Under the Lilacs (10 page)

“I have a charming book about animals, and in it an interesting account of some trained poodles who could do the most wonderful
things. Would you like to hear it while you put your maps and puzzles together?” asked Miss Celia, glad to keep her brother
interested in their four-footed guest at least.

“Yes, ’m, yes, ’m,” answered the children; and, fetching the book, she read the pretty account, shortening and simplifying
it here and there to suit her hearers.

“’I invited the two dogs to dine and spend the evening; and they came with their master, who was a Frenchman. He had been
a teacher in a deaf and dumb school, and thought he would try the same plan with dogs. He had also been a conjurer, and now
was supported by Blanche and her daughter Lyda. These dogs behaved at dinner just like other dogs; but, when I gave Blanche
a bit of cheese and asked if she knew the word for it, her master said she could spell it. So a table was arranged with a
lamp on it, and round the table were laid the letters of the alphabet painted on cards. Blanche sat in the middle, waiting
till her master told her to spell cheese, which she at once did in French —
FROMAGE
. Then she translated a word for us very cleverly. Someone wrote
pferd,
the German for horse, on a slate. Blanche looked at it and pretended to read it, putting by the slate with her paw when she
had done. “Now give us the French for that word,” said the man; and she instantly brought
CHEVAL.
“Now, as you are at an Englishman’s house, give it to us in English”; and she brought me
HORSE.
Then we spelt some words wrong, and she corrected them with wonderful accuracy. But she did not seem to like it, and whined
and growled and looked so
worried, that she was allowed to go and rest and eat cakes in a corner.

“’Then Lyda took her place on the table, and did sums on the slate with a set of figures. Also mental arithmetic, which was
very pretty. “Now, Lyda,” said her master, “I want to see if you understand division. Suppose you had ten bits of sugar, and
you met ten Prussian dogs, how many lumps would you, a French dog, give to each of the Prussians?” Lyda very decidedly replied
to this with a cipher. “But, suppose you divided your sugar with me, how many lumps would you give me?” Lyda took up the figure
five and politely presented it to her master.’”

“Wasn’t she smart? Sanch can’t do that,” exclaimed Ben, forced to own that the French doggie beat his cherished pet.

“He is not too old to learn. Shall I go on?” asked Miss Celia, seeing that the boys liked it, though Betty was absorbed with
the doll, and Bab deep in a puzzle.

“Oh, yes! What else did they do?”

“’They played a game of dominoes together, sitting in chairs opposite each other, and touched the dominoes that were wanted;
but the man placed them and kept telling how the game went. Lyda was beaten, and hid under the sofa, evidently feeling very
badly about it. Blanche was then surrounded with playing cards, while her master held another pack and told us to choose a
card; then he asked her what one had been chosen, and she always took up the right one in her teeth. I was asked to go into
another room, put a light on the floor with cards round it, and leave the doors nearly shut. Then the man begged someone to
whisper in the dog’s ear what card she was to bring, and she went at once and fetched it, thus showing that she understood
their names. Lyda did many trick with the numbers, so curious
that no dog could possibly understand them; yet what the secret sign was I could not discover, but suppose it must have been
in the tones of the master’s voice, for he certainly made none with either head or hands.’

“It took an hour a day for eighteen months to educate a dog enough to appear in public, and (as you say, Ben) the night was
the best time to give the lessons. Soon after this visit, the master died; and these wonderful dogs were sold because their
mistress did not know how to exhibit them.”

“Wouldn’t I have liked to see ’em and find out how they were taught! Sanch, you’ll have to study up lively, for I’m not going
to have you beaten by French dogs,” said Ben, shaking his finger so sternly that Sancho groveled at his feet and put both
paws over his eyes in the most abject manner.

“Is there a picture of those smart little poodles?” asked Ben, eyeing the book, which Miss Celia left open before her.

“Not of them, but of other interesting creatures; also anecdotes about horses, which will please you, I know,” and she turned
the pages for him, neither guessing how much good Mr. Hamerton’s charming “Chapters on Animals” were to do the boy when he
needed comfort for a sorrow which was very near.

