The Talking Horse Part 17

Don did his best to follow this dialogue, but all he could make out was that it was about himself, and that he was being as usual exceedingly admired. So he sat and looked as good and innocent and interesting as he knew how. Just then he felt that he would almost rather they did _not_ offer him anything to eat--at least not anything very sweet and rich, for he was still not at all well. It was a relief to be back in the cart and in peace again, though he wondered why Daisy didn't kiss the top of his head as she had done several times in carrying him to the lawn. This time she held him at a distance, and said nothing but two words, which sounded suspiciously like 'You _pig_!' as she put him down.

Miss Millikin was very grave and silent as they drove home. 'I can't trust myself to speak about it, Daisy,' she said; 'if--if it was true, it shows such an utter want of principle--such deceit; and Don used to be so honest and straightforward! What if we make inquiries at the pier?

It--it may be all a mistake.'

They stopped for this purpose at Amblemere. 'Ay, Miss Millikin, mum, he cooms ahn boord reglar, does that wee dug,' said the old boatman, 'and a' makes himsel' rare an' frien'ly, a' do--they coddle him oop fine, amang 'em. Eh, but he's a smart little dug, we quite look for him of a morning coomin' for his const.i.tutionil, fur arl the worl' like a Chreestian!'

'Like a very _greedy_ Christian!' said his disgusted mistress. 'Daisy,'

she said, when she returned to the pony-cart, 'it's all true! I--I never have been so deceived in any one; and the worst of it is, I don't know how to punish him, or how to make him feel what a disgraceful trick this is. n.o.body else's dog I ever heard of made his mistress publicly absurd in this way. It's so--so ungrateful!'

'Aunt Sophy,' said Daisy, 'I've an idea. Will you leave him to me, and pretend you don't suspect anything? I _will_ cure him this time!'

'You--you won't want to whip him?' said Miss Millikin, 'because, though it's all his own doing, he really is not well enough for it just now.'

'No,' said Daisy, 'I won't tell you my plan, auntie, but it's better than whipping.'

And all this time the unconscious Don was wearing an expression of uncomplaining suffering, and looking meekly sorry for himself, with no suspicion in the world that he had been found out.

Next day he felt much better, and as the morning was bright he thought that, after all, he might manage another steamer trip; his appet.i.te had come back, and his breath was not nearly so short as it had been. He was just making modestly for the gate when Daisy stopped him. 'Where are you going, sir?' she inquired.

Don rolled over instantly with all his legs in the air and a feeble apology in his eye.

'I want you for just one minute first,' said Daisy politely, and carried him into the morning-room. Was he going to be whipped?--she couldn't have the heart--an invalid like him! He tried to protest by his whimpering.

But Daisy did nothing of the kind; she merely took something that was flat and broad and white, and fastened it round his neck with a very ornamental bow and ribbon. Then she opened the French windows, and said in rather a chilly voice, 'Now run away and get on your nasty steamer and beg, and see what you get by it!'

That seemed, as far as he could tell, very sensible advice, and, oddly enough, it was exactly what he had been intending to do. It did not strike him as particularly strange that Daisy should know, because Don was a dog that didn't go very deeply into matters unless he was obliged.

He trotted off at an easy pace down to the village, getting hungrier every minute, and hoping that the people on the steamer would have brought nice things to-day, when, close to the turning that led to the landing-stage, he met Jock, and was naturally obliged to stop for a few moments' conversation.

He was not at all pleased to see him notwithstanding, for I am sorry to say that Don's greediness had so grown upon him of late that he was actually afraid that his humble friend (who was a little slow to find out when he wasn't wanted) would accompany him on to the steamboat, and then of course the good things would have to be divided.

However, Don was a dog that was always scrupulously polite, even to his fellow-dogs, and he did not like to be rude now.

'Hullo!' said Jock (in dogs' language of course, but I have reason to believe that what follows is as nearly as possible what was actually said). 'What's the matter with you this morning?'

Don replied that he was rather out of sorts, and was going down to a certain lane for a dose of dog-gra.s.s.

'A little dog-gra.s.s won't do _me_ any harm,' said Jock; 'I'll come too.'

This was awkward, but Don pretended to be glad, and they went a little way together.

'But what's that thing round your neck?' asked the Dandie Dinmont.

'Oh,' said Don, 'that? It's a bit of finery they put on me at the cottage. It pleases _them_, you know. Think it's becoming?'

'Um,' answered Jock; 'reminds me of a thing a friend of mine used to wear. But _he_ had a blind man tied to him. I don't see _your_ blind man.'

'They would have given me a blind man of course if I'd asked for it,'

said Don airily, 'but what's the use of a blind man--isn't he rather a bore?'

'I didn't ask; but my friend said he believed the thing round his neck, which was flat and white just like yours (only he had a tin mug underneath his), made people more inclined to give him things--he didn't know why. Do _you_ find that?'

'How stupid of Daisy to forget the mug!' thought Don. 'I could have brought things home to eat quietly then.--I don't know,' he replied to Jock; 'I haven't tried.'

He meant to put it to the test very soon, though--if only he could get rid of Jock.

