by E. Nesbit
And then they said I had no nose.
But Kerry explained to me that my master did not mean to find fault withthe shape of my nose, but that what he wanted to be understood was thatI had no nose for smelling rats. Kerry has, and he is ridiculously vainof this accomplishment.
"And you have no nose, you know, old boy," said Kerry; "why, you wouldlet the rats run all over you and never know it."
I turned up my nose--my beautiful, pointed, handsome nose--and walkedaway without a word.
A few weeks afterwards my master brought home with him some white rats.Kerry was out at the time, but my master showed me the rats through thebars of their cage. He also showed me a boot and a stick. Although Ihave no nose, I was clever enough to put two and two together. Did Imention that there were two rats?
We were not allowed to go in the study, either of us, and my master putthe rats there in their cage on the table.
That night, when everybody had gone to bed, I said to Kerry, "I may haveno nose, old man, but I smell rats."
Kerry sniffed contemptuously.
"You!" said he, curling himself round in his basket; "I don't believeyou could smell an elephant if there were one in the dresser drawer."
I kept my temper. "I am not feeling very well, Kerry," I said gently,"or I would go and see myself. But I am sure there _are_ rats; I smellthem plainly; they seem to be in the study."
"Go to sleep," he said; "you're dreaming, old man."
"Why don't you go and see?" I said. "If I didn't feel so very faint, Iwould go myself."
Kerry got out of his basket reluctantly. "I suppose I ought to go, ifyou are quite certain," he said; and he went.
In less than a minute he returned to the kitchen, trembling all overwith excitement.
"Chappie!" he said; "Chappie!"
"Well?"
"There _are_ rats," he whispered hoarsely; "there are rats in thestudy."
"Did you go in?" I asked.
"No, you know we're forbidden to go in, but I smelt them quite plainly.I can't smell them at all here," he said regretfully. "What a nose youhave got, after all, Chappie!"
"What are you going to do, Kerry?" I asked.
"Why, nothing," he said; "we mustn't go in the study."
"Oh," I said, "rules weren't made for great occasions like this; it'syour business to kill rats wherever they are."
And that misguided wire-haired person went up. He got them out of thecage, and killed them.
The next morning, when the master came down, he thrashed Kerry within aninch of his life. He knows I don't touch rats; and, besides, I was sounwell that nobody could have suspected me. And I explained to Kerrythat, good as my nose is, I couldn't possibly tell by the smell that therats were white, and, therefore, sacred. It was not worth while tomention that I had seen them before.
Kerry looks up to me now as a dog with a nose, and I am much happierthan formerly. But Kerry is not nearly so keen on rats now. I thoughtsomehow he wouldn't be.
The Tables Turned
WE knew it was a dog, directly the basket was set down in the hall. Weheard it moving about inside. We sniffed all round. We asked it why itdidn't come out (the basket was tightly tied up with string). "Are youhaving a good time in there?" said Roy. "Can't you show your face?" saidI. "He's ashamed of it," said Roy, waving his long bushy tail. Then hegrowled a little, and the dog inside growled too; and then, as Roy hadan appointment with the butcher at his own back door, I went out to seehim home.
"I am so sorry I am going away for Christmas with my master," he saidwhen we parted; "but you must introduce that new dog to me when I comehome. We mustn't stand any of his impudence, eh?"
I was sorry Roy was going away, for Roy is my great friend. He alwaysfights the battles for both of us. I daresay I might have got into theway of fighting my own battles, but I never like to interfere withanybody's pleasure, and Roy's chief pleasure is fighting. As for me, Ithink the delights of that recreation are over-estimated.
When my master came home, he opened the basket, and a dog of Irishfamily tumbled out, growling and snarling, and hid himself under thesofa. They wasted more biscuits on him than I have ever seen wasted onany deserving dog; and at last they got him out, and he consented to eatsome supper. They gave him a much better basket than mine, and we wentto bed.
Next morning, the Irish terrier got out of his basket, stretchedhimself, yawned, and insisted on thrashing me before breakfast.
"But I am a dog of peace," I said; "I don't fight."
"But I do, you see," he answered, "that's just the difference."
I tried to defend myself, but he got hold of one of my feet, and held itup. I sat up, and howled with pain and indignation.
"Have you had enough?" he said, and, without waiting for my answer,proceeded to give me more.
"But I don't fight," I said; "I don't approve of fighting."
"Then I'll teach you to have better manners than to say so," said he,and he taught me for nearly five minutes.
"Now then," he said, "are you licked?"
"Yes," I answered; for indeed I was.
"Are you sorry you ever tried to fight with me?"
"Yes," still seemed to be the only thing to say.
"And do you approve of fighting?"
He seemed to wish me to say "yes," and so I said it.
"Very well, then," he said; "now we'll be friends, if you like. Comealong; you have given me an appetite for breakfast."
"Any society worth cultivating about here?" he asked, after the meal, inhis overbearing way.
"I have a very great friend who lives next door," I said; "but I don'tknow whether I should care to introduce you to him."
He showed his teeth, and asked what I meant.
