The key to Betsy's heart (2024)

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
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DALLAS · ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.
TORONTO

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

BETSY sat staringthroughthe window ofthe first hack shehad ever beenin,—also itwas the firstshe had everseen. Shewas wondering,wondering, asshe rolled along uptwo-mile drivethat lay betweenthe station and the[2]Hill-Top, what would happen next. Things hadmoved pretty swiftly in the past few weeks, andBetsy had been simply a bewildered leaf floatingon the whirling tide of destiny.

To begin with, her father had disappeared;—runaway from the little farm on the New Hampshirehillside. Tired of the stones and the drudgery—tired,too, of the wife, who, through neglect,hard work and lack of good food, had grown tobe a fretful invalid—he had disappeared like acoward, in the night, no one knew where.

There were days after that when Betsy hadgone hungry, for there was no money in the house,and but little food, and at last had come a daywhen the mother had fallen weakly on the floor.Betsy had run, frightened, down to old Mrs.Webb’s house for help, and Mrs. Webb had toldthe neighbors, and they had all come from everydirection, surprised by the alarming news. Itwas planting season, and for some time no onehad happened to call at the little red house over inWixon’s Hollow, off the main road.

Then there had been a great bustling about.Betsy’s mother was put to bed, a doctor had come,there was food in the house once more, and a[3]kindly neighbor took charge of affairs. But itwas too late. In a few days all was over.

But soon another leaf had been turned inBetsy’s book of life by a letter from a distantrelative, known vaguely to Betsy as “Aunt KateJohns.” Betsy was invited to come and stay ayear with her.

Betsy had cried a little in secret over this, becauseit was something unknown and consequentlysomething fearful. But one must take whatcomes,—so the poor little belongings were packedin a “carpet-bag,” and Betsy took her first railwayjourney all alone. It would have been a marvelousundertaking, but Betsy’s eyes were stillblinded with the tears of her loss.

And now here she was, and what would comenext?

She had never seen “Uncle Ben,” and AuntKate had been simply a vision of lovely color andsoft silken draperies. Once or twice she hadwhirled into the little red house, and away again.Well, after all, it would be something new. Betsyplucked up her courage and dried her last tearas the hack turned in at a gate.

Up a wide avenue went the hack, under stately[4]trees and between wonderful flower-beds andsunny reaches of grass and dandelions. Thedandelions looked homely and dear, but the primmagnificence of the great, park-like place awedBetsy too much for other emotions. Uncle Benand Aunt Kate would probably be as stiff andunlovable as that trimmed hedge over there. Shebraced herself for the worst.

Now they drove past a great stone building,full of winking eyes, which were really windowspeering into the sunset through a riot of vines.That was the “Hospital,” no doubt, of whichUncle Ben was superintendent. It looked hugeand mysterious, and out of the unknown futureBetsy felt a chill of loneliness creep over her.The driver stopped at last before a pretty brickhouse standing by itself in the park. It was allnooks and gables, and around two sides of itran a porch delightfully shaded by honeysuckle.Betsy did not know honeysuckle, but its sweetsmell hung heavy over her, and somehow itheartened her as she mounted the steps.

She needed all the heartening she could get,for Betsy had never before been beyond her ownNew Hampshire valley. She wavered a little,[5]and there was a queer, wooden-y feeling in herlegs as she lifted her hand and rapped on the darkexpanse of the door—she knew nothing of doorbellsor knockers, and did not even look for them.

Almost immediately the door swung open, anda trim maid said:

“Is this Miss Betsy? Come right in. Mrs.Johns is sick with a headache, but she heard thecarriage, and sent me to bring you up to her.Give me your bag, Miss.”

Betsy gave up the carpet-bag doubtfully.

“You mustn’t bang it. I’ve got two fresh eggsin it for Aunt Kate.”

Up a broad winding stair Betsy followed themaid, and into a room all delicate green and gold,with painted iris growing on the walls, up froma thick carpet that was almost like the grassylawn. From a low couch came a soft voice.

“Come here, Betsy.”

The little figure stood stiffly before the couch,—athin, small wisp of a maid, with brown hairof the silky kind that never stays “put”; the naturalsallowness of her complexion was deepenedby the tan of out-of-door life; the little handswere reddened and roughened with dishwashing[6]and scrubbing,—for Betsy had mothered hermother ever since she was big enough to bring inkindlings from the wood-pile. A faded blackfrock, fashioned hurriedly from an old skirt ofher mother’s, made a pitiful attempt at mourning.

Most unpromising she was, at the first glance,and Aunt Kate’s heart sank, until her eyes metthe two brown ones,—so deep and soft that shegave a start. Pools of liquid darkness they were,and out of them shone a soul to be trusted. AuntKate held out two arms, lace-covered and delicate,to enfold the small waif.

But Betsy did not accept the invitation. Shestood there, crossing her ankles, and not knowingwhat to do with her hands. Caresses she hadnever known. In a voice shrill with the excitementof the interview, she said:

“I’ve brought you two eggs,—they’re fresh.Speckly and Banty done ’em for you.”

Out of her poverty the child had come withgifts! Aunt Kate’s eyes dimmed a little, and herhand closed gently over the little red one thathung limply at Betsy’s side.

“Did you bring them to me? I am so glad.I love fresh eggs.”

[7]Betsy pointed to the maid. “She’s got mycarpet-bag. Where’d you put it?”

“In your room, Miss Betsy.”

“My room? Have I got a room?”

“Show her, Treesa.”

Treesa led the way, and Betsy was soon backwith an egg in each hand.

“They’re all right. I didn’t let no man nornothin’ touch that bag coming down. Here theyare. They aren’t real cold yet, hardly. I shooedSpeckly off the nest to get this biggest one justbefore the stage came for me.”

“Thank you, dear. They’re fine. This weenyone is just like a big pearl. I hope you are goingto be happy here with us.”

“I dunno. I never had much time for it.”

The sharp little nine-year-old voice had theedge of forty-five on it; it was the echo of hermother’s fretful plaint which the child had unconsciouslypicked up.

“Well, we’ll see. Run, now, and wash yourhands and face, and Treesa will give you somesupper in your room.” Somehow Aunt Kateshrank from leaving her alone with Uncle Benthis first night.

[8]Betsy hesitated. “This room is handsomerthan our parlor,—but it’s kinder big and lonesomehere.”

“It won’t seem so when you get used to it.We’re going to love you and then you will loveus and we’ll all be happy as larks. Now good-night,little girl. You had better go right tobed after your tea. Treesa will show you whereto put your things, and to-morrow will be a newday, Betsy dear, and then we’ll have time to getacquainted.”

Betsy walked to the door as if the interviewwas closed.

“Won’t you come and kiss me good-night?”

The child came slowly, as if unaccustomed tothe rite, shrank a little from the arm that stoleabout her, pecked the lips coldly; then, at thesoft caress of the white hand, she dropped a tinycorner of her reserve.

“Ma kissed me just afore she died.”

Then Betsy froze again, and walked out of theroom.

Things passed in a whirl that evening. WhateverBetsy thought of the dainty room, all inwhite, old rose and soft, warm gray, she did not[9]disclose to Treesa. She ate her meal from delicatechina, with real silver, and at last climbedinto bed between the snowy sheets, and straightenedout the folds of her coarse, drilling nightgownfor sleep.

“It’s awful grand and beautiful here,” shewhispered to herself; “but I’ll be lonesome. Iwisht Ma was here, an’ I—I wisht I was back inthe Holler!”

She hid her face in the pillow when Treesacame in, that her tears might not be seen.

“Good-night, Miss Betsy. Do you want a lightleft in your room?”

“No’m. I allers go to sleep in the dark,” saidBetsy, bravely. She watched between her fingersas Treesa pulled a little chain, and snap! out wentthe light. At home they blew it out, and therewas a smell of kerosene or tallow afterwards.This interested Betsy so much, wondering how itwas done, that she forgot to stay awake andgrieve through the dark hours, and before shecould have counted a hundred, the wings ofchildish sleep were around her.

BETSY awoke with a strange feeling of beingstill in a dream. Instead of opening hereyes on the little attic room of the red house inthe Hollow, she was greeted by what seemed toher a palace in a fairy tale. She rubbed her eyes,sat up, and looked out of the window.

Yes, it was true; instead of being in a hollowshe was on a hilltop. Stretched out below her lay[11]a green valley, and through the trees peepedmany, many houses, more than Betsy had everdreamed of in all her life. It must be a city, shethought, but the pictures in her geography hadnot prepared her for anything like this. The cityseemed to be sitting on a hillside, with its feetdipping in the waters of a broad blue river. Shewas quite awake now, and beginning to realizewhat had happened.

Bang, bang, bang! There came a terrifyingsound. It might have been a church bell, but itwas too near; it might have been somebodypounding on the brass soap-kettle at home, but itwas too musical. Betsy was out of bed like ashot, just as Aunt Kate showed her smiling facethrough a crack in the door.

“My goodness! What was that noise?” criedBetsy.

“Just the rising gong, dear. I intended tohave wakened you before it sounded. You’ll havejust time to dress before breakfast. What areyou going to put on?”

“I got this dress I wore here, for best, and Igot a black and white check gingham for everyday. I had two blue calicoes and a red merino,[12]but Mrs. Webb said I wasn’t to bring ’em, ’causethey was colored, and I’m wearin’ black things.”Betsy told off the items of her wardrobe in onebreath.

“Put on your gingham. It will do for now.Have you some light shoes?”

“Only just these copper-toes. I stub ’em outawful, and Pa didn’t b’lieve in no foolishness, hesaid. Summertimes I go barefoot, anyway.”

“Dear me! Well, these will do until afterbreakfast.”

Betsy dressed hurriedly, after having first beenintroduced to a big porcelain bathtub, where shewas told to hop in this morning and every morningthereafter, for a splash.

“Oh my! Can I learn to swim in it?”

“I’m afraid it isn’t wide enough for you.”

“It’s bigger’n where I tried to learn in thebrook. There wasn’t room in that pool for thewhole of me. I just kicked my legs and held onto the bank, and then I kicked my arms, withmy legs on the bank. But I dunno if I reallylearned.”

Aunt Kate laughed a merry laugh, and left her.Betsy finished off her toilette by tying a rusty[13]black ribbon on the end of her tight pigtail, andwas ready for breakfast.

At the table there was Uncle Ben to meet. Hewas a tall, grave man, with a gray moustache,—mucholder-looking than Aunt Kate; but there wasa twinkle in his eye as he shook Betsy’s hand.

“Good morning. I suppose this is Miss BetsyWixon?”

“Yes,” she said simply, and slipped into thechair that Treesa pointed out to her. She contributednothing more to the conversation for thepresent, but began to eat with the healthy appetiteof a child. Aunt Kate sighed as she saw herbite off the biggest piece possible from her sliceof toast, stuff nearly half an egg into her mouthat once, and drink her coffee noisily. If the serviceimpressed Betsy, she gave no sign; only afterTreesa had quietly finished her duties and retiredto the kitchen, did she offer a remark.

“Aunt Kate,—don’t your hired girl eat to thetable with you?”

She received her information on the subjectwithout comment, wiped her mouth on her sleeve,paying no attention to the napkin that Treesa hadplaced in her lap, pushed back her chair, slipped[14]down, and, without waiting to be excused, walkedout upon the porch.

Uncle Ben’s eyes followed the queer littlefigure.

“Your time won’t hang idle on your hands,Kate, even if she’s good. Do teach her sometable manners, and get that black and whiteMother Hubbard thing into the waste basket.”

“Just wait, Ben, until to-night. There will bea transformation on the surface, even so soon asthat. I’ve a scheme all worked out,—on a theorythat did not entirely originate with me. In fact,I have already begun to work on it. I spent allyesterday morning in the heat, shopping,—that’swhere I got my headache. When she begins toconnect the idea of self-respect with her appearance,she’ll begin to try to live up to her looks.There is splendid material there, and I’m goingto do the utmost with it. I need the child as muchas she needs me. I love her already, and this bighouse will not be empty any more. She’ll respond,—you’llsee.”

“I’ll trust you, Kate, to succeed in whatever youstart out to do. Just at present I will say that[15]I’d rather have her around than forty just likeher.”

“You encourage me, Ben. By and by you willapplaud me. Watch!”

Later, when Dr. Johns had gone to his officeat the Main Building, Aunt Kate called Betsy in,and together they mounted to the third floor,where was a cosy sewing-room, with a high northlight. On a couch lay a number of pieces ofcloth.

“My, aren’t they pretty!” said Betsy.

“We are going to make some simple frocks foryou. Mrs. Allston is coming to-day to help.”

“For me? Why, I’m in mournin’ for Ma.”

“People—little girls—wear white, even whenthey are in mourning, and we can save the coloredones till a little later, if you prefer.”

“The pink’s the prettiest. It looks like the wildroses in our back lot. But I shall have to wait.Oh, well, I ain’t never had even a white dressbefore. I can help you sew. I know how.”

“Do you? Why, that’s fine! Now here aresome underclothes for you to put on. I want youto be all ready when Mrs. Allston comes to helpus sew.”

[16]“These things? They got lace on.”

“Yes.”

“Why, I’d tear ’em to bits, climbin’ trees.”

“If you can sew you’ll know how to mend them,and you will learn to be careful. Now try onthese shoes.”

A pair of dainty strap-slippers were chosen,with stockings to match, and soon Betsy was surveyingherself in the mirror.

“Have I got to wear ’em always?”

“Most people do, here.”

“Hm! They’ll feel funny. But I’ll get usedto ’em. Folks said you would likely ‘doll me up’some. But I didn’t think there was such prettythings in all the world. I’m afraid—I’m afraid,Aunt Kate, that I won’t mourn so hard as I oughtto, with this lace on my petticoat.”

“You must think of how your mother wouldhave liked to see you in these pretty things. Sheused to wear dainty, lace-trimmed clothes herself,when she was little. And, dearie, she would notwant you to mourn. She’s so much happier now.Just enjoy the things, and learn to make your souland body pretty, like the clothes.”

“Mrs. Webb said I’d prob’ly get vain when you[17]took me in hand,—but I guess I can resk onesmall ‘vain.’ I can wear my black hair-ribbin, somy head’ll mourn, anyway, and my feet’ll mourn,too, in these black slippers.”

With this compromise they sat down, as soonas Mrs. Allston had arrived, and Betsy’s nimblelittle fingers ran with the best. Basting, back-stitchingand “over-and-overing” she could do,and she soon learned the mysteries of hemmingand felling. So eager was she that her fingersalmost learned of themselves.

In the afternoon a tired but excited Betsy beheldher first white frock, ready to wear.

“That will do for a start,” said Aunt Kate.“Now, before you put it on, let us make sure thateverything else is all right. Will you let me doyour hair for you?”

Betsy submitted, and in a twinkling the tightpigtail was unbraided.

“First we must get rid of the dust of the train.Did you ever have a real shampoo?”

“No’m, I guess not. I never saw one.—Is itside-combs?”

Aunt Kate laughed merrily.

“I’ll show you.”

[18]To Betsy’s surprise she was taken to the bathroom,and introduced to the wonders of a beatenegg, warm water, a delightful, soapy lather, morewarm water, then cold, and last, a brisk towel-rubbingand fanning.

Out of it all the brown hair emerged, soft andfluffy, with almost a desire to kink at the ends,and a fresh black ribbon was tied jauntily intothe flowing meshes.

Betsy looked at herself critically.

“It seems like I was in a picter. But it’ll snarllike sixty.”

“I’ll show you how to braid it nicely when youare playing, but this is for Uncle Ben to see.Now, just let me get the whole effect:—underwear,stockings, slippers, hair,—all right, andnow the frock can go on.... Stop a minute,though; let me look at your finger-nails.—Mylittle Betsy, we’ve some work ahead of ushere!”

“What’s the matter with ’em? I washed ’em.”

“Yes, I see, dear. But did no one ever tell younot to bite your nails?”

“No’m. Why, they’d get awful long if I didn’t,and then I’d break ’em, washin’ dishes.”

[19]“Well, I’ll make them look as nice as I can,and you must promise me not to bite them anymore.”

Betsy hesitated.—“I’ll try,” she said at last,“but I can’t promise,—not right off,—’cause Ibite ’em when I’m thinkin’ things. I couldn’tpromise nothin’ ’at I might forget.”

“That’s right, too. But you must do your bestto remember. Little girls must be nice in everyway.”

That evening, when Uncle Ben came to dinner,he was greeted by an apparition all in white.Betsy stood by her chair with a shy look at him,to observe the effect of her transformation.

“As I live,—a fairy,—out of a story-book!Or was there a fairy godmother somewhere, andis this Cinderella? Where is the Prince?”

Betsy laughed and seated herself, and AuntKate noticed that at the end of the meal shereached down shyly, and wiped her mouth on thecorner of her napkin.

A week passed, and Betsy was clothed andalmost in her right mind once more, when AuntKate came in one morning, with a pretty notebookin her hand.

[20]“Now, Betsy dear, this is to be your book, andI have put the word ‘Manners’ and a motto,—‘Mannermaketh the Man’, at the top. One ofthe most important things is the way we eat ourmeals, and I think it will be easier for you if Ido not speak to you at the table. But afterwardswe will come up to your room for a minute, allby ourselves, and I will tell you what you havedone that is not just right, and you can write itdown in this book. Then we will practice withknives and forks and spoons, and make believeeat. At the table I’ll watch you, and you maywatch me, and if you see anything that seemsqueer to you, please ask me about it.”

“Don’t I eat all right?”

“Well,—you have some things to learn.”

“Ma never had time to learn me much. Wejust et, and that was all they was to it.”

“Have you noticed anything that we do differentlyhere from what you have seen at home?”

“One or two, yes’m. That about the napkin,and, now, Uncle Ben, he don’t never eat his meatwith his knife,—he just cuts it and takes it onhis fork; and you don’t never turn your coffee inyour saucer.”

[21]“Good, Betsy! Why, you’ll learn so fast thatit will be simply play.”

As Aunt Kate rose to leave the room her handrested for a moment on the soft brown hair. Atthe new touch of tenderness the child looked upand met a glow in Aunt Kate’s eyes—a look ofmother-yearning. Something stirred in Betsy’sheart,—an impulse to seize and hold that gentlehand in both her own. But she did not quite dare—yet.Down where Aunt Kate could not see shecaught a fold of the muslin gown that brushedpast her, and crushed it with timid fingers.

So the lessons in manners began. Grammarcould wait a bit. Aunt Kate did not intend tocram Betsy, for a little at a time is easier todigest.

And in the meantime, down in New York City,something was happening that was to color allBetsy’s new life on the Hill-Top.

[22]

CHAPTER III
THE COMING OF THE PRINCE

VANART VI. sat on the edge of his dish,with all of his four paws in the milk, andbarked fiercely at his small sister, who hovered,shy and meek, on the farther edge of Elysium.He knew what all dogs (and some men) know,that Might is Right; and he reasoned, not uncleverly,[23]that if his four-weeks-old voice couldintimidate Sister Belle, he could certainly keep heroff until he had feasted and made sure of his ownshare.

A ray of afternoon sunlight crept in throughthe skylight of the big New York studio, andlighted up this scene, just as Bob Grant openedthe door, looked for the cause of the commotion,dropped his parcel of sketches on the floor, andlaughed.

“You greedy little sinner! Is that the kind ofa dog you are going to be? You’ll be needingsome discipline, I’m thinking. Come here to me,you young nipper.”

The wee morsel looked up for an instant, beheldBob Grant, and continued barking—at him.He held his head royally, too, as if he knew thathe was the King of Hearts, bearing a noble name,and with a long pedigree behind him.

“Why, you’re a raving beauty, even now. And,if I am not mistaken, you’re mine. Who youryoung companion is I don’t know. I hope toGoshen Billy didn’t send me the two of you!”

No thought of a master entered Van’s mindat that time. His attention was on the milk, and[24]so intent was he on asserting his rights, that hequite forgot to drink. The Dog in the Milk wasevidently first cousin to the “Dog in the Manger.”

Bob opened the letter that was tied to thebasket in which the puppies had arrived. Uppermostlay the register of birth and ancestry. Itread like this:

“Vanart VI.:—born March 26th, 1902.Smooth fox-terrier. Color—white, with chestnut-brownhead and saddle and spot at base oftail.”

Then followed his father’s name, Vanart I.;his mother’s, Queen Mab, and a long list of forefathersand foremothers. Bob Grant read, andlearned that Vanart I. was born in the RoyalVictoria Kennels at Montreal; that his father wasthe famous Rex, which means king;—all downthe line appeared royal names.

So it was apparent that our hero was very wellborn indeed,—a prince of the blood, and heir bygrace of his own personal beauty and attractionsto his great father’s title. The latter fact wasexplained in the letter that lay underneath theregister:

Bob laid aside the letter and turned his attentiononce more to the problem at his feet. Nodoubt at all as to which was his own puppy. Bobpicked Van out of the dish, wiped the milk offhis feet, and introduced himself.

Van did not cringe, or try to get away, but[26]looked up from the big hand that held him, intothe face of the young man, with a fearless confidence,and fell to chewing Bob’s finger, as if itwere the whole business of life.

“Well, Vanart VI., you are here, and I hopea kind Providence will tell me what to do withyou. For the present I’ve got to put up with yousomehow. Two of them,—Oh, Christmas!”

“Woof!” said Van, affably, and he bit Bob’sthumb a little harder, just to show him that thechosen son of Vanart I. and Queen Mab was notto be trifled with, and that, in reality, he ownedBob. But the merry little eyes twinkled gayly,as if, after all, this being the Lord of Creationwas a good joke.

For two weeks—while he was getting hisbreath, you might say—Van lived in the big NewYork studio with Bob Grant. Every day he grewin grace, and became, more and more, a shapely,active little dog. Beautiful indeed he was. Evenin his young puppyhood he was lithe and agile asa kitten. His feet were small, as became his birthand breeding; he carried his brown head proudlyon his delicate neck, that arched as none but athoroughbred’s might. His soft, pointed ears[27]were alert to all the new noises of a strange andinteresting world, and he wagged, or was wagged,by a funny bud of a tail, which every well-brought-upfox-terrier knows is the style in good society.His chest was broader than that of the ordinarybreed, and his eyes were dark and tender; andone who knew dogs understood at a glance that astrain from some far-away bull-dog ancestor hadadded kindliness and affection to the sometimesill-tempered disposition of a full-blooded foxterrier.

In those two weeks Van learned many things.One was that pins are not good things to playwith. Bob came in one day and found him onhis back, making queer little sounds through arigidly open mouth, at which he was pawingfrantically to rid himself of something. Lodgedbetween his upper and lower molars was a pinwhich he had tried to swallow. Bob removed it,and then Van barked and capered as if he haddone a clever thing. But he knew also that itwas a thing not to be repeated.

The next thing he learned was that sisters donot stay with one always. One day little Belledisappeared,—going out of the big New York[28]studio on the arm of Billy, never to return. Vandid not mind that so much. His short life hadbeen all surprises so far, and he liked being co*ck-o’-the-walkfar better than sharing the glory.

So Belle faded from his little brain, like theother visions of his border-land, and he quite forgother in the excitement of the new and wonderfulthings that he was learning. Until now theworld had been a constant series of changes, andmore were to come; for so far he knew nothingof the big out-of-doors.

Billy came in one evening, and stood lookingdown at the bonny bit as he lay in his basket.

“Have you taken him out in Madison Square,yet, Bob?”

“Not yet. I’ve been too busy.”

“Get on your hat and we’ll show him the town.I’d like to see how he will behave.”

He was wakened, yawning and blinking,crumpled gently under his master’s arm, and theyall went out into the soft May night.

First there was a long, bewildering street, fullof noises and lights that stunned and blinded thelittle Prince. For a moment he hid his head inthe folds of Bob’s jacket, and felt like whimpering[29]at the bigness of things. He himself was sosmall and new, and all this must have been therebefore he came. He would certainly have torun to catch up. Well, running was fun. Hestraightened up, settled himself comfortably, andprepared to enjoy real living, no matter whathappened.

