The Dog Crusoe and his Master

  CHAPTER THREE.

  SPECULATIVE REMARKS WITH WHICH THE READER MAY OR MAY NOT AGREE--AN OLDWOMAN--HOPES AND WISHES COMMINGLED WITH HARD FACTS--THE DOG CRUSOE'SEDUCATION BEGUN.

  It is pleasant to look upon a serene, quiet, humble face. On such aface did Richard Varley look every night when he entered his mother'scottage. Mrs Varley was a widow, and she had followed the fortunes ofher brother, Daniel Hood, ever since the death of her husband. Love forher only brother induced her to forsake the peaceful village ofMaryland, and enter upon the wild life of a backwoods settlement.Dick's mother was thin, and old, and wrinkled, but her face was stampedwith a species of beauty which _never_ fades--the beauty of a lovinglook. Ah! the brow of snow and the peach-bloom cheek may snare theheart of man for a time, but the _loving look_ alone can forge thatadamantine chain that time, age, eternity, shall never break.

  Mistake us not, reader, and bear with us if we attempt to analyse thislook which characterised Mrs Varley. A rare diamond is worth stoppingto glance at, even when one is in a hurry! The brightest jewel in thehuman heart is worth a thought or two! By a _loving look_, we do notmean a look of love bestowed on a beloved object. That is commonenough, and thankful should we be that it is so common in a world that'sover-full of hatred. Still less do we mean that smile and look ofintense affection with which some people--good people too--greet friendsand foe alike, and by which effort to work out their _beau ideal_ of theexpression of Christian love, they do signally damage their cause, bysaddening the serious and repelling the gay. Much less do we mean that_perpetual_ smile of good-will which argues more of personal comfort andself-love than anything else. No, the loving look we speak of is asoften grave as gay. Its character depends very much on the face throughwhich it beams. And it cannot be counterfeited. Its _ring_ defiesimitation. Like the clouded sun of April, it can pierce through tearsof sorrow; like the noontide sun of summer, it can blaze in warm smiles;like the northern lights of winter, it can gleam in depths of woe--butit is always the same, modified, doubtless, and rendered more or lesspatent to others, according to the natural amiability of him or her whobestows it. No one can put it on. Still less can any one put it off.Its range is universal; it embraces all mankind, though, _of course_, itis intensified on a few favoured objects; its seat is in the depths of arenewed heart, and its foundation lies in love to God.

  Young Varley's mother lived in a cottage which was of the smallestpossible dimensions consistent with comfort. It was made of logs, as,indeed, were all the other cottages in the valley. The door was in thecentre, and a passage from it to the back of the dwelling divided itinto two rooms. One of these was subdivided by a thin partition, theinner room being Mrs Varley's bedroom, the outer Dick's. Daniel Hood'sdormitory was a corner of the kitchen, which apartment served also as aparlour.

  The rooms were lighted by two windows, one on each side of the door,which gave to the house the appearance of having a nose and two eyes.Houses of this kind have literally got a sort of _expression_ on--if wemay use the word--their countenances. _Square_ windows give theappearance of easy-going placidity; _longish_ ones, that of surprise.Mrs Varley's was a surprised cottage, and this was in keeping with thescene in which it stood, for the clear lake in front, studded withislands, and the distant hills beyond, composed a scene so surprisinglybeautiful that it never failed to call forth an expression of astonishedadmiration from every new visitor to the Mustang Valley.

  "My boy," exclaimed Mrs Varley, as her son entered the cottage with abound, "why so hurried to-day? Deary me! where got you the grand gun?"

  "Won it, mother!"

  "Won it, my son?"

  "Ay, won it, mother. Druve the nail _almost_, and would ha' druve it_altogether_ had I bin more used to Joe Blunt's rifle."

  Mrs Varley's heart beat high, and her face flushed with pride as shegazed at her son, who laid the rifle on the table for her inspection,while he rattled off an animated and somewhat disjointed account of thematch.

  "Deary me! now that was good; that was cliver. But what's that scrapingat the door?"

  "Oh! that's Fan; I forgot her. Here! here! Fan! Come in, good dog,"he cried rising and opening the door.

  Fan entered and stopped short, evidently uncomfortable.

  "My boy, what do ye with the major's dog?"

  "Won her too, mother!"

  "Won her, my son?"

  "Ay, won her, and the pup too; see, here it is!" and he plucked Crusoefrom his bosom.

  Crusoe, having found his position to be one of great comfort, had falleninto a profound slumber, and on being thus unceremoniously awakened, hegave forth a yelp of discontent that brought Fan in a state of franticsympathy to his side.

  "There you are, Fan, take it to a corner and make yourself at home. Ay,that's right, mother, give her somethin' to eat; she's hungry, I know bythe look o' her eye."

  "Deary me, Dick," said Mrs Varley, who now proceeded to spread theyouth's mid-day meal before him, "did ye drive the nail three times?"

