Mabel Quiller Couch - Dick and Brownie
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Mabel Quiller Couch >> Dick and Brownie
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8 DICK AND BROWNIE.
by
Mabel Quiller-Couch
CONTENTS.
Chapter.
I. THE ESCAPE.
II. A NIGHT SCARE.
III. WHAT THE MORNING BROUGHT.
IV. MISS ROSE.
V. SURPRISES.
VI. HULDAH GOES SHOPPING.
VII. A MEETING AND AN ALARM.
VIII. TRACKED DOWN.
IX. TO THE RESCUE.
X. ONE SUMMER'S AFTERNOON.
XI. HULDAH'S NEW HOME.
XII. HAPPY HOURS.
CHAPTER I.
THE ESCAPE.
The summer sun blazed down scorchingly on the white road, on the wide
stretch of moorland in the distance, and on the little coppice which
grew not far from the road.
The only shady spot for miles, it seemed, was that one under the
trees in the little coppice, where the caravan stood; but even there
the heat was stifling, and the smell of hot blistering varnish
mingled with the faint scent of honeysuckle and dog-roses.
Not a sound broke the stillness, for even the birds had been driven
to shelter and to silence, and except for the rabbits very few other
live things lived about there, to make any sounds. That afternoon
there were four other live things in the coppice, but they too were
silent, for they were wrapped in deep sleep. The four were a man and
a woman, a horse and a dog, and of all the things in that stretch of
country they were the most unlovely. The man and the woman were
dirty, untidy, red-faced and coarse. Even in their sleep their faces
looked cruel and sullen. The old horse standing patiently by, with
drooping head and hopeless, patient eyes, looked starved and weak.
His poor body was so thin that the bones seemed ready to push through
the skin, on which showed the marks of the blows he had received that
morning. The fourth creature there was a dog, as thin as the horse,
but younger, a lank, yellow, ugly, big-bodied dog, with a clever
head, bright, speaking brown eyes, and as keen a nose for scent as
any dog ever born possessed.
The brown eyes had been closed for a while in slumber, but presently
they opened alertly; a fly had bitten his nose, and the owner of the
nose got up to catch the fly. This done, he looked around him.
He looked with drooped ears and tail at the sleeping man and woman,
with ears a little raised at the old horse, and then with both ears
and tail alertly cocked he looked about him eagerly, even anxiously.
A second later he was leaping up the steps and into the caravan; but
in less than a minute he was out again, leaping over the steps at the
other end, and out to the edge of the coppice. What he was in search
of was not in the van, or under it, or anywhere near it.
The dog did not whine, or make a sound. He knew better than that.
A whine would have brought a heavy boot flying through the air at
him, or a stick across his back, or a kick in the ribs, if he were
foolish enough to go within reach of a foot. With his long nose to
the ground he stepped delicately to the edge of the coppice, then
stood still looking about him, his brown eyes full of wistful
anxiety.
He looked to the right, he looked to the left, he listened eagerly,
then he stepped back to the van again. This time he found something.
It was only a clue, but it sent his spirits up again, and with his
nose to the ground he came quickly back to the edge of the little
wood and beyond it; then, evidently satisfied, he took to his heels
and raced away with a joy which almost forced a yelp of triumph from
his throat.
The old horse raised his head and looked after the dog wistfully.
"If only I were as young and fleet, and able to get away as quietly!"
he thought longingly, and sighed a sigh which made his thin sides
heave painfully. Then his head drooped again, even more sadly than
before, and he closed his eyes patiently once more. He loved the
lank yellow dog. Next to little Huldah he loved him better than
anything in the world. It hurt him as much or more to hear the stick
raining blows on them as it did to feel it on his own poor battered
body, for his poor skin was hardened, but his feelings were not.
On each side of the wide road which ran past the coppice and away
from it were sunk ditches and high hedges, separating it from a bit
of wild moorland, which stretched away on either side as far as eye
could see. Here and there in the hedges were gaps, through which a
person or an animal could pass from the road to the moor, and back
again. To Dick, who did not understand it, this was very
bewildering. Ahead of him a black shadow would flit for a moment,
dark against the dazzling white road, then it would disappear.
It moved so swiftly and so close to the ground, that if it had not
been for the scent he might have thought it was some animal dodging
about among the ditches and dry grasses. Dick could not know that
when it had slipped through a gap in the hedge it became, instead of
a shadow, a solid little dingy brown figure.
