by Dodie Smith
“And now, my love,” said Pongo to Missis. “Let us take a roll in the soot.”
Frankly, Missis did not fancy it. She hated soiling her gleaming white hair and losing its smart contrast with her beautiful black spots. But when Pongo had helped her with the final touches he said: “Why, Missis, as a black dog, you’re slimmer than ever. You’re positively svelte!” and then she felt much better.
Then Pongo said, “How does soot suit me?”
“Suit soots you beautifully,” said Missis, and all the pups roared with laughter at her mistake.
Then they all went back to the bakehouse and settled down to sleep. The Collie said he would call them as soon as it was dark. They would have only five miles to go—to another bakery—but he felt they should get the journey over early as he had heard there might be snow.
“But there may be cars on the road until late, as it is Christmas Eve—and Sunday,” he told them. “So you must go by the fields. I shall escort you. Rest well now.”
Poor Missis! When she awoke in the late afternoon and looked around her, she dissolved into sooty tears.
“I can’t tell one pup from the other now they’re black,” she moaned. But she soon found she could, though she could never have explained how she managed it.
Another meal had been organized, but it was not all that could have been wished, because the butcher had meanly locked up his shop.
“This clears the bakery out,” said the Collie, carrying in the last stale loaf. “But there will be a good supper waiting for you. And the journey oughtn’t to take more than three or four hours.” He then went off to see if there was any news coming in by the Twilight Barking.
After half an hour or so, Pongo began to feel anxious. It was quite dark now; they ought to be off. What was delaying the Collie?
“Listen!” said Missis suddenly.
Very, very faintly, they could hear the Collie barking. He was calling Pongo’s name, again and again.
Pongo and Missis ran out of the bakehouse to the little yard at the back. Now they could hear the Collie more clearly. But he was obviously some way off. Pongo barked in answer to him. Then swiftly the Collie told them what had happened.
He was locked in a house across the green, with no hope of getting out. The postmistress had promised to look after him while the baker was away for Christmas. She had decided it was too cold a night for a dog to be out, hauled him in, and gone out for the evening. He had tried every door and every window but could undo none of them. It was impossible for him to escort the Dalmatians, as he had promised.
“But you can’t miss your way, Pongo,” he barked. “Out over the field at the back of the bakehouse and straight on for five miles.”
Pongo told him not to worry. But the poor Collie was most unhappy. “Here I am, locked in with a warm fire and a good supper—and powerless to help you.”
Both Pongo and Missis told him to eat the supper and enjoy the fire, and thanked him for all he had done.
“And now, off we go,” said Pongo, bringing the pups out of the bakehouse. “And no straggling! Because it would be very easy to lose a black pup on a dark night.”
But it was not really a very dark night, for already the moon was rising and the stars were out. There was one specially large, bright star.
“The Collie said straight ahead, and that star is straight ahead,” said Pongo. “So we’ll steer by it.” He was thankful they were going by way of the fields and not by the road—for he remembered that Cruella had told the Baddun brothers she would come down “tomorrow night” to count the bodies. Now it was “tomorrow night” and the great zebra-striped car would be somewhere on the road from London to Suffolk. How terrible it would be to meet it! He imagined the glare from the headlights, imagined Cruella driving straight at the army of panic-stricken puppies. Yes, he would certainly avoid the roads! But, even so, it was frightening to know that Cruella might be quite near. He put the thought from his mind as he and Missis got the pups into marching order.
Their way lay through grassy meadows over which the Cadpig’s cart trundled smoothly. At every hedge and ditch Pongo paused and counted the pups to see none had strayed, and Missis changed the pups who drew the cart and the pups who rested in it. Already even the smallest puppies were getting hardier—even the Cadpig got out of the cart and walked three fields before getting in again.
“Soon we shall be able to do ten miles a day,” said Pongo.
They had travelled about three miles when the first disaster of the night happened. There was a sudden bump, and a wild squeal from the Cadpig. A wheel had come off the little blue cart.