"You see, you might not like him; and, if you didn't like him----buthe's a most agreeable dog."
"A good fighter?" asked Rustler.
I scratched my ear with my hind foot, and pretended to think.
"Oh, I see he's not," said Rustler contemptuously; "well, you shallintroduce him to me directly he comes back."
Rustler's overbearing and disagreeable manners so upset me that I wasquite thin when, at the end of the week, Roy came home. I told him mytroubles at once.
"Bring your Rustler along," he said grandly, "and introduce him to_me_."
So I did. Rustler came along with his ears up, and his miserable tailin the air. Roy lay by his kennel looking the image of serenity andpeacefulness. To judge by his expression, he might not have had a toothin his head.
Rustler stood with his feet as far apart as he could get them, and puthis head on one side.
"I have heard so much about you, Mr. What's-your-name," he said, "that Ihave come to make a closer acquaintance."
"Delighted, I'm sure," said Roy, who has splendid manners.
"If you will get on your legs," said Rustler rudely, "I will tell youwhat I think of you."
Roy got on his legs, still looking very humble, and the next minute hehad Rustler by the front foot, and was making him sit down and screamjust as Rustler had made me. It was a magnificent fight.
"Have you had enough?" said Roy, and then gave him more without waitingfor an answer.
"I don't want to fight any more," said Rustler at last; "I am sorry Ispoke."
"Then I'll teach you to have more pluck than to own it," said Roy.
When he had taught him for some time, he said, "Are you licked?"
"Yes," said Rustler, glaring at me out his uninjured eye.
"Are you sorry you tried to fight with me?"
"Yes."
"Will you promise to leave my little friend here alone?"
"Yes."
Then Roy let him go. We shook tails all round, and Rustler and I wenthome.
"Poor Rustler," I said, "I know exactly how you feel."
"You little humbug," he said, with half a laugh--for he is not anill-natured fellow when you come to know him--"you managed it verycleverly, and I'm not one to bear malice; but, I say, your friend isA1."
We are now the most united trio, and Roy and Rustler have licked all theother dogs in the neighbourhood.
A Noble Dog
ROVER would go into the water fast enough for a bathe or a swim, but hewould not bring anything out. The children used to throw in sticks, andRover and I used to bound in together; but I would bring the stick back,while he swam round and round, enjoying himself.
I am not vain, but I could not help feeling how much superior I was tosuch a dog as Rover. He is a prize Newfoundland, and I am only a humbleretriever of obscure family.
So one day I said to him--
"Why don't you fetch the sticks out when the children throw them in?"
"I don't care about sticks," he said.
"But it's so grand and clever to be able to fetch them out."
"Is it?" he answered.
"I know it is, for the children tell me so."
"Do they?" he said.
"I wonder you are not ashamed," I went on, a little nettled by hismeekness, "never to do anything useful. I should be, if I were you."
"Ah," he said, "but you see you are not. Good night."
We used to spend a great deal of time by the river. The children lovedto play there, and we dogs were always expected to go with them.
One day, as I was lying asleep on the warm grass by the river bank, Iheard a splash. I jumped in, but there was no stick, only one of thechildren floating down on the stream, and screaming whenever her headcame from under the water.
I thought it was a new kind of game, not very interesting, so I swam outagain; and just as I was shaking the water out of my ears, I heardanother great flop, and there was Rover in the water, holding on to thechild's dress. He pulled her out some ten yards down the stream; and oh!if you could have seen the fuss that the master and mistress and therest of the children made of that black and white spotted person!
"Why, Rover," I said afterwards, when we had got home and weretalking it over, "whatever made you think that the child wanted to bepulled out of the water?"
"It's my business to pull people out of the water," he said.
"But," I urged, "I always thought you were too stupid to understandthings."
"Did you?" he said, turning his mild eyes on me.
"Why didn't you explain to me that you----"
"My dear dog," he said, "I never think it worth while to fetch sticksout of the water, and I never think it worth while to explain things tostupid people."
The Dyer's Dog
SHE was beautiful, with a strange unearthly beauty. She had a littleblack nose. Her eyes were small, but bright and full of charm. Her earswere long and soft, and her tail curled like one of the ostrich plumesin the window of the dyer with whom she lived.
I have met many little dogs with noses as charming, and eyes as bright,and tails as curly; but never one who, like my Bessie, was a rich, deeppink all over.
I lived with a baker then. I was sitting on his doorstep when she firstdelighted my eyes. I ran across the road to give her good morning. Sheseemed pleased to see me. We had a little chat about the weather and theother dogs in the street, and about buns, and rats, and the vices of thedomestic cat.
Her manners and her conversation were as bright and charming as hereyes. Before we parted, we had made an appointment for the nextafternoon, and as I said good-bye, I ventured to ask--
"How is it, lady, that you are of such a surpassingly beautiful colour?"
"It is natural to our family," she said, tossing her pretty ears. "Mymother was the Royal Crimson Dog at the Court of the King of India."
I bowed with deep respect and withdrew, for I heard them calling me athome.
