Authors: Marshall Saunders
“Ned,
dear,” said Miss Laura one day, “I wish you would train Billy to follow and
retrieve. He is four months old now, and I shall soon want to take him out in
the street.”
“Very
well, sister,” said mischievous Ned, and catching up a stick, he said, “Come
out into the garden, dogs.”
Though he
was brandishing his stick very fiercely, I was not at all afraid of him; and as
for Billy, he loved Ned.
The Morris
garden was really not a garden but a large piece of ground with the grass worn
bare in many places, a few trees scattered about, and some raspberry and
currant bushes along the fence. A lady who knew that Mr. Morris had not a large
salary, said one day when she was looking out of the dining-room window, “My
dear Mrs. Morris, why don’t you have this garden dug up? You could raise your
own vegetables. It would be so much cheaper than buying them.”
Mrs.
Morris laughed in great amusement. “Think of the hens, and cats, and dogs, and
rabbits, and, above all, the boys that I have. What sort of a garden would
there be, and do you think it would be fair to take their playground from them?”
The lady
said, no, she did not think it would be fair.
I am sure
I don’t know what the boys would have done without this strip of ground. Many a
frolic and game they had there. In the present case, Ned walked around and
around it, with his stick on his shoulder, Billy and I strolling after him.
Presently Billy made a dash aside to get a bone. Ned turned around and said
firmly, “To heel!”
Billy
looked at him innocently, not knowing what he meant. “To heel!” exclaimed Ned
again. Billy thought he wanted to play, and putting his head on his paws, he
began to bark. Ned laughed; still he kept saying “To heel!” He would not say
another word. He knew if he said “Come here,” or “Follow,” or “Go behind,” it
would confuse Billy.
Finally,
as Ned kept saying the words over and over, and pointing to me, it seemed to
dawn upon Billy that he wanted him to follow him. So he came beside me, and
together we followed Ned around the garden, again and again.
Ned often
looked behind with a pleased face, and I felt so proud to think I was doing
well, but suddenly I got dreadfully confused when he turned around and said, “Hie
out!”
The
Morrises all used the same words in training their dogs, and I had heard Miss
Laura say this, but I had forgotten what it meant. “Good Joe,” said Ned,
turning around and patting me, “you have forgotten. I wonder where Jim is? He
would help us.”
He put his
fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle, and soon Jim came trotting up
the lane from the street. He looked at us with his large, intelligent eyes, and
wagged his tail slowly, as if to say, “Well, what do you want of me?”
“Come and
give me a hand at this training business, old Sobersides,” said Ned, with a
laugh. “It’s too slow to do it alone. Now, young gentlemen, attention! To heel!”
He began to march around the garden again, and Jim and I followed closely at
his heels, while little Billy, seeing that he could not get us to play with
him, came lagging behind.
Soon Ned turned
around and said, “Hie out!” Old Jim sprang ahead, and ran off in front as if he
was after something. Now I remembered what “hie out” meant. We were to have a
lovely race wherever we liked. Little Billy loved this. We ran and scampered
hither and thither, and Ned watched us, laughing at our antics.
After tea,
he called us out in the garden again, and said he had something else to teach
us. He turned up a tub on the wooden platform at the back door, and sat on it,
and then called Jim to him.
He took a
small leather strap from his pocket. It had a nice, strong smell. We all licked
it, and each dog wished to have it. “No, Joe and Billy,” said Ned, holding us
both by our collars; “you wait a minute. Here, Jim.”
Jim
watched him very earnestly, and Ned threw the strap halfway across the garden,
and said, “Fetch it.”
Jim never
moved till he heard the words, “Fetch it.” Then he ran swiftly, brought the
strap, and dropped it in Ned’s hand. Ned sent him after it two or three times,
then he said to Jim, “Lie down,” and turned to me. “Here, Joe; it is your turn.”
He threw
the strap under the raspberry bushes, then looked at me and said, “Fetch it.” I
knew quite well what he meant, and ran joyfully after it. I soon found it by
the strong smell, but the queerest thing happened when I got it in my mouth. I
began to gnaw it and play with it, and when Ned called out, “fetch it,” I
dropped it and ran toward him. I was not obstinate, but I was stupid.
