Читать книгу The Lady-with-the-Crumbs - Flora Klickmann - Страница 3

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The little white dog stood at the top of the Ferny Path―the path that goes down the hillside, right through the middle of the Windflower Wood.

In addition to wearing a silky coat and soft brown velvet ears, the little white dog wore a really very superior look on the end of his nose.

He only came to the Flower-Patch House for part of the year. The rest of the time he lived in London. And he knew quite well how highly the postman in town thought of him, also the dustman, and the tramps, and the butcher’s boy, and the man who came to look at the gas meter, and the coal man, and the old gentleman who bought Cook’s bottles and bones―I don’t mean her own bones, you know, but the meat bones.

And though he was only a small dog, he realized that he was a Very Important Person. Why, even the plumber was so afraid of him that he wouldn’t let so much as a tool come inside the house, to say nothing of himself, till he was sure it was perfectly safe. And to make quite certain, he would put his head cautiously round the door, and inquire anxiously:

“Is that bloodhound chained up?”

No wonder Mac felt himself to be an altogether superior dog. Any dog whose full name was “The Mackintosh of Mackintosh” naturally would feel superior!

As he stood at the top of the Ferny Path, he pretended that he was hunting for burglars, and wild beasts, and anything else that would be likely to hurt his master and mistress, in the Flower-Patch House just above the wood. But in reality he was anxious to let all the other Little People of the Forest see that he had arrived.

He hoped they would notice how extra white he was. He had had a bath in town only the day before: and though he didn’t like being washed―said dreadful things and hid under the easy chair in the dining-room when he saw Cook getting out that horrid tub―he knew it was necessary for a Very Important Person.

Besides, people always patted him after this trying event, and said, “Doesn’t he look nice!”

The day before, however, he had a lovely surprise. After his bath, Cook had brought down his travelling basket from the attic, and said to him, “There now! what does that mean?” Whereupon he ran round and round like a top gone crazy, and went up to everybody, putting his front paws on them, and saying with his tail, his eyes, and his ears, “Are we really going away to the Flower-Patch? Oh, won’t it be jolly!”

Then he jumped into his travelling basket (he could open the lid himself, and get in, and let it shut down again with him inside it!); and he refused to budge for meals or at bed-time, lest they should go off and leave him behind, as had happened once upon a time. Oh it was dreadful that other time to see the luggage being brought down, and no sign of his basket! And it was more than dreadful to be shut up in the kitchen and hear the luggage being carried out, and hear the car drive off, and to know they had gone! Gone!―and left him behind!

On that sad occasion he went into his sleeping box and hid his face in his blanket and cried.

No use for Cook to bring him dainty bits, he couldn’t touch them. It was his master and mistress he wanted. Next morning he crept up to the front door, and lay on the mat with his nose on his paws, just waiting till they should return. And not a bit of food would he eat till he heard them coming up the steps to the door. Then he rushed round and round, and down to the kitchen: gobbled a bit of his dinner, which was on a plate near his box. But he couldn’t wait to eat it all. Back again to the front hall. Round and round his dear friends he raced, then upstairs at a rush to find everybody and tell them all about it. And then he never left his master’s side for the rest of the day.

So affectionate and faithful was the little white dog with the brown ears.

Then there was another time, when he saw some luggage in the hall, and his basket not among it―and when they went to find him he had disappeared! Everywhere they hunted and called that day; indoors and out. No reply. No little dog rushed up joyfully, saying, “What can I do for you, master?”

Fortunately, they were not leaving till the next day. But, of course, everyone was very worried.

Then when Cook was going to bed that night she fancied she heard a little sound in the attic. Taking a light, she went to investigate.

There, sitting up in his travelling basket, with a most anxious expression, was the little white dog! He evidently thought that if he sat there in readiness, they would be certain to take him with them.

And of course they did.

However, he had not been left behind this time. He had arrived from London that very afternoon. And as one of his many duties was to go carefully round the Flower-Patch (as the garden is called), and the barns, and outhouses, and orchards, and fields, so as to make sure that every gate-post, and bush, and stone―particularly those at the corners―were just where he left them last time, he had started off at once to attend to this, his own special business.

