by Dodie Smith
And it was such a cold world. The night was fine, the stars were brilliant, but the wind was keen. If only she could have brought her beautiful blue coat, now hanging on a peg in the warm kitchen!
Pongo saw her shiver. It is a hard thing for a loving husband to see his wife shiver.
“Are you cold, Missis?” he asked anxiously.
“No, Pongo,” said Missis, still shivering.
“I am,” said Pongo untruthfully. “But I shall soon warm up.”
He tail-wagged good-bye to Perdita, then started off briskly along the Outer Circle, looking very spirited. Missis kept pace with him; but after its last wag to Perdita, her tail went down.
After a few minutes, Pongo said, “Are you warmer now, Missis?”
“Yes, Pongo,” said Missis, still shivering. And still her tail was down.
Pongo knew that if he could not cheer her up she would never be able to face the hardships that lay ahead. And he thought he could do with some cheering up himself. So he began a little speech, intended to give them both courage.
“I sometimes think,” he said, “that you and I have become a bit pampered. Well, pampering does good dogs no harm, provided they don’t come to depend on it. If they do, they become old before their time. We should never lose our liking for adventure, never forget our wild ancestry.” (They were then passing the Zoo.) “Oh, I know we are worried about the puppies, but the more we worry, the less we shall be able to help them. We must be brave, we must even be gay, we must know we cannot fail. Are you warmer now, Missis?”
“Yes, Pongo,” said Missis. But still she shivered and still her tail drooped.
They were now nearly at the bridge which leads from the Outer Circle towards Camden Town.
“Stop for a moment,” said Pongo. And he turned and looked back along the curve of the Circle. No car was in sight, no light was in any window. The lamp-posts were like sentinels guarding the sleeping park.
“Think of the day when we come back with fifteen puppies running behind us,” said Pongo.
“Oh, Pongo, are you sure?”
“Absolutely sure,” said Pongo. “Are you a little warmer now, dear Missis?”
“Yes, Pongo,” said Missis, “And this time it is true.”
“Then onwards to Suffolk!” said Pongo.
And as they ran towards the bridge, Missis carried her tail as high as his.
“Not too high, Missis dear,” said Pongo. “Let our hearts be gay, but not our tails.” For when a Dalmatian’s tail is curled high over the back it is called a “gay” tail and is a bad fault.
Missis was still laughing at this little joke when her heart gave a wild flutter. Coming towards them was a policeman.
Instantly Pongo led the way into a back street, and they were soon safely out of the policeman’s sight. But seeing him had reminded Missis of something.
“Oh, Pongo!” she wailed. “We are illegal. We are out without our collars.”
“And a good thing, too,” said Pongo, “for a dog can be grabbed by the collar. But I do wish we could have brought your coat.” He had noticed that she was shivering again—though this time it was because she had been scared by the policeman.
“I don‘t,” said Missis bravely. “For if I wore a coat, how should I know how cold the puppies were? They have no coats. Oh, Pongo, how can they make the journey from Suffolk in such wintry weather? Suppose it snows?”
“They may not have to make the journey yet,” said Pongo.
Missis stared in astonishment. “But we must get them back quickly or the dog thieves will sell them.”
“Nothing will happen to them yet,” said Pongo. And now he knew it was time to tell his wife the truth. “Let’s rest a moment,” he said, and led Missis into the shelter of a doorway. Then he went on gently.
“Dear Missis, our puppies were not stolen by ordinary dog thieves. Try not to be too frightened. Remember we are going to rescue them. Our puppies were stolen by Cruella de Vil’s orders—so that she can have their skins made into a fur coat. Oh, Missis, be brave!”
Missis had collapsed. She lay on the doorstep, panting, her eyes full of horror.
“But it will be all right, dear Missis! They will be safe for months yet. They are much too small to be—to be used for a fur coat yet.”
Missis shuddered. Then she struggled to her feet.
“I will go back!” she cried. “I will go back and tear Cruella De Vil to pieces.”