Ned
pointed to the place where it was, and spread out his empty hands. That helped
me, and I ran quickly and got it. He made me get it for him several times.
Sometimes I could not find it, and sometimes I dropped it; but he never
stirred. He sat still till I brought it to him.
After a
while he tried Billy, but it soon got dark, and we could not see, so he took
Billy and went into the house.
I stayed
out with Jim for a while, and he asked me if I knew why Ned had thrown a strap
for us, instead of a bone or something hard.
Of course
I did not know, so Jim told me it was on his account. He was a bird dog, and
was never allowed to carry anything hard in his mouth, because it would make
him hard-mouthed, and he would be apt to bite the birds when he was bringing
them back to any person who was shooting with him. He said that he had been so
carefully trained that he could even carry three eggs at a time in his mouth.
I said to
him, “Jim, how is it that you never go out shooting? I have always heard that
you were a dog for that, and yet you never leave home.”
He hung his
head a little, and said he did not wish to go, and then, for he was an honest
dog, he gave me the true reason.
“I was a
sporting dog,” he said, bitterly, “for the first three years of my life. I
belonged to a man who keeps a livery stable here in Fairport, and he used to
hire me out shooting parties.
“I was a
favorite with all the gentlemen. I was crazy with delight when I saw the guns
brought out, and would jump up and bite at them. I loved to chase birds and
rabbits, and even now when the pigeons come near me, I tremble all over and
have to turn away lest I should seize them. I used often to be in the woods
from morning till night. I liked to have a hard search after a bird after it
had been shot, and to be praised for bringing it out without biting or injuring
it.
“I never
got lost, for I am one of those dogs that can always tell where human beings
are. I did not smell them. I would be too far away for that, but if my master
was standing in some place and I took a long round through the woods, I knew
exactly where he was, and could make a short cut back to him without returning
in my tracks.
“But I
must tell you about my trouble. One Saturday afternoon a party of young men
came to get me. They had a dog with them, a cocker spaniel called Bob, but they
wanted another. For some reason or other, my master was very unwilling to have
me go. However, he at last consented, and they put me in the back of the wagon
with Bob and the lunch baskets, and we drove off into the country. This Bob was
a happy, merry-looking dog, and as we went along, he told me of the fine time
we should have next day. The young men would shoot a little, then they would
get out their baskets and have something to eat and drink, and would play cards
and go to sleep under the trees, and we would be able to help ourselves to legs
and wings of chickens, and anything we liked from the baskets.
“I did not
like this at all. I was used to working hard through the week, and I liked to
spend my Sundays quietly at home. However, I said nothing.
“That
night we slept at a country hotel, and drove the next morning to the banks of a
small lake where the young men were told there would be plenty of wild ducks.
They were in no hurry to begin their sport. They sat down in the sun on some
flat rocks at the water’s edge, and said they would have something to drink
before setting to work. They got out some of the bottles from the wagon, and
began to take long drinks from them. Then they got quarrelsome and mischievous
and seemed to forget all about their shooting. One of them proposed to have
some fun with the dogs. They tied us both to a tree, and throwing a stick in
the water, told us to get it. Of course we struggled and tried to get free, and
chafed our necks with the rope.
“After a
time one of them began to swear at me, and say that he believed I was gun-shy.
He staggered to the wagon and got out his fowling piece, and said he was going
to try me.
“He loaded
it, went to a little distance, and was going to fire, when the young man who
owned Bob said he wasn’t going to have his dog’s legs shot off, and coming up
he unfastened him and took him away. You can imagine my feelings, as I stood
there tied to the tree, with that stranger pointing his gun directly at me. He
fired close to me, a number of times over my head and under my body. The earth
was cut up all around me. I was terribly frightened, and howled and begged to
be freed.
“The other
young men, who were sitting laughing at me, thought it such good fun that they
got their guns, too. I never wish to spend such a terrible hour again. I was
sure they would kill me. I dare say they would have done so, for they were all
quite drunk by this time, if something had not happened.
