Chatterbox, 1906 Part 124

Lottie and Carrie went to school together. Now that they had Jess they were always glad when school hours were over, and they could run home to play. Jess was as pleased to see them back as the children were to come, and all through the summer they learned to be better and better friends with the little terrier.

But after the summer holidays Lottie went away for a while, to visit some friends, and Carrie was left to go to school by herself. She was very lonely and dull without her sister. When one is only six years old, a fortnight seems such a long time, and at last Carrie settled that she could _not_ go to school another day without Lottie.

Then she did a very foolish thing. After she was sent to school, she turned back and hid herself in the tool-house at the bottom of the garden. She had heard her mother say at breakfast that she was going out for the forenoon, and Carrie thought that she would just wait till there was no one at home, and then come out from her hiding-place and play.

Mrs. Sefton had a long walk to take, and as soon as possible she put on her bonnet, and then, thinking that her little girl was safe at school, she locked up the house, and started on her errand, leaving Jess to run about the garden and take care of things.

Carrie heard her mother close the front door, and then she came out from the tool-house. She had thought that it would be very nice to stay at home and play, but she soon began to feel lonely and frightened, and to wish that she had not deceived her mother.

'Oh, Jess!' she said to the little dog, 'I wish I had been good and gone to school!'

Jess looked up at Carrie, and wagged her tail, but she could do nothing more to comfort her little mistress.

Carrie walked up and down, feeling ready to cry.

'I never shall be able to stay here all by myself till Mother comes back,' she thought. 'I will try and get over the wall.'

Now, the garden wall was high, and just as Carrie, by a great effort, had managed to reach the top, her foot slipped, and she fell heavily down on to the mould.

She was so much hurt that she fainted away, and then it was the dog's turn to be distressed. Jess walked round and round the little fallen girl, and, finding that she could do nothing to help, she set up a piteous bark, and barked so long and so loudly that she drew the attention of the neighbours.

'Whatever is that dog of the Seftons' barking at?' one woman inquired of her husband; and Mr. Curtis, who was a shoemaker, and worked at home, stopped a moment to listen.

'I don't like the sound,' he said, presently. 'It's as though there was something the matter, and Mrs. Sefton is out, for I saw her go past the window.'

'Perhaps it would be best for you to go and see,' his wife said, and though he could ill spare the time, kind-hearted Mr. Curtis put down the boot which he was mending, and ran down the lane till he reached the garden wall.

Then he soon saw what was the matter. There was Jess with her paws on Carrie's frock, while Carrie was lying quite white and still.

The shoemaker carried the poor child to his own cottage, while his wife went to look for Mrs. Sefton.

Carrie proved to be badly hurt; she had to lie in bed a good while, and you may be sure that her mother and Lottie, and all her friends, were very grieved and anxious about her.

But every one praised good, faithful Jess, who had brought help to her little mistress; and when Lottie came back, and Carrie got quite well, as I am glad to say she did at last, Jess was a greater pet than ever.

A GENTLE DONKEY.

(_Continued from page 391._)

III.

'You know, Mollie,' said Mrs. Raeburn to her sister-in-law next morning as she looked through the letters, which had just come in, 'I cannot believe that Tim is so wicked as you and Mary both say. I ran out to the stables before breakfast, and the dear, sweet thing rubbed his nose against my sleeve, and then tried to find my pocket. He evidently expected sugar, for he looked up at me as much as to say, "Now then, where's that sugar?" You see, dear,' (here she lowered her voice to a whisper and looked cautiously round) 'although Mary is a splendid maid for the nursery, she may be no good as a "whip," and so I have made up my mind to go in the cart myself this morning. Luckily, Cook has made some soup for poor old Mrs. Woods, and I shall get Mary to drive me there when she takes Harry out.'

'What does Simmons think of this new treasure?' asked Aunt Mollie.

'Oh! Simmons is ridiculous. He agrees with Mary, and says that yesterday it took three men to hold him while he was being harnessed. I never heard anything so absurd! I thought that we might go round to the stables about eleven and see for ourselves. Why!'--looking at her watch--'it is almost eleven now. Come along, Mollie, or we shall miss the fun,' and picking up the tail of her long skirt, young Mrs. Raeburn disappeared through the French window.

As the two girls neared the yard, loud voices were heard and the clattering noise of the donkey's feet upon the cobble stones made it evident that the harnessing had began.

'Well! how is Tim behaving himself to-day?' called out Mrs. Raeburn.

Instantly three flushed, angry faces looked up, and three fingers touched three perspiring foreheads respectfully.

