my story, I got upon my legs, and trotted gently along the bank,towards a part of the city which I did not remember to have seen before.The houses were very few, but they were large and handsome, and all hadpretty gardens in nice order, with flowers which smelt so sweet, that Ithought the dogs who could always enjoy such advantages must be veryhappy. But one of the houses, larger than all the rest, very much struckme, for I had never an idea of such a splendid place being in Caneville.It was upon a little hill that stood at some distance from the river, andthe ground which sloped down from the house into the water was coveredwith such beautiful grass, that it made one long to nibble and roll uponit.
While I was quietly looking at this charming scene, I was startled by aloud noise of barking and howling higher up the river, and a confusedsound, as if a great many dogs were assembled at one place, all callingout together. I ran at once in the direction of the hubbub, partly out ofcuriosity and in part from some other motive, perhaps the notion of beingable to render some help.
A little before me the river had a sudden bend, and the bank rose high,which prevented me seeing the cause of the noise; but when I reached thetop, the whole scene was before me. On my side of the river a great crowdhad assembled, who were looking intently upon something in the water;and on the opposite bank there was a complete stream of dogs, runningdown to the hill which belonged to the beautiful house I had beenadmiring. Every dog, as he ran, seemed to be trying to make as much noiseas he could; and those I spoke to were barking so loudly, and jumpingabout in such a way, that I could at first get no explanation of what wasthe matter. At last I saw that the struggling object in the water was ayoung puppy, which seemed very nicely dressed, and at the same moment themongrel, who had helped me to pick up my matches the day before, camealongside of me, and said: "Ah, young firefly, how are you? Isn't this agame? That old Lady Bull who got you such a drubbing yesterday, is in apretty mess. Her thirty-second pup has just tumbled into the water, andwill certainly be drowned. Isn't she making a fuss? just look!"
One rapid glance showed me the grand lady he spoke of, howling mostfearfully on the other side of the stream, while two pups, about the samesize as the one in the water, and a stout dog, who looked like
the papa,were sometimes catching hold of her and then running about, not knowingwhat to do.
I stopped no longer. I threw off my over-coat, and running to a higherpart of the bank, leapt into the water, the mongrel's voice calling afterme: "What are you going to do? Don't you know its the son of the olddoggess who had you beat so soundly? Look at your shoulder, where thehair has been all knocked off with the blows?" Without paying the leastattention to these words, which I could not help hearing they were calledout so loudly, I used all my strength to reach the poor little pup, who,tired with his efforts to help himself, had already floated on to hisback, while his tiny legs and paws were moving feebly in the air. Ireached him after a few more efforts, and seizing his clothes with myteeth, I got his head above the water, and swam with my load slowlytowards the bank.
As I got nearer, I could see Lady Bull, still superbly dressed, butwithout her bonnet, throw up her paws and nose towards the sky, and fallback into the arms of her husband; while the two pups by her sideexpressed their feelings in different ways; for one stuffed his littlefists into his eyes, and the other waved his cap in the air, and brokeforth into a succession of infantile bow-wows.
GOOD DOG!]
On reaching, the bank, I placed my load at the feet of his poor mother,who threw herself by his side and hugged him to her breast, in a waywhich proved how much tenderness was under those fine clothes andaffected manners. The others stood around her uttering low moans ofsympathy, and I, seeing all so engaged and taken up with the recovereddog, quietly, and, as I thought, unseen by all, slid back into the water,and permitted myself to be carried by the current down the river. Icrawled out at some short distance from the spot where this scene hadtaken place, and threw myself on to the grass, in order to rest from myfatigue and allow the warm sun to dry my saturated clothes. What I felt Ican scarce describe, although I remember so distinctly everythingconnected with that morning. My principal sensation was that of savagejoy, to think I had saved the son of the doggess who had caused me suchunkind treatment. I was cruel enough, I am sorry to say, to figure tomyself her pain at receiving such a favour from me--but that idea soonpassed away, on reflecting that perhaps she would not even know to whomshe owed her son's escape from death.
In the midst of my ruminations, a light step behind me caused me to raisemy head. I was positively startled at the beautiful object which Ibeheld. It was a lady puppy about my own age, but so small in size, andwith such an innocent sweet look, that she seemed much younger. Her dresswas of the richest kind, and her bonnet, which had fallen back from herhead, showed her glossy dark hair and drooping ears that hung gracefullybeside her cheeks. Poorly as I was dressed, and wet as I still was frommy bath, she sat herself beside me, and putting her little soft paw uponmy shoulder, said, with a smile--
"Ah, Job!--for I know that's your name--did you think you could get offso quietly without any one seeing you, or stopping you, or saying onesingle 'thank you, Job,' for being such a good noble dog as you are? Didyou think there was not one sharp eye in Caneville to watch the saver,but that all were fixed upon the saved? That every tongue was so engagedin sympathizing with the mother, that not one was left to praise thebrave? If you thought this, dear Job, you did me and others wrong, greatwrong. There are some dogs, at least, who may forget an injury, but whonever forget a noble action, and I have too great a love for my speciesto let you think so. I shall see you again, dear Job, though I must leaveyou now. I should be blamed if it were known that I came here to talk toyou as I have done; but I could not help it, I could not let you believethat a noble heart was not understood in Caneville. Adieu. Do not forgetthe name of Fida."
She stooped down, and for a moment her silky hair waved on my roughcheek, while her soft tongue gently licked my face. Before I could openmy mouth in reply--before, indeed, I had recovered from my surprise, andthe admiration which this beautiful creature caused me, she was gone. Isprang on to my legs to observe which way she went, but not a trace ofher could I see, and I thought it would not be proper to follow her. WhenI felt certain of being alone, I could hardly restrain my feelings. Ithrew myself on my back, I rolled upon the grass, I turned head overheels in the boisterousness of my spirit, and then gambolled round andround like a mad thing.
Did I believe all the flattering praises which the lovely Fida hadbestowed on me? I might perhaps have done so then, and in my inexperiencemight have fancied that I was quite a hero. Time has taught me anotherlesson. It has impressed upon me the truth, that when we do our duty wedo only what should be expected of every dog; only what every dog oughtto do. Of the two, Fida had done the nobler action. She had shown notonly a promptness to feel what she considered good, but she had had thecourage to say so in private to the doer, although he was of the poorestand she of the richest class of Caneville society. In saving the littlepup's life, I had risked nothing; I knew my strength, and felt certain Icould bring him safely to the shore. If I had _not_ tried to save thepoor little fellow I should have been in part guilty of his death. Butshe, in bestowing secret praise and encouragement upon a poor dog who hadno friends to admire her for so doing, while her action would perhapsbring blame upon her from her proud friends, did that which was trulygood and noble.
The thought of returning to my solitary home after the sad scene of thenight before, and particularly after the new feelings just excited, wasnot a pleasant one. The bright sky and fresh air seemed to suit me betterthan black walls and the smell of damp straw. Resolving in my mind,however, to leave it as soon as possible, I re-crossed the river, and,with a slower step than usual, took the road which led thither.