“That would do no good at all,” said Pongo firmly. “We must rescue the puppies first and think of our revenge later. On to Suffolk!”
“On to Suffolk, then!” said Missis, staggering along on shaky legs. “But we shall come back, Cruella de Vil!”
Soon Missis began to feel better, for Pongo made her see that puppies whose skins were wanted for a fur coat would be well fed and well taken care of, and kept together. Ordinary dog thieves might have sold them already, and to different people. She asked him many questions, and he told of his early suspicions—how he had suddenly recalled the evening they had first seen Cruella and sat under the piano in the red drawing room.
“She said we would make enchanting fur coats, Missis.”
“For spring wear, over a black suit,” said Missis, remembering. “And she did take a lot of interest in the puppies.”
“And she kept Nanny Cook talking while they were stolen,” said Pongo. “But I wasn’t quite sure until this evening, at the Twilight Barking. You didn’t hear as much as I did, Missis. Our puppies are at Hell Hall, the ancestral home of the de Vils.”
And he knew, though he kept this from Missis, that the S.O.S. on the old bone meant “Save Our Skins.”
At the Old Inn
PONGO had no difficulty in taking the right road out of London, for he and Mr. Dearly had done much motoring in their bachelor days and often driven to Suffolk. Mile after mile the two dogs ran through the deserted streets, as the December night grew colder. At last London was left behind and, just before dawn, they reached a village in Epping Forest where they hoped to spend the day.
They had decided they must always travel by night and rest during daylight. For they felt sure Mr. Dearly would advertise their loss and the police would be on the lookout for them. There was far less chance of their being seen and caught by night.
They had barely entered the sleeping village when they heard a quiet bark. The next moment a burly Golden Retriever was greeting them.
“Pongo and Missis Pongo, I presume? All arrangements were made for you by Late Twilight Barking. Please follow me.”
He led them to an old gabled inn and then under an archway to a cobbled yard.
“Please drink here, at my own bowl,” he said. “Food awaits you in your sleeping quarters, but water could not be arranged.”
(For no dog can carry a full water-bowl.)
Pongo and Missis had had only one drink since they left home, at an old drinking trough for horses, which had a lower trough for dogs. They now gulped thirstily and gratefully.
“My pride as an innkeeper tempts me to offer you one of our best bedrooms,” said the Golden Retriever. “They combine old-world charm with all modern conveniences—and no charge for breakfast in bed. But it wouldn’t be wise.”
“No, indeed,” said Pongo. “We might be discovered.”
“Exactly. We are putting you in the safest place any of us could think of. Naturally every dog in the village came to the meeting after the Late Barking—when we heard this village was to have the honour of receiving you. Step this way.”
At the far end of the yard were some old stables, and in the last stable of all was a broken-down stagecoach.
“Just the right place for Dalmatians,” said Pongo, smiling, “for our ancestors were trained to run behind coaches and carriages. Some people still call us Coach Dogs or Carriage Dogs.”
And your run from London has shown you are worthy of your ancestors,“ said the Golden Retriever. ”When I was a pup we sometimes took this old coach out for the
school picnic, but no one has bothered with it for years now. You should be quite safe, and some dogs will always be on guard. In case of sudden alarm, you can go out by the back door of the stable and escape across the fields.“
There was a deep bed of straw on the floor of the coach, and neatly laid out on the seat were two magnificent chops, half a dozen iced cakes, and a box of peppermint creams.
“From the butcher’s dog, the baker’s dog, and the dog at the sweet-shop,” said the Retriever. “I shall arrange your dinner. Will steak be satisfactory?”
Pongo and Missis said it would indeed, and tried to thank him for everything, but he waved their thanks away, saying, “It’s a very great honour. We are planning a small plaque—to be concealed from human eyes, of course—saying: PONGO AND MISSIS SLEPT HERE.”
Then he took them to the cobwebbed window and pointed out a smaller edition of himself, who was patrolling the inn courtyard.