In the course of his tour of inspection he reached the top of the Ferny Path―as I have already mentioned. And there he stood with everything about him, saying, “I am a Very Important Person. And don’t you forget it!”

He was just thinking that supposing lions or elephants were hiding in that wood he would soon clear them out, and teach them to attend to their own affairs, and make them sorry they had troubled to take a railway ticket from Africa in order to get there!

He was so pleased with his brave thoughts that he went on picturing giraffes and tigers and bears lying dead all around him, with his master and mistress patting his head and saying, “Good boy! Good old Mac! What a wonderful dog to have saved our lives like this.”

Then he knew what would come next―he was sure it would be a very big bone. And――

But just here his beautiful dreams were interrupted by a sharp little voice that called out:

“Hello! Cockie! So you’re back again, are you? Have you brought a little of your London salt to put on my tail? Ha! Ha! You haven’t caught me yet, although you’re so clever.”

And a ball of fur came out from among the brambles close beside him; right under his very nose, so to speak! And then up a big oak tree scampered a saucy squirrel.

His fur was reddish brown; his eyes were bright and full of mischief; his long bushy tail was all fluffed out as he trailed it after him up the rugged trunk.

But the curious thing about him was his face. At first sight it looked as though it was terribly swollen, poor thing, with toothache. In reality he was taking home a meal to his family; and as squirrels use their mouths for pockets, he had stuffed some nuts and one or two young larch cones in his cheeks. Squirrels are very fond of young larch cones.

But evidently he wasn’t in a hurry; at any rate he kept his family waiting for their tea, while he said a few more saucy things to Mac, who was most indignant to think that, though he was willing to settle giraffes and elephants, he couldn’t catch a squirrel, a silly animal like that, who was not so big as himself! Most annoying!

And he knew it was useless to argue with the creature; he had learnt that from past experience. So he merely said, with a dignified air, “In London, the animals of my acquaintance do not talk with their mouths full!”

“Ha! Ha! I don’t suppose they do,” said the squirrel. “There is nothing to put in them up there! Not a single walnut rattling down from a tree in all the streets. Not a mushroom growing on any of the pavements. Not a brook with watercress for tea running by the side of the tramlines. Never a plum or cherry tree for miles; no strawberries by the roadside―I know! The swallows have told me what a wretched place London is. How could anyone talk with his mouth full up there? London is where your friend Mother Hubbard lives. A nice state of affairs her cupboard is in!”

But Mac declined to waste any of his precious time on this exasperating creature, who was really worse than a cat, because it would leap from bough to bough above his head, and just out of his reach. So he turned his back upon the squirrel and looked the other way, with his tail in the air.

Whereupon the tiresome little animal in the tree barked out: “Do you call that wispy thing of yours a tail! A tail!! Oh my! Look at it everybody. Just look at it!”

Mac was always annoyed when the squirrels gave their funny, scolding little bark. He thought no animal should presume to bark excepting a dog. He was conscious, however, that his own tail wasn’t much to boast of in comparison with the bushy thing dangling from the tree above him. So he carefully lowered his, and tucked it away behind him.

Then Bushy Tail, the Saucy Squirrel, called out:

“I’ll sing you a song, my young friend, about a dog who came to a sad end because he was so up-shus! Now you just take warning!” And he started to sing:

“Oh! Hi! Diddle Diddle!

Did you ever see the fiddle

Being played by the Man in the Moon?

Did you ever hear the cow

Singing out ‘Bow-wow! Bow-wow!’

While the cat ate the dish and the spoon?

“Oh, Diddle, Diddle Di!

But I really nearly cry

When I think of the little dog that laughed;

For his mouth he opened wide,

Letting all the cold inside,

And they say―he died next morning from the draught!”

But long before the squirrel had finished Mac had stumped off in disgust, wondering whether all the Little People of the Forest were ridiculing him like that aggravating creature up in the tree.