People who passed looked admiringly at theuplifted, bobbing brown head, and the wide-open,beautiful eyes that were awake to everything.Some even stopped and patted him. He barkedjoyously in response, and turned to fresh adventures.

And they came. Out of the street they turnedinto a bigger and wider one. Then there openedout in front of them a great square place,—aplace with houses all around, and a roof verydifferent from that in the studio. It was soft anddark and green, and it waved and rustled in thenight breeze. There were many twinkling lights,and many, many people. Some were movingswiftly, some slowly. Others were gossiping ornodding on benches. It was all very wonderful.

Then, most astonishing of all, Van’s four littlepaws were set down on a fuzzy, wet, cold carpet;[30]and he stood alone in the very middle of thewhole wide world. Bob and Billy were simply bystanders;no hand was upon him to restrain him;all this was his,—the trees, the lights, and thestarry dome above. Life began to unfold.

Afraid? Not he! He started at once on avoyage of discovery. There were children there—thefirst he had ever seen. They beckoned andcalled to him, and he trotted to them. Theychased him and he scampered after them, barkingat their heels. He explored the grass-plotsand a pansy bed; he looked wonderingly at thefountain that rose and fell with a throb of hiddenpower,—always falling and yet always there; atthe round basin of water that was like nothing somuch as a giant milk dish.

Then he started for the people who were sittingin amused groups on the benches, even thesleepy ones waking up to watch the dainty littlesprite.

“I’ll bet it’s his first night out,” said one fatold man who had been reading a newspaper underan electric light, “but he’s game to his ear-tips.”

“He’s a sport, all right,” said another. “Seehim go for that cross old woman over the walk!”

[31]The cross old woman looked down to see asmall brown and white puppy sitting confidinglyon the edge of her faded skirt. She made a movementas if to jerk it away, looked again, thenstooped and patted the winsome little head. Vanseemed friendly. She stooped and picked himup, and for a moment held him to her bosom,where nothing had lain since the days when herhair was brown and her cheek smooth and rosy.He looked into her eyes with his soft young brownones, and all the bitter hardness faded out ofher face, as his delicate tongue flashed across thetip of her nose. Then he gently nipped her hand,and struggled to be off on fresh voyages ofdiscovery.

Bob called to him, but he glanced at him defiantly,and ran in the other direction. The fatman moved off down the walk, saying to othersas he went:

“Have you seen that pup over yonder? He’ssure some pup! Ha, ha! He’s the whole show.Better have a look.”

A crowd collected to watch the tiny joyousthing: the old-timers who studied the want andemployment “ads”; the other shabby ones who[32]were busy swapping politics; the still shabbierones who slept there with their arms folded, theirstubbly chins on their soiled shirt-fronts; thecasual passer-by,—even the policemen strolledup,—with an eye to preserving peace and order,but remained to enjoy the fairy-like antics of thisnew dweller in the world. Everybody forgot fora little while that there were such words as “Keepoff the grass.”

Van leaped for a June beetle,—missed it; anight moth winged by him,—he chased it on flyingfeet, although his legs were still so young anduncertain that he tumbled over every hummockin his path. A child rolled a rubber ball towardhim; he seized it and bore it to the feet of hismaster, and lay down to demolish it. Bob rescuedit, and Van attacked a stick that a bent oldman poked at him.

“You’re a bit of all right, and no mistake!”said the old man. “I bet you can read the papers.Want to try?” He pulled the evening sheet outof his pocket, and presented it to his youngacquaintance.

Van closed his teeth on it, dragged it after him[33]across the walk, and sent the fragments flying farand wide.

Through the thickest of the crowd a seedyyoung man with a furtive eye sidled to the inneredge of the onlookers. His hand flashed out asVan gamboled near, and then—there was no Vanon the dewy grass.

For a moment no one understood. It was allso sudden that no one could tell who did it.—Yes,there was one who did,—a policeman whowas there to watch for just that very thing. Theseedy young man had reached the outer edge ofthe group and in an instant more would be speedingdown Twenty-fourth Street.

A big hand landed firmly on his coat-collar,another went into his pocket, and out came Van,—dazed,but thinking it all part of the greatgame the world was playing for his benefit. Itwas so quickly done that the crowd hardlyknew anything had happened, until those nearestsaw the thief wrench himself from the detaininghand and disappear in the darkness. The policeman,glad of the chance to be so near the smallperformer, held Van in the flat of one palm, and[34]stroked him with the other, as he passed him overto Bob.

“Here’s yer white elephant, young feller, anda foine wan he is. Ye’re lucky to git him back.Them dog-pinchers is mighty handy with theirhooks.”

“You’re right,” said Bob. “They know a goodthing when they see it. A little more, and hewould have been lost.”

“A little more, and yer dog ’ud be performin’in a circus a year from now. There’s manny awan av us ’ud be likin’ to keep him.”

Bob and Billy walked back to the studio, andBob said soberly:

“I like the little sinner, and it’s mighty goodof you to give him to me, but I can’t keep himhere. City’s no place for a dog, and an untrainedpup at that.”

“Why don’t you send him up country?”

Bob thought a moment.

“Good idea! The very thing! Sister Kate’sjust acquired a kid,—adopted it, or something—upat the Hospital, you know. The kid’ll be lonesomeon the Hill-Top, with no companions. Offyou go, Van,—I’ll take you up there to-morrow.[35]Kate’ll be surprised all right. They have neverhad a dog or a chick or a child before, in thehouse, and it’ll do ’em good. Ha, ha! I cansee Dr. Johns’ eyes open; but he won’t turn himout, for what Kate does ‘goes’ with the doctor,and what Bob does ‘goes’ with Kate. Yourdestiny is fixed, young fellow. Missionary workfor yours.”

[36]

CHAPTER IV
BETSY MEETS VAN

LIFE moved on the wings of youth for Van,and changes were many. The very morningafter the trip to Madison Square, Bob Grantpacked some things into a suit-case. It lay onthe floor, and Van could see into it by puttinghis forepaws on the edge. Nay, he could domore than that. When Bob came to put in hishandkerchiefs he found young Van sitting comfortably[37]in the middle of his best silk negligéeshirt.

“So you’re planning to go too, mister! Well,I’m planning to take you, but not in my suit-case.There’s the covered basket all ready for you.We’re going this very afternoon. You may havethought this was home, but it isn’t. It’s only aNew York studio, where one earns his bread andbutter. When you get to your final destinationyou’ll have all out-of-doors to chase your tail in,—thatis, if you ever have one long enough tochase. It’s back to the old farm for you.

“But you’ve got to be mighty good, andwhether you stay there or not depends entirelyon yourself. I’m risking it because you are arummy little chap, and I think you will be justbad enough to be lovable.”

Van co*cked his head on one side, and lifted hisleft ear straight up, listening as if he understoodevery word. He barked very confidently at Bob,and when the time came, he entered his basketwithout protest. In a basket he had come to theNew York studio, and in a basket he would leaveit,—the proper way. The lid was shut and[38]fastened, and Van started on his second railwayjourney.

The rumble and jolting of the trolley car, thejostling of the crowd at the station, the roaring,purring, grinding and shrieking of the train werenothing to him. He had been through all thatbefore when he was even smaller, and nothingdreadful had come of it. Humans certainly makea lot of fuss for nothing. So he slept peacefully,as a prince should, only reminding his bearer thathe was alive by a tiny “Yap!” when the expresstrain made its one stop on the way.

There his basket was opened, and he chewedBob’s finger for a minute, then snuggled downagain, to awaken only when Bob stepped into acarriage at the end of his railway journey.

In the carriage the lid of Van’s basket wasraised, and for the whole two-mile drive he satup and watched everything with polite interest,but with no vulgar astonishment. His bonnybrown eyes missed nothing, however. At lastBob jumped out, and as he went up the stepsof the honeysuckle porch, he closed the basket lidand shouted:

“Kit! Kit! Where are you?”

[39]“Bob! You dear fellow! How did you happento get away? Are all the books in the worldillustrated, and you off on a holiday?”

“No, not all of ’em. Got to get right back.I just ran up to bring a present for the kid youwrote me about. Thought she’d be lonesome.Where is she?”

“Upstairs. I’ll call her in a minute. Whathave you got in that basket?”

“Look out! It bites,—go easy. There!How’s that for a watch-dog?”

Out of the basket popped two pointed, velvetybrown ears, erect and courageous, then the wholehead, co*cked on one side, eyes dancing with excitement,beauty and breeding in every line.

“Bob! What a darling! But, oh, I can’t keephim. It’s enough to ask Dr. Johns to let me keepBetsy.”

“We have to take some risks in this life, youknow, Kate. Come on in and call the kid.”

Out on the carpet Van was tumbled, to be admiredat all points; and being a dog of parts,the points were many—his smooth, shining,snowy coat, with the chestnut-brown saddle, andthe delicate lines and curves so rare in puppies[40]of his or of any age. Mrs. Johns gave one longlook, and said:

“I don’t believe Ben will say one word. I’llcall Betsy. She’s a queer little mite, but I thinkshe’ll like him. Betsy! Betsy! Come here aminute!”

Betsy came slowly down the stairs,—a verydifferent-looking Betsy from the weird little black-robedfigure of two weeks ago, but still awkwardand shy.

“Betsy, this is Uncle Bob. See what he hasbrought you.”

Betsy looked.

“It’s a puppy! Pa wouldn’t have any dog toour house. They et too much.”

“He’s yours, Betsy.”

“Mine? No, he isn’t. He can’t be. What’shis name?”

“Vanart VI.,” said Bob. “Call him Van, forshort. Go to Betsy, Van.”

Betsy sat down on the lower step of the stair,and Van ambled up, wriggling, almost to her,when suddenly his eye fell on a member of thegroup, who, being merely a casual visitor, had notbeen taken into account at all. It was a huge[41]yellow cat, three times as big as Van, who, in ahand to hand, or claw to claw fight could havemade ribbons of his young lordship.

Instantly Van’s head went down, his tail to“attention,” and with stealthy steps he wentslowly toward old Tommy. A quickening of hisheart told him that his father and his father’sfather’s had always chased cats. There was along line of sporting dogs behind him, and herewas game worthy of the blood.

Tommy’s yellow fur stiffened into bristles; histail grew big and threatening; he backed againstthe dining-room door with a low growl and withall claws set. Van gave one short “Woof!” andstarted for him. Tommy, who had met manydogs, large and small, and vanquished not a few,was not sure that this courageous morsel couldbe a real dog at all, and in that moment of hesitationthe day was lost. “R-r-r-r-r!” growledVan, in an answering challenge, and Tommyturned tail and darted through the door into thedining-room.

That was enough. “The game is started, chaseit!” whispered the blood of his ancestors to hispumping heart. Through the swinging door into[42]the kitchen went a yellow streak; after it pelteda barking thing of brown and white; out throughthe screen door and down the steps,—it was Van’sfirst experience with steps, and the cat was gaining.He rolled down, picked himself up, andwas off again in the direction of his flying yellowprey.

Around the corner of the house it disappeared,but Van was hard on the scent. Soon the catwas in sight again and in a fair way to safety.A friendly apple tree was just ahead; Tommymade one dash up the trunk and was safe in ahigh crotch, whence he could look down on histiny foe and be ashamed of himself. Van, notbeing a climber, stopped beneath the tree, yelpinglike mad at the lost prize, while Mrs. Johns,Bob and Betsy looked on, too helpless withlaughter to inform him, as they should have done,that the sporting instinct should be held secondto kingly courtesy.

But Van had treed his first cat on the first run,and the field of glory, without a question, belongedto him.

When quiet was restored, Bob turned to Betsy.

[43]“What do you think of that, now? Don’t youlike him?”

“I dunno. I never had a pet, ’cept Speckly andBanty, and they’re hens.”

“Well, I think you’ll like him when you get toknow him. Can we fix him up a place to sleepsomewhere around?” said Bob.

“We can keep him in the kitchen, until he getsacquainted. Mary will look after him, and hecan sleep in the little tool-room off the backveranda.”

Betsy made no move to go nearer or to playwith him, and Aunt Kate said aside, to Bob,

“I’m afraid it’s a mistake. She doesn’t seemto care for animals. Ben’s away, and I don’tknow what he’ll say. Oh, Bob, I’m afraid youwill have to take him back.”

“Well, wait till morning, anyway, before youdecide. I’ll be here over Sunday.”

That night a big, soft bed of blankets wasmade for Van on the floor of the tool-room. Hewas given a supper befitting his age and state,tucked up comfortably, and in one minute hehad dropped fast asleep, and was making up forthe excitement of the day past.

[44]In the night Betsy awakened to hear a pitifullittle cry. For a moment her thought was, “Ma’sawake and needs me!” and she jumped out ofbed. She had so often, in her mother’s illness,awakened to wait on her, that, still drowsy fromher sound sleep, she thought herself back in thelittle red house. Then, as she stumbled overunwonted furniture, she realized where she was.Groping her way to the window, she listened.The tool-room was directly below, and behind thedoor of it Van was voicing his loneliness andhomesickness.

A wave of pity swept up in the heart of Betsy.Here was this tiny dog left all alone to cry hisheart out, and here was she,—with friends,—yes,but friends not like her own self, and livinga different life from what hers had been.

Barefooted and silent, Betsy opened the doorand crept softly out into the hall. Feeling herway she went down the stairs, the soft rustle ofher little nightgown being the only sound thatbroke the stillness of the house. Gently sheturned the key in the lock and stepped out on theback veranda. In the tool-room Van was still[45]rending deaf heaven. The door was unlocked,and Betsy gently pushed it open.

Instantly the wailing ceased. A scamper oflittle feet came toward her, and she felt the coldlittle pads on her own as Van dug his foreclawsinto her nightgown, and tried to climb up. Therewas no one to look now, and her own little homesickheart leaped to meet his. Picking him up inher arms, she lifted the upper layer of the blanketbed, and sat down upon it, while the puppynestled close, with his nose tucked into her neck,apparently asking for nothing better.

“I’m lonesome, too, Van. Maybe Aunt Kate’dbe mad if I took you upstairs. I guess I’ll juststay here. There, you pore little feller,—it’s allright. Your Betsy’s here!”

When, in the morning, after a long, vain searchfor Betsy, Mrs. Johns opened the door of thesilent tool-room, she did not speak. She wentand hunted up Bob, who was taking a turn onthe porch before breakfast. Together theypeeped in, quietly.

“I wish Ben was here to see them!” she whispered.Then, as they turned softly away, sheadded,

[46]“You needn’t take him away, Bob. That’ssettled. It is the first thing that has really seemedto open the child’s heart. We needed just thatkey.”

[47]

CHAPTER V
VAN’S FIRST LESSONS

THUS began a new life for both Betsy andVan. Gay, smiling days they were, and,for the most part, full to the brim.

It was country all around the Hospital, whichwas itself a big and famous one. Dr. Johns wasthe head doctor, and when he said “Come,” peoplecame there to work, and when he said “Go,”they went away. It had been a great venture for[48]Bob to bring a little dog to a place where everybodywas serious and quiet and orderly. Dr.Johns, in his way, was a sort of king on the HospitalHill, and had much dignity to keep up.What would happen if a riotous little prince ofa dog should try to usurp Dr. Johns’ authority,or upset his dignity? It would not do at all.

But there Van was, and Betsy had adoptedhim for her own. So, when Dr. Johns came homeand met the new-comer, he was polite, as healways was, but perhaps a certain warmth waslacking. He remarked that Van was a very prettydog, but Betsy felt the chill of it, and she ranaway with her pet tucked under her arm.

“I think Betsy feels hurt a bit,” said AuntKate.

“Hurt? How? I said nothing to hurt her.”

“I think you did not intend to, Ben, but yourmanner toward the dog was none too cordial.I think he is going to help us solve our problemof Betsy.”

“Well, my dear, I cannot think that it is agood plan for us to keep a dog at an institution.It is a bad example.”

“But Betsy loves him, and she’ll be so disappointed[49]if he is sent away. I think he’ll be agood little fellow, and he’s a thoroughbred, youknow, with a pedigree as long as your arm.”

“A thoroughbred, is he? And Betsy loveshim? Well, well, if Betsy wants him, and if youwant him, of course that settles it.”

“I think I saw a tear in her eye as she wentout,” said Mrs. Johns, pushing her point in thepath of least resistance.

“Hm! You did, did you? Well, you tellBetsy for me that she may keep dogs all overthe place if she wants to. By the way, tell herto bring him back again. I didn’t get a goodlook at him.”

And the beauty of the wee rascal did the rest.

Dr. Johns practically gave him the keys of thecastle. He graduated by leaps and bounds fromfirst lessons in the kitchen, where a basket wasinstalled for him, and where he slept at night.As soon as he was big enough to climb up anddown the steps of the honeysuckle porch, theworld outside was his also.

He was too small to take it all in as yet, fora scamper across the grounds would have beena good half-mile. There were four great buildings[50]of brick and stone, and all around them grewnoble trees and beautiful flowers on green, velvetylawns. There were ponds, too, swarming withgleaming goldfish and pollywogs of all sizes,where the big and little frogs croaked in the warmspring evenings. Then there were long processionsof people,—patients from the Hospital,who went out to walk every day when the sunshone. Van liked these, and would stand andbark with joy every time they went past. Alsohe barked at the red squirrels that chattered backat him from the trees, at the fat robins, whopulled countless fat worms out of the ground tofeed to their greedy babies, and at the statelyblackbirds who stalked around on the sameerrand. Together Betsy and Van roamed theplace over, unmolested.

It was joy to Van, just being alive. The sunshineseemed to sparkle around his little whitebody, as he rolled on the grass, or pawed at theloose loam in the flower-beds; and it was a warmcaress, when, tired after a chase for butterflies,he dropped, panting, at the foot of the stepswhere Betsy sat.

Besides Dr. and Mrs. Johns and Betsy, and[51]Treesa the maid, there was in the house a cook,Mary, who made nice things for people to eat,and who was one of those dear Irish souls ofwhom the world cannot have too many. Sheknew where to place a cooky jar so that a littlegirl could find her way to it unhindered, and sheknew also how to smuggle tid-bits to a little dogwho was supposed to live entirely on dog-biscuitand milk. Then there was Thatcher, a convalescentpatient, who came over every day from theHospital to help with the work. Thatcher welcomedthe Prince as one who is grounded in theknowledge of dogs.

“My father used to train dogs, Mrs. Johns,and you’ll want him trained right, or he’ll be goodfor nothing. I’d like to do what I can.”

“I shall be so thankful if you will. Now isthe time for his character to be made or unmade.”

“I’ll be glad to train him, ma’am.” Thatcherstraightened up and looked very grand and important,and Aunt Kate felt a load roll from hershoulders; for it was no mean responsibility tobring up a puppy so that he should be an honorto his fathers and an ornament to society.

[52]So Thatcher began his own particular systemof training. His first idea was that a dog shouldbe taught the art of swimming.

Now, every dog knows how to swim withoutbeing taught, but Thatcher thought it would bepretty sport to see his Lordship go after sticksand the like, and swim back with them in hismouth. So one morning he tucked Van underhis arm, and carried him off to the pond, Betsyfollowing close at his heels.

This was something new. Van rather liked abath, when Mrs. Johns or Treesa soused him allover in a tub of warm soap-suds, and rinsed himand dried him with a towel. But a tub like this—allwide and shiny, with blue sky at the bottom,and green trees and red buildings standing ontheir heads all around the edge,—this was not tobe taken lightly—it was too large an affair.

Van sniffed at the brim of it, put his paw in,and drew it out again, wet and cold. He lookedup at Thatcher for an explanation, when all ofa sudden, without any preparation whatever, hewas picked up and thrown, as if he were a stone,straight into the middle of the pond.

Down he went, gasping,—away under—down—down—swirling[53]over and over. Then up hecame, kicking and spluttering. He shook thewater out of his frightened eyes, and struck outfor shore and Thatcher, whom he had not as yetconnected with the outrage. You would havethought he had been swimming for years.

“Hurrah! Good boy!” cried Thatcher. “Nowgo after that stick.” He cast a bit of wood in.“See that? Now go for it!”

Van looked at the stick, and then at Thatcher.He may have thought of the poor stick thatdoubtless would be compelled to swim back ashe had to, but he made no effort to rescue it.

“Go after it, I say!” And Van found himselfhurtling through the air once more. When hecame up from the cold depths, the piece of woodwas at his side, but still he did not see how it hadanything to do with him, and he swam back oncemore to Thatcher.

Again he was thrown in, and farther than before.This time as he made his way to shore,he put two and two together, and made four outof it.

One, it was Thatcher who had done the deed,and he was not to be trusted; two, he did not need[54]swimming lessons; three, the water was cold andhe was tired; and four, he did not intend to giveThatcher another chance to play so contemptiblea trick upon him. He turned suddenly and madefor the far side of the pond.

Swift as a bird, Betsy was there to meet him.He shook himself, and she gathered him, all dripping,to her bosom, and ran for the house.

That was all he wanted of the pond. Onemore lesson he had, when Betsy was not by torescue him. He was thrown in again and again,until he was a thoroughly disgusted little dog,with a hatred for the very sight of water. Fromthat time on he never willingly wet his feet. Hehated even his bath and would run and hide ifany one mentioned the word to him. But helearned that baths must be taken, no matter howdisagreeable. A Prince must be clean, if he wouldlive in a palace; and Betsy, in her new zeal forsoap and water, took him in charge herself, andcontinued to scrub him faithfully.

The rest of Thatcher’s efforts at training resultedin a series of failures. Thatcher waswilling, but Van was not. He did not intend tobe trained by his valet, and one, too, who had[55]betrayed him at the outset. Where confidence islacking one cannot get great results in dealingwith a wilful son of royalty.

The next instructor was more successful.

Dr. Peters, one of the young physicians at theHospital, came over one morning on an errand.He was made acquainted with Van and duly admiredhim.

“Have you taught him any tricks, MissBetsy?”

“No, I don’t know how to teach him.”

“Let me try him. He looks as bright as a button.You can teach anything to a dog like that,if you go at it in the right way. Come here,Van.”

Van came, expecting a game of romps, or, atthe very least, a pat on the head.

“Dead Dog!” said Dr. Peters; and Van foundhimself unaccountably flat on his back, waving hishelpless paws in the air.

“Dead Dog!” Dr. Peters repeated,—“Dead!Dead! Now shut your eyes,—tight!” Twofingers closed their lids.

Van struggled. This was an insult to his royal[56]person. But he was held there. Then, of a sudden,at the word “Police!” he was released.

“Get him a piece of cake, Miss Betsy. Nowtry it again, Van. Dead Dog!”

Van looked just an instant at Dr. Peters, asif he were trying to understand clearly; and then,thump! down he went, lying as still as the doorstepitself, until he heard the word of relief.Then he was up, jumping and capering as if hehimself had thought out the whole thing.

The next time Dr. Peters came over, Van sawhim from afar, and promptly plumped down, notwaiting for the command; and there he lay, proneon the sidewalk, until the word “Police!” releasedhim.

But he never liked doing this particular trick,and would do it for no one else without muchcoaxing. It was not seemly for him to take sohumble a position, and all his life, whenever hewas told to do “Dead Dog,” he would first gothrough all the other tricks he had ever beentaught, hoping that people would forget aboutthis disagreeable one, and pass it by.

All puppies, whether they are thoroughbredsor mongrels, begin life by practising their sharp[57]little teeth on something, and generally they carelittle whether it be a lace curtain or a fine Bokhararug. From the first Van was taught that he mustbe full owner of the thing he might wish todestroy.

Betsy gave him one of her discarded copper-toedshoes to try his tiny new teeth upon.

“Now, Vanny-Boy, this shoe is yours; no, no,—thisone that I give you. You mustn’t touch thisother one.”

