Beautiful Joe (10 page)

“We don’t
expect to do that,” said the old lady, turning her pleasant face toward him; “but
even if the human heart is desperately wicked, shouldn’t that make us much more
eager to try to educate, to ennoble, and restrain? However, as far as my
experience goes, and I have lived in this wicked world for seventy-five years,
I find that the human heart, though wicked and cruel, as you say, has yet some
soft and tender spots, and the impressions made upon it in youth are never,
never effaced. Do you not remember better than anything else, standing at your
mother’s knee—the pressure of her hand, her kiss on your forehead?”

By this
time our engine had arrived. A whistle was blowing, and nearly every one was
rushing from the room, the impatient old gentleman among the first. Miss Laura
was hurriedly trying to do up her shawl strap, and I was standing by, wishing
that I could help her. The old lady and the young man were the only other
people in the room, and we could not help hearing what they said.

“Yes, I
do,” he said in a thick voice, and his face got very red. “She is dead now—I
have no mother.”

“Poor boy!”
and the old lady laid her hand on his shoulder. They were standing up, and she
was taller than he was. “May God bless you. I know you have a kind heart. I
have four stalwart boys, and you remind me of the youngest. If you are ever in
Washington come to see me.” She gave him some name, and he lifted his hat and
looked as if he was astonished to find out who she was. Then he, too, went
away, and she turned to Miss Laura. “Shall I help you, my dear?”

“If you
please,” said my young mistress. “I can’t fasten this strap.”

In a few
seconds the bundle was done up, and we were joyfully hastening to the train. It
was only a few miles to Riverdale, so the conductor let me stay in the car with
Miss Laura. She spread her coat out on the seat in front of her, and I sat on
it and looked out of the car window as we sped along through a lovely country,
all green and fresh in the June sunlight. How light and pleasant this car was—so
different from the baggage car. What frightens an animal most of all things, is
not to see where it is going, not to know what is going to happen to it. I
think that they are very like human beings in this respect.

The lady
had taken a seat beside Miss Laura, and as we went along, she too looked out of
the window and said in a low voice:

“What is
so rare as a day in June,

Then, if
ever, come perfect days.”

“That is
very true,” said Miss Laura; “how sad that the autumn must come, and the cold
winter.”

“No, my
dear, not sad. It is but a preparation for another summer.”

“Yes, I
suppose it is,” said Miss Laura. Then she continued a little shyly, as her
companion leaned over to stroke my cropped ears, “You seem very fond of
animals.”

“I am, my
dear. I have four horses, two cows, a tame squirrel, three dogs, and a cat.”

“You
should be a happy woman,” said Miss Laura, with a smile.

“I think I
am. I must not forget my horned toad, Diego, that I got in California. I keep
him in the greenhouse, and he is very happy catching flies and holding his
horny head to be scratched whenever anyone comes near.”

“I don’t
see how anyone can be unkind to animals,” said Miss Laura, thoughtfully.

“Nor I, my
dear child. It has always caused me intense pain to witness the torture of dumb
animals. Nearly seventy years ago, when I was a little girl walking the streets
of Boston, I would tremble and grow faint at the cruelty of drivers to overloaded
horses. I was timid and did not dare speak to them. Very often, I ran home and
flung myself in my mother’s arms with a burst of tears, and asked her if
nothing could be done to help the poor animals. With mistaken, motherly
kindness, she tried to put the subject out of my thoughts. I was carefully
guarded from seeing or hearing of any instances of cruelty. But the animals went
on suffering just the same, and when I became a woman, I saw my cowardice. I
agitated the matter among my friends, and told them that our whole dumb
creation was groaning together in pain, and would continue to groan, unless
merciful human beings were willing to help them. I was able to assist in the
formation of several societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals, and
they have done good service. Good service not only to the horses and cows, but
to the nobler animal, man. I believe that in saying to a cruel man, ‘You shall
not overwork, torture, mutilate, nor kill your animal, or neglect to provide it
with proper food and shelter,’ we are making him a little nearer the kingdom of
heaven than he was before. For ‘Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also
reap.’ If he sows seeds of unkindness and cruelty to man and beast, no one
knows what the blackness of the harvest will be. His poor horse, quivering
under a blow, is not the worst sufferer. Oh, if people would only understand
that their unkind deeds will recoil upon their own heads with tenfold
force—but, my dear child, I am fancying that I am addressing a drawing-room
meeting—and here we are at your station. Good-bye; keep your happy face and
gentle ways. I hope that we may meet again someday.” She pressed Miss Laura’s
hand, gave me a farewell pat, and the next minute we were outside on the
platform, and she was smiling through the window at us.

“My dear
niece,” and a stout, middle-aged woman, with a red, lively face, threw both her
arms around Miss Laura. “How glad I am to see you, and this is the dog. Good
Joe, I have a bone waiting for you. Here is Uncle John.”

A tall,
good-looking man stepped up and put out a big hand, in which my mistress’
little fingers were quite swallowed up. “I am glad to see you, Laura. Well,
Joe, how d’ye do, old boy? I’ve heard about you.”