Dick was puzzled. He was sure that Huldah was on ahead of him
somewhere, and he was very sure that he wanted her, but he was not at
all sure where she was, or that she wanted him; and there are times
in the lives of caravan dogs when they are not wanted, and are made
to know it. Dick had learnt that fact, but he wanted Huldah, and he
could not help feeling that she wanted him. It was very seldom that
she did not.
So he followed along slowly, keeping at a safe distance, his eyes and
his senses all on the alert to find out if that shadow ahead of him
was really his little mistress, or what it was--and if she would be
angry if he ran after her and joined her.
For a mile, for two miles, they went on like this, then the moor
ended, and roads and fields and houses came in sight. The black
shadow, which was really a little brown girl, stood for a moment
under the shelter of the hedge and looked hurriedly about her.
"Which'll be the safest way to go?" she gasped to herself, and wished
her heart would not thump so hard, for it made her tremble so that
she could hardly stand or move. She shaded her eyes with her little
sun-burnt hand and looked about her anxiously.
"They'd be certain sure to take the van along the main road," she
said to herself; "and anyway somebody might see me, and tell _'im_.
He's sure to ask everybody if they've seen me." A sob caught in her
throat, and tears came very near her eyes. She had often and often
thought of running away, but had never before had the courage and the
opportunity at the same time, and now that she had got both, and had
seized them, she was horribly frightened.
She was not so frightened by the prospect of want and loneliness and
uncertainty which lay before her, as she was by the thought of being
caught, and taken back again. The risk of capture after this bold
step of hers, and what would follow, were so terrible that the mere
thought of them made her turn off the high road at a run, and dash
into the nearest lane she came to. She had the sense to choose one
on the opposite side of the road, lest she should find herself back
on the moor again. A moor was so treacherous, there was no shelter,
and one never knew when one would be pounced on. There was no
shelter either, no food, no house, no safe hiding-place, and of
course there was no chance of finding a friend there, who might take
pity on her.
The lane she dashed into so blindly was a steep one, it led up, and
up, and up, but the hedges were so high she could not see anything
beyond them. They shut out all the air too, and the heat was quite
stifling, her poor thin little face grew scarlet, the perspiration
ran off her brow in heavy drops. She picked up her apron at last, to
wipe them away, and then it was she found the bundle of raffia and
the two or three baskets she had brought out to sell, when the
thought had come to her that she would never go back any more--that
here was the chance she had longed for. Now, when she noticed the
baskets for the first time, her heart beat faster than ever, for she
could well picture the rage there would be, when it was discovered
that not only had she run away, but had taken with her two baskets
ready for sale!
"They are mine! I made them," she gasped, nervously, "and I left some
behind!" but her alarm put fresh energy into her tired feet, and, in
spite of the heat and her weariness, she ran, and ran madly, she did
not know or care whither, as long as she got lost. Wherever she saw
a way, she took it; the more winding it was the better. Anything
rather than keep to a straight, direct road that they could trace.
At one moment she thought of hiding away her baskets and raffia, but
she was very, very hungry by this time, and with the baskets lay her
only chance of being able to buy food, and oh, she needed food badly.
She needed it so much that at last, from sheer exhaustion, she had to
stop and lie down on the ground to recover herself.
It was then that Huldah first caught sight of Dick. All the way she
had gone, he had followed her at a distance, careful never to get too
close, cautiously keeping well out of sight, running when she ran,
drawing back and half-concealing himself when she slackened her pace,
and there was a likelihood of her looking around. Now at last,
though, they had come to moorland again, with only a big boulder here
and there for shelter, and when Huldah suddenly fell down, exhausted,
Dick, in his fright at seeing her lying on the ground motionless,
forgot all about hiding away. Everything but concern for his little
mistress went out of his head. Huldah, lying flat on the ground with
her head resting on her outstretched arm, her face turned away from
the pitiless sun, saw nothing. She did not want to see anything; the
desolateness of the great bare stretch of land frightened her.
She felt terribly frightened, and terribly lonely. Should she die
here, she wondered, alone! At the prospect a sob broke from her.
To poor Dick, who had crept up so close that he stood beside her,
this was too much. At the sound of her distress he was so overcome,
he could no longer keep his feelings under restraint. A bark broke
from him, eager, coaxing, half frightened; then, repentant and
ashamed, he thrust his hot nose into Huldah's hand, and licked it
apologetically.
Weary, dead-beat as she was, Huldah sprang up into a sitting
position. "Dick!" she cried, "oh, Dick! How did you come here?