“Poor Bob,
who was almost as frightened as I was, and who lay shivering under the wagon,
was killed by a shot by his own master, whose hand was the most unsteady of
all. He gave one loud howl, kicked convulsively, then turned over on his side
and lay quite still. It sobered them all. They ran up to him, but he was quite
dead. They sat for a while quite silent, then they threw the rest of the
bottles into the lake, dug a shallow grave for Bob, and putting me in the wagon
drove slowly back to town. They were not bad young men. I don’t think they
meant to hurt me, or to kill Bob. It was the nasty stuff in the bottles that
took away their reason.
“I was
never the same dog again. I was quite deaf in my right ear, and though I strove
against it, I was so terribly afraid of even the sight of a gun that I would
run and hide myself whenever one was shown to me. My master was very angry with
those young men, and it seemed as if he could not bear the sight of me. One day
he took me very kindly and brought me here, and asked Mr. Morris if he did not
want a good-natured dog to play with the children.
“I have a
happy home here and I love the Morris boys; but I often wish that I could keep
from putting my tail between my legs and running home every time I hear the
sound of a gun.”
“Never
mind that, Jim,” I said. “You should not fret over a thing for which you are
not to blame. I am sure you must be glad for one reason that you have left your
old life.”
“What is
that?” he said.
“On
account of the birds. You know Miss Laura thinks it is wrong to kill the pretty
creatures that fly about the woods.”
“So it is,”
he said, “unless one kills them at once. I have often felt angry with men for
only half killing a bird. I hated to pick up the little warm body, and see the
bright eye looking so reproachfully at me, and feel the flutter of life. We
animals, or rather the most of us, kill mercifully. It is only human beings who
butcher their prey, and seem, some of them, to rejoice in their agony. I used
to be eager to kill birds and rabbits, but I did not want to keep them before
me long after they were dead. I often stop in the street and look up at fine
ladies’ bonnets, and wonder how they can wear little dead birds in such
dreadful positions. Some of them have their heads twisted under their wings and
over their shoulders, and looking toward their tails, and their eyes are so
horrible that I wish I could take those ladies into the woods and let them see
how easy and pretty a live bird is, and how unlike the stuffed creatures they
wear. Have you ever had a good run in the woods, Joe?”
“No,
never,” I said.
“Someday I
will take you, and now it is late and I must go to bed. Are you going to sleep
in the kennel with me, or in the stable?”
“I think I
will sleep with you, Jim. Dogs like company, you know, as well as human beings.”
I curled up in the straw beside him and soon we were fast asleep.
I have
known a good many dogs, but I don’t think I ever saw such a good one as Jim. He
was gentle and kind, and so sensitive that a hard word hurt him more than a
blow. He was a great pet with Mrs. Morris, and as he had been so well trained,
he was able to make himself very useful to her.
When she
went shopping, he often carried a parcel in his mouth for her. He would never
drop it nor leave it anywhere. One day, she dropped her purse without knowing
it, and Jim picked it up, and brought it home in his mouth. She did not notice
him, for he always walked behind her. When she got to her own door, she missed
the purse, and turning around saw it in Jim’s mouth.
Another
day, a lady gave Jack Morris a canary cage as a present for Carl. He was
bringing it home, when one of the little seed boxes fell out. Jim picked it up
and carried it a long way, before Jack discovered it.
I often
used to hear the Morrises speak about vessels that ran between Fairport and a
place called the West Indies, carrying cargoes of lumber and fish, and bringing
home molasses, spices, fruit, and other things. On one of these vessels, called
the “Mary Jane,” was a cabin boy, who was a. friend of the Morris boys, and
often brought them presents.
One day,
after I had been with the Morrises’ for some months, this boy arrived at the
house with a bunch of green bananas in one hand, and a parrot in the other. The
boys were delighted with the parrot, and called their mother to see what a
pretty bird she was.
Mrs.
Morris seemed very much touched by the boy’s thoughtfulness in bringing a
present such a long distance to her boys, and thanked him warmly. The cabin boy
became very shy and all he could say was, “Go way!” over and over again, in a
very awkward manner.
Mrs.
Morris smiled, and left him with the boys. I think that she thought he would be
more comfortable with them.
Jack put
me up on the table to look at the parrot. The boy held her by a string tied
around one of her legs. She was a gray parrot with a few red feathers in her
tail, and she had bright eyes, and a very knowing air.