C
HAPTER
10

T
hank you, ma’am, that’s a tip-top book, ‘specially the pictures. But I can’t bear to see these poor fellows”; and Ben brooded
over the fine etching of the dead and dying horses on a battlefield, one past all further pain, the other helpless, but lifting
his head from his dead master to neigh a
farewell to the comrades who go galloping away in a cloud of dust.

“They ought to stop for him, some of ’em,” muttered Ben, hastily turning back to the cheerful picture of the three happy horses
in the field, standing knee-deep among the grass as they prepare to drink at the wide stream.

“Ain’t that black one a beauty? Seems as if I could see his mane blow in the wind, and hear him whinny to that small feller
trotting down to see if he can’t get over and be sociable. How I’d like to take a rousin’ run round that meadow on the whole
lot of ’em!” and Ben swayed about in his chair as if he was already doing it in imagination.

“You may take a turn round my field on Lita any day. She would like it, and Thorny’s saddle will be here next week,” said
Miss Celia, pleased to see that the boy appreciated the fine pictures, and felt such hearty sympathy with the noble animals
whom she dearly loved herself.

“Needn’t wait for that. I’d rather ride bareback. Oh, I say, is this the book you told about, where the horses talked?” asked
Ben, suddenly recollecting the speech he had puzzled over ever since he heard it.

“No; I brought the book, but in the hurry of my tea party forgot to unpack it. I’ll hunt it up tonight. Remind me, Thorny.”

“There, now, I’ve forgotten something, too! Squire sent you a letter; and I’m having such a jolly time, I never thought of
it.”

Ben rummaged out the note with remorseful haste, protesting that he was in no hurry for Mr. Gulliver, and very glad to save
him for another day.

Leaving the young folks busy with their games, Miss Celia sat in the porch to read her letters, for there were
two; and as she read her face grew so sober, then so sad, that if anyone had been looking he would have wondered what bad
news had chased away the sunshine so suddenly. No one did look; no one saw how pitifully her eyes rested on Ben’s happy face
when the letters were put away, and no one minded the new gentleness in her manner as she came back to the table. But Ben
thought there never was so sweet a lady as the one who leaned over him to show him how the dissected map went together, and
never smiled at his mistakes.

So kind, so very kind was she to them all, that when, after an hour of merry play, she took her brother in to bed, the three
who remained fell to praising her enthusiastically as they put things to rights before taking leave.

“She’s like the good fairies in the books, and has all sorts of nice, pretty things in her house,” said Betty, enjoying a
last hug of the fascinating doll whose lids would shut so that it was a pleasure to sing, “Bye, sweet baby, bye,” with no
staring eyes to spoil the illusion.

“What heaps she knows! More than Teacher, I do believe; and she doesn’t mind how many questions we ask. I like folks that
will tell me things,” added Bab, whose inquisitive mind was always hungry.

“I like that boy first-rate, and I guess he likes me, though I didn’t know where Nantucket ought to go. He wants me to teach
him to ride when he’s on his pins again, and Miss Celia says I may.
She
knows how to make folks feel good, don’t she?” and Ben gratefully surveyed the Arab chief, now his own, though the best of
all the collection.

“Won’t we have splendid times? She says we may come over every night and play with her and Thorny.”

“And she’s going to have the seats in the porch lift up, so we can put our things in there all dry, and have ’em handy.”

“And I’m going to be her boy, and stay here all the time. I guess the letter I brought was a recommend from the Squire.”

“Yes, Ben; and if I had not already made up my mind to keep you before, I certainly would now, my boy.”

Something in Miss Celia’s voice, as she said the last two words with her hand on Ben’s shoulder, made him look up quickly
and turn red with pleasure, wondering what the Squire had written about him.

“Mother must have some of the ‘party’; so you shall take her these, Bab, and Betty may carry Baby home for the night. She
is so nicely asleep, it is a pity to wake her. Goodbye till tomorrow, little neighbors,” continued Miss Celia, and dismissed
the girls with a kiss.

