CHAPTER XIII.

CHARLEY SWALLOWS THE ROOSTER.

They went out into the road together, Flora clinging closely to the dog's shaggy coat and talking pleasantly as they trotted along, side by side.

"Do you live somewhere? I do. When I get there. Don't know the way. You do, nice doggy. I like you. Are you all wet? I am. And cold? I am too. Musn't cry if you are wet. I don't, and good dogs don't. Get home pretty soon."

When she saw houses and the lights shining, she was rejoiced, for now she would have supper, dry clothes and a warm bed. She fell on her new friend's neck and embraced him again; but for him, she would not have found the road. She might have wandered about all night in the cold and rain. The dog started off with a purpose. There was no doubt in his mind as to the best course. Finding a brisk trot unsuited to Flora's weak condition, he toned down and trudged along steadily at a moderate pace till he reached a shabby dwelling, with ricketty steps in front, that creaked as he went up, and an old door that shook when he pressed his nose against it. There was one small window through which the light of the fire was dancing, and it looked very pleasant to Flora. The dog gave a short, quick bark, and a woman appeared at the window; but no one opened the door. Flora saw the woman very plainly, but she could not see Flora. The dog waited patiently a moment, and then barked again, at the same time scratching upon the door with his big paw. It opened this time, and a sharp voice said: "Come in."

Doggy simply looked in and wagged his tail.

"Well, then, stay out."

The door was about to close when another voice said, "Old woman, the brute is a-telling of us something. Can't you sense nothing?" and Flora clambered up the steps as well as she could with her wet clothes hanging about her, and went in with her new friend, who introduced her as a young lady in distress he had taken the liberty to bring home.

"Well, I never!" exclaimed the woman Flora had seen at the window. "Did you rain down?"

"I did," said Flora.

"And who do you belong to anyhow?"

"Belong to mamma, and I want to go home, if you please."

"Jack?"

"What is it, old woman?"

"I can't make it out. Come here."

Jack, who was in the pantry eating his supper, came in with his mouth full. Flora knew him at once. It was Jack Midnight; but he did not recognize her till she cried, "Oh, I am so glad!"

"Well, if it ain't the little miss!" said Jack. "Whatever have you been a-doing?"

"What little miss?" queried the woman.

"Mr. Lee's little miss. She belongs to the white cottage."

"You don't say!"

"Appears like quality folks, don't she?"

"Set right up and dry yourself off a bit," said the woman, bustling about to make Flora comfortable; "you are as wet as a drowned rat. Have you had your supper?"

"No," said Flora. "Want to go now."

"Take a bite first," said Jack, offering a piece of his bread and butter.

But Flora would not eat, and she would not sit by the fire; she stood with her arms round the dog's neck, and waited for Jack to carry her to mamma. When she refused the bread, Jack remembered that Towzer was hungry and gave it to him; but it was a very light meal for Towzer, and Flora whispered to him that he should have a whole supper when she got to mamma: and her friend wagged his tail as if he should enjoy that very much. When Jack got ready to go, the dog was ready too. Jack took the poor child in his arms, and Towzer trotted by his side. There was quite a pool of water where Flora had been standing, which had dripped from her wet clothes.

"Well!" said Jack. "If you ain't a soppy bundle! Where have you been?"

"Been to ride," said Flora. "In a blue cart with Mr. Podge."

"Run away?"

"No. Got lost."

"And Towzer found you."

"He did."

She reached over and patted Towzer's cold nose.

"He is a good dog. I like him."

Then out of gratitude to Jack, who was carrying her in his arms, she added, "I like you too."

"You can sing more than one tune, can't you?" said Jack, laughing. "Which do you like most now, me or Towzer?"

"Towzer, a little bit; because he is a dog, you know, and you are a boy."

"A bad boy."

"Not a bad boy."

Flora had suddenly changed her mind; and when Jack opened the big gate and she had found her dear old home once more, she actually kissed his grimy face and said she should "'member him long as she lived."

What a commotion he created by walking in, with Flora clinging to his neck! Charley was the first to cry out, "There she is!" and everybody flocked to hear all about it. But Flora crept into mamma's lap and had not a word to say, and all that Jack knew was told in a few words.

"My dog picked her up somewhere and fetched her home," and then Flora asked for Towzer, who had been shut out, and Charley went out and invited him in. Inquiries had been made in all directions; but no one could give any clue to Flora, and papa had gone to the town crier with a "Lost" notice, describing the little girl and the dress she wore when she left her home. Bertie was sent after him with all despatch, and Amy ran over to relieve the anxious heart of Grandma. The little pet was found, and she had been guided to a place of safety by Jack Midnight's dog! They could not praise him enough. They had never noticed him before, because he belonged to Jack; but now, both Jack and his dog were in high favor.

Charley declared to Bertie, afterwards, that there was no longer a lump in his throat. He had swallowed the rooster. While mamma was making her little girl dry and warm, Towzer was being feasted in the kitchen, and for the first time since he was a puppy he had what Flora called "a whole supper." He was generally put off with a few scraps or a crust; but to-night he had all that he could eat, and he was not bashful about having his plate re-filled or backward in asking for more. Jack protested against such a waste. There was "enough to victual him a week," he said; "the brute never would know when he was full." But Charley was determined to give him a chance to know, and at last he poked over a dainty morsel with his cold nose, left it, went back to it, left it again, unable to clear his plate.