The boy
said he had been careful to buy a young one that could not speak, for he knew
the Morris boys would not want one chattering foreign gibberish, nor yet one
that would swear. He had kept her in his bunk in the ship, and had spent all
his leisure time in teaching her to talk. Then he looked at her anxiously, and
said, “Show off now, can’t ye?”
I didn’t know
what he meant by all this, until afterward. I had never heard of such a thing
as birds talking. I stood on the table staring hard at her, and she stared hard
at me. I was just thinking that I would not like to have her sharp little beak
fastened in my skin, when I heard someone say, “Beautiful Joe.” The voice
seemed to come from the room, but I knew all the voices there, and this was one
I had never heard before, so I thought I must be mistaken, and it was someone
in the hall. I struggled to get away from Jack to run and see who it was. But he
held me fast, and laughed with all his might. I looked at the other boys and
they were laughing, too. Presently, I heard again, “Beau-ti-ful Joe, Beau-ti-ful
Joe.” The sound was close by, and yet it did not come from the cabin boy, for
he was all doubled up laughing, his face as red as a beet.
“It’s the
parrot, Joe!” cried Ned. “Look at her, you gaby.” I did look at her, and with
her head on one side, and the sauciest air in the world, she was saying: “Beau-ti-ful
Joe, Beau-ti-ful Joe!”
I had
never heard a bird talk before, and I felt so sheepish that I tried to get down
and hide myself under the table. Then she began to laugh at me. “Ha, ha, ha,
good dog sic ’em, boy. Rats, rats! Beau-ti-ful Joe, Beau-ti-ful Joe,” she
cried, rattling off the words as fast as she could.
I never
felt so queer before in my life, and the boys were just roaring with delight at
my puzzled face. Then the parrot began calling for Jim. “Where’s Jim, where’s
good old Jim? Poor old dog. Give him a bone.”
The boys
brought Jim in the parlour, and when he heard her funny, little, cracked voice
calling him, he nearly went crazy: “Jimmy, Jimmy, James Augustus!” she said,
which was Jim’s long name.
He made a
dash out of the room, and the boys screamed so that Mr. Morris came down from
his study to see what the noise meant. As soon as the parrot saw him, she would
not utter another word. The boys told him though what she had been saying, and
he seemed much amused to think that the cabin boy should have remembered so
many sayings his boys made use of, and taught them to the parrot. “Clever
Polly,” he said, kindly; “good Polly.”
The cabin
boy looked at him shyly, and Jack, who was a very sharp boy, said quickly, “Is
not that what you call her, Henry?”
“No,” said
the boy; “I call her Bell, short for Bellzebub.”
“I beg
your pardon,” said Jack, very politely.
“Bell—short
for Bellzebub,” repeated the boy. “Ye see, I thought ye’d like a name from the
Bible, bein’ a minister’s sons. I hadn’t my Bible with me on this cruise, savin’
yer presences an’ I couldn’t think of any girls’ names out of it: but Eve or
Queen of Sheba, an’ they didn’t seem very fit, so I asked one of me mates, an’
he says, for his part he guessed Bellzebub was as pretty a girl’s name as any,
so I guv her that. ’Twould ’a been better to let you name her, but ye see ’twouldn’t
’a been handy not to call her somethin’, where I was teachin’ her every day.”
Jack
turned away and walked to the window, his face a deep scarlet. I heard him mutter,
“Beelzebub, prince of devils,” so I suppose the cabin boy had given his bird a
bad name.
Mr. Morris
looked kindly at the cabin boy “Do you ever call the parrot by her whole name?”
“No, sir,”
he replied; “I always give her Bell but she calls herself Bella.”
“‘Bella,’”
repeated Mr. Morris, “that is a very pretty name. If you keep her, boys, I
think you had better stick to that.”
“Yes,
father,” they all said; and then Mr. Morris started to go back to his study. On
the doorsill he paused to ask the cabin boy when his ship sailed. Finding that
it was to be in a few days, he took out his pocketbook and wrote something in
it. The next day he asked Jack to go to town with him, and when they came home,
Jack said that his father had bought an oilskin coat for Henry Smith, and a
handsome Bible, in which they were all to write their names.
After Mr.