Van fell to upon his gift. Bit by bit he demolishedthe leather—the scraps lay all over thefloor. Down to the bare bones of it he worriedhis way, and then he began on the sole. In aday or so he had this also in shreds. Only theheel and the bit of copper remained to tell of hisbusy moments. All this time the other shoe laynear by, but he never looked at it. When thetask he had set himself was finished, he camewriggling to Betsy, who offered him the mate.Then and then only did he seize the other shoe,and it soon followed in the way of its fellow.

Under the little writing-desk in Betsy’s roomwas an old and dilapidated carpet-covered footstool,which showed unmistakable signs of a long[58]and useful life. Van, who loved playing at Betsy’sfeet, discovered the rag-tag-and-bobtail effect ofit, and received permission to worry the poor oldthing. Little by little the carpet grew thinner,but it held out for many days.

One morning Betsy went in town with AuntKate, leaving Van safe in the kitchen with Mary.

That is, she thought he was safe. Van lay inhis basket under the table, until Mary went downin the cellar. Then he arose, and went towardthe swinging door that led into the dining-room.He had learned a secret about that door at thetime of the yellow-cat episode. He pushed it—verygently. It yielded; a little more—it opened,swung back again, and struck him right on thetip of his little black nose.

He winked hard, and sat back a moment toget his bearings; then he went at it again. Withhis whole weight thrown against it, it swungwidely, and with a dash he was through, and onthe other side before it could close again. Hewas free, with the whole house before him, andno one to say him nay.

But it was not a voyage of discovery on whichhe was bent. He had business on hand. A young[59]and energetic dog should not be idle, and therewas work to do.

Up the stairs he clambered,—that was thehardest of all, for every step must be gained witha stretch, a reach, a hump, and a scramble. Atlast his little brown head peeped over the toplanding, and the way was clear to Betsy’s room.

No hesitation. His duty lay before him. Heheaded straight for the old footstool, sought outthe weakest spot, just where he had left off yesterday.It was no sin; the stool was his veryown, and where is the monarch who may not, ifhe likes, chew his own footstool?

Very quiet and busy he was, for a time. Bitby bit that barrier of heavy carpet warp must beworn away. He had no pick and shovel, like theminers and sappers under a fortress; his onlyweapons were his sharp little teeth, and the smallnails on his forepaws; but he went bravely towork.

He chewed and he chewed; he never pausedfor a minute; he never gave the enemy an instantto recover lost ground. If he had been a soldierin war-time, he would have been cheered on as ahero, so manfully did he hold to his task.

[60]At last he got a tooth in, and could tear at thestrong linen walls. The breach grew wider—therewas room for his paw. He inserted it, anddrew out a fascinating bit of plunder; curly,woody stuff it was.

A volley of dust from the defense struck himfull in the nose and made him sneeze and choke.This opposition only made his spirits soar thehigher. Tooth and nail he struck back. He toredown the whole barrier, and rushed in on thedefenseless excelsior.

The fierce frenzy of destruction—that savageinstinct that has made other princes and kingstear down whole cities—took possession of him.Clouds of dust rolled up from the interior, andfilled his nostrils like the smoke of battle. Hedove into the very center of the core of the insideof the middle of the last dungeon of the fortress.Up heaved the excelsior before his frantic onslaught,flying in every direction. It lay in heaps,around him, over him, under him, in front of him,behind him. It fell on the remotest breastworkof furniture.

The rout was complete! No explosion couldhave rent that footstool more disastrously. Van[61]shook off the ruins that had landed on his back;lay down on the empty shell of what was nolonger and never more would be a footstool, andproceeded to divide the spoils, so to speak.

He worked through long and short division,and was worrying through a problem in fractionswhich concerned the last fragment that could stillbe called carpet, when Mrs. Johns and Betsyappeared in the doorway.

Through a haze they dimly saw a brown andwhite morsel of live joy, triumphing in the midstof a drifting mass of excelsior. Van lifted hishead proudly and looked at them, as if he wouldsay,

“Alone I did it! Excelsior!”

IT was a summer fullof events for bothVan and his mistress.Slowly and patientlyAunt Kate correctedBetsy’s uncouthways, and the book of“Manners” grew. Betsytook smaller mouthfulsnow, used her forkproperly and ate quietly.She learned hertricks like Van, havingto be told but once. Ifshe forgot she correctedherself.

Aunt Kate said oneday to Uncle Ben,

[63]“The child ‘eats’ everything I say to her, asif she were greedy for it, and what’s more, shedigests it.”

“She’s just at the impressionable age,” saidDr. Johns. “Look at her out on the lawn therewith the dog. When she thinks no one is lookingat her she gambols almost as gracefully as hedoes.”

“I’m so glad she came to us. Everything seemsdifferent. I feel as if I had a rare, strange plantto tend, and when she grows out of that hardlittle bud of shyness, she’ll be the rose of myheart’s desire. It was a great inspiration, gettingher into pretty clothes at the very start. I reallythink she is trying to live up to them.”

“I think it more likely that she is trying to liveup to her Aunt Kate,” Uncle Ben chivalrouslysaid, and as he started for the office, there was onhis face the smile that Aunt Kate loved to see—thesmile that made all the Hospital patientslove him.

Betsy came in with her book as soon as shesaw him go.

“I’m getting a lot of manners, Aunt Kate. Mybook’s ’most full.”

[64]“I am so glad, dear, and you are getting themby heart, too. I haven’t heard you say ‘ain’t’ fora week. By the way, how about those finger-nails?Let me see.”

But instead of showing them Betsy snappedher hands behind her.

“Let me look, dear. Haven’t you remembered?”

“No—no’m—not much. I try, but they justchew theirselves when I’m not thinking. Theyaren’t fitten to see.”

Aunt Kate took the two little hands in her owndelicate ones. They lay palms up, showing a rowof callous spots at the base of the fingers.

For a moment dear Aunt Kate looked; thenshe softly stooped and kissed them. The childstood wide-eyed, wondering.

“What’d you do that for? They aren’tpretty.”

“Because every one of those spots means thata little girl has helped her mother, and I lovethem. I almost wish that I could have some myselffor so fine a reason.”

She turned the hands over.

“But these—these—oh, my little Betsy! To[65]trim such good hands in such a sorry way. Nailsare intended to be the ornaments of a hand, quiteas much, and more, than rings are. Every nailshould have a crescent moon at its base, and anotherlittle pearl moon-rise at the tip. Thereshould be no ragged edges or hang-nails. I’vetold you so many times. Now I shall have todo something to make you remember.

“Remember, too, dear, that I do this becauseI love you, and I want you to be sweet in everyway.”

Mrs. Johns went to her desk, and returnedwith a bottle of India ink and a small brush.

“Now, Betsy, as long as the edges of your nailsare rough and black, the middle might as well beblack, too.”

Quickly Aunt Kate put a drop of ink in thecenter of each nail. Betsy held her breath withthe surprise of it.

“Hold them out like that till they’re dry. Ifthe spots come off when you wash your hands,I’ll put on more. When you see them you willthink not to bite your nails, and you must keepthem on for a week. By that time your nails[66]will grow out, and then I’ll show you how totake proper care of them.”

“Oh, Aunt Kate, please! Must I wear themlike that to the table—right before Uncle Ben?What will he say?”

“Uncle Ben will think as I do, that the blackspots look no worse than the close-bitten edges.”

Tears came in Betsy’s eyes. It was not likeAunt Kate to punish. For a moment she stoodwith quivering lips, looking down at the queer,ink-spotted finger-tips. Then she straightened up.

“I can stand it a week. You can stand anythingyou got to stand. I guess this’ll be a warnin’to me.”

Not another whisper of rebellion came fromher lips. She wore her badges of disgrace manfully,hiding her hands, if she could, when anyone came near her. Uncle Ben looked at them,then at Mrs. Johns, but never a word did he say,and Betsy to this day does not know what hethought about them.

Aunt Kate replaced the spots as they came off,and the week dragged by.

Then, one morning, Aunt Kate came into[67]Betsy’s room, and instead of the bottle of ink,she carried a dainty little box.

“See here, Betsy.”

Betsy looked, and saw, under the satin-linedlid, a tiny pair of curved scissors, a nail file, abuffer with a silver handle, a box of rosy ointment—allthe things that go to make up a manicureset.

“Now, let me see the nails again, Betsy dear.Have you remembered all the time?”

“I forgot twice, Aunt Kate, but I got blackon my lips, so I had to remember.”

“Why, they’ve grown out beautifully! Good!”

With a bowl of warm, soapy water and a towel,the fingers were soaked, cleaned and dried.Deftly Aunt Kate cut each tip to a white “moon-rise,”and with an orange stick she found the beginningsof the crescent at the base. When thenails had been polished Betsy did not know themfor her own.

“There! They look like rose petals. Andnow you can do it for yourself next time. Thiscase is for you.”

“Aunt Kate!”

“Yes, dear.”

[68]“I’m awful much obliged, and—and—I likeyou a lot. And—may I do Van’s nails for him,too?”

“Why, if you want to. But his paws have tobe on the ground, and he never bites his nails.”

“Well, I’m never going to bite mine any more.Van chews other things, though, Aunt Kate, and—and—maywe have another ball, please? He’schewed that little rubber one all up.”

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Betsy. We’ll tryhim with a rope-end. I found just the thing inthe store-room this morning. Here it is, and I’lltie a knot at each end. See how he likes that. Arubber ball every day is rather expensive.”

The rope proved highly successful, and Betsyand Van at either end made a great team. Betsyjerked and pulled and Van growled and shook.Then Van got the rope and flew all over thehouse and the lawn, and when Betsy finally caughther end there was a terrific growling and barking.Van liked it so much that he soon got in the wayof trailing his rope on all occasions, hunting forsome one who could be coaxed to play with him.Even a neighbor’s dog was invited to take part inthe game; but, although he wagged his tail pleasantly,[69]he showed no intelligence, and Van gavehim up in disgust.

There was another beautiful game, even betterthan Rope, because the whole family could playit of an evening, and Van was never happier thanwhen he could stir up everything and everybodyon the place. This was “Hide-and-Seek.” Mrs.Johns or the Doctor would hold Van tightly, hislittle body quivering with excitement, while Betsyhid in some corner, behind a curtain or screen.Then she would call,

“Coop!”

At the sound Van would be released, and woulddart like an arrow in the direction of Betsy’svoice. It never took him long to find her, for hislittle nose was even keener than his eyes and ears.

With a joyful bark he would pounce on her anddrag her back by her skirts, growling as if hehad caught a lion. Then somebody else must hideand be found.

Once, when Van and Betsy had strayed as faras the park gates, an old hen loomed up in theirpath. She was bigger than Van, but a puppywho could tree a cat could surely get some sportout of a large bird like that. After her went Van,[70]and Mrs. Dorking took to her awkward legs.These, not filling entirely the necessity for speed,she added wing-power to the effort. Squawking,and frightened almost out of her feathers, sheskimmed the ground, with Van close at her heels—ifhens have heels.

Betsy laughed heartily at the funny sight, andthat was a grave mistake, as later events proved.Of course Mrs. Dorking got away with all herfeathers, so Van gave up the chase, and cameback panting and wildly enthusiastic.

Van’s education did not consist of tricks andgames alone. No, indeed! Fox terriers have aspecial use in the world; they are, above allthings, a breed of rat-catchers, and Van was asportsman, to the tips of his brown ears.

One morning he clambered out of his basketin the kitchen just in time to see a small, gray,furry thing dodge behind the basket and into thepantry. He did not stop to question; every instinctin him told him that this was Game. Likea flash he was after it. Mary was mixing pancakesat the far end of the pantry, and it wentright under her feet. She jumped and screamedand nearly landed on Van’s toes.

[71]“It’s a mouse! It’s a mouse! Quick, Van!There it goes!”

The door of the closet where the pots and panswere kept stood ajar. In went the mouse; inwent Van. The mouse went under a skillet, Vanturned it over and jumped after; he chased itaround a vinegar jug; he knocked over a pile ofpans, and they fell with a terrible clatter; themouse crept under one, and Van rooted up thewhole of them, and sent them flying galley-west,while Mary took turns screaming and laughing.

Van hunted the mouse through the pantry, outinto the kitchen again, and behind a broom in thecorner. Bang! That was the broom falling.Pounce! That was Van, and Mrs. Mouse wasno more.

By this time the whole Johns family was onthe spot. They could not, unless they had beenstone deaf, have escaped hearing the racket. Vanwas in his element. Not only had he broughtdown his first game, but he had an admiring audience,which he loved of all things. He swaggeredaround and tossed the mouse into the air, as ifby so doing he could make them all understandjust what a grand, brave dog he was. Lastly,[72]he came proudly to lay his prize at the feet of hisbeloved mistress.

And Betsy spoiled his fun by taking the mouseaway from him. It was all right for Van to killa mouse, she argued, because mice are harmful,but one should not gloat over it. Van did notsee things that way. He gave one grieved lookat the unfeeling Betsy, jumped into his basket andsulked.

Then Betsy added insult to injury by pullinghim out of the basket and carrying him upstairs.Aunt Kate, passing by, saw the child on the windowseat. Very busy Betsy was with something,and that something was Van, who was wrigglingtremendously.

“See here just a minute, Aunt Kate. Ai—aren’tthey nice?”

She exhibited Van’s paws, with every nailscraped clean and white.

“He didn’t like it a mite, but he knew it hadto be did, or he couldn’t be a gentleman. Iwashed ’em with a nail brush to get the mouseoff.”

The catching of the mouse was the clinchingnail in Dr. Johns’ respect for Van. He looked[73]upon him now as a good and useful dog, and nolonger as a mere plaything.

As for Betsy, that evening, beside her napkinat the dinner table, there lay a tiny white box,and in it shone a gold circlet set with a tiny diamond.Uncle Ben’s card lay on top, with thewords

“For the hand with the little pink nails.”

[74]

CHAPTER VII
VAN GOES TO CHURCH

MR. JOHNS went over and closed the doorcarefully, when Betsy had been excusedafter lunch.

[75]“By the way, Kate, I received a letter thismorning from that father of hers.”

“Oh, the poor baby! He isn’t going to botherher, is he?”

“Read it.”

Mrs. Johns took the soiled bit of paper andread:

“Oh, Ben!” gasped Mrs. Johns. “You won’tlet him?”

“Of course not. He’s a low, drunken scoundrel,and his first wife starved to death. He caneasily be proved unfit as a guardian; no courtwould sustain any claim of his, and I can be appointed[76]Betsy’s legal guardian. She’s a bright,capable child, and it would be a pity to have suchgood material wasted washing dishes for a stepmother,who probably would not be any kinder toher than her father has been.”

“Oh, Ben, we mustn’t let it happen! Why, Icouldn’t let her go now. She’s like my own, andgrowing dearer every day. Have you answeredthe letter?”

“Yes. I told him the facts of the case. I thinkhe will make no further trouble.”

“I hope not. Dear, dear! I wish the childwould show more affection for me. Perhaps it isjust timidity, but she looks like a startled fawnwhen I kiss her. The only thing so far thatseems to reach her is Van.”

“Don’t hurry her. It’ll come. She can’t helploving you, Kate. Nobody could. But she’s notaccustomed to the shows of love. Van is a dog.He simply forces himself on her. If she doesn’tcuddle him, he cuddles her. He’s the most takingbit I ever saw on four legs.”

“If he can only break down that uncanny coldness!If she would only be a child instead of alittle old woman, I could get at her.”

[77]“Wait,” replied Dr. Johns. “At this stage Vanis the educating principle in matters of the heart.You are doing well in other ways. By the way,she ought to know other children.”

“There are none on the Hill-Top of the kind Iwant her to know now. I’m trying to improveher English, and for a little while I want her tohear only the best. When school opens, that willhelp. I’ll tell you,—I might send her in town toSunday School. She’ll hear correct English there,and see children who have nice manners.”

So Betsy started to Sunday School. She woreher prettiest clothes and walked stiffly, as if tryingto do her duty by the dainty garments. She wasintroduced to a teacher, and for a few SundaysAunt Kate asked no questions, waiting for developments.Betsy went dutifully, but made nosign.

At last Aunt Kate said,

“Do you like your Sunday School, Betsy?”

“Good enough. The folks there think thatGod punishes you for your sins. I know better.I’ve been awful bad sometimes and He hasn’tpunished me a mite.”

“I think we are punished when we break God’s[78]laws. Sometimes we are punished by seeing theones we love suffer.”

Betsy thought a moment.

“Maybe so,” she said at last. “When I’vebeen bad, Ma was sorry, and that made mesorry.”

“I think, little Betsy,” said Aunt Kate, slowly,“that when we are born we have in us the seedsof either good or bad, and it is the seeds we carefor and train as we grow up, that make us goodor evil. How are you getting on with the girlsin the class?”

“Oh, all right, I guess. I don’t get acquaintedmuch. They’re sort of—different, or else—I’mqueer. But I’m watchin’ ’em, Aunt Kate, like Ido you at the table, and I don’t feel so differentas I did at first.”

“Good! Everything will come out right aftera while, when the girls know my Betsy as wellas I do.”

Betsy did not answer, but there was a soft littlelight in her eyes.

She continued her attendance, and Van, whohad watched her weekly disappearance, dressedin her Sunday best, determined to make a closer[79]investigation of affairs. There must be some specialcharm about these daytime excursions fromwhich he was excluded.

One fine Sabbath morning he was on the lawn,sunning himself, when he saw Betsy come outof the house, book in hand, best hat on, and startdown the hill toward town. Van dropped in happilybehind her.

“Go back, Van!” said Betsy.

Van tossed his royal head and ran on, pretendingthat he was bent on his own affairs.

“I’ll get rid of him when I get on the car,”thought Betsy.

She climbed on at the trolley-station, and didnot see the little brown and white streak dashingmadly along behind, clear into the town. Therewere many stops for the church-goers, so Vanwas able to keep the car in sight. It stopped infront of the church just as the Sunday School bellwas ringing, and all the good little Episcopalianchildren were walking sedately in at the door,dressed in their prettiest and cleanest Sunday-go-to-meetingfrocks and coats. As Betsy mountedthe steps she was greeted by a member of herclass.

[80]Just then Van ambled up, with his tongue out,and his eye lighted with the excitement of adventure.

“There’s your dog, Betsy.”

“Oh, my goodness! I thought I got away fromhim. Go home, Van! Go straight home, I tellyou—this minute!”

Van dropped his head, lowered his tail slightly,and turned his back dutifully, looking sidewaysto see if Betsy were keeping an eye upon him.But she had disappeared in the doorway.

Van went a few steps toward home, thenstopped to consider. Betsy being out of sight, atthe very least he might take a look around andsee what a church was like.

He turned and went back to the stone steps,climbed them slowly, and went inside the openvestibule.

“Get out!” said the sexton to Van, not knowingthat he was addressing royalty.

Van got out, and the sexton went into the bigempty part of the church, to see that everythingwas ready for the evening meeting.

Once more Van entered the vestibule. One ofthe teachers came out of the Sunday School room[81]for a minute, and then returned. He did notbother to look at Van.

But Van saw something. That door swungboth ways, and had no latch—like the door betweenthe pantry and dining-room at home. Thiswas luck indeed. Van knew how to work thatkind of door. You listen a moment to make surethat no one is coming from the other side tobang into your nose; next you stand on yourhind legs and throw your whole weight on thedoor; then, when it swings open, you make aquick dash through the crack before it can comeback at you and squeeze your tail—and there youare!

Van tried it. It worked! No one saw him.There was a man on a platform, but his eyes wereshut and his head was bowed. All the little Episcopalianchildren were kneeling, and their heads,too, were bowed; the teachers were doing the samething. Van did not know what it meant, but hewalked calmly up the aisle.

A familiar white hat was bobbing at the endof one of the seats. Van saw it and made his wayin that direction. Just as the prayer ended witha resounding “Amen!” Van plumped himself[82]down contentedly at Betsy’s feet, and looked innocentlyupward.

“Van!” she whispered. “Van, you bad dog,what are you doing here? I told you to go home.”

Van put his nose on the floor between his forepaws,and sighed peacefully, as if he had notheard her. Unless force were used, he intendedto stay and see the performance through.

Betsy’s heart was filled with misgivings; butrather than run the gauntlet of the whole school’seyes, with a dog under her arm, she decided tohold him until the service was over. The teacherhad not noticed; her eyes were on the heads andnot the feet of the children.

Betsy tucked Van under the seat, where he layuntil the lesson was over—as good a dog as everlived, and far better than some of the children,who found it hard to keep their minds on holythings, with a small brown head and two brighteyes popping out every time a question from thecatechism brought forth a childish answer.

Once more the superintendent lifted his voicein prayer, and Van crept softly out from underthe seat to see if he could find out what it reallymeant.

[83]Now the hymn was given out, the pianist tookhis seat, and began to run over the tune. Thiswas fine! Van liked music and he pricked up hisears. Behind Betsy’s back he jumped up on theseat, and began to roll his eyes and co*ck his headto one side as if to take in the full beauty of thenotes.

A small boy began to giggle, and the childrenall over the room craned their heads over thebacks of the seats; some even climbed up to peerover, and the whisper went around,

“There’s a dog in Sunday School!”

Betsy tried to repress him without being noticed.But there was a decided tide of attentionsetting her way. The teacher began to take notice,too.

Betsy’s face was crimson. She could notcarry Van out, just as they were beginning tosing. She put down her hand and whispered outof the corner of her mouth,

“Behave yourself, Van!”

Now the unlucky star of a certain small boydecreed that on this particular Sunday he shouldbe asked to display his accomplishments by accompanyingthe children with his violin, on which[84]he had been taking lessons for nearly fourmonths. A proud father and mother had urgedhim on, and there he stood beside the pianist, withhis bow raised.

Down it came on the strings in the first strainsof “From Greenland’s Icy Mountains,” the voicesof all the school joining in, in fine, childish harmony.

At the first wail of the instrument Van leapedto a point of vantage on the seat. He did notwait for a hymn-book; he simply lifted up hisvoice and joined the chorus in a song withoutwords—a long-drawn, mournful howl! He couldsing that hymn with the best of them; he wouldshow them!

“Stop, Van!” Betsy tried to shut him off byputting her hand over his mouth, but he wriggledfree, barked an evil defiance, and continued hisheartrending strains. Who was she that sheshould interfere with the religious devotions ofthe son of kings, a hero, and a singer of songs?The teachers tried their best to look shocked,and the superintendent openly grinned.

Betsy no longer shunned publicity. She wasflooded with it anyway. Seizing the singer she[85]fled with him down the aisle, leaving the roomswept by a gale of laughter that might have beenheard almost to India’s coral strand! It was ashocking end to a devotional exercise.

Betsy did not go back; she took Van out inthe vestibule and spanked him. She haled himhome; she told him that he was a young imp; andthat if ever he followed her to Sunday Schoolagain she would know why.

After this Van decided to try another service.Mary the cook loved him too, and Mary was agood Catholic. Perhaps he was too old and toomusically-inclined for Sunday School. The nextSunday he followed Mary as she started to Mass.

“Look out, Mary!” called Treesa, “Van’s followingyou.”

“Ah, sure now the Boy-Heart can go down thehill wit’ me. I’ll hunt him home before I goes in.”

At the door of Mary’s church she “hunted himhome,” and he turned as if to go, but the minuteher back was turned he was behind her, and behindher he marched up the steps and up the aisle.In Mary’s pew he took his station, and at Mary’sfeet he lay.

[86]Father O’Givney came down from his pulpitafter Mass, and Mary apologized.

“The Boy-O folleyed me, Father O’Givney, an’I hunted him home, but right back he came. Hesure do be liking it here, an’ a foine church itis, to be sure. He’s the great Boy—that.”

“I’ve a dog of my own at home,” said FatherO’Givney. He was Irish, too, and Mary’s softbrogue was to him like the music of the Ould Sod.“Van’s behaving well, isn’t he?”

“Sure, he’s always the gentleman!” answeredMary, and Van was left, unrebuked and undisturbed.