It made me
feel very welcome to have them both notice me, and I was so glad to be out of
the train that I frisked for joy around their feet as we went to the wagon. It
was a big double one, with an awning over it to shelter it from the sun’s rays,
and the horses were drawn up in the shade of a spreading tree. They were two
powerful black horses, and as they had no blinders on, they could see us
coming. Their faces lighted up and they moved their ears and pawed the ground,
and whinnied when Mr. Wood went up to them. They tried to rub their heads
against him, and I saw plainly that they loved him. “Steady there, Cleve and
Pacer,” he said; “now back, back up.”

By this
time, Mrs. Wood, Miss Laura and I were in the wagon. Then Mr. Wood jumped in,
took up the reins, and off we went. How the two black horses did spin along! I
sat on the seat beside Mr. Wood, and sniffed in the delicious air, and the
lovely smell of flowers and grass. How glad I was to be in the country! What
long races I should have in the green fields. I wished that I had another dog
to run with me, and wondered very much whether Mr. Wood kept one. I knew I
should soon find out, for whenever Miss Laura went to a place she wanted to
know what animals there were about.

We drove a
little more than a mile along a country road where there were scattered houses.
Miss Laura answered questions about her family, and asked questions about Mr.
Harry, who was away at college and hadn’t got home. I don’t think I have said
before that Mr. Harry was Mrs. Wood’s son. She was a widow with one son when
she married Mr. Wood, so that Mr. Harry, though the Morrises called him cousin,
was not really their cousin.

I was very
glad to hear them say that he was soon coming home, for I had never forgotten
that but for him I should never have known Miss Laura and gotten into my
pleasant home.

By-and-by,
I heard Miss Laura say: “Uncle John, have you a dog?”

“Yes,
Laura,” he said; “I have one today, but I sha’n’t have one tomorrow.”

“Oh,
uncle, what do you mean?” she asked.

“Well,
Laura,” he replied, “you know animals are pretty much like people. There are
some good ones and some bad ones. Now, this dog is a snarling, cross-grained,
cantankerous beast, and when I heard Joe was coming, I said: ‘Now we’ll have a
good dog about the place, and here’s an end to the bad one.’ So I tied Bruno
up, and tomorrow I shall shoot him. Something’s got to be done, or he’ll be
biting someone.”

“Uncle,”
said Miss Laura, “people don’t always die when they are bitten by dogs, do
they?”

“No,
certainly not,” replied Mr. Wood. “In my humble opinion there’s a great lot of
nonsense talked about the poison of a dog’s bite and people dying of
hydrophobia. Ever since I was born I’ve had dogs snap at me and stick their
teeth in my flesh; and I’ve never had a symptom of hydrophobia, and never
intend to have. I believe half the people that are bitten by dogs frighten
themselves into thinking they are fatally poisoned. I was reading the other day
about the policemen in a big city in England that have to catch stray dogs, and
dogs supposed to be mad, and all kinds of dogs, and they get bitten over and
over again, and never think anything about it. But let a lady or a gentleman
walking along the street have a dog bite them, and they worry themselves till their
blood is in a fever, and they have to hurry across to France to get Pasteur to cure
them. They imagine they’ve got hydrophobia, and they’ve got it because they
imagine it. I believe if I fixed my attention on that right thumb of mine, and
thought I had a sore there, and picked at it and worried it, in a short time a
sore would come, and I’d be off to the doctor to have it cured. At the same
time dogs have no business to bite, and I don’t recommend any one to get
bitten.”

“But,
uncle,” said Miss Laura, “isn’t there such a thing as hydrophobia?”

“Oh, yes;
I dare say there is. I believe that a careful examination of the records of
death reported in Boston from hydrophobia for the space of thirty-two years,
shows that two people actually died from it. Dogs are like all other animals.
They’re liable to sickness, and they’ve got to be watched. I think my horses
would go mad if I starved them, or overfed them, or overworked them, or let
them stand in laziness, or kept them dirty, or didn’t give them water enough.
They’d get some disease, anyway. If a person owns an animal, let him take care of
it, and it’s all right. If it shows signs of sickness, shut it up and watch it.
If the sickness is incurable, kill it. Here’s a sure way to prevent hydrophobia.
Kill off all ownerless and vicious dogs. If you can’t do that, have plenty of
water where they can get at it. A dog that has all the water he wants, will
never go mad.

