"We were coming to see you all," said Miss Trevor smiling; "do you think your mother is at home and disengaged?"
"I think so," I replied, and then I went on to explain that we had been out for several hours on a private picnicking expedition of our own, and we all joined in saying, "Do come," for we liked the Trevors very much, especially Miss "Zenia." We were a little frightened of Mr. Trevor; he was so tall and thin, and had the name of being tremendously learned, but they were all very kind, though I have nothing _very_ particular to tell about them. Mrs. Trevor always made us laugh, with her dogs and her knitting, but she _was_ so good-natured.
So we strolled on together, in the pleasant, still, sunshiny afternoon--Rolf and Geordie talking to Mr. Trevor, who was not at all "awe-inspiring" when he got on the subject of his own schooldays, for we heard them all laughing most heartily now and then.
Taisy declared afterwards that she had picked up b.a.l.l.s of wool at least twenty times during that walk, as she kept beside Mrs. Trevor. And seeing that their mistress was thus engaged, the three dogs--they were really very well-behaved--took to following rather demurely, all three together, while I chatted to Zenia.
It was not till we were very near the Hut that any unusual sounds reached us.
I was just talking about Roughie to Miss Trevor, descanting on his perfections, when a sort of queer yelping gasp, or gasping yelp, made us stand still for a moment.
"What can that be?" I said.
"Oh, nothing," said Miss Trevor. "One hears all sorts of funny animal sounds in the woods, I have learnt to know. You are rather like an anxious mamma, Ida, who has been out and left her baby too long. For I can see you at once think of the dear doggie," and she laughed a little, though of course quite kindly.
I laughed too, and we walked on--we were just a few steps in front of the others.
But--again in another moment I stopped, this time holding up my hand, and saying, "Hush!"
Then I turned, and I fancy I had grown quite white already.
"Miss Trevor," I said, "it _is_ Rough, and there must be something dreadful the matter. Just listen."
There was the same gasping yelp, almost like a choking human cry, and the strangest rushing and clanking, jingling sounds, all mixed together.
"Was he chained up? Can he have broken loose?" said Zenia breathlessly.
"It sounds like----"
""Chained up,"" I repeated indignantly; "my sweet little Roughie! Oh no, no!" I cried, as I rushed off.
It was rather rude, I am afraid, to repeat her words like that, but she was far too kind to mind.
"Geordie, Geordie, Rolf," I cried, "come quickly! There is something dreadfully the matter with Rough."
So indeed it seemed, for the noise grew louder, and mingled with it now were a child"s calls and shrieks.
"Roughie, Roughie," I distinguished in Esme"s voice; "darling Roughie, come to me. Don"t be so frightened, darling. I didn"t mean it--oh, I didn"t mean it!"
And this was what I _saw_.
Esme, hair streaming, eyes streaming, scarlet with terror, rushing over the ground in front and at the side of the Hut, lost to sight for a moment among the trees, then out again, after _something_--a small, wild animal, it seemed--that was tearing before her, evidently trying to escape from her, or from--yes, what was that strange thing rushing after _it_? Another still smaller wild beast of some kind, or what? No, it was nothing alive; it was a metal thing of some kind, rattling, clanking, jingling, and--oh, horrors!--tied to my poor pet"s little body.
I saw it all at once--affection quickens one"s eyes, they say--I took it all in before there was time for any explanation, though Esme screamed to me as she flew on: "Oh, Ida, Ida, I didn"t mean it! Stop him, stop him!"
Naughty, naughty Esme!
_He_ had already rushed past me--within a few yards, that is to say--without seeing me, whom he generally caught sight of before you could think it possible. Blinded by terror--yes, and deafened too--he did not know I had come; he could not hear his own "missus"s" voice.
And he was dreadful to look at: his tongue was hanging out; his whole little head seemed spattered with foam; he was rushing like a mad thing, even though, by the gasping sound he made, you could tell he was exhausted, and had scarcely any breath left.