No one will ever know how many times Vanwent to Mass with Mary. She kept her owncounsel. But I have my suspicions that to-dayVan is a full-fledged Roman Catholic, in good andregular standing; and I am sure that, if it wereorthodox to admit dogs into the fold, Marywould, long ago, have had his name entered onthe books.

LIFE on theHill-Topmoved serenely,and Vangrew like aweed. Hischurch-goingdid notmake a saintof him,but ever,he grew[88]dearer to the heart of Betsy. I suspect, even,that the occasional wrongdoings of the aristocraticl*ttle scapegrace only endeared him themore. His sins were all sins of a high-strung,spirited disposition, and he was so human in hisfallings from grace and his funny repentances,that Mrs. Johns would look at him, laugh, andexclaim,

“You may say what you like. He certainlylooks like a dog; but he isn’t. He’s ‘folks.’”

One day a man who worked on the Hospitalgrounds came to the kitchen door and said excitedlyto Mary,

“Is Van in the house?”

“No, I’m thinkin’ he’s out. Is anything wrong?”

“There’s a mad dog loose. He’s just bittenJoe Wood’s collie, and has gone away down town.They’re after him with guns.”

“The saints preserve us! I hope the darlintisn’t in the way of him!”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him, but you’dbetter look after him, wherever he is.” And theman hurried off.

Mary dropped her work and ran out to theroad. There, trotting calmly home in an opposite[89]direction from that which the mad dog hadtaken, came Van, quite unconscious of any troublethat might be brewing for him.

“Heaven be praised for savin’ him!” saidMary. “Come in, ye little spalpeen. My heartdo be beatin’ that hard I can’t get me breath.”

She ran to tell the family what had happenedand just then the man came back to report thatthe mad dog had been killed, after biting twoor three other dogs.

Well, it was much to be thankful for that Vanwas safe, but when Betsy came back from a tripto town, she learned that an order had been issuedfrom the powers that be, and all dogs, forthe remainder of the summer, must be eitherchained or muzzled.

“Muzzled he shall not be,” said Mrs. Johns.“If a mad dog came along, much good would amuzzle do! The chain is better. Poor Van, it’sa burning shame, just as you were getting to bealmost an angel, and now it’s confinement for youuntil the first of September.”

So Van’s liberty was taken away from him,and, to make it harder, his beloved Betsy fell ill.An attack of tonsilitis it was, and Van must not[90]be allowed to disturb her. Thus, even in thehouse there was no liberty. Betsy’s door wasshut, and the lonesome little prisoner might nothave her comforting. Mary was good to him inthe kitchen, but at every opportunity he wouldslip away upstairs and paw at Betsy’s door.There was no way to separate him from his belovedmistress, except to keep him outside thehouse. So all day long he ran sadly up anddown, with his chain attached to a long wire thatstretched from the apple tree to the honeysuckleporch. At night there was a warm bed made forhim on a lounge in the shelter of the porch, andhe could lie there, too, in the daytime, if he chose.But always there was the hated chain.

During the days of his imprisonment, Thatchermade it his pleasure to come for him, and takehim for long walks in the woods, and thesewere his only really happy times. In the woodsthere were no mad dogs. So the chain would beloosened, and Van would enjoy a wild hour ofliberty.

The days passed, and at last came one whenDr. Johns said that Betsy was better, and mightsit up in bed for a little while. That day Van,[91]after eating his dinner in the kitchen, went slylyup the back stairs, and put his paw on the doorof the forbidden room. And lo! it opened tohim, and there sat his mistress, propped amongher pillows.

“Vanny-Boy! Dear Vanny-Boy!” cried she,and he flew on the wings of love, leaped upon thebed, and cried and moaned and kissed her ear asif she had been long away. Betsy snuggled himdown by her side, and he went to sleep with hisnose on her knee.

Mrs. Johns, coming in later, found him there.

“Please let him stay, Aunt Kate. I’ve missedhim so, and I’m almost well now.”

So, after that, every afternoon, when he camein from his walk, he spent a happy hour with hisdear mistress.

One night, after a hot and breathless day, Dr.and Mrs. Johns were sitting with Betsy in herlittle room. The lights were out to make itcooler, and the windows were open to the west.A puff of wind stirred the curtains and died awayagain. Dr. Johns walked to the window andlooked out.

“We shall have a storm to-night,” said he.[92]“There’s a bank of clouds brewing somethingover there in the northwest.”

“I think I’ll have a look around,” said Mrs.Johns, “and see that everything is safe, in case ofa rain or blow.”

“Couldn’t we bring Van in the house, UncleBen?”

“I think he’s quite safe where he is. There’sa matting screen to keep off the wind and rainat the open end, and nothing can get throughthat mass of honeysuckle along the front. He’sbetter off where he is. Now, don’t worry, justgo to sleep. It is bedtime, and everything willbe fixed shipshape.”

Betsy sighed and said nothing more. Mrs.Johns saw that the little Prince was safe underhis blanket on the couch and all cosy for thenight, and she did not notice the pleading in hissad eyes as she gave him a final pat and left himalone.

Every one was quiet for the night, except Betsy,who lay tossing restlessly on her bed in the dark.

Outside, far off in the northwest, a strangewhisper in the air grew to a mutter and a rumble.Betsy wrapped herself in a blanket and slipped[93]in among the pillows of her window-seat, to watchthe coming storm, and she wished that she hadVan there for company; he liked a thunder-stormas well as she herself did.

Betsy looked out over the hills where she hadso often watched the wonderful changes of thesunsets. In the south there was a thin crescentmoon that showed its face by flashes between thescurrying advance-clouds, with which the littlewinds were having a grand pillow-fight. Themoon rode serenely higher and higher and paidno attention to the play that was going on.

But after a time the game grew fast and furious,and the moon went quite out of sight, asbigger winds joined in with bigger and biggerpillows—not downy white ones, but gray puffs,like rolls of smoke.

Low in the northwest a sullen mass of blacklifted itself slowly, and one could see the headof old Father Wind rising out of his blankets.Taller and taller he grew, his long hair sweepingaway in coils and spirals, that whipped uncannilyoff his head only to let other locks grow in theirplaces. A giant he grew, with a bag on his back,and his blankets rolling up around him, dark and[94]awful. He would give those Little Winds, whohad waked him up, something to blow about.

Up and up he rose, leaving behind him a weirdyellow counterpane stretched out along the lineof hills. Lightnings flashed from his eyes, andhis voice boomed like great guns.

The Little Winds and the Bigger Windsgave up their game, and scuttled off before thegrowing fury, as old Father Wind pulled handfulsof real wind out of his bag and threw themabout. Soon his blankets, gray and ragged, unfoldedand rushed up the sky, and the LittleWinds disappeared altogether.

Then Father Wind had it all his own way, andhe worked himself into a towering rage. Snake-likeflashes of flame dripped from his finger-tips,darting back and forth till the whole sky waslighted up like a great furnace. Up rolled theblankets, one after the other, until one could seeonly a whirling, tumbling mass. On, on! Thefar hill-line was blotted out, and the sleepingtown was drowned in a boiling, seething chaos ofcloud, wind, and falling water.

Up the hill rushed Father Wind, now a vast,formless destroyer. He reached out his long[95]arms, blew a great breath, and the first blaststruck the hilltop where stood the solid buildingsof the Hospital.

Rip-boom-bang! The house shook to its veryfoundations. Could it stand that awful onslaught?Betsy saw a great tree on the lawnsnap like a twig, and with some fibers still clingingto the trunk, stretch its arms helplessly alongthe path of the wind. Leaves by thousandstwisted off and flew like fear-driven goblins. Aboard from no-one-knew-where came up the hillsideand struck the honeysuckle porch, tearing thevines till they floated out like green ribbons.

Every one in the house was awake now, rushingaround to see if the doors and windows weresafe.

Mrs. Johns came into Betsy’s room.

“Are you all right, dearie?”

“Yes, Aunt Kate; did you bring Vanny-Boy in?”

“No, dear, we did not waken in time.”

“Oh, Aunt Kate! He’s out there now?”

“We dare not open the door, Betsy. This isa terrible storm. I do not know what would happenif the wind should find an entrance.”

“We must get him—he will be killed!”

[96]“We cannot, dear. It is not possible. He maynot get hurt at all; and then any one might bekilled who tried to go after him when things areflying as they are now. We must wait for a lullin the storm.”

Betsy said no more, but waited till Mrs. Johnswent on further errands. Then, clinging to thewalls and balusters, she stole down the stairs, andlooked through the window that opened on thehoneysuckle porch. It was a scene of battle; thematting screen, torn in shreds, appeared glued tothe ceiling; as she looked, the last rocking-chairwent careening away into the yard, where thewreckage of the other furniture already lay. Pillowsand blankets were clinging to tree-trunks orplastered to sodden flower-beds, and poor Vanwas standing on the mattress, watching with big,frightened eyes as things went by.

Rip! went a shutter over his head, and tremblinghe crept up on the sill whose angle offereda bit of shelter.

Just in time! The next gust took the mattresswith it, leaving only the bare iron bones of thecot, to which Van’s chain was fastened.

“If the wind should blow him off, his little neck[97]would be broken. I must do something,” thoughtBetsy.

Now the rain came down in blinding sheets.Betsy could stand it no longer.

“Vanny-Boy, I’m going to get you, no matterwhat happens.” It was easy enough to open thedoor, the waiting wind was only too eager. Ittook but an instant, but in that instant Betsy wassoaked to the skin. Without heeding that, northe roaring of the wind as it burst into the hallway,she stepped out into the awful tumult,slipped the catch of Van’s chain, picked up thehalf-drowned, frightened little body, and set himinside the door.

Then came the really hard part—to shut thedoor again. Betsy pushed with all her might. Astrong man could hardly have done it, and shewas just recovering from an illness. In the hallwaypictures were torn from their moorings, andthe furniture was dancing a quickstep. Try asbest she might, with all her strength, she couldnot close the latch.

“I’ve got to do it,” she sobbed, “I’ve just gotto, that’s all there is to it!”

When a thing must be done, somehow one seems[98]to have a little more than human power. Betsygave one more desperate push, and click! wentthe latch. She and Vanny-Boy were safe!

Now she turned to climb the stair, but insteadshe gave a weak little laugh, her legs crumpledunder her like paper, and she went down in awavering heap on the floor, with puddles of waterrunning from her in every direction. Van stoodover her, whining.

“Go call them, Van! Get your rope!”

He knew what that meant; oh, yes! Up thestairs he leaped, barking, as if rope was what allthis fuss was about, anyhow.

“Why, there’s Van! How did he get in?”said Dr. Johns. A suspicion came to him, andhe hurried down the stairs, where he found Betsy,dripping and helpless, but laughing.

“My dear, you should not have done this!Terrible things might have happened.”

“I just had to do it, Uncle Ben. He’d prob’lyhave been killed if I hadn’t.”

“And you might have been killed, you gallantlittle rescuer.”

“Well, it’s done now, and I’m glad I did it,”[99]said Betsy, as she was carried upstairs, put indry clothing and sent back to bed.

In the morning the adventurers turned out tobe none the worse for their soaking. But oh, thewreck of the honeysuckle porch, and the flower-beds,and the noble trees whose heads had beenlopped off! Nature had to work hard, with considerablehelp from the florist and the carpenter,to get things back into shapeliness. The honeysuckleporch had its broken vines trimmed off, thesoaked pillows were dried out, and the place generallywas restored to order. But Van slept thereno more. His Betsy was better, and the freedomof the house was his again. September came,and with it the glad freedom of out-of-doors, andhis old careless happy life.

[100]

CHAPTER IX
MORE LESSONS

“BETSY,” said Mrs. Johns, “school beginsnext Monday. Would you like to go?”

“Oh, my, yes, Aunt Kate. May I?”

“Certainly. I haven’t bothered you much thissummer about your studies, for there were somany other important things to learn. But Ithink you had better begin now.”

“Do you think I have enough manners, AuntKate?”

[101]“Why, dearie, you’ve done wonders in thesethree months, and I’m going to send you to PelhamTowers as a day pupil. You’ll meet littlegirls there with good manners and it will help you.How are you in your studies? Do you likebooks?”

“I just love ’em, Aunt Kate, and I took twoprizes last winter term. Then Pa wouldn’t letme go any more. He said if I could take prizesI knew enough. I felt awful, at first. But Iguess Ma did need me. She was took—taken—sickpretty soon, and she never did get well anymore.”

“Betsy dear, I’m sure it was best for you tohelp your mother, and what you did will helpmake you the fine woman you are going to besome day. But there’s nothing now to hinderyou from learning as fast as you like.”

So Betsy began, and after the first day she camehome looking very thoughtful.

“Well, how does school seem to you? What’son your mind, Betsy?”

“It’s all right, I guess,” she said slowly. “But—AuntKate, it’s like it is at Sunday School. Myclothes are as nice and nicer than most, but—I[102]heard one girl tell another one—they thought Iwasn’t hearin’—that I was ‘country’.”

“Never mind them, Betsy. How about yourlessons?”

“Well, Auntie, I was all kinds. Grammar,—”Betsy smiled up sidewise at her Aunt,—“grammar,—I’mnot much; geography,—I’m in thetop class; ’rithmetic,—I’m top in that, too; reading,—MissPelham says I have a good voice, butI need a lot of trainin’; and nature study,—AuntKate, I don’t know the names of things, but Iknow more about bugs and worms and gardensass and wild flowers than the whole school. Andoh, Aunt Kate, I’m going to learn the name ofeverything there is on earth.”

“Good girl! That’s the right road to travel.”

“And, Auntie Kate,” Betsy’s eyes were on thefloor now, “I’m going to watch those girls, andthe first thing you know I won’t be queer anymore. I’ll be a real lady.”

“You’ve the makings of one in you, Betsy girl.Don’t be in a hurry, everything will come outfinely. I’ll trust you.”

“Some of those girls have got too many manners.They’re silly.”

[103]“Follow after the simpler-mannered ones; puttingon airs is not good manners. How is yourbook coming on? I have never seen what youhave written. Don’t you think I am entitled tojust a glimpse?”

Without a word Betsy got the book and handedit to Mrs. Johns, who opened it with a keen appreciationof the sacredness of it, and of the littlegirl’s simple trust in her.

From beginning to end it was a record of struggleand victory. Aunt Kate did not smile, althoughmany of the items were quaint, to say theleast. The first one was:

“Bathe yurself good. Do not skip neck andears.”

Following came such as these:

“Bread is not buttered all to once. You breakoff little chunks.”

“A mouthful is not what you can stuf in. It isvery little.”

“Do not bite your nales.”

“Hold your spoon and fork in your fingers likethey was hot and burnin’ you.”

“Do not skuf your feet.”

“Do not drink out loud. Van makes a noise[104]but he is a dog and diffrent. Eat as still as youknow how.”

“Knives is to cut with and nothin’ else.”

“Do not dip your supe tords you. It may goin your lap.”

“Drink supe from the side of spoon. (This isorkard, but Aunt Kate says it is currect.) Do notsoke cracker in supe.”

“A lie is the worst thing on earth. I will neverbe a liar.”

“Never bite your nales.”

“I will kepe my sole clene, just like the rest ofme.”

“Teeth will not spoil on you if you brush ’emevery time you eat.”

“Hare is a woman’s glory if it is comed. Ifnot it is a site.”

“Aint and haint is not nice. Same with yepand nope.”

“Slang and swear words is not nice.”

“Never never never bite your nales. Ladieshands is always clene.”

There were many others, all showing that thechild was struggling hard to reach her physicaland moral ideals.

[105]“Betsy mine, I’m astonished at the amount ofthings you have learned; and the best of it is thatyou are using your knowledge. Why, I’m proudof you.”

And now the long days of romping with Vanwere over. Betsy took her lunch, and did notreach home until half-past three. Always the littlePrince was on the lookout for her return. Heknew when the very minute came for her to turnin at the park gates, and would bark franticallyuntil he was let out. Then a wild rush, and beforeshe was past the lodge-gate, he would be leapingupon her. A frolic and a ramble would follow,and after that Betsy must study a little beforedinner.

With the flying days one had only to look atBetsy to see her grow. She held her own atschool, for her independent way of holdingherself aloof kept her from exposing herspeech and actions to criticism. Gradually sheassimilated the gentle breeding of the betterclass of girls in the school. There was a fineinstinct in her that kept her ideals in the rightpath. In her classes, although at first her expressionswere not always couched in elegance,[106]her understanding of things was clear. Sheloved her books to their very bindings. Toget at them she would almost neglect her playwith Van. Her standing in her classes graduallycaused the girls to respect her, but although herlittle heart craved a closer intimacy with some ofthem, she could not bring herself to break thebond of reserve which her loveless childhood hadwoven about her. So, while her comrades cameto her for help in their lessons, they went off withtheir arms twined about each other, leaving herwondering. With Aunt Kate she would talk eagerlyand intelligently, but at the touch of a caressingarm, there would come in Betsy’s eyesthat startled glance of the wild thing,—the instinctivedrawing back; and then a pounding ofthe heart that did not yet dare to own its hiddenwells of affection.

With Van, however, she felt this reserve dropaway entirely. The little fellow gave his affectionso freely, and demanded hers so insistently,that refusal would have been impossible. He expectedlove, and it was his. Aunt Kate watchedthis with a growing yearning in her motherlyheart, and caught glimpses now and then of the[107]wonderful blossom that might some day unfoldfrom the stubborn little calyx.

The winter days grew short, then longer; Vanwaxed in greatness and importance on the Hill-Top,and then, one Saturday morning he had anexperience that opened up new vistas. He, too,began his Grammar School.

Dr. Peters came over, looking as if he hadsomething on his mind—something special.

“Miss Betsy,” he said, “Dr. Johns thinks Vanis old enough to try on Ward M. There are somerats in the yard there that we cannot get rid of.”

Betsy gave her consent rather reluctantly.Catching mice off one’s own vine and fig tree isone thing, but being loaned out as a common rat-catcheris another, and a bit beneath the dignityof a Prince of the Blood.

Van himself had no such scruples. He wentjoyfully, with a feeling that something unusualwas about to happen, and whatever it might be,he would be the boy for it.

The yard on Ward M. was surrounded on threesides by buildings, underneath which the rats hadburrowed and made fortresses for themselves.No one could get at them without tearing down[108]the foundations of the Hospital. This was theyard where certain patients took their airing, andthe rats had become a pest and a nuisance.

Dr. Peters had a great scheme all planned out,by means of which he hoped to make a clean sweepof the enemy. There were to be three principalactors—Van, the Fire-Hose and Himself. Theother doctors, six of them, came out and stoodaround and got in the way, in the hope that theymight help a little, and at all events, see the fun.They were like a lot of overgrown boys. Vanfelt that he was in first-rate company, and prancedaround proudly, feeling from the glances theycast upon him, and the words with which theycheered him on, that, whatever was about to happen,he was looked upon as the star performer.

The curtain went up when Dr. Peters fastenedthe fire-hose to the hydrant, and the fire-hoseopened the melodrama with a great swish andswirl. As the water filled it, it flapped andwrithed across the yard like a great boa-constrictor.

“Look out there! The water’s coming prettystrong!”

The fat young doctor spoke too late. Dr.[109]Peters missed his cue, and the nozzle was jerkedout of his hand by the rushing stream of water.The hose capered around the enclosure, and tieditself up into bow-knots, as if it were the historicalsea-serpent in captivity. It pointed its nozzlestraight at a black-bearded young doctor, doubledhim up, put a crease in him, and left him gaspingand soaked. Then it turned its attention to Dr.Peters, who was jumping like a chestnut on ahot shovel, trying to get another grip withoutbeing washed off the face of the earth. All theother doctors scrambled off into safe corners, andshouted directions to everybody, which nobodyheard. Van barked and tried to seize the wrigglinghose, but only succeeded in adding to thegeneral tumult. At last the fat young doctorturned off the water at the hydrant, Dr. Petersmopped his brow, the black-bearded young doctorwrung the water out of his coat-tails, and theshow went on into the second act.

Gripping the nozzle-end of the hose firmly inboth hands, Dr. Peters aimed it at a rat-hole underthe steps.

“Now, Van, stand ready. Easy now! Let hergo at the hydrant,—not too fast on the start.”

[110]The fire-hose came alive again. Dr. Peterskept the nozzle turned off until things were quiteready; Van stood by, all a-tremble with eagerness,—andthen——

Sh-sh-h-h-h-h! Squirt went a stream of waterstrong enough to knock terror into the heart ofthe stoutest rat on earth. Straight into the holethis time, and no bungling.

A squealing sound, and out came flying adrenched and much-befuddled rat.

No chance for him to make an exit. Snap!The star performer had him by the back of theneck. One little shake, a crunch, and all wasover. Another followed out of the same hole,—reluctantly.It was only a question of choice forhim,—death by drowning, or raticide. The hosewas too much for him; he chose the latter, andwent the way of his brother.

Nothing more out of that hole. Dr. Peterstried another. Squirt went the icy stream, andout trailed a mother-rat and her nine half-grownchildren.

Lively work for Van now. They scuttled inevery direction, all over the yard. Like a truesportsman, Van tackled the mother first, with a[111]good back-neck clutch, and she was done for.Now for the rest!

Hither, thither, from Dan to Beersheba hedarted. No time now to make a clean finish;every rat must be disabled before it could getaway to cover. And not one escaped. No historicalHerod was ever in the running with Van.His agility was marvelous. It was dart, shake,drop; dart, shake, drop;—nine times, and allover the place.

Then he went the rounds again, and in a tricethe whole ten were ready to add to the heap ofslain.

Another hole. Two came out, and one doubledand fled into the next hole before Van could gethim. All round the yard went the fire-hose, ledby Dr. Peters, sending its messenger into everyhole, and seldom failing to bring out one or morevictims.

It was a sweeping massacre, nothing more norless; the rats had no chance against that terribletrio,—a doctor, a fire-hose, and a fox-terrier.Twenty-six rodents were gathered to their fathers.

Dr. Peters and the fire-hose remained unchanged,but Van went home a reconstructed dog,[112]never more to be merely a cuddled, pamperedhouse-darling. Betsy shuddered when she lookedat him. He had a wild eye, a swagger, blood onhis white shirt-front and all over his coat. Hewas a man-grown now, and had done a man’swork. His only regret was that the lady of hisheart could not see the magnificent heap of slain.But perhaps she would not have appreciated it.He looked pityingly at Betsy. She was only agirl. She could not go out into the world andkill rats. Poor Betsy!

WHILE Betsy was busy atschool, the education ofVan did not come to a standstill.But, alas! his new lessons werenot in the path of virtue. Thelittle Prince roamed the whiteworld over, all through the shortwinter days, as far as his legswould take him afield. He mademany friends, with aroyal disregard for socialstanding, as otherprinces have beenknown to do, and beforespring came hehad fallen into thehands of,—yes, ofthieves,—for they[114]stole from him his good name and his character.

In the big Hospital there were many attendants,who, having hours off duty, liked nothing betterthan to amuse themselves with young Van, whosebeauty and bright, active ways had made him thedarling of the whole Hill-Top. Now, besidesthose attendants, there were, around the building,many, many cats—cats of all descriptions; petcats a few, and roving, wild cats a-many. Therewere whole families of cats that had come up asthe flowers of the field, who toiled and spun not,and who held themselves accountable to no one,man or woman. They were a sad, bad lot, thatstole and laid waste the cupboards of the Hospital.Nobody loved them and they loved nobody.They had no manners or morals, and weresimply a band of robbers.

Now, on an evil day, some of the young mendecided that it would be a good and useful thingto train Van as a slayer of cats as well as a catcherof rats. Spring was coming on, and a new lotof kittens had appeared on the scene, when, outbehind the buildings, where Dr. Johns could not[115]see them, a number of attendants smuggled Van,one day, and turned him loose where the cats werethickest.