'By the way,' he said carelessly, 'have you been round by the hotel lately?'

'No,' answered Jock, 'not since the ostler threw a brush at me.'

'Well,' said Don, 'there was a bone outside the porch, which, if I hadn't been feeling so poorly, I should have had a good mind to tackle myself. But perhaps some other dog has got hold of it by this time.'

'I'll soon make him let go if he has!' said Jock, who liked a fight almost as well as a bone. '_Where_ was it, did you say?'

'Outside the hotel. Don't let me keep you. It was a beautiful bone.

Good-morning,' said Don.

He did not think it worth while to explain that he had seen it several days ago, for Don, as you will have remarked already, was a very artful dog.

He got rid of his unwelcome friend in this highly unprincipled manner, and strolled on to the pier full of expectation. Steamers ply pretty frequently on this particular lake, so he had not to wait very long. The little _Cygnet_ soon came hissing up, and the moment the gangway was placed Don stepped on board, with tail proudly erect.

As usual, he examined the pa.s.sengers, first to see who had anything to give, then who looked most likely to give it to him. Generally he did best with children. He was not fond of children (Daisy was quite an exception), but he was very fond of cakes, and children, he had observed, generally had the best cakes. Don was so accomplished a courtier that he would contrive to make every child believe that he or she was the only person he loved in the whole world, and he would stay by his victim until the cake was all gone, and even a little longer, just for the look of the thing, and then move on to some one else and begin again.

There were no children with any cakes or buns on board this time, however. There was a stout man up by the bows, dividing his attention between scenery and sandwiches; but Don knew by experience that tourists' sandwiches are always made with mustard, which he hated. There were three merry-looking, round-faced young ladies on a centre bench, eating Osborne biscuits. He wished they could have made it sponge-cakes, because he was rather tired of Osborne biscuits; but they were better than nothing. So to these young ladies he went, and, placing himself where he could catch all their eyes at once, he sat up in the way he had always found irresistible.

I don't suppose any dog ever found his expectations more cruelly disappointed. It was not merely that they shook their heads, they went into fits of laughter--they were laughing at him! Don was so deeply offended that he took himself off at once, and tried an elderly person who was munching seed-cake; she did not laugh, but she examined him carefully, and then told him with a frown to go away. He began to think that Daisy's collar was not a success; he ought to have had a mug, or a blind man, or both; he did much better when he was left to himself.

Still he persevered, and went about, wagging his tail and sitting up appealingly. By and by he began to have an uncomfortable idea that people were saying things about him which were not complimentary. He was almost sure he heard the word 'greedy,' and he knew what that meant: he had been taught by Daisy. They must be talking of some other dog--not him; they couldn't possibly know what he was!

Now Don was undeniably a very intelligent terrier indeed, but there was just this defect in his education--he could not read: he had no idea what things could be conveyed by innocent-looking little black marks.

'Of course not,' some of my readers will probably exclaim, 'he was only a dog!' But it is not so absurd as it sounds, for one very distinguished man has succeeded in teaching his dogs to read and even to spell, though I believe they have not got into very advanced books as yet. Still, it may happen some day that all but hopelessly backward or stupid dogs will be able to read fluently, and then you may find that your own family dog has taken this book into his kennel, and firmly declines to give it up until he has finished it. At present, thank goodness, we have not come to this, and so there is nothing remarkable in the mere fact that Don was unable to read. I only mention it because, if he _had_ possessed this accomplishment, he would never have fallen into the trap Daisy had prepared for him.

For the new collar was, as you perhaps guessed long ago, a card, and upon it was written, in Daisy's neatest and plainest round hand:--

I am a very Greedy little Dog, and have Plenty to eat at Home, So please do not give me anything, or I shall have a Fit and die!

You can easily imagine that, when this unlucky Don sat up and begged, bearing this inscription written legibly on his unconscious little chest, the effect was likely to be too much for the gravity of all but very stiff and solemn persons.

Nearly everybody on board the steamer was delighted with him; they pointed out the joke to one another, and roared with laughter, until he grew quite ashamed to sit up any more. Some teased him by pretending to give him something, and then eating it themselves; some seemed almost sorry for him and petted him; and one, an American, said, 'It was playing it too low down to make the little critter give himself away in that style!' But n.o.body quite liked to disobey Daisy's written appeal.

Poor Don could not understand it in the least; he only saw that every one was very rude and disrespectful to him, and he tried to get away under benches. But it was all in vain; people routed him out from his hiding-places to be introduced to each new comer; he could not go anywhere without being stared at, and followed, and hemmed in, and hearing always that same hateful whisper of 'Greedy dog--not to be given anything,' until he felt exactly as if he was being washed!

Poor disappointed greedy dog, how gladly he would have given the tail between his legs to be safe at home in the drawing-room with Miss Millikin and Daisy! How little he had bargained for such a terrible trip as this!

I am sure that if Daisy had ever imagined he would feel his disgrace so deeply she would not have had the heart to send him out with that tell-tale card around his neck; but then he would not have received a very wholesome lesson, and would certainly have eaten himself into a serious illness before the summer ended, so perhaps it was all for the best.