Oh, I am so glad, so glad!" and flinging her arms round his long
yellow neck she burst into happy tears. Dick was delighted.
Instead of being scolded, he was petted, and his little mistress was
plainly glad to see him. He was as hungry as she was, and very
nearly as tired, but nothing mattered to him now.
"Oh, Dick, how did you come? and, oh, won't they beat us if they
catch us! and--and oh, I hope they won't beat poor old Charlie worse
than ever, because they are angry. Oh, I do wish Charlie was here
too. Poor old Charlie! he will be so lonely."
Dick wagged his tail and looked about him. Perhaps he was thinking
that Charlie might have been able to find something to eat in that
bare spot, but that it was more than they could. Huldah realised
this too, and with a sigh she scrambled on to her aching feet again.
She must find somebody to help them--a house and food of some kind.
"You shall lead the way this time, Dick. You are clever, and can
scent things out. You'll know which way to go to find houses."
It took Dick a little while to understand that he was expected to run
ahead now, not to follow, and indeed it is doubtful if he did
understand it, but a rabbit popping up ahead of them at that moment
drew him on, and Huldah more slowly followed. It was a very zig-zag
way that Dick took them, for he was intent on finding rabbits, not
houses, but, fortunately, it led them at last to a house, too.
The sun was going down in a crimson glory, and a mistiness was
creeping up over the land on all sides, when, to her great relief,
Huldah saw the welcome sight of smoke rising out of chimneys, then
other signs of life, and presently came to a farm standing in the
middle of a large yard. The yard seemed very full of animals, and
where there were no animals there were hay-ricks and corn, and empty
upturned carts and waggons.
It was a lonely-looking place in that evening light, and the
melancholy mooing of the cows, the good-night cluckings of the hens,
the bleating of the sheep, seemed to add to the desolateness.
As Huldah and Dick drew nearer, another and more terrifying sound
arose, and that was the barking of dogs. Dogs sprang up from
everywhere, or so it seemed to poor little Huldah, and, forgetting
the coming night, her hunger and everything else, she fled from the
place, shrieking to Dick to follow her.
Fortunately, Dick obeyed. Hunger and tiredness had taken most of his
spirit out of him, or he could never have resisted such an
opportunity for a fight; the enemy numbered six to one, too, not to
speak of the farmer, who was armed with a long whip, and two or three
workmen, who were well provided with sticks or pitchforks, and
hungry, footsore Dick did not at that moment feel equal to facing
them all, and doing himself justice. So, with an impudent flick of
his tail he followed Huldah, with the air of one who would not deign
to fight mere farm-dogs.
It was a very weary, dejected pair, though, that at last stopped
running, and summoned courage to stand and look about them once more;
and the fright had so shaken Huldah's courage that when presently she
caught sight of more smoking chimneys, and a group of little grey
stone houses, and other signs of life not far ahead of them, she felt
almost more sorry than glad.
When she came closer, and found the village street full of people,
she felt decidedly sorry, and wished wildly that she had gone any
other way, and so avoided them.
After the terrible heat of the day, men, women and children had all
turned out of their close, stifling cottages, and were sitting or
lounging about on doorstep or pavement, enjoying the coolness of the
evening air; and, having nothing to do and little to talk about, and
not much to look at, they naturally took a great interest in the
odd-looking pair which came suddenly into their midst. The dusty,
shabby little girl and the lanky yellow dog.
Huldah did not appreciate their interest. She felt ill with
nervousness, when she saw all the eyes turned towards her, and, she
longed to be out on the moor again,--anywhere, lost, hungry, lonely,
tired, rather than under this fire of eyes. She had wanted very much
to try to sell one of her baskets, that she might be able to buy some
bread, but the staring people daunted her. She felt she could not
have stopped and spoken to one of them, or have offered her wares, to
have saved her life. It was all she could do to drag her trembling
limbs past them, and out of their sight.
The end of the street was reached at last, though the cottages grew
more and more scattered, then stopped altogether, and the pair found
themselves alone once more. Poor Dick was by this time past doing
anything but plod wearily along, his tail down, his ears drooping,
his tongue hanging out. Huldah herself was in a half-dazed state,
she scarcely knew where she was, or what she was doing. She plodded
on and on mechanically, every step becoming harder, every yard a
greater tax on her. She had almost given up hope, and decided to lie
down under a hedge for the night, when her dim eyes were attracted by
a light which suddenly shone out on the darkness, down a little lane
on her right.