They cheered him on and encouraged him inevery way possible, and he, being by birthright asporting gentleman, and the natural enemy of allsmall animals, required very little training tomake him an expert “catter.” He needed nocoaxing. He still remembered that old yellowTommy that he had treed in his infancy. Betsyand Mrs. Johns had laughed at that. It wouldcertainly be a delight to them if they could seehim wipe a whole family of good-for-nothingkittens off the map. There was not even the memoryof a reproof to restrain him.

Those were wild, wicked days that followed,and those lawless attendants applauded his misdeeds.First the kittens disappeared, then themiddle-sized cats followed, though these were aswifter lot, and he had to stalk and catch themunawares. Then, for he was a man-grown now,he tried the big old cats. If he could get them bythe backs of their necks it was all over with them;but they grew wary, and the biggest ones wouldfight back, with claws and teeth, leaving many a[116]scar of battle on his brown head, that causedBetsy to wonder.

Still, it was rare sport to chase these veterans,and Van’s days abroad were one long series ofcrimes. Home he would go at night, and sleepthe sleep of an angel in his basket in the kitchen.In the morning he would be off to kill, kill, kill.

He did not stop at the Hill-Top. There wereneighbors who had cats. These he found, andmany a happy family was made desolate. Soon,instead of being a well-behaved little dog, belovedby all, he became a hated ruffian. Many atime it was only the name on his collar that savedhim from being shot. For he wore a collar now,with a brass plate, which announced to those whocould read as they ran, that he was owned by Dr.Johns, of the big Hospital.

It was a long time before the family knew ofhis sins, and when it finally came out it nearlybroke the heart of Betsy, and made Dr. Johnslook very grave indeed, and wonder if he hadnot done right in objecting to his coming.

It was a warm April day, nearly a year sinceVan had come to the Hill-Top to live. He wastaking his peaceful daily walk, with Betsy for[117]company, and they wandered down into the flowergarden, where the pansies were beginning tobloom in the cold-frames. Three pretty kittenswere frisking on the gravel walk, and Betsystopped to play with them.

Piff! Right under her nose Van caught one,and had shaken the life out of it before she knewwhat had happened. He laid it proudly at thefeet of her whose approval he desired.

“Van! Van! What are you doing? You baddog!”

Betsy’s voice had never sounded like that before.To his surprise she caught him by the collar,and before he could get at kitten number two,she had given him a sound whipping.

This was most unexpected. He had thought tosee her in ecstasies of delight, as she was when hehad killed that first mouse. Now, how was this?One person had taught him something, and anotherwas punishing him for it. Van was quitebewildered. Tail down, he went home with hismistress, ashamed and heart-broken over the firstsevere punishment he had received at her hands.

However, it remained like this—he was grownup, and no longer a baby and a coddled house-pet;[118]he was not to be ruled by any one in petticoats.Betsy might know rules for house manners, butwhat could she know of the outside world! Hewould abide by the teachings of men, as behoovedthe son of royalty. Betsy’s little whippings werenot much, anyway!

So, although he went home in a very subduedway, with his head drooping and his bark silent,he was in no way minded to continue in obedience.The bad way was so much more to his liking, too.Do not men, and good men, go out with guns, andshoot and kill innocent birds and squirrels, forthe mere sport of it? It is a gentleman’s sport—tokill. Pity that it should be so! So we cannottoo severely blame a little dog for followingthe instincts that grown men indulge in and arenever whipped for.

Everything seemed to be against Vanny-Boy’sbeing a good dog. Mary the cook, and Treesa,could not be bribed into punishing the winsome,fascinating sinner. There was no one to do itbut Betsy, and she hated to worse than anybody.But she loved the little Prince too well to let himgo on lightly in his wicked ways.

One evening, when it was just beginning to be[119]cat-time—every one knows that this is at twilight,when the cats, who love darkness, shake themselvesout of their day naps, and prowl aboutafter mice and rats—Van escaped through the kitchendoor, and was off on a marauding expedition.

It was a lovely night, with a rising moon, anda soft, still air that carried scents and sounds wonderfully;a night simply perfect for cats, ay, andfor dogs, too, thought Vanny-Boy, as he scamperedover the wide lawn toward the Hospitalbuildings. The birds in the nests were giving theirlast sleepy chirps and tucking their heads undertheir wings. Soon everything was still, save fora chorus of frogs that chirped and boomed thewhole night through in the distant ponds.

Van sniffed the air.—Rat! He took the trail,but it ended at a barred cellar window.

Sniff! Sniff! Surely that was Cat! Van doubledback, and followed Kitty’s scent,—through the biggate, across the road and through the fence intothe clover meadow beyond. Here it was verystill. Overhead the policemen fireflies were lightinghome the laggard bees from their day’s toil,and lending their lantern rays to the operatic performancesof a cloud of young mosquitoes.

[120]Under the daisies and clover-heads stole theblack cat. There were rustlings and scurryingsamong the field mice, I can tell you. A meadowlark flew off and left her four white eggs untilthe enemy had safely passed. But, oh, puss*, evenas you were hunting your prey, there was one followingof whom it were best to be always wary!

Sh! Sh! There went a little field-mouse rightunder puss*’s nose. She jumped, she had him—almost!Just then a brown and white streakwhizzed through the grasses, gave one leap overthe clover-tops, and—no—he, too, missed. Shewas too quick for him; but, without intending to,he had saved the life of the field-mouse, who scuttledoff in one direction as fast as puss* in another.

There followed a sharp race. puss* was bigand strong, and had she had time to turn andshow her claws, she might have fended for herself.But Van was almost upon her—there wasnothing for it but flight. Through the clover,first the black, then the white flew past; underthe fence, across the road, through the gate, overthe Hospital lawn, back to where they had started.There, right ahead, stood a friendly maple tree;one spring—and puss* was safe! Vanny-Boy[121]stood barking at the foot, as he had barked atthe yellow cat a year ago.

puss* stopped on the first limb, turned around,breathed a few times, to see if she still could, andlooked down at Van, a thing to be scorned andflouted. He could not climb trees—not he! Ha,ha! I am sure the cat must have laughed, justlike that.

That surely was a disappointment to Van. Heleaped vainly against the tree-trunk; he ranaround it in circles; he barked and barked.

Dr. Johns in the house looked up at Mrs.Johns, who was reading aloud.

“Surely that is Van barking so loudly. I fearhe will disturb the patients.”

“That’s his bark, sure,” said Betsy, droppingher work. “I’ll go out and fetch him.”

Now Betsy said that as if she were going outto bring in an ordinary, obedient little dog. Itwas easy to say.

She took down the whistle that she used to callhim. It sounded clear and shrill across the lawn.There was no result. Van’s loud and insistentbarking did not change its tone one whit.

[122]“Here, Van! Here, Van! Come here, Vanny-Boy!”

More barking, and a little louder and fiercer.

“Van!”—this was very stern—“Come here, Isay!”

More barking; then a sound of sniffling andrustling, as if puss* had gone down one tree andscuttled up another.

Betsy sighed, put up the whistle and took downthe whip, and started in the direction of the tumult.Under the tree she stopped and waved thewhip, with menace in her eye, which it was toodark for Van to see, even if he had been lookingat her.

Van flitted to the far side of the tree, andbarked as vigorously as if she were not there.Betsy started around after him; Van took theother half of the circle; Betsy cut across to closein on him; Van leaped to one side, dodged thewhip-lash, and darted to the base of the tree, asif he would make that cat come down before thefun was spoiled.

In vain. puss* understood that Betsy was onher side, and stood her ground, or, rather, she[123]stayed climbed, looking down in silent amusem*nton the interesting spectacle below.

Round and round the tree went Van, withBetsy after him, the whip almost swinging to him,he always just ahead, or doubling so quickly thatshe could not catch him.

“Wow, wow, wow!”

“Come here, I say!”

“Wow, wow, wow!”

Van was having the last word every time, forBetsy was almost breathless. The poor patientsmust have had a hard time of it trying to sleepthat evening.

“I will not give up my cat!” barked Van.

“Come here this instant!” called Betsy.

“Not if I know it! you can’t catch me!” barkedVan.

“I’ll get you yet, you young rascal!” pantedBetsy.

“My! but this is the best fun ever!”

“Just you wait till I get you. Then we’ll see!”

“I can tire her out and get the cat, too,”thought Van, as he gave vent to a perfect chorusof mad barks.

“I’ll get him if it takes all night,” said Betsy,[124]gritting her teeth. She could no longer run, soshe sat with her back against the tree, prepared tospend the night there if necessary.

Not so wise was Van. He continued barkingand circling and tearing the night into shivers,while his adversary rested and got her secondwind.

Now Betsy was up and at him again. Vanwas tiring a bit; he looked around for help. Hegave up hope of getting the cat.

Not far away on the grass by the kitchen doorsat Mary, enjoying the sweet air, and, I suspect,enjoying also the row that was going on underthe maple tree. Mary was his friend; Marywould protect him. To her he flew.

But Betsy’s ideas were different. She knewthat something must be done and done quickly,or her little Prince would become a nuisance anda disgrace to his royal name. She had tired himout in his excitement, and now the whip did itswork, while Van stood silently, taking his punishmentlike a man and a gentleman. Silently hecrawled into his basket until the smarting wasover, and his little heart beat less violently andhe could think. He had sinned in haste; now[125]there was leisure for repentance. His dear mistresshad been angry with him, and with goodcause. He had certainly given her a chase, anda wild one, and he deserved his punishment.Moreover, she had not come to say good-nightto him as usual. Queer!

The door of Betsy’s room opened a crack; alittle dog with sad eyes looked up into her faceas she sat on her couch, braiding her hair; anappealing nose was laid on her knee.

“Van, are you sorry?”

That was not the voice of an angry mistress,only a grieved one. There was hope. He burrowedhis muzzle in her hand as she stretched ittoward him; he whined a little note of love andpleading, as a smile broke across her face; hejumped upon the couch and looked straight intoher eyes, coaxing for the forgiveness that wasnow so near at hand. With apologetic littlegrunts he worked the muscles of his face, as ifhe were trying to speak in her own language, andtell her that he would try very hard to be good.Only, she must forgive him when the heart of thehunter in him beat too high for reasoning.

[126]“A little patience, oh, Betsy, my mistress. Iwill try; oh, I will try to be a good dog.”

But it was hard to remember when the voicesof his ancestors called to him. Once when thewayward little Prince had been more than usuallyexasperating, Dr. Johns undertook to chastisehim. Solemnly and deliberately he went throughwith the disagreeable duty, Van, as always,crouching quietly and without a sound. He tookit like a soldier. A cur might howl for mercy,might even lick the hand that hurt him, but not aprince of the blood. When the whipping was overhe walked silently away, climbed into his basket,curled up, and began to lick the places that stung.There he thought it over, and later he bobbed upas serenely as if he had quite forgotten or forgiventhe injury done him.

If Betsy thought that her uncle was going tohelp her in the matter of Van’s training, she wasto be disappointed. The very next day, as shestood in the door of the honeysuckle porch, waitingfor Dr. Johns to come home for lunch, shesaw him on the walk, with Van capering abouthim.

What did that gray-haired back-slider do but[127]sit down on the step, take Van’s bonny brown headin his two hands, look straight into his fearlesseyes, and say,

“Vanny-Boy, I’ll never, never whip you againas long as I live, no matter how bad you are. I’dbe ashamed to do it. I’m a great big man, andyou are so little and so pretty!”

Betsy stole softly away that Dr. Johns mightnot know that she had overheard these promptingsof his gentle heart. But she knew now thatshe had not one soul to help her; for Mrs. Johnshad long ago washed her hands of any part inVan’s up-bringing, and spoiled him like the others.She also knew that if she ever succeeded in makingVan as good as he was brave and fearless, shewould have to win the fight single-handed. Shesaid to herself, sadly,

“Aunt Kate has to teach me manners, becauseI belong to her now, and I’ve got to teach Van,because he belongs to me. I’m going to do myduty.”

[128]

CHAPTER XI
VAN BECOMES A HERO

VAN by this time knew the Hill-Top fromend to end, and for miles and miles on allsides. His four feet and his delicate nose hadexplored the whole countryside. He hunted withThatcher, he rode with the expressman, heprowled whole mornings by himself. But, bestof all, he loved to chase after Betsy. As the daysgrew longer, the little maid studied her lessonsin the afternoon, and took her walk with Vanafter dinner. She said to Mary one evening, asshe routed Van out of his basket in the kitchen,

[129]“Where’s the whip, Mary? I must take it soVan won’t chase cats.”

“Ah, now, Miss Betsy, he won’t be aftherhurtin’ the cats. He just do be havin’ his littlefun wit’ ’em.” Mary had no such tender feelingswhere cats were concerned, and the Boy-Heart,as she called him, should be allowed to follow hispretty little instincts.

“Fox terriers is intinded to chase cats, MissBetsy, and whin he goes out wit’ me I lets himhave his pleasure. He do enj’y himsilf, to besure!” Mary would not have betrayed him if hehad killed half a dozen cats, and she rather unwillinglyhanded the whip to Betsy, who startedoff with Van.

They skirted the lawn down by the row ofmaples, racing through the soft grass, while Vanbarked at the long shadows, looking himself likea thing of light in the level golden rays of thesinking sun. By the flower garden they turnedup, between the two goldfish ponds. Van carednothing for the ponds—water was only a thingto be avoided, anyway. The biggest one was thevery pond into which Thatcher had thrown himwhen he was a baby. Betsy might stop, if she[130]chose, to watch the darting fish, but Van hurriedthrough a tall hedge beyond. Here there mightbe some hunting.

But all was still. They crossed back to thewalk, and swung around the South Building andinto Bow Lane. There was a collie dog in theLane; he was a friendly old fellow, and Vanstopped to pass the time of day with him.

Down Bow Lane they went for a bit, and thenturned into the grounds again, this time behindthe buildings. An English setter lived there, buthe was on a chain and did not count.

Now they came to a row of small buildings, andhere, in the days of his apprenticeship at the business,there had been a perfect harvest of cats; catsto be chased through fences, cats to be treed, catsto be caught by their fearful mistresses and hurriedaway to safety, at the sound of Van’s bark.But now there were left only a few veterans thatbacked up against walls and stood at bay, withtwo rows of sharp teeth and twenty claws to buryin him, if he ventured too near. Van respectedthese old, seasoned cats. Summer and winter theyheld their own and defied him, and knowing that[131]Betsy held the whip, he was easily gotten pastCat Row.

Betsy heaved a sigh of relief, however, whenthe occasional spitting and sputtering, barkingand growling, was over, with no really violentencounter, and they turned down past the carpentershops, and came upon Pig-Pen Alley. Herewas the grand game of all the games.

The pigs, in general, took no notice of Van,but in and out of the pens darted rats. At sightof Van they hurtled to cover in every direction.They knew the enemy!

But to-night there was no sport, for Betsy didnot encourage him; instead she hurried him pastthese possible scenes of bloodshed.

Beyond Pig-Pen Alley they came upon SilverStreet. Here lived two more collies, who barkedat Van and Betsy from behind a high hedge. Onfrom here they went up the grassy road, turnedin at the gate, rounded a clump of spruces, andwere in sight of Dr. Johns’ home.

Right here Van, with a sense of having beencheated out of the best part of the walk by Betsy’swomanish dislike for battle, decided for himselfthat the evening’s entertainment was not over—not[132] his part of it, anyway. He turned suddenly,and went straight back by the way he had come.

When Betsy went up the steps of the honeysuckleporch, there was no Van at her heels. Shecalled, but he was nowhere to be seen, and hemade no answer.

Betsy whistled and called to him in vain. Shewent into the house greatly troubled.

“I don’t know what came over him, Aunt Kate.He seemed to forget something and go backfor it.”

“We won’t wait for him, Betsy. He’ll comeback before long, as gay as a lark.”

Meantime Van was alone and free to followhis own sweet will. Down Silver Street he went,stopping to bark defiance at the two collies. Thenhe turned to the left, and went towards TobyHollow. Many times had he been there in thedaylight, but never before at night. It was adelicious place, full of whispering mysteries ofleaf and insect. Little night noises and voices ofthe underworld babbled around him, the trees bentabove him, like friendly giants, and the Dark wassoft and warm. There were depths to explorethat never existed in the daytime. Here a squirrel[133]swished past almost within reach of Van’snose; now a woodchuck crossed his path, and hetracked it to its hole and waited there, long andvainly, for its reappearance. He would rememberthat woodchuck, sometime, when Thatcherwas there to help him.

The night had long ago pulled down its velvetycurtains. Far away a little rooster, whowas just learning to crow, and was anxious toget in extra practice, turned up his cracked littlevoice: “Ruckety, ruckety r-r-r-r-r-r!” It made astir through all the chicken yards along the road;Van barked a reply. If that meant morning hemust hurry on with his night-prowling. Dew-wetbut happy he turned back. The game in TobyHollow was too shy. He would go where heknew his ground better.

Pig-Pen Alley again. Betsy was not here tobother him now. He would make a round byhimself. Piff! there went a rat right across thealley in front of him. Like a shot from a cannonwent Van through the palings and was hot on itstrack. Down the alley they skimmed along. Ifthe rat could only hold out to that corner itwould be safe. It jumped for a hole, but Van[134]headed it off, and it turned into the darkness ofthe great Cow Barn. There was no chance toturn or double—Van was too near.

All was quiet there, for it was late in the night,and good cows sleep when it is dark. Mr. Ratscuttled along—the breath of the dog was on him;—oh,for a place to hide!

At the far end, beyond the long rows of gentlybreathing cattle, was an enclosed stall, built ofcement, and strewn with clean straw. Just nowit was occupied by a mother cow and her babycalf, only a day old. A sack of corn leanedagainst the stall, and with a leap the rat was behindit. Van tipped the bag over, but at that instantthe rat had found a knot-hole in the woodendoor, and was on the inside. Van could not gothrough a knot-hole.

But there were other ways, and he did not intendto give up the chase—not yet! The stallwas only four feet high, and there was the sackof corn. On this Van scrambled. With a leaphe caught the edge of the stall with his paws; aspring and a wriggle, and he, too, was inside.

He landed on something warm and soft; asomething around which the rat ran, escaping[135]again by the hole where he had entered; a somethingwhich gave an astonished “moo!” at the disturbanceof her rest; a something which rose outof the pitch darkness like a black mountain.Mother Cow would see what was destroying theslumbers of her baby and herself. Huge andawful she was, for a mother cow with her littleone is no child’s toy. Had it been daylight shecould easily have made an end of poor Van, withher wicked horns.

As it was she stood there, blinking and grumbling,with a threat in her throat, and a warningalso to the wabbly baby, that crowded in behindher great bulk, where it would be safe fromdanger.

Mother Cow was quite enough for Van, however.She stood there, fearsome and menacing,and Van faced her—the biggest problem he hadever tackled. She looked formidable indeed; hecertainly could not get her by the back of theneck and shake her. He decided not to rush thelady, but to fight shy, and for time. He must bebrave, look her down, and not flinch.

He made no sound. Somehow the valiant littlefigure, standing his ground before her, made[136]Brindle hesitate about attacking in her turn.

She shook her horns threateningly, but took nostep toward him. Van stood motionless. Theminutes crept slowly by.

At the far end of the big cow-barn appearedthe light of a swinging lantern. The night-watchmanwas going his rounds to see that all was safe.Van gave one long howl. Perhaps he would berescued. The man hesitated—yes, he was coming!—No,he had decided that some dog outsidehad made the noise. All seemed peaceful in thecow-barn, and he did not go in, but disappeareddown toward Cat Row.

Van whined despairingly, but the man was nowout of hearing. Another hour must be livedthrough before help could come again.

There was not one thing in the stall on whichVan could climb and make his way to safety, andfour feet were more than he could jump. Thewalls, bare and smooth, closed him in. Therewas no light, save that which struggled througha high, cobwebby window, from the far-awaystars.

No help anywhere! nothing to do but wait andwait till the night-watchman came back; always[137]to hold his ground, and never to lose his nerve!He squared himself to the task.

The baby calf grew chilly and cried. MotherCow backed closer to it, almost stepping on itwith her great awkward cloven hoofs. It pressedinto the corner, and its little body was warmedagainst hers. It stopped shivering, lay down,and at last slept.

The minutes went on, and the quarter-hours.Van slipped backward slowly, warily, until hecould brace himself in the far corner of the stall.Always he kept his eyes on the enemy, his headlowered to point, his stump-tail straight and alert,his forelegs ready for a spring, his hind legswide and rigid,—ready for the on-rush thatmight come at any minute. He grew stiff andcold.

The chimes in the clock tower of the MiddleBuilding sounded,—then the great bell struckOne! The light appeared again in the doorway.Van whined.

“What’s that?” called the night-watchman.

Van did not answer. So a-tremble was he witheagerness and nervous excitement that he did notthink to sound again his alarm-signal.

[138]The night-watchman looked in, but the aislebetween the rows of cattle was empty, save forthe over-turned bag of corn. He lifted his lanternhigh, and looked into the stalls nearest him.All quiet everywhere.

“Now he is coming,” thought Van, and he stoodsilent and quivering, never taking his eyes fromthe enormous foe who seemed to grow bigger inthe dim lantern-light. She faced him as before,and neither made a sound. The watchman turned,and went out into the night.

Van shuddered, and the great mountainous masslowed ominously, and swayed from side to side.If he stirred a hair out of his place she would beupon him with her horns.

Another slow hour must creep around. Van’snerves were near the breaking point, but he musthold on. If only he could have done something,it would have been easier. But he could not rusha monster like that. He had no weapons withwhich to fight dragons. More than one knightin the fairy tales has been chewed up because heattempted the impossible, or lost his guard foran instant. He must simply stand there, withevery nerve and muscle in hand. He must not[139]move, and thus bring on the unequal struggle, inwhich he would certainly be killed. If the strugglecame he would fight, and fight to his finish.Until then he must simply stand at bay. Helpmight come even yet.

Courage and endurance! Courage and endurance!Could he last another hour?

The chimes struck the half-hour—three-quarters—thenthe welcome One—Two! Soon thedoor would grow light again. Yes, there he was—thewatchman!

A quavering cry that was almost a sob, brokefrom Van. “Oh, come to me!” he seemed to say,“I cannot hold out much longer.”

The Mother Cow swayed and grumbled, once—twice.She, too, was tiring. Why not rushhim and have it over?

“Hello!” said the night-watchman. “What’sthe trouble? That sounds like something in distress.”

This time he came in and went down the longaisle. At the very end he stopped and lookedover into the box-stall. There stood the cow inone corner, with her baby lying huddled behindher, her great mother-eyes, fierce with fear, looking[140]straight into the brave brown eyes of a weedog. Even then Van did not stir. He musthold that awful thing back by the force of hiswill, until the last moment of danger was over.

The night-watchman reached over and liftedVan out by his collar. At his touch the little herocrumpled up with a piteous whine that wentstraight to the heart of his rescuer. Then he laystill in the man’s arms.

The night-watchman looked him over andwhistled. On his collar he read “Vanart VI.”He did not stop to read more.

“It’s the Boss’s dog, sure. Well, of all thepluck! He must have been here two or threehours. I’m sure I heard something at twelveand at one, but I never dreamed it was inside thebuilding. How he held out against that cow Idon’t see. All mothers are fierce when theiryoung is in danger. You certainly have got thegrit, young fellow. I make my bow to you.”

He picked up his lantern and was off at aswinging stride toward Dr. Johns’ house. Vanlay silent until his breath returned, his heart beatsteadier, and his nerves lost their terrible tension.Then his self-respect came to him. He[141]could not bear to be brought home in a man’sarms. Betsy or Mary might tote him around alittle, if he were tired or sleepy,—but any oneelse,—oh, no, indeed!

With a wriggle and a plunge he slipped fromthe hold of the astonished night-watchman, whostood with his mouth open, watching him disappearthrough the dark, like a small goblin, in thedirection of home.

The man looked after him, and laughed.

“The little tyke’s a sport all right, all right!I sh’d think I’d seen a ghost if I hadn’t had holdof him.”

