Читать книгу The Hundred and One Dalmatians Modern Classic - Dodie Smith - Страница 13

THEY WERE well rested and well fed and they soon reached a pond where they could drink – the Retriever had told them to be on the look out for it. (It would not have been safe for them to drink from his bowl again; too many humans were now about.) And their spirits were far higher than when they had left the house in Regent’s Park. How far away it already seemed, although it was less than twenty-four hours since they had been in their baskets by the kitchen fire. Of course they were still anxious about their puppies, and sorry for the poor Dearlys. But Lucky’s message had been cheering, and they hoped to make it all up to the Dearlys one day. And anyway, as Pongo said, worrying would help nobody, while enjoying their freedom to race across the fields would do them a power of good.

He was relieved to see how well Missis ran and what good condition she was in. So much food had been given to her while she was feeding the puppies that she had never got pitifully thin – as Perdita had, when she had fed her own puppies without being given extra food.

‘You are a beautiful dog, Missis,’ said Pongo. ‘I am very proud of you.’

At this, Missis looked even more beautiful and Pongo felt even prouder of her. After a minute or so, he said: ‘Do you think I’m looking pretty fit?’

Missis told him he looked magnificent, and wished she had said so without being asked. He was not a vain dog, but every husband likes to know that his wife admires him.

They ran on, shoulder to shoulder, a perfectly matched couple. The night was windless and therefore seemed warmer than the night before, but Pongo knew there was a heavy frost; and when, after a couple of hours across the fields, they came to another pond, there was a film of ice over it. They broke this easily and drank, but Pongo began to be a little anxious about where they would be by daybreak, for they would need good shelter in such cold weather. As they were now travelling across country, he thought it unlikely they would find the village that had been expecting them, but he felt sure most dogs would by now have heard of them and would be willing to help. ‘Only we must be near some village by dawn, or we shall meet no dogs,’ he thought.

Soon after that a lane crossed the fields and, as they had just heard a church clock strike midnight, Pongo felt there was now little chance of their meeting any humans on the road. He wanted to find a signpost and make sure they were travelling in the right direction. So they went along the lane for a mile until they came to a sleeping village. There was a signpost on the green, which Pongo read by the light of the moon. (He was very good at reading – as a pup he had played with alphabet blocks.) All was well. Their journey across the fields had saved them many miles and they were now deep in Essex. (The village where they might have stayed was already behind them.) By going north, they would reach Suffolk.

The only depressing thing was that the wonderful steak dinner seemed such a long time ago. And there was no hope of getting food as late as this. They just had to go on and on through the night, getting hungrier and hungrier.

And by the time it began to get light, they were also extremely chilly – partly because they were hungry and tired, and partly because it was getting colder and colder. The ice on the ponds they passed was thicker and thicker – at last they came to a pond where they could not break through to drink.

And now Pongo was really anxious, for they had reached a part of the country where there seemed to be very few villages. Where could they get food and shelter? Where could they hide and sleep during the bitterly cold day ahead of them?

He did not tell Missis of his fears and she would not even admit that she was hungry. But her tail drooped and her pace got slower and slower. He felt terrible: tired, hungry, anxious, and deeply ashamed that he was letting his beautiful wife suffer hardship. Surely there would be a village soon, or a fair-sized farm?

‘Should we rest a little, Pongo?’ said Missis, at last.

‘Not until we’ve found some dogs to help us, Missis,’ said Pongo. Then his heart gave a glad leap. Ahead of them were some thatched cottages! It was full daylight now and he could see smoke twisting up from several chimneys. Surely some dog would be about?

‘If anyone tries to catch us, we must take to the fields and run,’ said Pongo.

‘Yes, Pongo,’ said Missis, though she did not now feel she could run very far.

They reached the first cottage. Pongo gave a low bark. No dog answered it.

They went on and soon saw that this was not a real village but just a short row of cottages, some of them empty and almost in ruins. Except for smoke rising from a few chimneys there was no sign of life until they came to the very last cottage. As they reached it, a little boy looked out of a window.

He saw them and quickly opened the cottage door. In his hand was a thick slab of bread and butter. He appeared to be holding it out to them.

‘Gently, Pongo,’ said Missis, ‘or we shall frighten him.’

They went through the open gate and up the cobbled path, wagging their tails and looking with love at the little boy – and the bread and butter. The child smiled at them fearlessly and waved the bread and butter. And then, when they were only three or four yards away, he stooped, picked up a stone and slung it with all his force. He gave a squeal of laughter when he saw the stone strike Pongo, then went in and slammed the door.

At that moment, the dogs heard a man’s voice inside the cottage. They turned and ran as fast as they could, along the road and then into a field.

‘Are you hurt, Pongo?’ cried Missis, as they ran. Then she saw that he was limping. They stopped behind a haystack. Pongo’s leg was bleeding – the stone must have had a very sharp edge. But what hurt him most was the bruise on the bone. He was trembling with pain and rage.

Missis was terrified, but she did not let him see this. She licked his wound and said there was nothing a good rest would not cure.

‘Rest? Where?’ said Pongo.