“This dog
of mine has not one single thing the matter with him but pure ugliness. Yet, if
I let him loose, and he ran through the village with his tongue out, I’ll
warrant you there’d be a cry of ‘mad dog!’ However, I’m going to kill him. I’ve
no use for a bad dog.
“Have plenty of animals, I say, and treat them kindly, but if there’s a vicious
one among them, put it out of the way, for it is a constant danger to man and
beast. It’s queer how ugly some people are about their dogs. They’ll keep them
no matter how they worry other people, and even when they’re snatching the
bread out of their neighbors’ mouths. But I say that is not the fault of the
four-legged dog. A human dog is the worst of all.
“There’s a band of sheep-killing dogs here in Riverdale, that their owners can’t,
or won’t, keep out of mischief. Meek-looking fellows some of them are. The
owners go to bed at night, and the dogs pretend to go, too; but when the house
is quiet and the family asleep, off goes Rover or Fido to worry poor,
defenseless creatures that can’t defend themselves. Their taste for sheep’s
blood is like the taste for liquor in men, and the dogs will travel as far to
get their fun, as the men will travel for theirs. They’ve got it in them, and
you can’t get it out.”

“Mr.
Windham cured his dog,” said Mrs. Wood.

Mr. Wood
burst into a hearty laugh. “So he did, so he did. I must tell Laura about that.
Windham is a neighbor of ours, and last summer I kept telling him that his
collie was worrying my Shropshires. He wouldn’t believe me, but I knew I was
right, and one night when Harry was home, he lay in wait for the dog and
lassoed him. I tied him up and sent for Windham. You should have seen his face,
and the dog’s face. He said two words, ‘You scoundrel!’ and the dog cowered at
his feet as if he had been shot. He was a fine dog, but he’d got corrupted by
evil companions. Then Windham asked me where my sheep were. I told him in the
pasture. He asked me if I still had my old ram Bolton. I said yes, and then he wanted
eight or ten feet of rope. I gave it to him, and wondered what on earth he was
going to do with it. He tied one end of it to the dog’s collar, and holding the
other in his hand, set out for the pasture. He asked us to go with him, and
when he got there, he told Harry he’d like to see him catch Bolton. There wasn’t
any need to catch him, he’d come to us like a dog. Harry whistled, and when
Bolton came up, Windham fastened the rope’s end to his horns, and let him go.
The ram was frightened and ran, dragging the dog with him. We let them out of
the pasture into an open field, and for a few minutes there was such a racing
and chasing over that field as I never saw before. Harry leaned up against the
bars and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. Then Bolton got mad,
and began to make battle with the dog, pitching into him with his horns. We
soon stopped that, for the spirit had all gone out of Dash. Windham unfastened
the rope, and told him to get home, and if ever I saw a dog run, that one did.
Mrs. Windham set great store by him, and her husband didn’t want to kill him.
But he said Dash had got to give up his sheep-killing, if he wanted to live.
That cured him. He’s never worried a sheep from that day to this, and if you
offer him a bit of sheep’s wool now, he tucks his tail between his legs, and
runs for home. Now, I must stop my talk, for we’re in sight of the farm. Yonder’s
our boundary line, and there’s the house. You’ll see a difference in the trees
since you were here before.”

We had
come to a turn in the road where the ground sloped gently upward. We turned in
at the gate, and drove between rows of trees up to a long, low; red house, with
a veranda all round it. There was a wide lawn in front, and away on our right
were the farm buildings. They too, were painted red, and there were some trees
by them that Mr. Wood called his windbreak, because they kept the snow from
drifting in the winter time.

I thought
it was a beautiful place. Miss Laura had been here before, but not for some
years, so she, too, was looking about quite eagerly.

“Welcome
to Dingley Farm, Joe,” said Mrs. Wood, with her jolly laugh, as she watched me
jump from the carriage seat to the ground. “Come in, and I’ll introduce you to
pussy.”

“Aunt
Hattie, why is the farm called Dingley Farm?” said Miss Laura, as we went into
the house. “It ought to be Wood Farm.”

“Dingley
is made out of ‘dingle,’ Laura. You know that pretty hollow back of the
pasture? It is what they call a ‘dingle.’ So this farm was called Dingle Farm
till the people around about got saying ‘Dingley’ instead. I suppose they found
it easier. Why, here is Lolo coming to see Joe.”

Walking
along the wide hall that ran through the house was a large tortoise-shell cat.
She had a prettily marked face, and she was waving her large tail like a flag,
and mewing kindly to greet her mistress. But when she saw me what a face she
made. She flew on the hall table, and putting up her back till it almost lifted
her feet from the ground, began to spit at me and bristle with rage.

“Poor
Lolo,” said Mrs. Wood, going up to her. “Joe is a good dog, and not like Bruno.
He won’t hurt you.”

I wagged
myself about a little, and looked kindly at her, but she did nothing but say
bad words to me. It was weeks and weeks before I made friends with that cat.
She was a young thing, and had known only one dog, and he was a bad one, so she
supposed all dogs were like him.

There were
a number of rooms opening off the hall, and one of them was the dining room
where they had tea. I lay on a rug outside the door and watched them. There was
a small table spread with a white cloth, and it had pretty dishes and glassware
on it, and a good many different kinds of things to eat. A little French girl,
called Adèle, kept coming and going from the kitchen to give them hot cakes,
and fried eggs, and hot coffee. As soon as they finished their tea, Mrs. Wood
gave me one of the best meals that I ever had in my life.