'Well, ma'am!' answered Simmons, sulkily, 'I never came across such a little brute. Just look at that,' he continued, as Tim made a sudden plunge for the duck-pond, and in spite of the frantic efforts of the two strong boys who were holding his head on either side, he nearly succeeded in joining the ducks which were swimming here and there on its smooth surface.

'Now then, now then,' murmured Mrs. Raeburn, in a soft, cooing voice, as she walked in front of the donkey, and began to rub his nose; but he tossed his head angrily to one side, and showed her a set of large, strong teeth in such a suggestive manner that she discreetly stepped back.

'Take care of his heels, M'm,' said one of the boys, in an anxious voice, as she laid her hand on Tim's back, and she had just time to move away when back went his ears, and up went his hind feet.

Clatter, clatter, clatter went those evil little heels against the cart, till Mrs. Raeburn thought that by the time he had finished, the pretty little cart would be fit for little else than match-wood. Suddenly he stopped, turned gently round with a surprised look in his soft eyes, as much as to say, 'I wonder what you are all here for?' and from that moment he gave no more trouble.

Apparently this tantrum was at an end, and as he stood placidly whisking his long tail over his pretty back, Mrs. Raeburn mentally began to make apologies for him. Doubtless the men had teased him, and naturally the poor dear little thing had tried to take his revenge.

'No,' she said, in answer to a murmured question from Simmons, 'you need not take him round. We can just start right away from here. You have the soup, Mary, and the whip?'

'Oh! do let me hold the whip, Mother,' pleaded the shrill voice of her son, and Mother weakly consented.

'Tim is a darling, isn't he, Mother?' said the small voice, as they drove past some cottages; 'but I expect he could be naughty. I wonder what he would do if I gave him just a teeny, weeny touch with the whip!

Would you like to see?' The voice had a pleading note in it, and the blue eyes looked very wistful.

'Oh, no, old man! That would be very unkind. Mother does not punish you when you are quite a good boy, does she?'

'No--o,' doubtfully. 'Mother, if the whip was to touch him quite by accident, don't you wonder what he would do? Just put your head down till I whisper something. Perhaps,' in a low voice, 'he would buck-jump.

Wouldn't that be lovely?'

But Mother, who had already witnessed Tim's acrobatic performance in the stable yard, did not take advantage of the offer.

'Lovely day,' she called out brightly, to an old woman who was sitting outside her cottage door. 'How are you feeling? I must come---- ' but the sentence remained unfinished, for at this point the donkey gave a violent lurch forward, then, putting his head down, commenced to kick just as hard as ever he could.

In vain did Mrs. Raeburn try to put a stop to it; neither voice nor whip made the slightest impression upon him. He seemed to consider it in the light of an exercise, which, to be of any permanent good, must be continued for a certain length of time. He finished by backing hard into the small wooden gate which led into the old woman's trim, old-fashioned garden. There was a splintering, crackling noise, and Mary jumped out of the little cart to examine the amount of damage done to the gate. Tim turned slowly round with quite a vexed look in his eyes, scrutinised the gate also, then looked at Mary with a reproachful look, as if trying to lay the blame on her innocent shoulders.

'I _am_ sorry,' murmured Mrs. Raeburn to the old woman, who had hobbled down to the gate. 'Yes! he is a naughty donkey! I can't think what made him kick just now. Now, don't you worry about your pretty little gate; Major Raeburn will have it repaired at once.'

'What can have made him kick just now, Mary?' she said, as they drove away; but Mary, instead of answering, turned and stared fixedly at Harry.

As the stare, apparently, had not the desired result, she took hold of the whip, still firmly clasped between Harry's fat little hands. 'Now then, Master Harry, what did you do to Tim just now?'

'Well, Mary,' in his most innocent tone of voice, 'I just touched Tim's back very, very gently with it; just like this, Mother,' and the young rascal raised the whip to give a demonstration.

Now, unfortunately for the occupants of the cart, Tim saw the whip; he took advantage of the opportunity, and shied right into the shallow ditch.

Away rolled the bowl of beef-tea from between Mary's hands, and the soup which had been so carefully prepared for Mrs. Wood trickled down her white skirt in brown streams, and formed small pools upon the vacant seat facing her.

'Give me the whip at once, Harry,' said Mrs. Raeburn angrily. 'You are a very disobedient little boy. Now poor old Mrs. Wood won't have any dinner. Well, Mary,' with a sigh of resignation, 'as we have no soup, we might drive on to the Common for a blow.'