Pongo saw at once that the cart could be mended. A wooden peg which fixed the hub of the wheel to the axle had come out. But could he ever, using his teeth, put this peg back? He tried—and failed.
“Could the Cadpig manage without the cart?” he whispered to Missis.
Missis shook her head. Walking three fields had been enough for her smallest daughter. And her other daughters could not walk more than a mile without a rest.
“Then mend the cart I must,” said Pongo. “And you must help me, by holding the wheel in position.”
They tried and tried, without success. Then, while they were resting for a moment, Missis noticed that many of the pups were shivering.
“They’d better keep warm by running races,” said Pongo.
“But that would tire them,” said Missis. “Couldn’t they all go to that barn over there?”
They could just see a big tiled roof, two short fields away—not very clearly, because the moon was behind clouds; it was this lack of light which made it so hard to mend the cart.
“That’s a good idea,” said Pongo. “And when the cart’s mended, we can bring it along and call for them all.”
Missis said the Cadpig had better stay in the cart and keep warm in the hay, but the Cadpig wanted to go with the others and see the barn—she felt sure she could walk two short fields. So Missis let her go. Two strong pups the right size to draw the cart stayed behind. They said they did not mind the cold.
So ninety-five pups, led by Lieutenant Lucky, set off briskly for the barn. But when they got there it did not look at all like the barn at the Sheepdog’s farm. It was built of grey stone and had long windows, some with coloured glass in them, and at one end was a tower.
“Why, there’s a Folly!” said the Cadpig, remembering the tower of the Folly at Hell Hall.
Lucky was looking for a door, but when he found one it was firmly shut. He told the pups to wait for him while he went round the building looking for some other way in.
The Cadpig did not wait. “Come on,” she said to her devoted brother Patch. “I want to look at that Folly.”
And when they got to the tower they saw a narrow door that was not quite closed. It was too heavy for them to push, but they could—just—just—squeeze through.
Inside, this tower was nothing like the one at Hell Hall. And it opened into the grey stone building.
“No hay in this barn,” said the Cadpig.
She had counted on the hay for warmth, but she soon found she was warm enough without it, for there was a big stove alight. It had a long iron pipe for a chimney, which went right up through the raftered ceiling. The moon was out again now, and its light was streaming in through the tall windows, so that the clear glass made silver patterns on the stone floor and the coloured glass made blue, gold, and rose patterns. The Cadpig patted one of the coloured patterns with a delicate paw.
“I love this barn,” she said.
Patch said, “I don’t think it is a barn.” But he liked it as much as the Cadpig did.
They wandered around—and suddenly they made a discovery. Whatever this mysterious place was, it was certainly intended for puppies. For in front of every seat—and there were many seats—was a puppy-sized dog-bed, padded and most comfortable.
“Why, it’s just meant for us all to sleep in!” said the Cadpig.
“I’ll tell the o
ther pups,” said Patch, starting for the door. A glad cry from the Cadpig called him back.
“Look, look! Television!”
But it was not like the television at Hell Hall. It was much larger. And the figures on the screen did not move or speak. Indeed, it was not a screen. The figures were really there, on a low platform, humans and animals, most lifelike, though smaller than in real life. They were in a stable, above which was one bright star.
“Look at the little humans, kneeling,” said Patch.
“And there’s a kind of a cow,” said the Cadpig, remembering the cows at the farm, who had given all the pups milk.
“And a kind of a horse,” said Patch, remembering the helpful horse who had let them all out of the field.
“No dogs,” said the Cadpig. “What a pity! But I like it much better than ordinary television. Only I don’t know why.”
Then they heard Lucky and the others, who had found their way in. Soon every pup was lying curled up on a comfortable dog-bed and fast asleep—except the Cadpig. She had dragged along one of the dog-beds by its most convenient little carpet ear, and was sitting on it, wide awake, gazing and gazing at this new and far more beautiful television.