Betsy lay in her bed, listening for the clearbark that would sound across the lawn sooner orlater.

Instead, at the very door of the house sheheard a pitiful wail, and she bounded up to letin a trembling creature, a little Prince, with allthe princeliness gone out of him; he looked nobetter than the meanest mongrel that ever lived.

Not until the next day, when the night-watchmantold his story, did she know that her Vanny-Boywas a real hero.

[142]

SCHOOL was over, and it was very near theFourth of July. Betsy had never seen acelebration, and neither had Van, for that matter,as there had been no demonstrations at theHospital the year before.

But this year there was to be a grand parade;it was to take place on the grounds, for the entertainmentof the patients. For weeks the attendantsat the Hospital had been spending theirodd moments in making costumes. There wereto be floats of every kind filled with revelers, andthose who could not ride were to join the processionon foot, decked out with the bravest.After the parade there would be lemonade andpeanuts for everybody, with fireworks in theevening.

Betsy was greatly excited. She had been askedto dress as one of a party of haymakers, and ridein a big haywagon, all draped with red, white,and blue. Her big brown eyes danced as she[144]talked it over the evening before, with Treesaand Mary.

“Why can’t the Boy-Heart ride wit’ you in thewaggin?” said Mary. “He’d make a foine show,sittin’ up so grand besoide yez.”

“He’d be great!” said Betsy, clapping herhands. “I’ll put his chain on him, so he can’t getaway. He’ll be the finest thing in the show. I’llask Aunt Kate. Van, do you want to ride in theprocession?”

Van knew well enough they were talking abouthim. He barked his willingness to take part inanything that promised excitement and a goodtime, and to play any part, from the Lion toThisbe. Aunt Kate looked a little dubious, butseeing the light in Betsy’s face, she consented.

And that evening Treesa and Mary put theirheads together. Early on the morning of thegreat day they called to Van, and from Treesa’sroom came forth sounds of scuffling and muchlaughter, ending with a series of barks. Then alittle dog burst from the room and danced intothe front of the house, with his eyes sparkling,and his spirits so gay that he needs must get his[145]rope, and have Betsy shake it up with him for alittle.

Later he heard Treesa calling, “Here, Pansy,Pansy! Come here, Pollywog—come here again.”(Van’s nicknames among his friends were manyand varied.)

He ran to her, capering recklessly, and thistime there was less scuffling, and more laughterand barking. When he reappeared, he was thespirit of mystery itself. I doubt, had he beenable to talk English, if he could have kept thesecret into which he had been taken.

It was just the kind of a day the weather-manshould always pick out for the Fourth of July.Sunny and breezy it was; not too hot, not too cold.The preparations went merrily on, and at a quarterto ten Betsy looked for Van, as the festivitieswere to begin at ten sharp.

But Van did not appear.

“I wonder where he is?” said Mrs. Johns. “Ihope nothing has happened.”

“I’ll see if he is in the kitchen,” said Betsy,and just then the swinging door opened, and incame Van—Vanart the Prince, prancing proudlyon his hind legs, dressed in the bluest of overalls[146]with white polka dots and shoulder straps; asnowy shirt, one of Treesa’s collars, and a greatred Windsor tie at his throat. His forepawswaved out of tiny cuffs; these, with the other twothat appeared to be treading on air, his brownhead and his stump of a tail sticking through ahole made for it in his overalls, were all the evidenceto prove that he was still a dog.

He was as proud as a peaco*ck, and as pleasedwith the effect of his costume as if he had thoughtit all up himself and made the clothes. Therewas no hint of the first struggle, when Treesaand Mary had tried the clothes on; nor of thesecond, when they taught him how to wear themand he had tolerated the garments for love of themakers. He wore his suit like a man, and lookeddelightfully self-conscious.

The applause was loud and long, quite enoughto satisfy even the vain little Prince, who lovednothing better than being noticed. He felt thatalready he had made the hit of the day.

“The overalls and the shirt will be simply perfectfor the haywagon,” laughed Mrs. Johns.“How did you ever think of it? The collar and[147]the red tie are the finishing touches. He’ll bethe observed of all observers.”

“And patriotic, too,” said Betsy. “Look at thecolors—red, white and blue! He’s just grand!”

Van was wriggling with the excitement of theaffair. The final adjustment of his red Windsortie was the hardest to bear, it took so long forTreesa and Betsy to set the bows right; stilllonger, because they were laughing at Van’s comicalpride in himself. When at last he went caperingover the lawn at the end of the chain whichBetsy held tightly, he was quite too much for thefamily, who were assembled on the honeysuckleporch, shaking with laughter.

“It’s the foine b’y he is!” said Mary from herstation on the kitchen walk.

“He’ll be the whole show, or I miss my guess,”said Treesa.

“It’s the kapin’ of him in the waggin that I’mdoubtin’. I hope she do be havin’ a tight houldon the collar of him.”

“Oh, he’ll be all right. He’s so conceited andproud of his clothes that he’ll keep straight.”

Behind the great buildings the procession wasforming, with all sorts of strange people running[148]to and fro. Masked figures in petticoats thatwere flaunted with distinct masculine awkwardness,pretty young girl-attendants in red, white,and blue, and wearing liberty-caps, children ingay costumes, Uncle Sams and clowns. Therewere wagons filled with farm-hands, bicyclestransformed into whirling rosettes of color, floatsbearing the “States,” from Texas to Rhode Island.Every spare attendant and every vehicle on theplace was pressed into service. All the employeesand their families were there,—even some of thejolly young doctors took part in the motley show.

The procession started out on the mile-longdriveway that surrounded the Hospital buildings,and it was truly gorgeous. Betsy’s happy faceshone from the seat on the haymakers’ wagon,where she sat proudly with the driver, holdingVan beside her.

People from the town and country around, whohad turned out to see the parade, laughed at theperky little head with its red necktie, while frommany windows the patients shouted all sorts ofgreetings to his small Magnificence.

“Hello, Van!”

“Ain’t he the dude!”

[149]“Get onto them overalls!”

“Hi, there, Van; lend us your necktie!”

Van bobbed his head every time he heard hisname, and enjoyed the whole show as if it hadbeen planned for him alone. He was in his element—thevery center of admiration. Betsy feltthat she was doing her whole duty by her partof the exhibit. All was going forward as merrilyas possible until——

Van looked ahead and saw something in theprocession—a small object that had up to nowescaped his notice; as they rounded a curve hehad a second glimpse of it. One of the attendants,dressed as a clown, was leading a very much bescrubbedand shining young pig. Van was nowwide awake.

Piggy was pink as the flush of dawn. He worea large bow of red, white, and blue ribbon whichannoyed him exceedingly. Moreover, he wasnaturally timid and retiring, and did not like beingdragged around by a string in the midst of suchqueer-looking people. He was distinctly uncomfortable.Piggy protested, and it was his squealingthat first drew Van’s attention.

Now Van knew pigs—none better; but this was[150]a new kind. He did not stop to consider thathe himself was groomed and arrayed and fit tokill—that he was quite as funny as the funniest.His one desire was to get a closer view of thestrange, uncanny beast. He gave a leap; and almostwent over the dash-board, but Betsy was onher guard and held him back. She took a firmgrip on his leather collar, which he wore underTreesa’s, and tried to steady him. He wriggledbackward under her arm, leaving the collar andchain in Betsy’s hands, while he slipped down behindher, yelping and barking, into the midst ofthe merrymakers in the hayrick.

Instantly there was uproar and confusion. Onecaught at his tail, but it was too short to be useful;another grabbed him by his red necktie, andit came away, an unsightly string. Anothersnatched at his white collar; that also came loose.Some one took a firm hold upon his shirt-front;he gave a mighty squirm, and behold, he was nolonger in that shirt! It dangled in the hands ofthe astonished haymaker. Leaping and wriggling,Van, at top speed, made a pilgrim’s progressfrom hand to hand, down the whole lengthof the hayrick.

[151]Betsy was on the ground now; she ran aroundto the rear, and amid a chorus of gleeful yellsfrom the crowd, she caught her charge as hejumped. The procession had stopped, so Van’sside-show had full swing. He struggled desperately,and was out of Betsy’s arms, leaving thelast remnant of his respectability—his overalls—inher hands, and was after that pig.

Piggy was quite unprepared. With nerves alreadywrought to a high tension by the crowd, andthe unaccustomed grandeur of his necktie, thesight of Van bearing down upon him was toomuch. He squealed as never pig squealed before,and tugged at his gala harness in frantic terror.Van leaped upon him; he tore the offending ribbonbow from his neck; he tried to catch him somewhere,and shake him up, but Piggy was a pachyderm,plump and solid,—and that means that Vancould not find one spot on his whole pink exteriorwhere a restraining tooth could be fastened.

Piggy squealed louder; it was an awful moment.One more wild lunge, and the leash flew out ofthe clown’s hands. With a bound Piggy was offacross the lawn, sprinting at a gait so lively that[152]any razor-back of the wildwood would have beenproud to own him as a relative.

Van was hard at Piggy’s heels, in spite of theefforts of the bystanders to catch him; the clownfollowed Van, Uncle Sam followed the clown; ahaymaker went streaking after Uncle Sam; a maleattendant in petticoats gathered up his skirts andfollowed the haymaker—it was far more stirringthan the ride of the Miller of Dee.

The whole of the United States stood up intheir floats and shrieked with joy, Rhode Islandand California clasping hands, as the mad processionwent whirling by. Those who did not joinin the chase stood cheering and holding their sidesand offering good advice.

“Ten to one on the pig!”

“I put my money on the clown!”

“I’m for Van, strong!”

“Hurry, hurry, Uncle Sam. You’re gettingleft!”

That was an unparalleled race, long to be rememberedin the annals of Fourth of July festivities;history hath not its like.

It ended abruptly.

Van caught up with Piggy at the far end of the[153]lawn, just as the clown arrived and made a divefor Piggy’s leash. There was a struggle, a blurof pink and white, and then Uncle Sam threw hisred and blue into the kaleidoscope. The gentlemanin petticoats fell, last of all, upon the wholebunch, eclipsing them with his voluminous draperies.

When they arose from the scrimmage, UncleSam held Van in a deadly grip, while Piggy wasled away, squealing with rage and terror. Stillkeeping his strangle-hold upon Van, Uncle Samstrode back to the driveway, delivered the protestingculprit into Mary’s hands, and mounted hisfloat once more, a hero, who had saved his country’shonor and his country’s pig from annihilation.

The procession moved on, and every one votedthat Van’s impromptu act with the pig was theprize feature of the whole show.

Mary shut the door on him.

“Did ye see the likes of that, now! Little impthat ye are,—sp’ilin’ the parade!

“No, ye’ll not get out ag’in, till the merrymakin’do be over. Go to bed in yer baskit, ye little spalpeen!Ye’ve disgraced us all.”

Then later:

[154]“If they had hurted ye, Boy-Heart, I’d be afthergivin’ ’em what they desairve. An’ yer niceclothes, too, that was so pretty! What did yedo wit’ ’em, annyhow? An’ what’ll Miss Betsybe doin’ to yez?”

When the parade was over and Betsy had returnedto the house, she looked Van over despairingly.

“Oh, Vanny-Boy! After all I’ve taught youabout manners—think what you’ve done. You’vedisturbed a good pig who wasn’t trying to doanything but look beautiful. You’ve been disobedient.You’ve let your feelings run away withyou. No decent dog was ever so dirty. Yourlovely clothes are gone, I don’t know where, andyou pretty near upset the whole parade. I’mashamed of you clear to my toes. And here I’vebeen trying to bring you up to be a real gentleman.”

The fallen princeling apologized so abjectlythat Betsy could not help laughing at him, forafter all, it had been funny.

But sure enough, the nice clothes—where werethey?

The necktie never came back. Some one[155]handed Betsy the mangled remains of the shirtand collar; the overalls were missing.

One day, the following summer, Betsy saw abit of blue calico with white polka dots stickingout from under the edge of the summer-house.She drew it out—the damp, mildewed, fadedremnant of Van’s past glory and shame.

[156]

CHAPTER XIII
VAN IN DISGRACE

VAN never forgot anything that he wanted toremember. Away back in the time of hispuppyhood Betsy had laughed when he hadchased an old hen.

When the cats were pretty well thinned out,he, in his solitary excursions, chanced on somehalf-grown chickens. He chased them a little,and they fluttered and scrambled awkwardly awayfrom him. Now anything that runs is to bechased. Van always chased Betsy when she ranwith him on the lawn; yes, and he would growl[157]and shake her skirts. It would be good fun tosee what these ungainly birds would do.

So he went for them, and they came right upto his expectations; they plunged across the road,squawking and crying.

This was delightful! He would try nippingthem.

That was still better fun. Pretty soon hecaught one, gave it a little shaking up, and it layquite still and limp. He turned to find a livelierone, but just then the mistress of the house wherehe was trespassing, saw him, and he received agood banging over the head with a broom.

He concluded that he had had enough sportfor one day, and went home. An hour later aboy from the house where the chickens lived, wentto Dr. Johns’ office with a dead chicken in hishand, for which Dr. Johns promptly paid. Itappears that chickens have a market value whichcats have not, and one may not destroy them sofreely.

To punish Van away from the game wouldhave been useless. Dr. Johns gave forth the orderthat he must be kept at home, and not allowedout except on a chain.

[158]This was terrible. Van’s life had been onelong joy, with no confinement whatever, exceptin those early mad-dog days. The whole worldhad been his, and now it was taken away fromhim—from him, Prince Vanart VI.!

But alack and alas! this did not cure him. Onemorning he slipped out through a carelessly unlatcheddoor, and was off down the hill as fastas his little legs could carry him.

By some luck—hard luck for Vanny-Boy—Betsysaw him and started after him at the topof her speed, stopping only long enough to takethe whip. At the foot of the hill stood a housewith a chicken-yard behind it. A few stately oldbiddies were stalking around the lawn after wormsand insects, while a still statelier old roosterstrutted up and down importantly.

Van saw them and turned in. He must makethe most of his liberty, and no time was to belost. He grabbed at an old white hen, but shewas too heavy for him. He turned away with hismouth full of feathers and tackled another withthe same result. By this time the whole lawnwas in an uproar, and had it not been so early in[159]the morning some one from the house must certainlyhave seen him.

Betsy was on the way, however, and she advancedto the rescue of old hen number three.Van was very busy indeed, but these hens wereall too big. He gripped another, with one eyeon the rooster;——

Down came the whip over his back, just missinghim, for he was now on his way to the chicken-yard,where the birds were smaller. Betsy followed,and just as he made a dash for a nicebroiler, she stepped inside and closed the gatebehind her.

The instant Van heard the click of the gate heknew that the jig was up. He stood still, tookin the situation, saw that there was no hope, andcame straight to his mistress. Down at her feethe lay, ready for the inevitable whipping.

Oh, valiant little sinner! Why did you alwaysmake it so hard for those who had to punish you?One may whip a coward, and feel that he deservesit, but with two brave eyes looking up, not evenbegging for mercy, a white body that will quiver,but not cringe under the lash, with no sound of[160]protest—how can one do it? Betsy needed allher own courage for the task.

Without a whimper the plucky little dog wentback to the house on his chain, and care was redoubledto keep him at home. He showed noremorse. He had had his fun and taken his punishment.Chickens were decidedly the best sportyet, and his blood continued to leap at the sightof a feathered temptation.

Poor Betsy! She was at her wits’ end. Whatcould she do? The neighbors would not standfor this sort of thing, and the day would comewhen some one would kill him, and no one couldblame the doer of the deed. It could not matterto strangers what an adorable bit he was in hisown home. Indoors he obeyed like an angel, out-of-doorshe tossed his head and went his wickedways.

Here was a problem that Betsy could notsolve. The small sinner knew very well that hewas doing wrong, and he knew that punishmentfollowed, if he was caught. But he knew alsothat whippings do not last forever, and whilethe chase was on, he could not think of what wasto follow—only a savage red triumph filled his[161]brain. Nothing else mattered for the moment.Those days with the Hospital attendants werehaving their effect.

What should she do?

Once more Betsy tried him. She took himwalking off the chain, but with the whip in herhand. It made no difference. He turned in atthe first gate where his little nose said, “Chicken!”and this time he left four half-grown victims deadon the field, and got clean away, without thewhip’s once touching him.

The owner of the chickens came over and displayedthe results of Van’s foray to Dr. Johns.He paid for the chickens, but he looked verygrave, and Betsy trembled.

Then the Johns family sat in judgment on theculprit. Something must be done. Punishmenthad no effect on that proud spirit. Somehow theymust shame him. Dr. Johns had heard it saidthat if one hung the dead chicken on the collarof the dog, it would cure him of killing. Atleast the thing could be tried. With tears Betsyheard the verdict.

A red pullet was selected from the day’s kill,and tied to Van’s collar, like the albatross around[162]the neck of the Ancient Mariner, and thus hewas chained on the lawn near the house.

And why this was done Van did not understand.That was the worst of it. Possibly, hadthe chicken been tied to him at the moment ofthe killing, he would have known it to be a justpunishment for his slaughter of the innocent.But as it was he did not recognize in that dead,limp Thing, the flapping, squawking broiler hehad so gayly murdered. When life had passedfrom his game he had no more use for it. Howcould he understand?

But there it was, and he could not get awayfrom it. Furtively he tried to move off wherehe could not see it; it moved with him. Hewent to the length of his chain in one direction,then the other; still it followed, dragging grewsomelyat his side. Turn as he would, there wasthe Thing, feathered and awful, close to him,hanging to him! Oh, the shame of it! He sufferedas bitterly as if he were the first in allthe wide world to be so punished.

And misery upon misery! this debasem*nt waspublic, for all the world to see; and people cameand looked at him, and talked about his sinfulness,[163]and he knew they were talking about him.Even Dr. Peters, his friend, came across thelawn to see how he took it. Van slunk awayto the end of his tether, and tried to hide, oh,anywhere. There was nothing to hide behindbut the hated chicken, and he put his head underthat. He would not look up, no matter how kindlyDr. Peters spoke.

The fat young doctor came and looked at him,and the black-bearded young doctor came andlooked at him. Did they have no hearts? Couldthey not see that all he wanted was to get downinto the bottomless pit of oblivion, where therewere no curious eyes to pierce him through andthrough?

Then Betsy came, and she sent the curious onesto the right-about. She sat down by him, andlooked sorrowfully at him, and he gazed up ather with his pitiful brown eyes, and saw thathis dear mistress understood. He knew thatthere must be some reason why she could not sethim free from his loathsome burden. He hidhis head in her skirts and whined.

“Vanny-Boy, Vanny-Boy,” she said, “it has tobe. When we’re bad or ign’rant we have to learn.[164]It’s just like when Aunt Kate put those blackspots on my nails. I was as ’shamed as ’shamed.But it made me remember.”

But Van would not be comforted, for he didnot really understand. All day he neither atenor drank, although there was a bowl of waterplaced for him, and a plate of most delectableviands prepared especially by Mary. At nightfallBetsy came again, and he lay still, withouta sound, as if the fountains of grief had driedup within him. Betsy held a bowl of cool waterto his lips, and from her hands for the firsttime he drank thirstily. He even tried to swallowa few morsels of food that she gave to him.But he felt no hunger, only a gnawing shamefor something he did not comprehend, and hisonly comfort was Betsy’s sympathy. Her hecould always trust, for she knew, and whether hewas glad or sorry, triumphant or remorseful,defiant or humble, always she knew the fine,brave, fearless, loving little heart that lay beneathall his deeds or misdeeds, and she did notsit in judgment without sweet Charity at her side.

When the dew fell she led him into the cellar,for with his “Albatross” he might not sleep in his[165]cosy basket. A soft bed was made for him inthe furnace room; he sidled into it, and lay down,without a sound.

All night he crouched there in the dark withthat awful thing beside him; moving when hemoved, motionless when he lay still. Sleep didnot come to his eyes. His fearsome companionlay so stark and stiff, his companion that he couldnot get away from. It destroyed all thought ofrest, and filled him with a wide-eyed horror; itwas a long, lonesome, terrible night.

Early in the morning his mistress came downwith a delicious breakfast, but he would nottouch it. He looked up at her with great eyeshollow with suffering, and made one pitiful littlemoan, so low that she could scarcely hear it, andlaid his nose on her knee with a long shudder.

Betsy could bear it no longer. She had sleptno more than had the culprit. She dashed upstairsfor a knife with which to cut the hatefulburden loose; she tried to lead him up the stairs,but the ordeal had so shaken his nerves that hecould not mount the steps.

Then she carried him up in her arms; she gavehim a warm bath, and laid him on her own bed.[166]He was mutely grateful, but his shame and disgracehad laid him low.

For three days Van was very ill. Whether itwas the shock of the dreadful punishment, or ofknowing that his loved ones could treat him so—forstill he did not understand—who can tell?

“If he kills all the chickens in the world, I’llearn the money to pay for them myself,” criedBetsy. “But I can’t stand that look in his pooreyes!”

And there was no one in the whole family butfelt that a mistake had been made, that all thishad been for nothing. And it was even so. Vanwas up and around again soon, bright and winsomeas ever, but Betsy and Dr. and Mrs. Johnsnever forgave themselves. Somehow the punishment,terrible as it was, did not bring home itslesson, and in spite of all the suffering, it did notone particle of good. The love of battle, murder,and sudden death was in his blood, and hisfirst training had been all wrong.

The Johns family held another meeting towhich Van was not invited, and in it they cameto this decision:

That: whereas they could not themselves make[167]a good dog of Vanart VI., he must be sent awayto a trainer—to a kind of college where dogsare taught their manners, their tricks, and theirduties; and where, if it is not too late, they mayunlearn their bad habits and wicked ways.

On that last night before he went away, Marycooked for Van the most wonderful supper. Hereveled in the tid-bits that he coaxed from everyone at the dinner table. Best of all, he was permittedto sleep on the foot of Betsy’s bed. Hedid not know the reason for all this extra indulgence,but he joyfully took the goods the godsprovided.

“Kate,” said Dr. Johns, when Betsy had saidgood-night, and gone to her room, “there’s anotherletter from that scoundrel. He takes quitea threatening attitude, plays the high and mighty,says we are keeping his child away from himunlawfully. The fond parent wants his belovedchild, etc. It is sickening, when we know whathe really wants her for, and that she would probablybe abused and starved again. He might tryto get her in some way. I thought I’d better tellyou, so we can be on our guard.”

[168]“What could he do?”

“Everything, unless the courts decide in ourfavor. I’ve arranged for the earliest possiblehearing. It may not be until spring, however,but we can easily prove him incompetent as afather. Betsy has no love for him, and wouldcertainly choose us, and that would help. Andwhen we are assured that we have the custody ofthe child, we’ll adopt little Betsy, regularly andin order. What do you say, Kate?”

For answer Kate put her arms around herhusband, and kissed him tenderly.

Late that evening, as Aunt Kate was goingthe rounds of the house, she stopped at Betsy’sdoor and listened. The sound of a long-drawngasping breath met her ears, and she opened thedoor softly and went in.

The dim light of the moon shone in at thesouthern window, and Betsy lay at the foot ofher couch with one arm tightly around Van. Thelittle Knave of Hearts slept as soundly as if hehad been a good, obedient dog all his life.

Aunt Kate sat down beside the little maid, andBetsy’s free hand stole into hers.

[169]“Don’t cry, Betsy dear. He’ll come back allright, and be a good dog forever after.”

“It doesn’t seem—it doesn’t seem,” sobbedBetsy, “as if I could possibly live withouthim.”

“Betsy mine,” Aunt Kate squeezed the littlehand tighter, “do you know how we have grownto love you? I haven’t wanted to force you; Iwanted you to come to me of your own free will,but I must say just this; when you get big enoughto understand, you will know that Uncle Benand Aunt Kate never had any little children, andthey wanted them; and there’s a place all readyin their hearts. And when little Betsy is readyshe can crawl right in and stay there.”