"Lost his appetite," said Bertie; but Amy said he was a sensible dog and left the last piece for manners' sake, which was probably true. After his hearty meal, Towzer made himself at home, and laid down before the fire with his shaggy head upon his paws, as if he had been used to high living from puppyhood.



CHAPTER XIV.

HAPPY TOWZER.

Towzer lay on the warm hearth and blinked at the fire, while his thick coat was drying.

"I tell you what it is," said Bertie; "if there is any virtue in good living, I mean to put a streak of fat on that fellow's bones."

"You can't do it," returned Jack. "I have been a-working on him these two years. He is one of your lean kind."

"I intend to try it, to pay for his kindness to Flora."

"How would it do to plaster him all over with beef steak?" queried Charley.

"That is my plan," said Bertie. "What do you think of it, my dog?"

He thought it the best piece of news he had ever heard, and he left his warm, corner to thank Bertie in his dumb but eloquent way. He looked up into Bertie's face and wagged his tail, and said as plainly as a dog could say, that he was grateful. Mamma exchanged the blue dress for a flannel wrapper. It never could be called pretty again. Then she brushed out the wet curls and chafed the rosy feet with her own warm hands. Under such treatment, Flora began to revive.

"Going to be a good girl," she said, gratefully.

"And mind mamma?"

"I will. Never open the big gate again."

"Did you open it?"

"I did. Flora is hungry."

How happy she was, sitting on papa's knee with a bowl of bread and milk in her lap!

When Amy brought it, she grasped it eagerly with both fat hands and took a long, deep draught.

"The little pet is nearly starved," said Amy.

"The little pet will never forget this day," said papa; "she has had a hard lesson."

After she had eaten all the bread and milk, Jack and Towzer were brought in to say good night; and Towzer poked his nose against the rosy feet, to make sure that they were no longer cold and wet, and rested his head for a moment upon papa's knee.

"Come again," said Flora.

"He will be a-fetching up here every other thing," said Jack. "You needn't bother about asking of him. All is, if he gets sassy you must kick him out."

"I should like to see anybody kick that dog when I am round," said Charley, doubling up his fist and looking warlike. "He would find that he had got his match."

"We will shake hands on that," said Bertie. Which they did quite solemnly.

And then they shook hands with Jack, and Towzer went back to have more last words with Flora, and a parting embrace: and after they were gone Flora was so drowsy, that she could not tell about her ride in the soap man's little blue cart, her head drooped upon papa's shoulder, and her eyelids were very heavy.

"She has not said her prayer," observed Bertie, who hoped she would keep awake long enough to tell the story of her adventure.

"Try," said Charley.

"Yes, darling, try," urged Bertie.

But Flora was too far gone even to try; so mamma laid her gently down in her own comfortable bed, where the rain and the wind could not disturb her slumbers, and lovingly stroked the fair hair and the soft cheek. She was very thankful that her little daughter was safe once more under the dear home roof. But Flora thought she was lying out under the old trees, and in her dreams could smell the sweet grass and the fresh earth, and once she laughed aloud in her sleep; she was running away from the rain and from the night.

When Charley and Bertie went home it was still raining fast. But they had not far to go. They lived in the new brown cottage over the way, you will remember, that was built to take the place of their old home, destroyed by fire. When they were going down the steps, Charley struck some object with his foot. "Holloa!" he said, and Bertie asked "What now?"

"I have run against a snag," said Charley.

"Where away?"

"Down here next the bottom step. I have sent something flying."

"I don't see anything," said Bertie, groping about in the dark. "It can't be good for much, if it has been out in this shower. Where did she land?"

"Somewhere in the path. I should say you could not go far wrong, if you were to follow your nose."

"Indeed!"

"It is precious damp."

"Awful!" said Bertie. "I cannot bear to think of Flora wandering round in such a storm."

"It was rather rough on the Baby Pitcher," asserted Charley.

"It is bad enough to be lost in fair weather with daylight before you."

"I believe you. What is this?"

Bertie had stumbled upon the object.

"That must be the article," said Charley. "Bring it to the light."

They carried it into the hall and threw it upon a mat, for it was dripping, and Charley turned it over with his foot.

"What do you make of it?" queried Bertie.

"It is the black baby," said Charley.

"Or her remains?"

"Yes, there isn't much left of her."

"It does not look much like Dinah, and that is a fact."

"She is pretty well used up, all but one eye. That looks natural."

"Yes," said Bertie, "very. Can't she be brought round?"

"I am afraid not. One sound eye isn't enough to build on."

"What a pity!" said Bertie. "If she cannot be patched up what are we going to do?"

Charley shook his head.

"We must keep it from Flora."

"Yes."

"We will hide it."

"Where?"

"Anywhere so that Flora may never find it."

"Good!" said Charley. "We will hide it, and she will think her baby has turned into a blackbird and flown away."