Once the moon came out from behind the clouds Pongo managed to mend the wheel—oh, the feeling of satisfaction when the peg slipped into place! Missis too felt proud. Had she not held the wheel? She, a dog who had never understood machinery! Quickly the two waiting pups seized the crossbar in their mouths. Then off they all went to the barn.
But as they drew nearer, Pongo saw this was no barn.
“Surely they can’t have gone in -there?” he said to Missis.
“Why not, if they were cold?” said Missis. “And they are far too young to know they would not be welcome.”
Pongo and Missis both knew that humans did not like dogs to go into buildings which had towers and tall, narrow windows. They had no idea why, and had at first been a little hurt when told firmly to wait outside. But Mrs. Dearly had once said, “We would love you to come in if it was allowed. And I would go in far oftener if you could.” So it was obviously one of those mysterious things such as no one—not even humans—ever being allowed to walk on certain parts of the grass in Regent’s Park.
“We must get them out quickly,” said Pongo, “and go on with our journey.”
They soon found the door in the tower—which the biggest pups had pushed wide open. Because Missis had always been left outside, she disliked these curious buildings with towers and high windows; but the minute she got inside she changed her mind. This was a wonderful place—so peaceful and, somehow, so welcoming.
“But where are the pups?” she said, peering all around.
She saw lots of black patches on the moonlit floor but had quite forgotten that all the pups were now black. Then she remembered and as she drew nearer to the sleeping pups, tears sprang to her eyes.
“Look, look at all the puppy-beds!” she cried. “What good people must live here!”
“It can’t be the kind of place I thought it was,” said Pongo.
He was about to wake the puppies when Missis stopped him. “Let me sit by the stove for a little while,” she said.
“Not too long, my dear,” said Pongo.
He need not have worried. Missis sat still for only a few minutes. Then she got up, shook herself, and said brightly, “Let us start now. Things are going to be all right.”
An hour or so later, just before the evening service, the Verger said to the Vicar, “I think there must be something wrong with the stove, sir.”
On every hassock he had found a small circular patch of soot.
Miracle Needed
LAST lap before supper,“ said Pongo as they started off again across the moonlit fields.
It was the most cheering thing he could have said, for the ninety-seven puppies were now extremely hungry. He had guessed this because he was hungry himself. And so was Missis. But she was feeling too peaceful to mind.
They went on for nearly two miles; then Pongo saw a long row of cottage roofs ahead across the fields.
“This should be it,” he said.
What is that glow in the sky beyond the roof-tops?“ asked Missis.
Pongo was puzzled. He had seen such a glow in the sky over towns which had many lights, but never over a village. And this was a very bright glow. “Perhaps it’s a larger place than we expected it to be,” he said, and did not feel it would be safe to go any nearer until some dog came to meet them. He called a halt and barked news of their arrival.
He was answered at once, by a bark that said, “Wait where you are. I am coming.” And though he did not tell Missis, Pongo felt there was something odd about this bark that answered his. For one thing, there were no cheerful words of welcome.
Soon a graceful red Setter came dashing towards them. They guessed, even before she spoke, that something was very wrong.
“The bakery’s on fire!” she gasped.
The blaze, due to a faulty chimney, had begun only a few minutes before—the fire engine had not yet arrived. No one had been hurt, but the bakehouse was full of flames and smoke—all the food spread out for the Dalmatians was burned.
“There’s nothing for you to eat and nowhere for you to sleep,” moaned the poor Setter—she was hysterical. “And the village street’s full of people.” She looked pitifully at Missis. “All your poor hungry puppies!”
The strange thing was that Missis felt quite calm. She tried to comfort the Setter, saying they would go to some barn.
“But no arrangements are made,” wailed the Setter. “And there’s no spare food anywhere. All the village dogs brought what they could to the bakery.”
Just then came a shrill whistle.
“My pet is calling me,” said the Setter. “He’s the doctor here. There’s no dog at the bakery, so I was chosen to arrange everything—because I took first prize in a dog show. And now I’ve failed you.”