One great sob burst from Betsy, a sob thatseemed to break open the very flood-gates oflife. She lifted both arms and put them tightlyaround Aunt Kate’s neck.

“Auntie Kate, Auntie Kate,” she whispered,and in the dark she was not ashamed. “I do loveyou and I love Uncle Ben. I wouldn’t ever wantanybody better in the whole wide world.”

“Then I shall be the happiest woman on the[170]Hill-Top, and with a little girl of my own tolove me.”

“And when Vanny-Boy comes back,” saidBetsy, “we’ll be the very happiest family thatever was.”

IT was late September,with a bluehaze on the hills, and alow sun, that made thered trees redder andthe yellow trees yellower,just the kind ofa day for a little dog torun abroad, wild andfree and glad; a daythat should havebrought smiles to everyone.

But no one smiled atthe Johns’ breakfasttable that morning.There was no trunk topack, for Van wore all[172]the clothes he had—just his pretty brown andwhite coat and his brass-studded collar. Betsydid, however, roll up his blanket, as if he were asoldier on the march, and it was to be taken along,in case he should be gone during cold weather.

Van capered and looked his gayest, when hewas told that he was to go, for he dearly lovedtraveling, and to go with Dr. Johns would bethe greatest fun ever. The good doctor himselfhad dropped his important work at the Hospitalto see the sinful Prince safely established at college.

In spite of his chain, Van trotted and pranced,and almost dragged Dr. Johns off his feet in hiseagerness, as they went down the hill to the trolley-station.

When the conductor had taken the fares, hecame and sat down by Dr. Johns. Van bobbedup gleefully, as if he and the conductor were onthe best of terms.

“Good morning, Dr. Johns. Hello, Van!Taking him on a vacation?”

“Hardly a vacation, I am afraid. In fact, itis quite the contrary. He’s been killing chickens,[173]and I’m taking him to Trimble, the trainer, overin Westchester, to see if he can be cured of thehabit.”

“That so? Well, now, I’m mighty sorry.He’s a great dog. I’d be glad to own one ofhis kind, chickens or no chickens. You see meand the little fellow are old friends.”

“Indeed? I wish the farmers around herecould talk of him as kindly.”

“They would if they got acquainted with him,personal. You see, I’ve been running on thisHospital car ever since he was a puppy. Oneday, about a year ago, when he was a little tad,no bigger’n a pint of cider,—you could put himin your pocket,—Miss Betsy took him in town onmy car, and he had the time of his life. He saton the front seat like a man, and there wasn’ta house or tree on the line that he didn’t takein.

“Well, the very next day, at the same hour, Iwas startin’ to take my fares, and, if you’ll believeit, there sat that little scamp, perky andpeart as you please, alone on the front seat, justwhere he had sat with Miss Betsy, and lookin’as if he owned the car. How he got up there I[174]don’t know; he was too small to climb. Hemust have taken it flying. But there he was assassy as a squirrel.”

Dr. Johns laughed. “Did he pay his fare?”

“Not he. I didn’t ask no fares of him. Ilet him ride for nothing to the end of the lineand back. Since then he’s had a free ride everytime he asked for it—more times than I cancount. All the car men know him.”

“He seems to make friends easily,” said Dr.Johns.

“Ha, ha! Not as easy as you’d imagine, Doctor.He gets his ride, and he wags the thinghe calls his tail at us; but none of us ever gothim to follow us. He always beats it up the hillback home at the end of the trip. Now I’mmighty sorry he’s gone wrong. He must havebeen in bad company. Here you are at the station,Doctor. Good luck to you. So long, Van!”

Railway cars, too, were an old story to ourhero. This time he sat openly on the red plushseat, for this conductor also knew Dr. Johns.The journey was not long. In an hour or twothe brakeman shouted “Westchester!” and thetrain stopped.

[175]Dr. Johns and Van climbed down on the woodenplatform of a station at a small country village,and looked around.

A boy about ten years old, with honest blueeyes and many freckles, came up and said bashfully,

“This yer’s the dawg?”

“If you are Mr. Trimble’s boy, it is,” saidDr. Johns.

“Yessir, I’m Mr. Trimble’s Pete. Pa’s goneaway to-day, and he told me to come fer thedawg.”

“All right, then. Now, this is Van, and youmust take the best of care of him, for he’s a greatpet at home. He has some bad habits that yourfather said he could break him of. I think I’llgo to the house, and see where he is to be;there is plenty of time before the return train.”

Pete led the way, and Dr. Johns followed, stillholding to Van’s chain. Van gamboled happilyalong; there was no hint as yet of what was tofollow. There was a walk of about ten minutesfrom the station, past two or three stores, four orfive houses, then sunlit meadows. They pausedat last before a closely latched gate in a high[176]fence of palings. Pete unfastened the gate, closingit carefully after them, as they went in andup the path to a low frame house, yellow, withgreen blinds.

A woman, with a motherly face and eyes likePete’s, came to the door.

“Mrs. Trimble, I suppose? I am Dr. Johns,from the Hospital.”

“Oh, yes, Dr. Johns. We was expectin’ you.This here is the dawg you wrote about?”

“Yes, Mrs. Trimble. This is Vanart VI.May I see the place where he is to be housed duringhis stay?”

“Sure you can,” said Mrs. Trimble, leadingthe way. “He will be kept in that kennel rightover there, and there’s clean straw in it.”

Dr. Johns looked around on a yard of ampleproportions, where stood a dozen or so good-sizedkennels, some distance apart. Several ofthese were occupied by dogs larger than Van.These were chained to their kennels separately,so they could not reach each other. At sightof Van they set up a chorus of barking and bayingwhich was quite deafening. Van strained withall his little might to get at them, for the size[177]of a dog never bothered him. He was no coward.But he was kept tightly on the chain, andall acquaintance had to be carried on from a distance.

“Them there is young huntin’ dawgs,” saidMrs. Trimble. “They’re bein’ trained to huntbirds. Some is p’inters and some is retrievers andsome is setters. That there is a English setter,and these two fellers is Irish setters. They’reabout the purtiest of the lot, but they’re all finedawgs. We don’t get no mongrels here. I feed’em, an’ I get to likin’ ’em purty well,” she continuedin her soft voice.

“That there is a blood-hound. He’s bein’trained to hunt folks. I don’t take much to thatidea, but they’re useful sometimes, to catch criminals.”

Van did not understand what Mrs. Trimblesaid, but he liked her. She looked a little likeMary.

“Take good care of the little fellow, and seethat he is taught not to kill cats and chickens.I believe he will learn easily if he is properlytaught. He’s had no one to train him at home.”Dr. Johns looked at the kennel that was to become[178]the home of royalty. “You will see thathe is comfortable in the cold weather?”

All this time Pete had been hovering near.Already the brave, proud head and beautiful,shapely body had won the boy. Now he spoke:

“He’ll be here in the kennel daytimes. NightsI guess Pa’ll let him sleep in the house with me.”Then he added in a burst of confidence, “He’ssech a purty little feller; I guess he’s some dawg,too.”

Dr. Johns smiled. Always Van appeared toget the best of what was offered.

“I shall be glad if you look after him nights,my boy. He’s a house-pet, and a kennel will behard on him at the very best.”

Dr. Johns stooped down and took Vanny-Boy’shead in his two hands. The little fellowshivered with a fear of something about to happen,and looked up, with eyes big and questioning.

“Good-by, little Van. Be brave, and learnyour lessons.”

Dr. Johns turned away, and hurried off downthe road to the station, so that no one should seehis mouth quiver.

[179]And the other end of Van’s chain was in thehands of little Pete, and Van was left behind!

He stood still, dazed and astonished, until hesaw Dr. Johns disappear around a corner; thenthe truth flashed upon him. He had been deserted!

With a leap he started to follow, but the chainheld him. He bounded from side to side, hejerked, he tugged. He barked, he howled, heyelped, he whined, he begged. It was all useless.The chain held, although it took all Pete’sstrength. All the other dogs set up a howl ofsympathy. They had been through the samesorrow, and not one of them but had grievedover just such a cruel desertion. This was theCollege of the Deserted—the Masterless Dogs.

Pete tried to comfort him, but he would havenone of it. His grief was too new and poignant.He struggled away, and tried to break the hatedleash. Howl after howl went up. The littledog who held up such a brave head in the faceof dangers was prostrated by sorrow. But thiswas more than sorrow; it was anguish at a betrayal.

“Better chain him to the kennel, Honey,” said[180]Mrs. Trimble. “He might get away. Here, I’llhelp you. My! but he’s a strong little feller!”

Van was dragged across the yard and fastenedsecurely to the kennel, and for an hour he tuggedvainly at his chain, and rent the air with heart-breakinghowls.

Then he lay down and tried to gnaw the chainapart, but the steel links hurt his teeth, and madehis mouth bleed. Then he fell to howling oncemore.

“Dr. Johns! Dr. Johns!” he seemed to say.“Take me home to my Betsy! Take meho-o-o-ome! Cruel! O cru-u-e-l!”

There was no answer, save the barking fromthe other kennels, for Pete had gone about hisdaily duties, and could not attend to him. Itwas Saturday, his father was away, and Petewas a manful little boy about helping.

All that miserable September day Van criedbitterly. It had started so happily, and now hadcome this terrible desertion and loneliness andhomesickness. He could not understand, and noone could tell him why his Betsy did not comeand rescue him. She had never failed him before.

[181]Nightfall came on, and with it came Pete, witha bit of supper. It was left untouched. Pete saton the ground and reasoned with Van.

“Now, you little feller, you jest show yer grit.I know by your look you got some. You mustn’tbe a baby. You got to show some spunk. Popdon’t let no dawg take on like that. Ef he washere he’d lick you and make you stop. Nowyou be a good dog, and I’ll take you in the house.”

To the kitchen they went, and there the chainwas slipped, and Van could run free. Straightto the door he went, and lay down, with his noseto the crack, where he could smell the outside air,and there he whined pitifully, until Mrs. Trimblefelt a tear on her own cheek.

“He does take on awful. Try and comforthim, Honey. Bring him here by the fire, whereit’s warmer. These pet dogs do make a heap oftrouble when they first come.”

“I hope he gets to like me,” said Pete. “He’sso purty. Come on, Van, and let’s play we’re oldfriends.”

By inches Pete succeeded in coaxing Van infront of the stove, where he sat, grave and silent,watching the streak of red coals through the[182]draft, with only now and then a sobbing whimper.Violent grief cannot last forever. By andby he lay down alongside, with his nose on Pete’sknee, and the sad brown eyes closed.

When bedtime came, he followed Pete up tothe garret room, with its sloping sides, and hespent the night snuggled close to the little boy.Through the dark hours he forgot his sorrow andloneliness, forgot that he was a poor, desertedwaif, and in prison; forgot even his dear mistress,his own Betsy.

[183]

CHAPTER XV
VAN’S HARD LESSONS

ANOTHER day or two of vain grieving, andVan’s gallant spirit began to react, and heshowed more interest in the things around him.He would eat his food, but he was grave andsolemn, and not at all like the merry rascal theJohns knew. It was not a bit like living at hisown home, where he had porter-house steak andliver for his daily food. But he learned thathunger brings an appetite, and what he had wasgood for him, so he soon ate contentedly, as didthe other dogs.

[184]The Trimble house was not large. The upperstory consisted of two bedrooms, Pete’s and anotherlike it. Downstairs was another bedroom,the kitchen, the dining-room, the woodshed, and,crowning glory of all, the “parlor.” Like mosttreasures of its kind in the neighborhood, it waskept with closed shutters, and one’s voice waslowered a little when one crossed the threshold.Here Van was seldom allowed to come, nor didhe care much.

Sometimes, on Sunday evenings, when the ministerand his wife came to tea, a fire was lit inthe Franklin stove in this sacred room. Then,for an hour, until bedtime, Van and Pete wouldtread softly over the woollen roses in the carpet,and sit before the blaze. Sometimes, too, Vanwould even lean against the best black skirt ofthe minister’s wife, who liked dogs. But thesefestive occasions came seldom, and were not solovely that Van longed for them. It was all sodifferent from home, where he ranged the wholehouse through, welcome everywhere.

He was no more the proud, haughty littlePrince, with a whole family to wait on him.Down in his lonely heart he grieved and grieved,[185]and often, as he sat in front of his kennel, hewould utter a long-drawn, homesick howl, as hethought of his Betsy, of Dr. Johns, of Mrs.Johns, and Mary, and Treesa; of his basket inthe kitchen, and all the comforts of his belovedHill-Top.

In the winter evenings he would lie by the dining-roomstove, on one of Pete’s old coats, anddream sadly of better days. He had really verylittle to complain of in the treatment he received.That his luxuries were few was no fault of theTrimbles, and indeed he was quite as well off withoutthem. The great tragedy lay in the chain andthe closed gate; the eternal longing for the oldfreedom, the wild rambles through wood and field,and his dear family.

At bedtime he would be wrapped in his ownblanket that smelled of home, to sleep away thelong nights. At the first crack of dawn he wouldstretch himself, yawn, and walk from the footof Pete’s bed up to where the little boy’s tousledhead lay on the pillow. There he would paw atthe coverlet until Pete woke up, and let him insidefor one more delicious snooze, before it was[186]time for Pete to be out helping his father withthe chores.

But this was “College,” and the life he ledwas quite secondary to the lessons which he wasthere to learn.

Mr. Trimble returned three days after Van’sarrival. He had been to Boston, and had comeback, bringing with him another dog, who waschained in front of a kennel just as Van had been,and who went through the same period of revoltand frenzy.

Mr. Trimble came over and looked at Van, andnodded approvingly as he noted the points of thethoroughbred.

“No doubt about your breeding, young fellow,but how anybody ever let such a dog as you arerun wild, beats me. Why, you ought to be onthe benches at the shows, taking prizes. Well,you’ll have to mend your manners; if you stay withme. But I’ll give you two or three days more togit acquainted. And then, we’ll see what can bedone with you.”

“You’ll let him stay with me nights, won’tyou, Pop?” Pete was hovering about anxiously.

“Land, yes, ef you want him. It won’t do[187]him no hurt, and his trainin’ll only take daytimes.He’s a house-coddled pet anyway, and spoiled,like they always are. Hm! I guess his lessons’llsurprise him some.”

“You won’t hurt him too hard, Pop?”

“Pete, you’ll never make a trainer. You’retoo soft-hearted, like yer Ma. You’ll make abetter husband than me mebbe, but I’ll hev tolearn you another trade. Come, we’ve got tomove them kennels over to the other side of theyard, where they’ll git the sun in the coldweather.”

One bright cool morning, Mr. Trimble, afterPete had gone to school, came out to Van’s kennel,and unfastened one end of his chain, stillkeeping him confined.

“Your lessons begin now, young fellow. You’llbe wishing you had leather pants in about fiveminutes.”

He led Van across the yard, wondering, butunsuspecting, to another yard full of chickens ofall sizes, from big old roosters, to half-grownpullets.

“There,” he said, as he undid the chain from[188]Van’s collar, “that’ll be your happy home for afew minutes.”

Van took no note of the fact that Mr. Trimblehad stepped inside the yard and closed the gate,nor that he was holding his right hand behindhim. Instantly, at the sight of the chickens, allhis old wild instincts came to life within him.He forgot the changes, he forgot the old punishmentsat the Hill-Top, forgot everything, exceptthat here was sport before him, and plenty ofit.

He seized a nice, well-behaved little pullet,gave it one shake, dropped it, and turned to findanother, when there before him loomed Mr.Trimble, large and terrible.

“DOWN, SIR!”

Van looked for Pete to rescue him. Pete wasnot there. The gate was closed; there was notthe slightest loophole for escape. He crouchedat Mr. Trimble’s feet, awaiting the punishmentthat he knew was coming. He could stand awhipping. The fun of the crime to him had alwaysbeen worth the punishment.

The whipping came, swift and awful; not oneof Betsy’s whippings, nor yet of Dr. Johns’. No,[189]indeed! It was like nothing that Van had everheard of or dreamed of. Mr. Trimble knew howto whip so it would be remembered.

Van’s little body writhed with the pain and thesmart of it, but never a sound did he utter, notthe faintest whisper. No soldier ever showedmore grit and courage. No Stoic ever shut histeeth more grimly and silently. Even as thelashings fell, Mr. Trimble could not help admiringthat indomitable spirit; but duty must bedone, and it was done.

There was no doubt at all about that whipping.It was the real thing, and a terrible surprise tothe culprit. Mr. Trimble went away and left himin the yard, with the dead chicken before him,and the live ones all around him. For a longtime Van lay without stirring. By and by Mr.Trimble brought his kennel, and put it besidehim; after a while Van crawled in—a half-deadbundle of agony—and lay down and licked thewelts, quivering and trembling still with the awfulawakening of his first lesson.

He knew well enough why he had been whipped—thechicken had hardly ceased breathing whenthe whip descended. Just now he did not want[190]even to think of chicken; he loathed the wholespecies. He was not chained now, he mightrange from one end of the chicken-yard to theother, but he had no such desire. In his shamehe only wanted to crawl off where no one couldever see him again. He knew at last what abad thing it was to kill innocent birds that couldnot help themselves.

Mr. Trimble went about other business and leftVan while the punishment soaked into his brain.The lesson must be thorough or it would do nogood at all.

A little freckled face under a tousled tow thatchpopped through a chink in the gateway. A voicebreathless with running whispered,

“Van! Van! Are you there?”

A tiny, almost inaudible, whine was the answer.

Silently Pete slipped in, dropping his booksinside the gate. He had been on tenter hooksall the morning, for he knew that this was tobe the day of the “lesson,” and he had run allthe way home. He shut the gate carefully so thatno one might hear.

Two blue eyes looked down pityingly into[191]Vanny-Boy’s sad brown ones. The kennel waslarge, and Pete slipped in bodily, and took theaching, trembling sinner tenderly in his arms. Hecuddled the little heaving body close to his own.

“You pore little feller!” he whispered. “Ijest couldn’t stand it. Pop does lick awful sometimes.An’ it hurts too; I know. I hain’t neverbeen licked fer killin’ chickens, though, so mebbeI don’t know the hull of it.

“My! Look at them stripes! I ain’t neverhad ’em on me like that.” Tender hands werefeeling all over Van’s little legs and sides. “Nownever you mind, Van, I brought sumpin to make’em feel better.”

The “sumpin” proved to be a box of soft, oilystuff that had a queer nice smell. Pete rubbedit all over the welts, taking great care not to hurtthem any more.

The oily stuff had a very good taste, and Vanlicked it all off carefully. Then he snuggledclose to Pete, with his sorrowful head hidden inthe little boy’s shirt.

“Now you jest git up as clost as you like, an’go ter sleep an’ forgit all about it. I’ll stay with[192]you, and don’t you feel bad. I’m right here, andI’ll take keer of you.”

Mrs. Trimble called Pete for the noon-daymeal. There was no response. She had her suspicions,however, went out, and peeped into thekennel. There they lay, fast asleep, the tousledtow head and the smooth brown one, close together,the doggie still breathing in sobbing gasps,but comforted.

IN the afternoonVan’skennel was putback into its oldplace, and he laythere all day,sick, exhausted,and miserable.

Next morninghe was turnedloose once morein the chicken-yard,and Mr.Trimble stayedoutside. Therewas no one to interfere; Vanmight have[194]killed the whole flock, for anything that he couldsee to hinder. He never glanced at them—noteven at the smallest broiler. He was sickof even the very thought of chickens. He laydown by the gate in the sun, and licked the stillsmarting seams on his sides.

Roosters strutted proudly past him; old hensscratched placidly in the dirt all around him; theyoung ones came and went right under his verynose—it was all the same to him. One lesson wasthoroughly learned; and although for eight longmonths afterward he spent an hour every morningin the yard with the chickens, never again washe known to touch one.

Always, always, in Van’s lonely heart was thethought of home and his beloved little mistress.But with a chain at the kennel, a high fence allaround the place, and a spring lock on the gate,there was not much chance of escape.

So Van sat at the door of his kennel, or in thechicken-yard, watching the gate where Dr. Johnshad disappeared, and he grieved and grieved.The days went by, the weeks and the months.Winter passed, the ice and snow melted, and thespring came blithely in. The grass grew, and the[195]days became warm and soft. The April rainsfell, and the sun dried the puddles. The blossomscame out of their buds, and turned thepeach trees pink and the pear trees white. Mrs.Trimble’s daffodils came up, gay and yellow, andPete began to help his father in the garden-plot.There were little chickens in the yard, now, butalthough Van spent his hour there each day, heutterly ignored their existence.

One day was like another to him, as he sat listlessin the sunshine, or lay in his kennel when itrained, looking off over the far hills out beyondthe fence-palings. He was wishing, wishing,always wishing; wondering if he would everbe a prince again, and if Dr. Johns would evercome through the gate and take him home.

* * * * *

“Good morning, Trimble.”

Mr. Trimble turned his head; he was just settingVan loose among the chickens. A strangeman came toward him leading a dog that was tobe a new boarder at the College. Togetherthey turned toward the kennels, and were soon[196]busy over plans and directions for the treatmentof the latest arrival.

Was it Chance that made Mr. Trimble forgetto latch the gate of the chicken-yard? And wasit Providence that made the stranger close theouter gate so gently that the spring did not flyback?

An eager brown head pushed the chicken-yardgate just far enough to let a little brown andwhite body through; a streak like lightning passedfrom this to the other gate; a click, and the springdid its duty; but Van was outside!

Mr. Trimble looked around, looked again, andthrough the palings he saw a flying shadow, headingwestward down the road into the unknown.It was useless to call. What dog on earth wouldcome back to the call of an alien master, when hehad a Betsy to be hunted for the whole worldover?

That homing instinct of the dog! Who canunderstand it? Not we humans, who have ourfiner senses dulled and blunted by civilization.Neither can we understand the ways of that marvelouslittle bird, the carrier-pigeon, who will[197]travel hundreds of miles, straight as the arrowflies, back to his home.

Van was free! Free, after eight long monthsof dull imprisonment! Free! And nothing onearth but death could stop him now. It was along road, longer than he dreamed, but Betsywas somewhere at the end of it. He would findher and his dear home!

And Mr. Trimble? He was in a state, to besure. He left the new dog and its master standingopen-mouthed, while he ran as he had not runbefore in years, to the grocery-store near the station.He seized the telephone receiver, and thismessage went humming over the wires to the nearesttown that lay between Westchester and theHospital:

“Hello! Hello! I want 569 Wilmington.No, 5-6-9! Yes,—in a hurry!—Hello! Thatyou, Stubbs? All right. Now listen! If you seea fox-terrier,—white, with a brown head andsaddle,—going through your town, head him offand keep him for me. Name on his collar isVanart VI. He slipped out and got away fromme. Get that all right? All right. He’ll bealong, if he doesn’t get lost, in about two hours or[198]sooner, if he keeps on going like he’s going now.Thanks! Hope you get him. Call him ‘Van.’Maybe he’ll come so you can catch him easy, ifyou act friendly. So long!”

So the news traveled ahead, but Van knewnothing about that. He kept on, with his nosepointed homeward, always homeward.

Out of Westchester he went under full head ofsteam. There were no neighbors with telephonesto stop him along the way, and the road was clear.Past meadows and farmhouses, through still forestsand thickets of green laurel, wading and leapingacross boggy lowlands and scaling rocky highlands,ever he ran on.

A hedge-hog stared stolidly at him from theroadside; a chipmunk sputtered from a stonewall; Van never noticed them. A cat with fourkittens basked temptingly on a hitching-block—Vanmight have been blind for all he saw ofthem.

By and by he tired a little, and slackened hispace, as if he realized that a long journey cannotbe continued at top speed, but he did not stop.Now the long Main Street of Wilmington[199]stretched out before him, and he entered the townat a steady trot.

Down past pleasant houses under stately rowsof elms he went. A boy at a stable door calledout, “Hey, there, Van!” A child stooped to pathim, and said, “Hello, Van!” He barked, as ifto say, “My business leads me elsewhere,” andkept on.