She paused in her walk, and stood gazing at it longingly. To the
exhausted, lonely, frightened child it seemed a beautiful sight.
It was like a friendly smile, a kindly welcome reaching out to her in
her hopelessness.
"I will go and ask them to help me," she thought, dully. "They won't
kill me; perhaps they'll give me a bit of bread for one of my
baskets. They won't call the p'lice so late as this."
Dick looked up at her and obediently followed. It was all one to him
where he went. He had no hopes and no fears, he was better off than
poor Huldah in that respect, but he roused to renewed interest and
expectation when his little mistress stopped before a cottage, and
walking timidly up the garden, knocked at the front door.
CHAPTER II.
A NIGHT SCARE.
Silence! Seconds passed, to Huldah they seemed endless, her heart,
which at first had beat furiously, quieted down until it seemed
scarcely to beat at all. Save for the good-night calls of the birds,
and the sad mooing of a cow in a field not far away, the silence
remained unbroken.
"Perhaps I didn't knock loud enough," thought Huldah, "or whoever's
inside may be gone to sleep."
If her plight had been less desperate, she would never have had the
courage to knock again, but she felt ill and exhausted and
frightened, and something seemed to tell her that here she might find
help. So, after waiting a little longer, she screwed up her courage
again, and rapped once more, this time more loudly; and this time, at
any rate, her knock called forth response. There were sounds of
hasty shuffling steps across the floor, and then a voice, old and
evidently trembling, called through the door, "Who is there?"
Huldah was puzzled how to answer. If she were to say "me," it would
be only foolish, while if she called back, "I am Huldah Bate," her
hearer would not know who Huldah Bate was. However, she had to say
something, so she called back pleadingly, "I am a little girl, Huldah
Bate, and please, ma'am, I'm starving, and--and please open the door.
I can't hurt you, I am too little."
It was her voice even more than her words which induced Martha Perry
to open her door to the suppliant. It was such a childish voice, and
so weak, and pleading, and tired. So the bolts were drawn back, and
the door was opened. It was only opened a few inches, but wide
enough to let out a stream of light, which brought some comfort and
hope to the child's heart and the dog's heart. Huldah stepped
forward into the light to show herself.
"You are sure you 'aven't got anybody with you?" asked the woman,
with nervous suspicion.
"No, ma'am, no one but Dick."
"Who's Dick?" hastily pushing the door close, in her alarm.
"Dick's my dog. He--he followed me. He's starving, too," and a sob
broke from Huldah's throat. "We wouldn't hurt you, ma'am, for
anything; we couldn't, we're dead-beat. I haven't had anything to
eat since yesterday, and we've come miles and miles. I don't want to
come in, ma'am," she pleaded, more and more eagerly, as the door
remained rigidly closed, except for about three inches. "If only
you'll give us a bit of bread. I haven't got any money, but I'll
give you one of my baskets for it. Oh, please, ma'am, don't turn us
away!" The tears began to rain down her thin white cheeks. She had
borne all that she could bear, and she had not the strength to keep
them back any longer.
Dick, who could never bear to see his little mistress crying, pushed
himself forward; first he licked Huldah's hand, and then seated
himself in front of her, as though to protect her from the ogress who
made her cry. Something in the ogress's face, though, told Dick that
she was not a real ogress, and he looked up at her with a world of
pleading in his big brown eyes, and his long tail waving coaxingly.
"Poor doggie!" exclaimed the ogress. "Poor Dick, are you hungry,
too? You do look tired and thin. Yes, you shall come in;" and the
narrow stream of light became a wide river, which broke over the pair
and surrounding them drew them in, until they found themselves safely
landed in the cosiest little kitchen Huldah had ever seen.
It was really a very humble little kitchen, with signs of poverty
everywhere, but to Huldah it was a palace. It was spotlessly clean,
and as neat as a new pin, and to a child who had spent the greater
part of her life in a dirty, untidy caravan, this was a sign of
superiority, even of luxury.
To Dick the cleanness and neatness meant nothing, the rag mat before
the hearth was the most luxurious thing he had ever seen in the whole
of his life, and he stretched his lanky aching body on it with a deep
sigh of perfect bliss, and promptly fell asleep.
Huldah and old Mrs. Perry meanwhile stood in the middle of the
kitchen surveying each other.
"Sit down, child," said Martha, at last, "you look fit to drop."
She spoke brusquely but not unkindly.
"Thank you, ma'am," said Huldah, gratefully, and perched herself,
with a long-drawn breath of excitement, on the edge of the hard chair
nearest the door.