  "No, only once, and that not parfetly. Brought 'em all down at oneshot--rifle, Fan, an' pup!"

  "Well, well, now that was cliver; but--" Here the old woman paused andlooked grave.

  "But what, mother?"

  "You'll be wantin' to go off to the mountains now, I fear me, boy."

  "Wantin' _now_!" exclaimed the youth earnestly; "I'm _always_ wantin'.I've bin wantin' ever since I could walk; but I won't go till you letme, mother, that I won't!" And he struck the table with his fist soforcibly that the platters rung again.

  "You're a good boy, Dick; but you're too young yit to ventur' among theRed-skins."

  "An' yit, if I don't ventur' young, I'd better not ventur' at all. Youknow, mother dear, I don't want to leave you; but I was born to be ahunter, and everybody in them parts is a hunter, and I can't hunt in thekitchen you know, mother!"

  At this point the conversation was interrupted by a sound that causedyoung Varley to spring up and seize his rifle, and Fan to show her teethand growl.

  "Hist! mother; that's like horses' hoofs," he whispered, opening thedoor and gazing intently in the direction whence the sound came.

  Louder and louder it came, until an opening in the forest showed theadvancing cavalcade to be a party of white men. In another moment theywere in full view--a band of about thirty horsemen, clad in the leatherncostume, and armed with the long rifle of the far west. Some woreportions of the gaudy Indian dress which gave to them a brilliant,dashing look. They came on straight for the block-house, and salutedthe Varleys with a jovial cheer as they swept past at full speed. Dickreturned the cheer with compound interest, and calling out, "They'retrappers, mother, I'll be back in an hour," bounded off like a deerthrough the woods, taking a short cut in order to reach the block-housebefore them. He succeeded, for, just as he arrived at the house, thecavalcade wheeled round the bend in the river, dashed up the slope, andcame to a sudden halt on the green. Vaulting from their foaming steedsthey tied them to the stockades of the little fortress, which theyentered in a body.

  Hot haste was in every motion of these men. They were trappers, theysaid, on their way to the Rocky Mountains to hunt and trade furs. Butone of their number had been treacherously murdered and scalped by aPawnee chief, and they resolved to revenge his death by an attack on oneof the Pawnee villages. They would teach these "red reptiles" torespect white men, they would, come of it what might; and they hadturned aside here to procure an additional supply of powder and lead.

  In vain did the major endeavour to dissuade these reckless men fromtheir purpose. They scoffed at the idea of returning good for evil, andinsisted on being supplied. The log hut was a store as well as a placeof defence, and as they offered to pay for it there was no refusingtheir request--at least so the major thought. The ammunition wastherefore given to them, and in half an hour they were away again atfull gallop over the plains on their mission of vengeance. "Vengeanceis Mine, I will repay, saith the Lord." But these men knew not what Godsaid, becau
se they never read His Word, and did not own His sway.

  Young Varley's enthusiasm was considerably damped when he learned theerrand on which the trappers were bent. From that time forward he gaveup all desire to visit the mountains in company with such men, but hestill retained an intense longing to roam at large among their rockyfastnesses, and gallop out upon the wide prairies.

  Meanwhile he dutifully tended his mother's cattle and sheep, andcontented himself with an occasional deer-hunt in the neighbouringforests. He devoted himself also to the training of his dog Crusoe--anoperation which at first cost him many a deep sigh.

  Every one has heard of the sagacity and almost reasoning capabilities ofthe Newfoundland dog. Indeed, some have even gone the length of sayingthat what is called instinct in these animals is neither more nor lessthan reason. And, in truth, many of the noble, heroic, and sagaciousdeeds that have actually been performed by Newfoundland dogs incline usalmost to believe that, like man, they are gifted with reasoning powers.

  But every one does not know the trouble and patience that is required inorder to get a juvenile dog to understand what its master means when heis endeavouring to instruct it.

  Crusoe's first lesson was an interesting, but not a very successful one.We may remark here that Dick Varley had presented Fan to his mother tobe her watch-dog, resolving to devote all his powers to the training ofthe pup. We may also remark, in reference to Crusoe's appearance (andwe did not remark it sooner, chiefly because up to this period in hiseventful history he was little better than a ball of fat and hair), thathis coat was mingled jet-black and pure white, and remarkably glossy,curly, and thick.

  A week after the shooting match Crusoe's education began. Having fedhim for that period with his own hand, in order to gain his affection,Dick took him out one sunny forenoon to the margin of the lake to givehim his first lesson.

  And here again we must pause to remark that, although a dog's heart isgenerally gained in the first instance through his mouth, yet, after itis thoroughly gained, his affection is noble and disinterested. He canscarcely be driven from his master's side by blows, and even when thusharshly repelled is always ready, on the shortest notice and with theslightest encouragement, to make it up again.

  Well, Dick Varley began by calling out, "Crusoe! Crusoe! come here,pup."