A man stepped out of a corner grocery shop,and held out his hand.

“Here, Van! Here, Van! Good doggie!Come here!”

Van stopped still and looked hard at the man.Could he be an old friend? No, that was surelya stranger. Van edged away as the man reachedfor his collar, and bobbing his head with a side-longjerk, was off again down the road.

“Hey! Ketch that dawg!” shouted the groceryman, and the cry was taken up all along thestreet. Men, boys, and women all turned out tochase or head off the fugitive. Everybody wasyelling: “Van! Van! here, you!” for the newsof the runaway had been spread abroad in thevillage before his arrival. Never was dog so[200]enthusiastically greeted by a whole village of entirestrangers. Van smelled treachery.

A friendly gate stood open, and he dodged into avoid a too eager boy. Down to the rear ofthe lot he raced. Alas! It ended it an openstable door. Here the breathless Stubbs pouncedupon him, and he was captured.

“There, you little rascal, I’ve got you!” pantedStubbs. He was fat, and dog-catching is perspiringwork. “You’ve given me a pretty chase, butyou’ll be back at Trimble’s by night, I reckon.

“Now what did you run away for? Trimble’sa good fellow, and you hadn’t ought to give himtrouble,—not to mention the shaking up you’vegive me. Come on, and we’ll get a chain on you,so we can keep you till Trimble gets here.”

Van kept very still. He was thinking whathe should do next. He gave a little shudder whenStubbs said “chain.” He knew that word, andjust what it meant.

Stubbs tucked him under his arm. This seemedlike a very tractable dog indeed. Stubbs reachedup to mop his bald head with his handkerchief.

Van felt the loosened tension, and with a suddenjerk backward, he wriggled out of the man’s[201]arm, and out of his own collar. In a twinklinghe was going like Time-on-a-holiday, westward.In a few minutes Main Street and his pretendedfriends were left far behind, and he was out inthe open country.

All day he traveled—now fast, when the fearof capture spurred him; now slow, when hisaching legs and muscles cried out to him. Hewas hungry and thirsty, but he dared not stop andbeg a drink, for fear some one might catch himagain. The sun was dropping behind the hillswhen he felt that he could not drag himself anotherfoot. He was passing a tiny farmhousehidden away in the hills. There was a deliciousodor wafted to him, and he heard a suggestive,sizzling sound. He certainly could not resistthat. Yet he dared not make a noise. Hecrouched by the gateway.

A little boy about Pete’s size, with the sameblue eyes and tow hair, came up the road, drivinga solitary cow. As he turned in at the gate, healmost stumbled over a poor, panting, tired littledog, who lay crumpled in a heap, with mouthagape, and dry tongue lolling from between histeeth. He wore no collar, and with the dust of[202]the road soiling his white coat, no one would everhave suspected him to be a prince.

“Why, hello!” said the boy. “What you doin’here? You look tired to death. Come here andspeak to me.”

He held out his hand; but Van had been caughtonce that day, and lay still. He whined a little.

“You pore little tyke, I bet you’re hungry.Have you been runnin’ away? Now, see here, Iain’t goin’ to tell on ye, and ef you’ll stay righthere I’ll bring ye half my supper.”

Van lay exhausted in the fence-corner, andpresently the boy slipped out with a large sliceof bread and butter, and a bit of bacon, and, bestof all, a bowl of cold water.

Ah, but that water was good! Van lapped itthirstily, every drop. Then he fell upon thebacon and the bread and butter, as greedily asthe veriest tramp that ever lived.

“My! Ye shore was hungry,” said the boy.“I’d git ye more ef I dasted to; anyways, yewon’t starve. Landy! I’d like to keep ye, butPa wouldn’t let me. Anyways, ef ye’ll come withme, I’ll fix ye up a bed.”

Van followed the boy that looked like Pete[203]into a dilapidated barn. The boy doubled an oldhorse blanket in a corner of the hay-mow.

“Ye kin sleep there, and ye kin git out in themornin’ through that busted board. There!Jinks! I wish’t you’d stay with me. I’d like tokeep ye, awful. I wish’t Pa liked dawgs.”

Up in that hill-cabin home the little boy’s hungryheart yearned to the starved heart of therunaway Prince, and he stooped and kissed him.Then he drew away, as if ashamed, even in thedusk, of so silly an action, and went back to thehouse, trying to whistle.

Van slept without stirring, until the cold fingersof the dawn made him stretch his stiffened limbs,and realize that he was in a strange land, and thathe must be getting on to his home on the Hill-Top.He stole out through the broken board,and was off in the gray of the morning, breakfastlessbut rested.

And it was westward ho! through the chillingmists, and westward ho! when the sun rose at hisback to warm and cheer him. It was westwardho! when the sun shone high and hot above hishead, and his mouth was dry and parched again,[204]and his legs moved slowly and stiffly, as if he hadaged ten years.

Now his road dropped suddenly over a hillside;down it wound and wound, till Van thoughthe would never reach the bottom that was hiddenby the forest that bent over him on all sides. Itwas a wild, deep glen. But far below there wasthe sound of rushing, gurgling water!

He pricked up his drooping ears. A minuteago he had felt that he was like to die, but therewas life calling to him again.

Above his head stretched a vast railway trestle,over which a train was crawling, with groans andscreams of iron wheels on iron rails. That mightbe a wonderful thing to men, but nothing calledto Van but the singing stream and his own Betsy.

He dropped down, down, to the lowest level ofthe gully, and stretched himself flat on the greenmoss, with his hot nose in the laughing water.Oh, it was good! He drank and drank till histhirsty body was satisfied, and his tongue grewcool, and like a real tongue, instead of like a slabof fire in his mouth. He drank till he wanted nomore. Then he fell asleep on a heap of leaves,a long deep sleep.

[205]All the afternoon he lay there. The sun set,the stars came out, and a little moon climbed highand looked down into the ravine; shining whiteon the heaving body of a lonely waif of a dog,collarless, homeless and piteous. The little moontraveled on and followed the sun over the hill,and out of sight. The stars grew pale and thedawn of another morning trembled in the forestaisles. Down along the stream lay a thick, icyfog, like a long roll of cotton batting.

Van, waking at last from that long sleep,looked out into the mist, dazed and lost and shivering.Slowly his senses came back to him. Hisstomach cried out to him that he had had nothingto eat since the night before last; his legs toldhim that they had carried him faithfully and far,but that they could not last forever; and thenhis homing instinct told him that he must crossthat little roaring stream if he would follow theroad that led across the world to his little mistress.

What mattered that old hatred of water now?In he plunged, and the rushing current carriedhis weak, struggling body far along before hecould make the farther shore. But make it hedid. He crawled up on a shelving curve, dragged[206]himself out, shook the water from his shiveringsides, and started off on a run that warmed himand saved him from a chill.

The run changed to a weary plod before hereached the top of the ravine, but he kept on—westward,always westward! Wood, hill, valley,farm, forest again—he went by them with onlyone thought. On the road he picked up a crustof bread, dropped by some schoolboy, and devouredit greedily.

Through another town. Here he went warily,dodging everybody. He passed through safely,and journeyed on and on. If only his strengthcould last until he reached home!

There was another town ahead. He approachedit cautiously. There was a somethingfamiliar about it. The streets had a smell thatbrought some memory to his numbing faculties.

Now, in the gathering twilight he found himselfstumbling across a great bridge that spanneda wide, flowing river, and the lights of still anothertown fell down deep into its limpid depthslike golden piles.

Ho, ho! Surely he had crossed that bridge[207]before, in his wild wanderings of other days!Surely, surely! He went a little faster.

And now he knew—on the farther side lay hisown home-town. It was a short half-hour’s run,when one was feeling fine, to the Hill-Top,—andHOME!

HOME! The thought spurred his laggingfeet. Down through the dear old streets wherehe had often trotted so gaily went Van. He hadno thought for them now. “Betsy! Betsy!” hisheart breathed; and that alone kept him going.

An attendant from the Hospital noticed himand turned to watch him as he wavered out ofsight.

“If that dog was fatter and pearter and cleanerand had a collar on, I’d say it was Van, even ifI knew that he was in another part of thecountry.”

* * * * *

Betsy sat on the steps of the honeysuckle porchin the soft May night, with the young moon silveringthe glossy leaves around her. She wasthinking of the changes that had come to her,—ofthe red house up in Wixon’s Hollow, now sofar away. She wondered a little what had become[208]of her father, but she did not trouble hersoul very deeply; she remembered him only asone to dread and hide from. Then she thoughtof all that Aunt Kate had done to make her morelike gentlefolk, of the lessons she had learnedin the care of both soul and body.

Indeed, could she have compared her old selfto the little white-clad figure with its soft haloof hair, its sweet fragrance of cleanliness, itschildish grace and dignity, that had grown to beunconscious of itself, she would not have recognizedthe Betsy of two years ago. There wasmuch yet to learn, but with so lovely a teacheras Aunt Kate, who could fail of doing her best?

Then she wondered how it fared with littleVan. Would he come back from College like theknights of old from their quests, bearing a badgeof honor? When would he come, and did heremember her and long for her as she longed forhim? She sighed a bit of a sigh.

The sigh was echoed below her! She lookeddown, startled.

Something small and white dragged itself outof the dark, and stretched along the ground ather feet, flat, as if life had gone out of it.

[209]Betsy stooped and touched it, once, then shegathered it in her arms.

Van opened his tired eyes, kissed Betsy’s thumb,said “Woof!” and settled back contentedly.

He was home again, and his college days wereover!

* * * * *

Out on the lawn a dark figure watched untilthe light flared up in Betsy’s room. Then theman shook his fist and muttered, as he slowlyslouched away and disappeared in the night,

“Ef that cur hadn’t happened along, I’d ’a’ hadher where she couldn’t holler. Courts, indeed!They’ve got me down here to try an’ prove thatmy own flesh and blood ain’t mine, an’ I can’t dowhat I choose with ’er. That Johns feller thinkshe can rob me by proving that I ain’t fit. I’llshow him one thing I know about law. Possessionis nine points of the law, and I guess he’llsquirm when he finds that I’ve clinched the tenthpoint. I guess Bet’ll come down from her highhorse a mite. I’ve waited about long enough. I’llshow ’em!”

[210]

CHAPTER XVII
VAN THE RESCUER

IT was a June morning; the air was soft, still,and windless. Betsy came out on the honeysuckleporch carrying a basket of lunch. Van laythere in the sweet sunshine.

[211]“School is over and vacation has begun, Vanny-Boy,and Aunt Kate says we may have a picnic,if you’ll take good care of me. We’re going upto the Reservoir, and we’re going for a wholeday. We are going to have the time of our lives.Now, what do you think of that?”

With a bark of joy he began dancing aroundher, and all the way past the buildings he measuredthe rods with little yelps of delight. Freedomwas his once more, and gladness radiatedfrom him in every direction. Eastward, up BowLane they turned, Van always in the lead, whilestraying cats and chickens no longer needed toflee at his approach.

A sleepy, winding road was Bow Lane, makinga great curve past meadows and farmhouses, tillit lost itself in the hills. A golden glow filled allthe valley ahead of them, and the hills rose outof the mist like dreams, barely outlined in delicateamethyst against the glory of the sky. Downinto a ravine they went, where a brook sang itsmorning song far below the bridge that spannedit. Here Van leaped from rock to rock down thesteep bank to the very edge of the little stream,and lapped his fill of the sweet water. Across[212]the brook he bounded, never wetting his feet,then up the other side as if he were a wingedthing, till he joined Betsy once more.

Up the brook a little way, on a boulder, sat atramp, who started as he saw the dog, and thenlooked up to watch the little girl as she crossedthe bridge. But Betsy did not see him, and Vanonly gave a contemptuous bark in his direction.

On and on they went, up the brown road thatunwound itself out of the mist between two linesof velvety green. The country swam higher andhigher out of the vapor, and resolved itself intofields of standing corn, wheat, or clover, thatspread everywhere, dew-pearled. The rainbowropes that bound earth to sky spun themselves up,up, till the dreaming hills turned from amethystto sapphire, then emerald.

Out of the fog that veiled the upland, sprangan army of tall, thin cedar trees, standing likesoldiers, singly or in groups. They appeared tobe marching up the hill in a happy-go-lucky way,as if it were not necessary to keep rank and stepwhen armies go on a holiday. Betsy salutedgayly as she passed, and it almost seemed as ifthey returned the salute and presented arms, so[213]friendly did the whole world appear that lovelymorning.

Now Betsy and Van plunged through a groveof chestnuts and beeches, where the road lookedlike a tunnel of green, opening into fairyland.Beyond lay a fallow field. Here they left theroad, and waded knee-deep through grass andflowers hung from tip to tip with filmy fairy garments,tended by spidery washerwomen.

Betsy laughed at her soaked shoes, and shookdefiance at the dew with her short skirts. Vancared for nothing except to race hither andyonder, covering ten feet of distance to Betsy’sone, until he was halted by a mass of rock toohigh and steep for him to clamber over. Helooked back to see what his mistress would do inthe face of such an obstacle. But Betsy knew thesecret, and instead of trying to climb, she simplyskirted the foot of the rocks until she came to anopening, where a narrow, grassy path led aroundthe barrier, and there before them lay themiracle!

A great limpid opal, in whose bosom were reflectedthe white rocks and tall forests of the hill-summit,every pebble, every leaf, hanging from[214]the shore-line, as perfect in the reflection as inthe reality. Oh, this was surely a morning tolose all sight of the border-land between the Landof Everyday and the Land of Faery! This wasthe Reservoir, made by the hand of God to storewater, cool, clear, and wonderful, for man’s use.Betsy’s delight grew in thrills as she settled herselfunder an overhanging rock, to take in themarvel of it.

“Now, Van, you can turn yourself upside downand inside out. There’s a squirrel! You maychase him, if you want to, and there’s a butterfly,and you may chase him, too. Only don’t gooff and leave me.”

What a morning that was! Every minute fullof new delights, and all too short. Hungerpressed them at an early hour to take their nooning,and they refreshed themselves with the contentsof the basket, and drank tin cups of nectarfrom the opalescent pool. Van sat up and beggedand did every trick he knew in payment for thelargess with which Betsy rewarded him. He evenrisked his life doing “Dead Dog,” for he did itin the face of a piece of doughnut, and with suchabsolute abandon that he started rolling down[215]the bank, and was only saved from being really adead dog, or rather, a wet one, by Betsy, whoclutched him just as he was going over the edge.

A thin film of gray had drawn itself over thesky until the gold was all gone, and the sun hadquite disappeared. The air had grown hot andbreathless.

“I think I’ll take a rest,” said Betsy at last.“It’s as still as anything up here.”

She curled herself up in a grassy hollow wherethe early sun had dried the dew, and Van alsocurled himself comfortably on her skirt, and wassoon in the Happy Hunting Ground of Dreams.

A strange stillness settled over the place; nothingstirred save an uneasy bird in the thicketacross the pool; the pool itself became a graypearl in a setting of silence. Everything in theworld seemed asleep, and Betsy caught the generaldrowsiness, closed her eyes, and passed offinto visions of Elfland.

Presently she awoke. She felt a curious sensation,as if some one was watching her. Van gavea low growl. She rose to her knees, lookedaround, and saw a man looking down at her.

[216]Suddenly her heart stood still, and her breathcaught in her throat. She looked again.

“Hullo, Bet!”

“Pa!” said Betsy.

“Sure it is. It took ye some time to recognizeyer dad. Wasn’t expectin’ the pleasure, was ye?My! but ye look as neat as a cotton hat. YerAunt Kate’s dolled ye up mighty fine. But shecan’t hev ye. Ye are goin’ to come along withme. I need ye. I jest been waitin’ till I caughtye off by yerself. They beat me in court thismornin’, but I seen ye comin’ up here afore theydone it, and now, by gum, I’ll beat them!”

All Betsy’s heart rose in revolt—to go back to theold days of hunger and rags and beatings!This was not her father. It was the man whohad killed her mother by leaving her to starve.

“I’m not going with you,” said Betsy, sturdily.

“Oh, yes, ye air.”

“I won’t go. You went off and left us, and Madied, and I ’most did. You aren’t my father anylonger.”

“Oh, yes, I am, Miss H’ighty-t’ighty, an’ I’dlike to hear any one else say I ain’t. A child’sduty is to its dad, and ye air goin’ to come right[217]along with me, and the Court kin go to kingdomcome. I got ye a nice new ma, and she’ll curl yerhair fer ye. Ye won’t need yer Aunt Kate.”

Betsy stood aghast. She could not speak forthe horror of it all. This father who, in the olddays, had beaten her for little or nothing, whohad deserted his family, leaving them in the faceof dire poverty, taking with him all the moneyin the house, now claimed her. She was not soyoung that she had not known and understoodit all. She summoned up all the strength of hereleven years.

“I won’t go, I tell you!”

“An’ I’d like to see ye help yerself.” Heseized and lifted her from the ground with noeffort.

“Ye ain’t much weight. I kin manage ye allright. Keep still, will ye!”

Betsy kicked and screamed and struggled.

“Now, let up, there. Ye kin kick and screech,but ’twon’t do ye no good; there ain’t no one tohear ye.”

Van, who had been keeping up a low growling,thought this was the cue for him to enter. Witha leap he caught the man’s leg in his teeth, and[218]held on with all the strength and tenacity of thatbull-dog ancestor of his.

“Leggo,—you!” snarled the man, but Van heldon valiantly.

“You call off that dog, Bet, or I’ll kill him,and I’ll lam-bast you!”

Betsy, thoroughly frightened for her pet, madeVan let go; but her heart was so full of angerthat any thought of fear for herself was banished.She only felt that she must keep still, and notmake things worse. She must think, hard.

“Make that dog go home!”

“Home, Van! Go home!”

Van slunk to the rear, but Betsy, looking back,saw him standing, grieved and bewildered. Then,after a minute he disappeared.

“Ye kin walk ef ye like, but I’ll keep an eye onye, and a hand, too.”

Half leading, half dragging her, Al Wixonwent deeper into the forest on the far side of thepool. A trackless way it was, but they came outat last in a tiny clearing where stood a hut, apparentlydeserted. It was, in fact, only a woodenshanty that had been built for temporary shelternear an abandoned quarry.

[219]“There! I’ll hive ye up here till I git my thingsand come back. Ye can’t git out, and it’s no useto holler. No one kin hear ye. We’ll start to-night,and work along up New York State andinto Canady, and then ye kin sing fer yer AuntKate. I reckon ye thought ye was goin’ to bemade a lady of, did ye? Gosh! Ye air growin’purty! Look like yer ma used ter, a leetle mite.”

“Don’t you speak of my mother to me,—you——!”

“He, he! Spitfire! Well, I kin lick that out’nye when we git to Canady. Now set easy, and efyou yip, I’ll take yer head off! I’ll be back aforenight. I got to git some duffle I left in town.”

Al Wixon’s footfalls died away, and Betsydrew a longer breath and looked around. Therewas only one window and a door. The windowwas nailed up on the outside, and the door, too,was fastened on the outside with two bars putrudely across. The window had only one paneof glass, anyway, and was too small to crawlthrough, even if the glass were broken.

Betsy leaned against the door to think. Shewould be taken away, and would never see AuntKate and Uncle Ben again. And Van would be[220]left behind. Where was the little comrade now?

“Oh, Vanny-Boy!” she wailed.

Sh! What was that? She listened. Ascratching sound, and then a little whine on theother side of the door.

“Van!” she whispered. “Oh, my little Van,are you there?”

The answer was a desperate scratching in thedirt under the door, which had no sill. Betsycould hear the dirt fly, as Van worked madly toget in to his mistress. An inspiration leaped inher brain.

“He’s digging under to get in to me. Whycan’t I dig, and get out to him?”

It was the one chance. She looked around thebare little room. Nothing there, except a smallrusted stove in one corner, now falling to pieces,and the floor was simply the dirt of the clearing.Not a thing to dig with. Yes, there was onething, the lid on the top of the little stove. Itwas red and eaten with rust, but still stout enoughfor service.

“Now,” she said, as she settled to work, “we’llmake the hole big enough in no time, and if Padoesn’t get back too soon!——”

[221]She wasted no more breath on words. The oldstove-lid proved an effective instrument in thelight earth. Together they worked; Betsy insideand Van outside the old door. If her father cameback before the hole was big enough, he mightkill Van, and she would never get back to theHill-Top. Desperately she worked; her breathcoming in little sobbing gasps that caught andchoked her. With nervous, trembling hands shedug down, and down. The ground had beenpacked by the tramp of the quarry-men in dayspast, but the earth-worms had lightened the soil alittle, and it was possible, even with the meantool she held, to dig into it.

Soon a black muzzle was in sight; a few morestrokes on either side, and Van had wriggledthrough and was in her aching arms.

But she must not stop. She must keep on digging.Van seemed to understand. He did notbark, but stood, alert and eager, waiting.

Now Betsy could get her head through thehole, now her shoulders; then a few more franticstrokes of the old stove-lid, and she dragged herwhole body through the opening. Her pretty[222]dress was torn and earthstained, but she wasfree!

A light rain was beginning to fall; she didnot mind that, only there were no long afternoonshadows to point the way home, and even thelittle country-bred Betsy was quite lost. Whichway should she turn? In any case she must getout of the clearing and into the woods where herfather could not find her.

She started to run to shelter, but Van gave ashort, quick bark, and ran in the other direction.Then he came back, and off again, as if he wouldhave her follow him.

“Perhaps he knows,” thought Betsy. Sheturned and followed him across the clearing andinto the forest.

And Van did know. Many a time he hadscoured those woods with Thatcher, and even ifhe had never had been there before, he couldhave followed his own trail back. With his noseto the ground, he started into a gully, lookingback to see that his mistress was coming; thendown a rocky hill into a place so dark that itseemed as if the twilight had already come. Now[223]up and out, through some burned ground, over abrook, through a long stretch of unbroken wood,and then, before them lay the Reservoir, its graymirror broken into millions of tiny ripples bythe falling raindrops.

Beyond lay the field of the cedar soldiers, onguard. Betsy knew the way now, although thedusk was gathering. Across the valley she couldsee the Hospital buildings looming, and the lightsas they flashed up in the corridors.

Something was coming! Was it her father returning?She must hide. Crouching behind aboulder and holding Van’s muzzle she waited.

A man bearing a pack on his back slouchedpast, and went on up the road they had justtraveled. Betsy’s heart stopped pounding as hedisappeared. She started once more on her journey,but drew back as another sound was heard.Listen! That was a carriage, surely. In thewaning light Betsy peered from behind a tree,and then leaped to meet the coming vehicle.

They were both there, Uncle Ben and AuntKate, bundled up in mackintoshes. Aunt Katesprang to the ground, and straight into her arms[224]ran a bedraggled, wet little figure, while Vanleaped in ecstasies.

“My darling! My own child!”

“Auntie Kate, Uncle Ben! Oh, Auntie Kate,Pa tried to get me, and he shut me up and Vanscratched me out.” In a flame of words, tears,and laughter the whole story was poured out.

They drove home through the gathering nightand falling rain, Betsy tucked in the middle, andVan at her feet. Presently Betsy asked,

“He couldn’t have me, could he, Auntie Kate?”

“No, dear. And we have something to tellyou; it was to have crowned a happier day thanthis. But the end is all right. The court hasdecided the matter. The man who was yourfather will never dare come again, and UncleBen and I have legally adopted you, so now youare our very own little girl. This was AlvinWixon’s last effort, after his failure before thejudge.”

Betsy slipped an arm around each of the twowho were beside her.

“Why, then,—you are my father and mother,—and—My!but I’m glad!”

[225]“And you are not Betsy Wixon any more.From now on you are Betsy Johns.”

“Oh, Auntie Kate—Mother!” whisperedBetsy.

The heart of Betsy was unlocked now, forever.

THE END

Printed in the United States of America.