"Not there. Go and sit in the arm-chair by the fire-place.
Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Oh!" gasped Huldah, almost too delighted to be able to find words to
answer with. There was more pleasure, though, in her tone than any
number of words could have conveyed.
"The kettle is on the boil. I was just going to have a cup myself,
before I went to bed."
"Oh, thank you, ma'am!" gasped Huldah, feebly, but again with a world
of gratitude in her tone.
"Put down your load for a time, then, and rest your arms." Then, as
her eyes fell on the baskets the child had been carrying, "Was it one
of those you offered me for a bit of bread?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered Huldah, shyly.
"Well, you meant well, I don't doubt, but those baskets are worth
more than a bit of bread. They ought to sell for eighteenpence or
two shillings each, I should say."
"Yes, ma'am, Aunt Emma always asks half-a-crown, and then comes down
to two shillings or eighteenpence," said Huldah, innocently.
"Who's Aunt Emma?"
Huldah hesitated a moment, somewhat at a loss how to explain.
"She isn't my real aunt, though I calls her so. She and Uncle Tom
ain't any relation to me really. They're called Smith, and my name
is Huldah Bate; but when mother died--"
"Haven't you got any mother?"
"No, ma'am, and father is dead too. He died when I was too little to
remember, and mother earned her living by making baskets, and when I
was big enough she taught me."
"How long ago did your mother die?" asked Mrs. Perry, more gently.
"Two years, ma'am, and when she died Aunt Emma and Uncle Tom said I
was to go and live with them. They said mother had said I was to."
"Um! Did your mother think so much of them, then?"
"No, ma'am. They was always too rough for mother, they drinks a lot,
and--and swears terrible, and they'm always fighting."
"I wonder at your mother leaving you to such people to be took care
of."
"I don't believe mother ever did," said Huldah, "she never told me
so, anyway," and she burst into bitter sobs; "but there wasn't
anybody else there, and they told the parish orf'cer that I was their
little girl, and then they went away as fast as they could, and took
me with them."
"Are they kind to you?"
"They beat me--they're always beating me, or Dick, or Charlie,--
Charlie is the old horse that draws the van,--and I'd sooner be
beaten myself than see them being knocked about. We don't ever get
enough to eat, but that isn't so bad as the beatings."
"Poor child! You both look as if you had never had enough to eat in
your lives. Did they make baskets too?"
"No, ma'am, they can't. They make clothes-pegs, and they sell
brushes and mats, but my baskets brought them in as much as a pound a
week sometimes, and oh!" and she gasped at the thought, "Uncle Tom
will be angry, when he finds I don't come back!" and her eyes were
full of terror as she thought of his passion.
Mrs. Perry disappeared into the little scullery behind the kitchen,
and opened the door of the safe where she kept her scanty store of
food. There was very little in it but a ham-bone, a few eggs, a loaf
of bread, and a tiny bit of butter. The bone she had, earlier in the
day, decided would make her some pea-soup for to-morrow's dinner, but
she thought of poor Dick and his hollow sides, and came to the
conclusion that her soup would taste just as good without the bone;
and Dick, when he really grasped the fact that the whole of the big
bone was really meant for him, soon showed her that no ham-bone in
the world had ever given more complete satisfaction.
"Could you eat an egg?"
Huldah stared blankly at her hostess. She could not at first realise
that the question was meant for her. "An egg! Me! Oh, yes, ma'am,
but I don't want anything so--so good as that." She could have eaten
anything, no matter how plain, or poor, or unappetizing. But an egg!
One of the greatest luxuries she had ever tasted. "A bit of dry
bread will be plenty good enough. Eggs cost a lot, and--and--"
"My hens lay eggs for me in plenty. I don't ever have to buy one,"
said the old woman, proudly. "I've got some fine hens."
"Do you keep a farm, ma'am?"
Mrs. Perry smiled and sighed. "No, child; a few hens don't make a
farm. I had a cow at one time, but all that's left is the house she
lived in. Now, draw over to the table and have your supper."
At any other time Huldah would have been shy of eating before a
stranger, for in the caravan good manners were only a subject for
sneers and laughter, and she remembered enough of her mother's
teaching to know how shocking to ordinary eyes Mr. and Mrs. Smith's
behaviour would have seemed. To-night, though, she was too
ravenously hungry for shyness to have much play. She tried to
remember all she could of what her mother had taught her, and got
through fairly creditably.
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