My youngest lad, already on guard. He’s hoping to see you for a moment, when you’re rested, and ask for your paw-marks—to start his collection. A small guard of honour will see you out of the village, but I shan’t let them waste too much of your time. Good night—though it’s really good morning. Pleasant dreams.“
As soon as he had gone, Pongo and Missis ate ravenously.
“Though perhaps we should not eat too heavily before going to sleep,” said Pongo, so they left a couple of peppermint creams. (Missis later ate them in her sleep.) Then they settled down in the straw, close together, and got warmer and warmer.
Missis said, Do you feel sure our puppies will be well fed and well taken care of?“
“Quite sure. And they will be safe for a long time, because their spots are nowhere near big enough for a striking fur coat yet. Oh, Missis, how pleasant it is to be on our own like this!”
Missis thumped her tail with joy—and with relief. For there had been moments when she had felt—not jealous, exactly, but just a bit wistful about Pongo’s affection for Perdita. She loved Perdita, was grateful to her and sorry for her; still—well, it was nice to have her own husband to herself, thought Missis. But she made herself say, “Poor Perdita! No husband, no puppies! We must never let her feel we want to be on our own.”
“I do hope she can comfort the Dearlys,” said Pongo.
“She will wash them,” said Missis—and fell asleep.
How gloriously they slept! It was their first really deep sleep since the loss of the puppies. Even the Twilight Barking did not disturb them. It brought good news, which the Retriever told them when he woke them, as soon as it was dark. All was well with the pups, and Lucky sent a message that they were getting more food than they could eat. This gave Pongo and Missis a wonderful appetite for the steaks that were waiting for them.
While they ate, they chatted to the Retriever and his wife and their family, who lived at various houses in the village. And the Retriever told Pongo how to reach the village where the next day was to be spent—this had been arranged by the Twilight Barking. The steaks were finished and a nice piece of cheese was going down well when the Corgi from the post office arrived with an evening paper in her mouth. Mr. Dearly had put in his largest advertisement yet—with a photograph of Pongo and Missis (taken during the joint honeymoon).
Pongo’s heart sank, for he felt the route planned for them was no longer safe. It led through many villages, where even by night they might be noticed—unless they waited till all humans had gone to bed, which would waste too much time. He said, “We must travel across country.”
“But you’ll get lost,” said the Retriever’s wife.
“Pongo never loses his way,” said Missis proudly.
“And the moon will be nearly full,” said the Retriever. “You should manage. But it will be hard to pick up food. I had arranged for it to await you in several villages.”
Pongo said they had eaten so much that they could do without food until the morning, but he hated to think dogs might be waiting up for them during the night.
“I will cancel it by the Nine-o‘clock Barking,” said the Retriever.
There was a snuffling at the back door of the stable. All the dogs of the village had arrived to see Pongo and Missis off.
“We should start at once,” said Pongo. “Where’s our young friend who wants paw-marks?”
The Retriever’s youngest lad stepped forward shyly, carrying an old menu. Pongo and Missis put their pawtographs on the back of it for him, then thanked the Retriever and his family for all they had done.
Outside, two rows of dogs were waiting to cheer. But no human ear could have heared the cheers, for every dog had now seen the photograph in the evening paper and knew an escape must be made in absolute silence.
Pongo and Missis bowed right and left, gratefully sniffing their thanks to all. Then, after a last good-bye to the Retriever, they were off across the moonlit fields.
“On to Suffolk!” said Pongo.
Cross Country
THEY were well rested and well fed, and they soon reached a pond where they could drink—the Retriever had told them to be on the lookout for it. (It would not have been safe for them to drink from his bowl again; too many humans were now about.) And their spirits were far higher than when they had left the house in Regent’s Park. How far away it already seemed, although it was less than twenty-four hours since they had been in their baskets by the kitchen fire. Of course they were still anxious about their puppies, and sorry for the poor Dearlys. But Lucky’s message had been cheering, and they hoped to make it all up to the Dearlys one day. And anyway, as Pongo said, worrying would help nobody, while enjoying their freedom to race across the fields would do them a power of good.