“Isn’t Ben coming, too?” asked Bab, as Betty trotted off in a silent rapture with the big darling bobbing over her shoulder.

“Not yet; I’ve several things to settle with my new man. Tell mother he will come by and by.”

Off rushed Bab with the plateful of goodies; and, drawing Ben down beside her on the wide step, Miss Celia took out the letters,
with a shadow creeping over her face as softly as the twilight was stealing over the world, while the dew fell, and everything
grew still and dim.

“Ben, dear, I’ve something to tell you,” she began, slowly; and the boy waited with a happy face, for no one had called him
so since ‘Melia died.

“The Squire has heard about your father, and this is the letter Mr. Smithers sends.”

“Hooray! where is he, please?” cried Ben, wishing she would hurry up; for Miss Celia did not even offer him the letter, but
sat looking down at Sancho on the lower step, as if she wanted him to come and help her.

“He went after the mustangs, and sent some home, but could not come himself.”

“Went further on, I s’pose. Yes, he said he might go as far as California, and if he did he’d send for me. I’d like to go
there; it’s a real splendid place, they say.”

“He has gone further away than that, to a lovelier country than California, I hope.” And Miss Celia’s eyes turned to the deep
sky, where early stars were shining.

“Didn’t he send for me? Where’s he gone? When’s he coming back?” asked Ben, quickly; for there was a quiver in her voice,
the meaning of which he felt before he understood.

Miss Celia put her arms about him, and answered very tenderly—

“Ben, dear, if I were to tell you that he was never coming back, could you bear it?”

“I guess I could — but you don’t mean it? Oh, ma’am, he isn’t dead?” cried Ben, with a cry that made her heart ache, and Sancho
leap up with a bark.

“My poor little boy, I
wish
I could say no.”

There was no need of any more words, no need of tears or kind arms around him. He knew he was an orphan now, and turned instinctively
to the old friend who loved him best. Throwing himself down beside his dog, Ben clung about the curly neck, sobbing bitterly—

“Oh, Sanch, he’s never coming back again; never, never anymore!”

Poor Sancho could only whine and lick away the tears that wet the half-hidden face, questioning the new friend meantime with
eyes so full of dumb love and sympathy and sorrow that they seemed almost human. Wiping away her own tears, Miss Celia stooped
to pat the white head, and to stroke the black one lying so near it that the dog’s breast
was the boy’s pillow. Presently the sobbing ceased, and Ben whispered, without looking up—

“Tell me all about it; I’ll be good.”

Then, as kindly as she could, Miss Celia read the brief letter which told the hard news bluntly; for Mr. Smithers was obliged
to confess that he had known the truth months before, and never told the boy, lest he should be unfitted for the work they
gave him. Of Ben Brown the elder’s death there was little to tell, except that he was killed in some wild place at the West,
and a stranger wrote the fact to the only person whose name was found in Ben’s pocket-book. Mr. Smithers offered to take the
boy back and “do well by him,” averring that the father wished his son to remain where he left him, and follow the profession
to which he was trained.

“Will you go, Ben?” asked Miss Celia, hoping to distract his mind from his grief by speaking of other things.

“No, no; I’d rather tramp and starve. He’s awful hard to me and Sanch; and he’ll be worse, now father’s gone. Don’t send me
back! Let me stay here; folks are good to me; there’s nowhere else to go.” And the head Ben had lifted up with a desperate
sort of look, went down again on Sancho’s breast as if there were no other refuge left.

“You
shall
stay here, and no one shall take you away against your will. I called you ‘my boy’ in play, now you shall be my boy in earnest;
this shall be your home, and Thorny your brother. We are orphans, too; and we will stand by one another till a stronger friend
comes to help us,” cried Miss Celia, with such a mixture of resolution and tenderness in her voice that Ben felt comforted
at once, and thanked her by laying his cheek against the pretty slipper that rested on the step beside him, as if he had no
words
in which to swear loyalty to the gentle mistress whom he meant henceforth to serve with grateful fidelity.