So they carried the black baby home with them, and Flora never saw her again. But they saved the blue glass button; it would do for an eye if Grandma should chance to make another Dinah.

What had become of Dinah was a wonder. Flora sought her first in the library, where she had left her sleeping, then in every place she could think of; but the baby was gone; there was not a trace of it anywhere. And the perfumery was gone too. Flora was not long in making that discovery, and she felt worse about the perfumery than she did about Dinah. She knew that was lost when she put her hand in the pocket of her blue dress, but she did not give up Dinah for a long, long time. In fact she never felt certain that the black baby would not return to her. If she had gone to be a blackbird, as Charley suggested, why, she might be coming back some day. Perhaps she would get tired of being a bird, or she might break a wing as the robin had done, and if she did, she should never get another chance to fly away.

Grandma did not make another Dinah. It would have been a new one, and could never take the place of the old; and as Flora was so hopeful, Grandma thought she would be happier in looking forward to the return of her long-tried friend than she could ever be with a new favorite. But Dinah's place was not long vacant. Towzer fitted into it quite naturally, and, as he was in many respects a more pleasant companion, Flora did not miss the black baby as she otherwise would have done.



CHAPTER XV.

FLORA NEVER OPENS THE BIG GATE.

Flora seemed to be none of the worse for her perilous adventure. After a refreshing sleep, she awoke happy and bright, not the least like the miserable child of the night before. And indeed, she could not remember how miserable she had been. When she tried to think how cold and wet and lonely it was out there in the night, she could not; for now it was no longer cold; the sun was shining, and there was no more darkness. Papa had said she would never forget that day; she had almost forgotten it already. So hard is it to realize our perils, when we look back upon them. But there was the blue dress that never could be worn again, and the water-soaked garden hat. The sight of these brought back a momentary feeling of loneliness, and when she looked out upon the pleasant morning, there was Jack Midnight's dog, with his nose between the bars of the big gate. It was really true, then, the groping about in the dark, and all the rest; and Towzer had not forgotten yet. When Flora appeared at the window, he dropped his ears and turned sadly away. He was looking for his friend of the night before, the little girl that clung so closely around his neck, and begged him to take her to mamma. He did not know Flora. But when she called to him, he answered with a joyful cry. He knew the voice.

"Keep away from the big gate," she said, warningly. "Must not open that."

"Bow-wow!" said Towser; "I don't care a straw for the big gate. I would jump over it if I was younger, and I would squeeze myself through the bars if the space was only wide enough. Bow-wow, who cares for the big gate?"

"Go round the other side," said Flora, "and I will let you in."

Towzer wagged his tail, and started off, as if he meant to go round, but he was only making believe. He was back again in a moment, dancing about like a young puppy. You would never have supposed him to be the old, sedate dog that he was.

"What makes you so frisky," asked Flora.

"Bow-wow," said he. "Cannot a poor old cur be frisky when he is happy?"

He was happy, because a stream of sunshine had struggled into his sober life. It promised him friends and kind words, and that which he needed most of all,—a streak of fat to cover his bare bones. Flora said they were "nice, fat bones;" she called them fat because they were so large; and indeed they were sadly large and prominent. Bertie's plaster proved to be the proper remedy.

Under its influence the bones gradually disappeared, and, according to Flora's theory, became leaner and smaller. Jack declared that the way that dog was a picking up, beat all nature! Flora never admitted Towzer at the big gate, and he very soon learned to go round. It was the big gate that opened the way to Flora's troubles, and she had a wholesome fear of it in consequence.

"Never open it again," she said, when she had finished the story of her trials.

And she never did, without permission. The little blue cart and the limping horse sometimes passed, and, although the soap man was always on the lookout, he never again found Flora waiting to take a ride. She did not forget what mamma told her: "Ladies do not ride in carts, and they never ask to ride with strangers. Little girls cannot be expected to do right always; but good children always try to do right."

"I am glad I did not see you riding with the soap man," said Amy. "I should have felt ashamed of my little sister."

"She would have come off that box in a hurry if I had been anywhere about," added Charley, in a threatening tone.

That stirred up the Baby Pitcher.

"Wouldn't either," she answered, tartly.

Charley tossed his head in a provoking way, that made Bertie say "Don't!"

"I shall do so again," said Flora.

"I wouldn't," said Bertie.

"Wouldn't you, truly?"

"No," answered Bertie, seriously, "not if I were a little girl."

"Then I won't, and Dinah won't. Oh! She has gone to be a blackbird—I forgot."

Amy kissed her little sister and talked to her in a gentle, soothing manner, that smoothed out all the wrinkles. And then Charley felt sorry he had roused the "Leo spunk," and he told such funny stories that Flora felt very placid and comfortable, and quite at peace with everybody. In losing the perfumery she lost a treasure, and for that she was sorry; but she was glad to be restored to all her social rights and privileges. She was no longer obliged to stand out on the door-stone when she talked to Grandma, for the odor of musk was dying out. Grandma's doors were thrown wide open, and no one was more welcome than the Baby Pitcher.

THE END