Missis saw that the haystack was very loosely made. She scrabbled at it fiercely, saying: ‘Look, Pongo, you can creep in and get warm. Then sleep for a while. I will find us some food – I will, I will! The first dog I meet will help me.’

By now she had made a large hole in the haystack. Pongo looked at it longingly. But no! He could not let her go alone. He struggled to his feet, wincing with pain, and said: ‘I must come with you to find food. And I will bite that child.’

‘No, Pongo, no!’ cried Missis, horrified. ‘Remember he is only a very young human. All very young creatures are ignorantly cruel – often our dear puppies hurt me badly, not knowing they were doing so. To bite a human is the greatest crime a dog can commit. You shall not let that cruel, thoughtless child put such a sin on your conscience. Your pain and anger will pass, but the guilt would remain with you for always.’

Pongo knew she was right and already the desire to bite the child was passing. ‘But I won’t let you go alone,’ he said.

‘Then let us both rest a while first,’ said crafty Missis. ‘Come on, there’s room for two.’ And she crept into the haystack.

‘We should find food first, or we shall be too weak to find it when we wake up,’ said Pongo. But he followed her into the haystack.

‘Just sleep for a few minutes, Pongo – while I keep guard,’ said Missis, coaxingly.

Pongo could fight on no longer. Sleep came to him while he thought he was still arguing.

Missis waited a few minutes, then crept out and pulled hay round Pongo to hide him. She no longer felt sleepy; she was far too anxious. Even her appetite had gone for the moment. Still, she knew she must find food for them both – and she had no idea how to, for she was almost sure there was no dog anywhere near to help her. But pretending to Pongo that she felt brave had made her really feel a little braver and her tail was no longer down.

She could still see the thatched cottages and she noticed some hens at the back of them. Perhaps the hens would have some stale crusts that she could – well, borrow. She went back.

The first cottage she reached was the one where the little boy lived. And now he was at the back, staring at her! This time, he had an even larger slab of bread and butter, with some jam on it. He ran towards her, holding it out.

‘Perhaps he really means it now,’ thought Missis. ‘Perhaps he’s sorry he hurt Pongo.’ And she went forward hopefully – though well prepared to dodge stones.

The child waited until she was quite close. Then again he stooped for a stone. But he was on a patch of grass, with no stones handy. So, instead, he threw the slab of bread and butter. He threw it with rage, not love, but that made it no less valuable. Missis caught it neatly and bolted.

‘Bless me,’ she thought, ‘he’s just a small human who likes throwing things. His parents should buy him a ball.’

She took the bread and butter back to the haystack and laid it down by her sleeping husband’s nose. So far, she had not even licked it, but now she let herself nibble off one very small corner. It tasted so glorious that her appetite came back with a rush, but she left all the rest for Pongo to find when he woke. Again she pulled the hay round him, and then ran to the road. But she saw a man outside the cottage where the little boy lived so she did not dare to go back to visit the hens. She ran in the opposite direction.

It was now a very beautiful winter morning. Every blade of grass was silvered with hoar frost and glittering in the newly risen sun. But Missis was far too worried to enjoy the beauty. The triumph of getting the bread was wearing off and all sorts of fears were rushing at her.

Suppose Pongo was seriously injured? Suppose he was too lame to go on? Suppose she could find no food close at hand? If she had to go far, she knew she would get lost. She even got lost in Regent’s Park, almost every time the Dearlys were off the leash. They often laughed at the way she would stand still, wildly staring around for them. Suppose she never found her way back to Pongo and he searched and searched and never found her? Lost dog! The very words were terrible!

And was she, even now, quite sure of her way back to the haystack?

‘It isn’t fair,’ thought Missis. ‘No one as worried as I am ought to feel hungry, too.’ For she was ravenous – and thirsty. She tried licking the ice in a ditch but it hurt her tongue without quenching her thirst.

She was beginning to think she must go back and make sure where the haystack was, when she came to an old redbrick archway leading to a long gravel drive. Her spirits rose. Surely this must be the entrance to some big country house, such as she had stayed at several times when she and Mrs Dearly were both bachelors? Such houses had many dogs, large kitchens, plenty of food. Joyfully she ran through the archway.

She could see no house ahead of her because the drive twisted. It was overgrown with weeds, and it went on so long that she began to wonder if it really did lead to a house. Indeed, it was now so wild and neglected that it seemed more like a path through a wood than the approach to a house. And it was so strangely silent; never in her life had Missis felt quite so alone.

More and more frightened, she ran round one more bend – and suddenly she was out in the open, with the house in front of her.

It was very old, built of mellow red brick like the archway, with many little diamond-paned windows and one great window that reached almost to the roof. The windows twinkling in the early morning sunshine looked cheerful and welcoming, but there was no sign of life anywhere. And there was grass growing in the cracks of the wide stone steps which led to the massive oak door.

‘It’s empty!’ thought Missis, in despair.

But it was not empty. Looking out of an open window was a Spaniel, black except for his muzzle, which was grey with age.

‘Good morning,’ he said, most courteously. ‘Can I be of any help to you, my dear?’