He was relieved to see how well Missis ran and what good condition she was in. So much food had been given to her while she was feeding the puppies that she had never got pitifully thin—as Perdita had when she had fed her own puppies without being given extra food.
“You are a beautiful dog, Missis,” said Pongo. “I am very proud of you.”
At this, Missis looked even more beautiful and Pongo felt even prouder of her. After a minute or so, he said, “Do you think I’m looking pretty fit?”
Missis told him he looked magnificent, and wished she had said so without being asked. He was not a vain dog, but every husband likes to know that his wife admires him.
They ran on, shoulder to shoulder, a perfectly matched couple. The night was windless and therefore seemed warmer than the night before, but Pongo knew there was a heavy frost; and when, after a couple of hours across the fields, they came to another pond, there was a film of ice over it. They broke this easily and drank, but Pongo began to be a little anxious about where they would be by daybreak, for they would need good shelter in such cold weather. As they were now travelling across country, he thought it unlikely they would find the village that had been expecting them, but he felt sure most dogs would by now have heard of them and would be willing to help. “Only we must be near some village by dawn, or we shall meet no dogs,” he thought.
Soon after that a lane crossed the fields and, as they had just heard a church clock strike midnight, Pongo felt there was now little chance of their meeting any humans on the road. He wanted to find a signpost and make sure they were travelling in the right direction. So they went along the lane for a mile until they came to a sleeping village. There was a signpost on the green, which Pongo read by the light of the moon. (He was very good at reading—as a pup he had played with alphabet blocks.) All was well. Their journey across the fields had saved them many miles, and they were now deep in Essex. (The village where they might have stayed was already behind them.) By going north, they would reach Suffolk.
The only depressing thing was that the wonderful steak dinner seemed such a long time ago, And there was no hope of getting food as late as this. They just had to go on and on through the night, getting hungrier and hungrier.
And by the time it began to get light, they were also extremely chilly—pa
rtly because they were hungry and tired and partly because it was getting colder and colder. The ice on the ponds they passed was thicker and thicker—at last they came to a pond where they could not break through to drink.
And now Pongo was really anxious, for they had reached a part of the country where there seemed to be very few villages. Where could they get food and shelter? Where could they hide and sleep during the bitterly cold day ahead of them?
He did not tell Missis of his fears and she would not even admit that she was hungry. But her tail drooped and her pace got slower and slower. He felt terrible: tired, hungry, anxious, and deeply ashamed that he was letting his beautiful wife suffer hardship. Surely there would be a village soon, or a fair-sized farm?
“Should we rest a little now, Pongo?” said Missis at last.
‘Not until we’ve found some dogs to help us, Missis,“ said Pongo. Then his heart gave a glad leap. Ahead of them were some thatched cottages! It was full daylight now, and he could see smoke twisting up from several chimneys. Surely some dog would be about.
If anyone tries to catch us, we must take to the fields and run,“ said Pongo.
“Yes, Pongo,” said Missis, though she did not now feel she could run very far.
They reached the first cottage. Pongo gave a low bark. No dog answered it.
They went on and soon saw that this was not a real village but just a short row of cottages, some of them empty and almost in ruins. Except for smoke rising from a few chimneys, there was no sign of life until they came to the very last cottage. As they reached it a little boy looked out of a window.
He saw them and quickly opened the cottage door. In his hand was a thick slab of bread and butter. He appeared to be holding it out to them.
“Gently, Pongo,” said Missis, “or we shall frighten him.”
They went through the open gate and up the cobbled path, wagging their tails and looking with love at the little boy—and the bread and butter. The child smiled at them fearlessly and waved the bread and butter. And then, when they were only three or four yards away, he stooped, picked up a stone, and slung it with all his force. He gave a squeal of laughter when he saw the stone strike Pongo, then went in and slammed the door.