Further Adventures of Lad Part 30

It was always hard to stay offended at the Mistress.

CHAPTER XI. The Guard

Lad was old--very, very old. He had pa.s.sed his sixteenth birthday. For a collie, sixteen is as old as is ninety-five for a human.

The great dog's life had been as beautiful as himself. And now, in the late twilight of his years, Time's hand rested on him as lovingly as did the Mistress's. He had few of the distressing features of age.

True; his hearing was duller than of yore. The magnificent body's lines were blurred with flesh. The cla.s.sic muzzle was snow white; as were the lashes and eyebrows. And the once mighty muscles were stiff and unwieldy. Increasing feebleness crept over him, making exercise a burden and any sudden motion a pain. The once trumpeting bark was a hollow echo of itself.

But the deep-set dark eyes, with a soul looking out of them, were as clear as ever. The uncannily wise brain had lost not an atom of its power. The glorious mahogany-and-snow coat was still abundant. The fearlessly gay spirit and loyal heart were undimmed by age.

Laddie resented angrily his new limitations. From time to time he would forget them; and would set off at a run in the wake of Bruce and Wolf, when the sound of a stranger's approach made them gallop up the driveway to investigate. But always; after the first few stiff bounds, he would come to a panting halt and turn back wearily to his resting place in the veranda's coolest corner; as indignant over his own weakness, as he would have been at fetters which impeded his limbs.

He was more and more sensitive about this awkward feebleness of his.

And he sought to mask it; in ways that seemed infinitely pathetic to the two humans who loved him. For instance, one of his favorite romps in bygone days had been to throw himself down in front of the Mistress and pretend to bite her little feet; growling terrifically as he did it. Twice of late, as he had been walking at her side, his footing had slipped or he had lost his balance, and had tumbled headlong Instantly, both times, he had begun to growl and had bitten in mock fury at the Mistress's foot. By this pitiful ruse he strove to make her believe that his fall had been purposeful and a part of the olden game.

But worst of all he missed the long walks on which, from puppyhood, he had always accompanied the Mistress and the Master. Unknown to the old dog, these walks had been shortened, mercifully, and slowed down, to accommodate themselves to Lad's waning strength: But the time came when even a half-mile, at snail-pace, over a smooth road, was too much for his wind and endurance.

Nowadays, when they were going for a walk, Lad was first lured into the house and left there. The ruse did not fool him, any more than it would have deceived a grown man. And his feelings were cruelly hurt at every instance of this seeming defection on the part of his two worshiped human chums.

"He still enjoys life," mused the Master, one day in late summer, as he and the Mistress sat on the veranda, with Lad asleep at their feet.

"And he can still get about a bit. His appet.i.te is good, and he drowses happily for a good deal of the day; and the car-rides are still as much fun for him as ever they were. But when the time comes--and he's breaking fast, these past few months--when the time comes that life is a misery to him--"

"I know," interposed the Mistress, her voice not quite steady. "I know.

Do you suppose I haven't been thinking about it, on the hot nights when I couldn't sleep? But, when the time comes--when it comes--you'll--you'll do it, yourself, won't you?"

"Yes," promised the Master, miserably. "No one else shall. I'd rather cut off one of my own hands, though. I'VE been doing a bit of thinking, too--at night. It's n.o.body's job but mine. Laddie would rather have it that way, I know. And, by a bullet. He's a gallant old soldier. And that is the way for him to go. Now, for the Lord's sake, let's talk about something else! A man or woman is a fool to care that way about any mere dog. I--"

"But Lad isn't a 'mere' dog," contradicted the Mistress, stooping to pet the collie's cla.s.sic head as it lay across her foot. "He's--he's Laddie."

The sound of his name pierced the sleep mists and brought the dog to wakefulness. He raised his head inquiringly toward the Mistress, and his plumed tail began to thump the floor. The Mistress patted him again; and spoke a word or two. Lad prepared to drowse once more. Then, to his dulled ears came the padding of little bare feet on the gra.s.s.

And he glanced up again, this time in eager interest.

Across the lawn from the orchard came trotting a child; carrying a basket of peaches toward the kitchen. The youngster wore but a single garment, a shapeless calico dress that fell scarcely to her knees. She was Sonya, the seven-year-old daughter of one of the Place's extra workmen, a Slav named Ruloff who lived in the mile-distant village, across the lake.

Ruloff, following the custom of his peasant ancestors, put his whole family to work, from the time its members were old enough to toddle.

And he urged them against the vice of laziness by means of an ever-ready fist, or a still readier toe or a harness strap--whichever of the trio of energy producers chanced to be handiest. In coming over to the Place, for a month's labor, during the harvest season, he brought along every day his youngest and most fragile offspring, Sonya.

Under her father's directions and under his more drastic modes of encouragement, the little girl was of much help to him in his doily toil.

Twice, the Master had caught him punishing her for undue slowness in carrying out some duty too heavy for her frail strength. On both times he had stopped the brutal treatment. On the second, he had told Ruloff he would not only discharge him, but a.s.sist his departure from the Place with a taste of boot-toe medicine, if ever the Slav should lay a hand on the child again during his period of employment there. The Place's English superintendent had promised like treatment to the man, should he catch him ill treating Sonya.