  Of course Crusoe knew his name by this time, for it had been so oftenused as a prelude to his meals, that he naturally expected a feedwhenever he heard it. This portal to his brain had already been openfor some days; but all the other doors were fast locked, and it requireda great deal of careful picking to open them.

  "Now, Crusoe, come here."

  Crusoe bounded clumsily to his master's side, cocked his ears, andwagged his tail--so far his education was perfect. We say he bounded_clumsily_, for it must be remembered that he was still a very youngpup, with soft, flabby muscles.

  "Now, I'm goin' to begin yer edication, pup; think o' that."

  Whether Crusoe thought of that or not we cannot say, but he looked up inhis master's face as he spoke, cocked his ears very high, and turned hishead slowly to one side, until it could not turn any further in thatdirection; then he turned it as much to the other side, whereat hismaster burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and Crusoeimmediately began barking vociferously.

  "Come, come," said Dick, suddenly checking his mirth, "we mustn't play,pup, we must work."

  Drawing a leathern mitten from his belt, the youth held it to Crusoe'snose, and then threw it a yard away, at the same time exclaiming in aloud, distinct tone, "_Fetch it_."

  Crusoe entered at once into the spirit of this part of his training; hedashed gleefully at the mitten, and proceeded to worry it with intensegratification. As for "_Fetch it_," he neither understood the words norcared a straw about them.

  Dick Varley rose immediately, and rescuing the mitten, resumed his seaton a rock.

  "Come here, Crusoe," he repeated.

  "Oh! certainly, by all means," said Crusoe--no! he didn't exactly _say_it, but really he _looked_ these words so evidently, that we think itright to let them stand as they are written. If he could have finishedthe sentence he would certainly have said, "Go on with that game overagain, old boy; it's quite to my taste--the jolliest thing in life, Iassure you!" At least, if we may not positively assert that he wouldhave said that, no one else can absolutely affirm that he wouldn't.

  Well, Dick Varley did do it over again, and Crusoe worried the mittenover again--utterly regardless of "_Fetch it_."

  Then they did it again, and again, and again, but without the slightestapparent advancement in the path of canine knowledge,--and then theywent home.

  During all this trying operation Dick Varley never once betrayed theslightest feeling of irritability or impatience. He did not expectsuccess at first; he was not, therefore, disappointed at failure.

  Next day he had him out again--and the next--and the next--and the nextagain, with the like unfavourable result. In short, it seemed at lastas if Crusoe's mind had been deeply imbued with the idea that he hadbeen born expressly for the purpose of worrying that mitten, and hemeant to fulfil his destiny to the letter.

  Young Varley had taken several small pieces of meat in his pocket eachday, with the intention of rewarding Crusoe when he should at length beprevailed on to fetch the mitten, but as Crusoe was not aware of thetreat that awaited him, of course the mitten never was "fetched."

  At last Dick Varley saw that this system would never do, so he changedhis tactics, and the next morning gave Crusoe no breakfast, but took himout at the usual hour to go through his lesson. This new course ofconduct seemed to perplex Crusoe not a little, for on his way down tothe beach he paused frequently and looked back at the cottage, and thenexpressively up at his master's face. But the master was inexorable; hewent on and Crusoe followed, for _true_ love had now taken possession ofthe pup's young heart, and he preferred his master's company to food.

  Varley now began by letting the learner smell a piece of meat which heeagerly sought to devour, but was prevented, to his immense disgust.Then the mitten was thrown as heretofore, and Crusoe made a few stepstowards it, but being in no mood for play he turned back.

  "_Fetch it_," said the teacher.

  "I won't," replied the learner mutely, by means of that expressivesign--_not doing it_.

  Hereupon Dick Varley rose, took up the mitten, and put it into the pup'smouth. Then, retiring a couple of yards, he held out the piece of meatand said, "_Fetch it_."

  Crusoe instantly spat out the glove and bounded towards the meat--oncemore to be disappointed.

  This was done a second time, and Crusoe came forward _with the mitten inhis mouth_. It seemed as if it had been done accidentally, for hedropped it before coming quite up. If so it was a fortunate accident,for it served as the tiny fulcrum on which to place the point of thatmighty lever which was destined ere long to raise him to the pinnacle ofcanine erudition. Dick Varley immediately lavished upon him thetenderest caresses and gave him a lump of meat. But he quickly tried itagain lest he should lose the lesson. The dog evidently felt that if hedid not fetch that mitten he should have no meat or caresses. In order,however, to make sure that there was no mistake, Dick laid the mittendown beside the pup, instead of putting it into his mouth, and, retiringa few paces, cried, "_Fetch it_."

  Crusoe looked uncertain for a moment, then he _picked up_ the mitten andlaid it at his master's feet. The lesson was learned at last! DickVarley tumbled all the meat out of his pocket on the ground, and, whileCrusoe made a hearty breakfast, he sat down on a rock and whistled withglee at having fairly picked the lock, and opened _another_ door intoone of the many chambers of his dog's intellect!