Morris left the room, the door opened and Miss Laura came in. She knew nothing
about the parrot and was very much surprised to see it. Seating herself at the
table, she held out her hands to it. She was so fond of pets of all kinds, that
she never thought of being afraid of them. At the same time, she never laid her
hand suddenly on any animal. She held out her fingers and talked gently, so
that if it wished to come to her it could. She looked at the parrot as if she
loved it, and the queer little thing walked right up and nestled its head
against the lace in the front of her dress. “Pretty lady,” she said, in a
cracked whisper, “give Bella a kiss.”
The boys
were so pleased with this and set up such a shout, that their mother came into
the room and said they had better take the parrot out to the stable. Bella seem
to enjoy the fun. “Come on, boys,” she screamed, as Henry Smith lifted her on
his finger. “Ha, ha, ha—come on, let’s have some fun. Where’s the guinea pig?
Where’s Davy, the rat? Where’s pussy? Pussy, pussy, come here. Pussy, pussy,
dear, pretty puss.”
Her voice
was shrill and distinct, and very like the voice of an old woman who came to
the house for rags and bones. I followed her out to the stable, and stayed
there until she noticed me and screamed out, “Ha, Joe, Beautiful Joe! Where’s
your tail? Who cut your ears off?”
I don’t
think it was kind in the cabin boy to teach her this, and I think she knew it
teased me, for she said it over and over again, and laughed and chuckled with
delight. I left her and did not see her till the next day, when the boys had
got a fine, large cage for her.
The place
for her cage was by one of the hall windows; but everybody in the house got so
fond of her that she was moved about from one room to another.
She hated
her cage, and used to put her head close to the bars and plead, “Let Bella out;
Bella will be a good girl. Bella won’t run away.”
After a
time the Morrises did let her out, and she kept her word and never tried to get
away. Jack put a little handle on her cage door so that she could open and shut
it herself, and it was very amusing to hear her say in the morning. “Clear the
track, children! Bella’s going to take a walk,” and see her turn the handle
with her claw and come out into the room. She was a very clever bird, and I
have never seen any creature but a human being that could reason as she did.
She was so petted and talked to that she got to know a great many words, and on
one occasion she saved the Morrises from being robbed.
It was in
the winter time. The family was having tea in the dining room at the back of
the house, and Billy and I were lying in the hall watching what was going on.
There was no one in the front of the house. The hall lamp was lighted, and the
hall door closed, but not locked. Some sneak thieves, who had been doing a
great deal of mischief in Fairport, crept up the steps and into the house, and,
opening the door of the hall closet laid their hands on the boys’ winter
overcoats.
They
thought no one saw them, but they were mistaken. Bella had been having a nap
upstairs and had not come down when the tea bell rang. Now she was hopping down
on her way to the dining room, and hearing the slight noise below, stopped and
looked through the railing. Any pet creature that live in this nice family knew
what happened when beggar boys came to call.
“Company’s
coming,” she screamed, angrily. “Get the tea. Bring some cake. Quick! Quick!”
Billy and
I sprang up and pushed open the door leading to the front hall. We had smelt
the thieves, who in a terrible fright, were just rushing down the front steps.
One of them got away, but the other fell, and I caught him by the coat, till
Mr. Morris ran and put his hand on his shoulder.
He was a
young fellow about Jack’s age, but not one-half so manly, and he was sniffling
and scolding about “that pesky parrot.” Mr. Morris made him come back into the
house, and had a talk with him. He found out that he was a poor, ignorant lad,
half-starved by a drunken father. He and his brother stole clothes, and sent
them to his sister in Boston, who sold them and returned part of the money.
Mr. Morris
asked him if he would not like to get his living in an honest way, and he said
he had tried to, but no one would employ him. Mr. Morris told him to go home
and take leave of his father and get his brother and bring him to Washington Street
the next day. He told him plainly that if he did not he would send a policeman
after him.
The boy
begged Mr. Morris not to do that, and early the next morning he appeared with
his brother. Mrs. Morris gave them a good breakfast and fitted them out with
clothes, and they were sent off in the train to one of her brothers, who was a
kind farmer in the country, and who had been telegraphed to that these boys
were coming, and wished to be provided with situations where they would have a
chance to make honest men of themselves.