Wherefore, Ruloff had perforce curbed his parental urgings toward violence;--at least during the hours when he and the child were on the Place.

Sonya was an engaging little thing; and the Mistress had made a pet of her. So had the Master. But the youngster's warmest friend was old Sunnybank Lad.

From the first day of Sonya's advent in his life, Lad had const.i.tuted himself her adorer and constant companion.

Always his big heart had gone out to children; as to everything weak and defenseless. Not always had his treatment at the hands of children encouraged this feeling of loving chivalry and devotion. But Sonya was an exception. Whenever she could steal a minute of time, away from her father's glum eyes and nagging voice and ready fist, she would seek out Lad.

She was as gentle with the grand old dog as other children had been rough. She loved to cuddle down close beside him, her arms around his s.h.a.ggy neck; and croon queer little high-voiced songs to him; her thin cheek against his head. She used to save out fragments from her own spa.r.s.e lunch to give to him. She was inordinately proud to walk at his side during Lad's rare rambles around the Place. Child and dog made a pretty picture of utter chumship.

To n.o.body save the Mistress and the Master had Laddie ever given his heart so completely as to this baby.

Hurried though she was, today, Sonya set down her basket of peaches and, with a shy glance of appeal at the two humans, reached across the veranda edge to stroke Lad's head and to accept in delight his proffered paw. Then, guiltily, she caught up her basket and sped on to the kitchen.

Lad, slowly and with difficulty, got to his feet and followed her. A minute later the Mistress watched them making their way to the orchard, side by side; the child slackening her eager steps in order to keep pace with the aged dog.

"I wish we could arrange to take her away from that brute of a father of hers, and keep her here," said the Mistress. "It's horrible to think of such a helpless wisp of a baby being beaten and made to work, day and night. And then she and Laddie love each other so. They--"

"What can we do?" asked the Master, hopelessly. "I've spoken to the village authorities about it. But it seems the law can't interfere; unless brutal cruelty can be proved or unless the parents are unfit to bring up the child."

"Brutal cruelty?" echoed the Mistress. "What could be more brutal than the way he beats her? Why, last week there was a bruise on her arm as big--"

"What can we prove? He has a legal right to punish her. If we got them up in court, he'd frighten her into swearing she hurt her arm on a fence picket and that he never harms her. No, there's no sort of cure for the rotten state of affairs."

But the Master was mistaken. There was a very good cure indeed for it.

And that cure was being applied at the moment he denied its existence.

Sonya had disappeared from view over the crest of the lawn: Down into the orchard she went, Lad at her side; to where Ruloff was waiting for her to lug another full basket back to the house.

"Move!" he ordered, as she drew near. "Don't crawl! Move, or I'll make you move."

This threat he voiced very bravely indeed. He was well out of sight of the house. The superintendent and the two other men were working on the far side of the hill. It seemed an eminently safe time to exercise his parental authority. And, hand uplifted, he took a threatening step toward the little girl.

Sonya cowered back in mortal dread. There was no mistaking the import of Ruloff's tone or gesture. Lad read it as clearly as did the child.

As Sonya shrank away from the menace, a furry shoulder was pressed rea.s.suringly against her side. Lad's cold muzzle was thrust for the merest instant into her trembling hand.

Then, as Ruloff advanced, Lad took one majestic step forward; his great body shielding the girl; his dark eyes sternly on the man's; his lips drawing back from his blunted yellow fangs. Deep in his throat a growl was born.

Ruloff checked himself; looking doubtfully at the s.h.a.ggy brute. And at the same moment the superintendent appeared over the ridge of the hill, on his way to the orchard. The Slav picked up a filled basket and shoved it at Sonya.

"Jump!" he ordered. "Keep moving. Be back here in one minute!"

With a sigh of enormous relief and a pat of furtive grat.i.tude to Lad, the child set forth on her errand. Yet, even at risk of a sharper rebuke, she accommodated her pace to Lad's stately slow steps.

Hitherto she had loved the dog for no special reason except that her heart somehow went out to him. But now she had a practical cause for her devotion. Lad had stood between her and a fist blow. He had risked, she knew not what, to defy her all-terrible father and to protect her from punishment.

As soon as she was out of Ruloff's sight, she set down her basket, and flung both puny arms about the dog's neck in an agony of grat.i.tude.

Her squeeze almost strangled the weak old collie. But there was love in it. And because of that, he reveled in the hurt.

"You won't let him thump me!" she whispered in the dog's ear. "You won't let him. I'd never be afraid of him, if you were there. Oh, Laddie, you're so darling!"

Lad, highly pleased, licked her wizened little face and, sitting down, insisted on shaking hands with her. He realized he had done something quite wonderful and had made this little chum of his proud of him.

Wherefore, he was proud of himself; and felt young and gay again;--until his next strenuous effort to walk fast.

All night, in her sleep, in the stiflingly hot loft of her father's hovel, which served her and the five other Ruloff children as a dormitory, Sonya was faintly aware of that bright memory. Her first waking thought was of the s.h.a.ggy shoulder pressed so protectingly against her side; and of the rea.s.suring thrust of Lad's muzzle into her cupped palm. It all seemed as vividly real as though she could still feel the friendly contact.