“You have not failed,” said Missis. “No one could say the fire was act of dog. Go back to your pet and don’t worry. We shall simply go on to the next village.”
Really?“ said the Setter, gasping again—but with relief.
Missis kissed her on the nose. “Off with you, my dear, and don’t give the matter another thought. And thank you for all you did.”
The whistle came again, and the Setter ran off, wildly waving her feathered tail.
“Feather-brained as well as feather-tailed,” said Pongo.
“Just very young,” said Missis gently. “I doubt if she’s had a family yet. Well, on to the next village.”
“Thank you for being so brave, dear Missis,” said Pongo. “But where is the next village?”
“In the country there are villages in every direction,” said Missis brightly.
Desperately worried though he was, Pongo smiled lovingly at her. Then he said, “We will go to the road now.”
“But what about traffic, Pongo?”
“We shall not be very long on the road,” said Pongo.
Then he told her what he had decided. Even if the next village should only be a few miles away, many of the pups were too tired and too hungry to get there—some of them were already asleep on the frozen ground. And every minute it got colder.
“And even if we could get to the next village, where should we sleep? Missis, what should we eat, with no plans made ahead? We must give in, my dear. Come, wake the pups! Quick march, everyone!”
The waking pups whimpered and shivered, and Missis saw that even the strongest pups were now wretchedly cold. So she helped Pongo to make them all march briskly.
Then she whispered, “But how do we give in, Pongo?”
Pongo said, “We must go into the village and find the police station.”
Missis stared at him in horror. “No, Pongo, no! The police will take the puppies from us!”
“But they will feed them, Missis. And perhaps we shall be kept together until Mr. Dearly has been told about us. They will
have read the papers. They will know we are the Missing Dalmatians.”
“But we are not Dalmatians any more, Pongo,” cried Missis. “We are black. They will think we are ordinary stray dogs. And we are illegal—ninety-nine dogs without collars. We shall be put in prison.”
“No, Missis!” But Pongo was shaken. He had forgotten they were now black dogs. Suppose the police did not recognize them? Suppose the Dearlys were never told about them? What happened to stray dogs that no one claimed?
“Please, Pongo, I beg you!” cried Missis. “Let us go on with our journey! I know it will be all right.”
They had now reached the road and were on the edge of the village. Pongo was faced with a terrible choice. But it still seemed to him wiser to trust the police than to lead the hungry, exhuasted puppies into the bitter winter night.
“Missis, dear Missis, we must go to the police station,” he said, and turned towards the village. They could now see the burning bakery, and at that moment a huge flame leaped up through the roof. By its light Pongo saw the whole village street, with the villagers making a human chain to hand along buckets of water. And he also saw something else—something which made him stop dead, shouting, “Halt!” at the top of his bark.
In front of the burning bakery was a great striped black-and white car. And with it was Cruella de Vil—standing right up on the roof of the car, where she had climbed so as to get a good view of the fire. Her white face and absolutely simple white mink cloak no longer looked white. From head to foot she was bathed in the red-gold flicker of the flames. And as they leaped higher and higher she clapped her hands in delight.
The next instant there was a wild clamour of bells as the fire engine arrived at last. The noise, the flames, and, above all, the sight of Cruella were too much for many of the puppies. Squealing in terror, they turned and fled, with Pongo, Missis, and Lucky desperately trying to call them to order.
Fortunately, the clamour from the fire engine prevented anyone in the village from hearing the barking and yapping. And after a little while the terrified pups obeyed Pongo’s orders and stopped their headlong flight. They were very shamefaced as Pongo told them that, though he quite understood how they had felt, they must never, never behave in such a panic-stricken way and must always, always obey orders instantly. Then he praised the pups who had stuck to the Cadpig’s cart, praised Patch for staying close to the Cadpig, rescued Roly Poly from a ditch, and counted the pups carefully. He did all this as hurriedly as possible, for he knew now that they must press on with their journey. There was no way they could get to the police station without passing Cruella de Vil.