The Talking Horse Part 16

Jock was a humble friend of his down in the village, a sort of distant relation to the Dandie Dinmonts; he was a rough, long-backed creature, as grey as a badger, and with a big solemn head like a hammer. Don was civil to him in a patronising way, but he did not tell him of the indignities he was subject to, perhaps because he had been rather given to boast of his influence over his mistress, and the high consideration he enjoyed at Applethwaite Cottage.

Now Daisy used to go up for solitary rambles on the fells sometimes, when she generally took Don as a protector. He was becoming very nearly as active as ever, and now there was a stronger motive than before for pursuing the swallows--for he had a notion that they would be rather good eating. But one morning she missed him on her way back through the village by the lake; she was sure he was with her on the pier, and she had only stopped to ask some question at the ticket-office about the steamboat times; and when she turned round, Don was gone.

However, her aunt was neither angry nor alarmed. Miss Millikin was not able to walk as much as Don wished, she said, so he was accustomed to take a great deal of solitary exercise; he was such a remarkably intelligent dog that he could be trusted to take care of himself--oh, he would come back.

And towards dusk that evening Don did come back. There was a curious air about him--subdued, almost sad; Daisy remembered long afterwards how unusually affectionate he had been, and how quietly he had lain on her lap till bedtime.

The next morning, when her aunt and she prepared to go for a walk along the lake, Don's excitement was more marked than usual; he leaped up and tried to caress their hands: he a.s.sured them in a thousand ways of the delight he felt at being allowed to make one of the party.

After this, it was a painful surprise to find that he gave them the slip the moment they reached the village. But Miss Millikin said he always did prefer mountain scenery, and no doubt it was tiresome for him to have to potter about as they did. And Master Don began to give them less and less of his society in the daytime, and to wander from morn to dewy eve in solitude and independence; though whether he went up mountains to admire the view, or visited ruins and waterfalls, or spent his days hunting rabbits, no one at Applethwaite Cottage could even pretend to guess.

'_One_ good thing, Aunt Sophy,' said Daisy complacently one evening, a little later, 'I've quite cured Don of being troublesome at meals!'

'He couldn't be _troublesome_ if he tried, dear,' said Miss Millikin with mild reproof; 'but I must say you have succeeded quite wonderfully--how _did_ you do it?'

'Why,' said Daisy, 'I spoke to him exactly as if he could understand every word, and I made him thoroughly see that he was only wasting his time by sitting up and begging for things. And you got to believe it at last, didn't you, dear?' she added to Don, who was lying stretched out on the rug.

Don p.r.i.c.ked the ear that was uppermost, and then uttered a heavy sigh, which smote his mistress to the heart.

'Daisy,' she said, 'it's _no_ use--I _must_ give him something. Poor pet, he deserves it for being so good and patient all this time. One biscuit, Daisy?'

Even Daisy relented: 'Well--a _very_ plain one, then. Let me give it to him, auntie?'

The biscuit was procured, and Daisy, with an express intimation that this was a very particular indulgence, tendered it to the deserving terrier.

He half raised his head, sniffed at it--and then fell back again with another weary little sigh. Daisy felt rather crushed. 'I'm afraid he's cross with me,' she said; 'you try, Aunt Sophy.' Aunt Sophy tried, but with no better success, though Don wagged his tail feebly to express that he was not actuated by any personal feeling in the matter--he had no appet.i.te, that was all.

'Daisy,' said Miss Millikin, with something more like anger than she generally showed, 'I was very wrong to listen to you about the diet.

It's perfectly plain to me that by checking Don's appet.i.te as we have we have done him serious harm. You can see for yourself that he is past eating anything at all now. Cook told me to-day that he had scarcely touched his meals lately. And yet he's stouter than ever--_isn't_ he?'

Daisy was forced to allow that this was so. 'But what can it be?' she said.

'It's _disease_,' said her aunt, very solemnly. 'I've read over and over again that corpulence has nothing whatever to do with the amount of food one eats. And, oh! Daisy, I don't want to blame you, dear--but I'm afraid we have been depriving him of the nouris.h.i.+ng things he really needed to enable him to struggle against the complaint!'

Poor Daisy was overcome by remorse as she knelt over the rec.u.mbent Don.

'Oh, darling Don,' she said, 'I didn't mean it--you know I didn't, don't you? You must get well and forgive me! I tell you what, aunt,' she said as she rose to her feet, 'you know you said I might drive you over in the pony cart to that tennis-party at the Netherbys to-morrow. Well, young Mr. Netherby is rather a "doggy" sort of man, and nice too.