No wonder that, as the boys hurried up behind me, they and Mr.
Trevor--Mr. Trevor especially--thought he _was_ mad.
Mr. Trevor kept his presence of mind, I must say, under what _he_ thought the dreadful circ.u.mstances. He almost pushed his mother and sister and Taisy into the porch, and tried to push me in too. But I evaded him.
The boys and Esme were quite out of reach--_they_ were tearing after _her_, shouting to her to "Come back, come back!" which did not tend to lessen the uproar. And when _I_ started in pursuit, as of course I did, it must have seemed to any one looking on as if we had all gone mad together! Indeed, Taisy owned to me afterwards that, terrified as she was, she had hard work to keep down her laughter, especially when she heard me turn upon dignified Mr. Trevor, and in answer to his despotic--
"Go back, Miss Lanark, go back; I insist upon it," shout back, "Nonsense; I will _not_ go back."
And as I heard his next words--
"The dog must be shot at once. Boys, is there a gun about the place?" I grew desperate, for I knew that there _was_ a gun--Rolf"s--though he and Geordie had given their word of honour to mamma not to touch it without leave.
Then a new idea struck me. Instead of rushing round like the others--like the boys that is to say, for by this time Esme had dropped in front of the porch, whence Zenia Trevor had dragged her in, and she was now sobbing on Taisy"s shoulder--instead of rushing after Roughie, I "doubled" and _met_ him, my arms outstretched, and using every endearing and coaxing tone I could think of. And oh, the joy and relief when, almost dead with exhaustion by now, he flew into my clasp, and, panting and nearly choking, faintly rubbed his poor little head against me!
"He knows me, he knows me!" I shouted. "He is not a bit mad; he is only wild with terror."
But I had some trouble to get the others to believe me; _their_ fright had only increased tenfold when they saw me catch him. In some marvellous way Mr. Trevor had got out the gun--I have always suspected that Taisy or Hoskins or one of them had already thought of it--and stood within a few paces of my dog and me. But for my having him in my arms, he would have made an end of Roughie, and certainly I would never have told this story.
As it was, for a moment or two he--Mr. Trevor, not the poor pet--was very angry.
"Miss Lanark!" he shouted, "you are mad yourself to touch him. Has he bitten you?" for I was crying so by this time that I had hidden my face in Rough"s coat.
"_Bitten_ me!" I exclaimed, looking up and not caring if Mr. Trevor saw my tears or not,--"_bitten_ me! How can you imagine such a thing? Look at him."
And, indeed, it was a sight to melt any heart and disarm any fears!
Roughie was lying quite still, nestling against me as close as he could get, only quivering now and then and giving little sobbing sighs, just as a tiny child does after some violent trouble and crying.
I believe he was already asleep!
Mr. Trevor approached cautiously.
"He--he certainly looks all right now," he said. "Can it have been a fit of some extraordinary kind, then, or what can----"
"There is no mystery about it," I said, "except the mystery of how any one _could_ be so cruel. Didn"t you hear the rattling, Mr.
Trevor--didn"t you see--_this_?"
And I gave a gentle tug to the string, still firmly fastened to the poor little man; but gently as I did it, the horrid kettle and things in it jingled slightly, and at once Roughie opened his eyes and began to shake.
I soothed him again, but Mr. Trevor did the sensible thing. He laid down the gun, calling to the boys as they hurried up not to touch it, and taking out his penknife cut the string, close to the kettle end first, and then handed the knife to me, to cut the string again where it was fastened to my dog.
Rolf and Geordie could scarcely speak.
"Who can have done it?" they exclaimed. "_Could_ Esme have been so----"
"Cruel and naughty," I interrupted,--"yes, I am afraid so, though I _couldn"t_ have believed it of her. Geordie, pick up the kettle please, without jingling if you can help it, and please throw away the horrid things that are in it."
"No, no, don"t throw them away!" exclaimed a newcomer on the scene.
"They"re my nails and screws."