The next day I looked for my beautiful pink-coloured lady, but I lookedin vain. Instead, a dog of a bright sky-blue, with a yellow ribbon roundits neck, sat in the sun on the dyer's doorstep. Yet, could I bemistaken? That nose, those ears, that feathery tail, those bright andbeaming eyes!
I went across. She received me with some embarrassment, whichdisappeared as I talked gaily of milk and guinea pigs, and the habits ofthe cats'-meat man. Before we parted I said--
"You have changed your dress."
"Yes," she said, "it's so common and vulgar to wear always one colour."
"But I thought"--I hesitated--"that your mother was the Royal CrimsonDog at the Court of----"
"So she was," replied the lady promptly, "but my father was thewell-known sky-blue terrier at the Crystal Palace Dog Show. I resembleboth my parents."
I retired, fascinated by her high breeding and graceful explanations.Through my dreams that night wandered a long procession of blue andcrimson dogs.
The next day, when I hurried to keep the appointment she had been goodenough to make with me, I found her a deep purple. Again I concealed mysurprise, while we talked of subjects of common interest, of dog-collarsand chains and kennels, of biscuits, bones, and the outrage of themuzzling order; and at last I said--
"You have changed your dress again. Your mother was the Royal----"
"Oh, don't," she said, "it's so tiresome to keep repeating things. Myfather was red and my mother was blue, and I myself, as you see, ampurple. Don't you know that crimson and blue make purple? Any child witha shilling box of paints could have told you that."
I thanked her, and came away. Purple seemed to me the most beautifulcolour in the world.
But the next day she was green--as green as grass. After the customaryexchange of civilities, I remarked firmly--
"Blue and crimson may make purple, but----"
"But green is my favourite colour," she said briskly. "I suppose a dogis not to be bound down by the prejudices of its parents?"
I went away very sadly, and, as I went, I noticed that there were somecurtains in the dyer's window of exactly the same tint as my friend'sdress. The next day she was gone.
I sought her in vain. The day after, a French poodle appeared on thedyer's doorstep, dressed in stripes of orange and scarlet. I went boldlyacross to him.
"Good morning, old man; how do you come to be that colour?" I said.
"They dye me so," he answered gloomily. "It's a dreadful lot for a dogthat respects himself."
I never saw Bessie but once again. She seemed then to be living with atinsmith, and her colour was a gingery white.
I hope I am too much of a gentleman to taunt any lady in misfortune, butI couldn't help saying--
"Why don't you wear any of your beautiful coloured dresses now?"
She answered me curtly, for she saw that she had ceased to charm.
"I gave up wearing my pretty dresses," she said, "because silly peopleasked me so many questions about them."
As usual, I accepted her explanations in silence; but, when I see thepoodle opposite, in his varying glories of blue, and green, and orange,and purple, I can't help thinking that perhaps my fair Bessie did notalways speak the truth.
The Vain Setter
OURS is one of the most ancient and noble families in the land, and Icontend that family pride is an exalted sentiment. I still hold to thisbelief, in spite of all the sufferings that it has brought upon me.
My father, whose ancestor came over with the Conqueror, has taken prizesat many a county show; and my mother, the handsomest of her sex, tookone prize, and would have taken more, but for the unfortunate accidentof having her tail cut off in a door.
I early determined to be worthy of my high breeding and undoubteddescent. A setter should have long, silky ears. I made my brother pullmine gently for an hour at a time. In order to lengthen them, I combedtheir fringes with my paws.
My father's brow is lofty and narrow. The unfortunate accident whichremoved my mother from public life, suggested to me a way of cultivatingour most famous family characteristic. I used to place my head betweenthe doorpost and the door, while my brother leaned gently against thelatter, so as to press my skull to the requisite shape. My legs, I knew,ought to be straight. I never indulged in any of those field-sports, towhich my brother early turned a light-he
arted attention; for I knewthat undue exercise tends to curve the legs.
My tail was my special care. Regardless of comfort, I twisted myselfinto the shape of a capital O, and, holding the end of my tail gently,but firmly, in my teeth, I stretched myself and it.
So much pains devoted to such a noble object could not be thrown away. Ibecame the handsomest setter in the three counties.
My brother, in the meantime, grew expert in the coarse sportingexercises to which he devoted his energies. He had no pride. He trampedthe mud of the fields; he tore his ears in bramble bushes; and I haveseen him so far lose all sense of our family's dignity as to grovel atthe feet of his master, and raise one of his paws, to indicate thatbirds were near--common birds; I believe they are called partridges.
"You might as well," I said to him bitterly--"you might as well havebeen born a pointer."
"Why not?" he said. "I know a pointer," he went on, laughing in hismerry, careless way--"I know a pointer who lives at the Pines Farm. Acapital fellow he is."
"My dear boy," I said, "just come and squeeze my head in the door alittle, will you? and let me tell you that for one of our family toassociate with a pointer is social ruin--common, coarse, smooth-coatedpersons, related, I should suppose, to the vulgar plum-pudding dog."
My brother only laughed; but he was a good-natured fellow, and pinchedmy head in the door until my forehead could stand the strain no longer.