Suppose we take Don with us and ask him to tell us plainly whether he has anything dreadful the matter with him?'

Miss Millikin consented, though she did not pretend to hope much from Mr. Netherby's skill. 'I'm afraid,' she said, with a sigh, 'that only a very clever veterinary surgeon would find out what really is the matter with Don. But you can try, my dear.'

The following afternoon Miss Millikin entrusted herself and Don to Daisy's driving, not without some nervous misgivings.

'You're quite sure you can manage him, Daisy?' she said. 'If not, we can take John.'

'Why, Aunt Sophy!' exclaimed Daisy, 'I _always_ drive the children at home; and sometimes when I'm on the box with Toppin, he gives me the reins in a straight part of the road, and Paul and Virginia pull like anything--Toppin says it's all _he_ can do to hold them.'

Daisy was a little hurt at the idea that she might find Aunt Sophy's pony too much for her--a sleepy little 'slug of a thing,' as she privately called it, which pattered along exactly like a clockwork animal in urgent need of winding up.

Don seemed a little better that day, and was lifted into the pony-cart, where he lay on the indiarubber mat, sniffing the air as if it was doing him good.

Daisy really could drive well for her age, and woke the pony up in a manner that astonished her aunt, who remarked from time to time that she knew Wildfire wanted to walk now--he never could trot long at a time--and so they reached the Netherbys' house, which was five miles away towards the head of the lake, well under the hour, a most surprising feat--for Wildfire.

It was a grown-up tennis-party, and Daisy, although she had brought her racket, was a little afraid to play; besides, she wanted to consult young Mr. Netherby about Don, who had been left with the cart in the stables.

Mr. Netherby, who was a good-natured, red-faced young soldier, just about to join his regiment, was not playing either, so Daisy went up to him on the first opportunity.

'You know about dogs, Mr. Netherby, don't you?'

'Rath-er!' said Mr. Netherby, who was a trifle slangy. 'Why? Are you thinking of investing in a dog?'

'It's Aunt Sophy's dog,' explained Daisy, 'and he's ill--_very_ ill--and we can't make out what's the matter, so I thought you would tell us perhaps?'

'I'll ride over to-morrow and have a look at him.'

'Oh, but you needn't--he's here. Wait--I'll fetch him--don't you come, please.'

And presently Daisy made her appearance on the lawn, carrying Don, who felt quite a weight, in her arms. She set him down before the young man, who examined him in a knowing manner, while Miss Millikin, and some others who were not playing just then, gathered round. Don was languid, but dignified--he rather liked being the subject of so much notice.

Daisy waited breathlessly for the verdict.

'Well,' said Mr. Netherby, 'it's easy enough to see what's wrong with _him_. I should knock off his grub.'

'But,' cried Miss Millikin, 'we _have_ knocked off his grub, as you call it. The poor dog is starved--literally starved.'

Mr. Netherby said he should scarcely have supposed so from his appearance.

'But I a.s.sure you he has eaten nothing--positively nothing--for days and days!'

'Ah,' said Mr. Netherby, 'chameleon, is he? then he's had too much air--that's all.'

Just then a young lady who had been brought by some friends living close by joined the group: 'Why,' she said at once, 'that's the little steamer dog. How did he come here?'

'He is _not_ a little steamer dog,' said Miss Millikin in her most dignified manner; 'he is _my_ dog.'

'Oh, I didn't know,' said the first speaker; 'but--but I'm sure I've seen him on the steamer several times lately.'

'I never use the steamers unless I'm absolutely obliged--I disapprove of them: it must have been some other dog.'

The young lady was positive she had made no mistake. 'You so seldom see a dog with just those markings,' she said, 'and I don't think anybody was with him; he came on board at Amblemere and went all round the lake with us.'

'At Amblemere!' cried Daisy, 'that's where _we_ live; and, Aunt Sophy, you know Don has been away all day lots of times lately.'

'What did this dog do on the steamer?' asked Miss Millikin faintly.

'Oh, he was so sweet! he went round to everybody, and sat up so prettily till they gave him biscuits and things--he was everybody's pet; we were all jealous of one another for the honour of feeding him. The second time we brought buns on purpose. But we quite thought he belonged to the steamer.'

Young Mr. Netherby laughed. 'So _that_ is how he took the air! I thought I wasn't far wrong,' he said.

'Put him back in the cart, Daisy,' said Miss Millikin severely; 'I can't bear to look at him.'