Happy Days for Boys and Girls Part 37

"I knew not which way to turn, so sat down to think it over, and was looking around as well as the drifting snow would permit, when coming along my tracks was a large yellow dog. My heart gave a bound of delight, and jumping up, I let a 'cooey,'[A] to tell its master that some one was in the same predicament, as I doubted not he was.

"Slowly a minute or two pa.s.sed, but no reply to my communication.

Alas! all was silence, and I then saw, by its pointed ears and bushy tail, that it was a dingo, or native dog, which was running my footsteps. It was no use sitting where I was. So on I started in the direction I fancied, every minute feeling more and more f.a.gged, and when at last darkness set in, was almost inclined to give up.

"My yellow friend followed me for some time at a respectful distance; and though the dingo is a sneaking coward, still, had sleep overpowered me, he might have been tempted to try how I tasted, as he must have been hungry to come so close to me as he did. So, although I never had any fear of such an event actually occurring, I was not at all sorry when he trotted off, his tail, as usual, between his legs, to join some of his companions, whose unearthly howls he heard at no great distance; there must have been five or six.

"I felt really glad they came no nearer, as a mob of them are very daring; and I have known them, when well starved for a week or two, kill calves, and even colts, when the mothers were weak and could not fight for them. But it was not very long before I found that they were not after me, as I nearly stumbled against a mare and colt belonging to myself, that were standing under a tree, and whinnied as I spoke.

We had sent all our horses away two months ago but this one, as she could not be found, and we thought she was dead. The poor thing could not have tasted food for days; but what could I do but pity the pair, and feel that their end was to be food for the _warregals_ (native dogs).

"As I had now been walking seven or eight hours, and hard at it all the time, I could see nothing for it but to yield to necessity, as sleep was fast overpowering me, when I distinctly heard the bark of a dog, which I felt confident was my old watch, 'Jack.' My spirits rose at once, and again I was alive, and pushed in the direction of the welcome sound.

"At the same time I caught a glimpse of a cl.u.s.ter of trees, whose peculiar shape I had often remarked, which told me where I was; and this fact was also quickly proved by my plunging into an old prospecting hole--the only one in the neighborhood. It was about six feet deep, and full of snow and water. I thought I was lost, as the frozen slush went down my back, and that I, who had been picked out of the Canton River, in a dark night, when the tide ran six knots an hour, was fated to be drowned in a filthy pot-hole.

"But, luckily, such was not my lot on the present occasion, as, after many a failure, I managed to pull myself out, my boots full of water, and my whole body nearly numb from the cold. Luckily, the house was only half a mile off.

"I reached it in safety, and just in time, as my feet were all but frost-bitten, when I should have been fortunate to lose only a few of my toes, as I knew a man here who had _both_ legs cut off in consequence of a severe frost-bite.

"As it was, I was a sorry figure; my clothes were like a board, my socks were in a similar state, while icicles hung in festoons from my hair and beard. But, when at last I managed to open the door, and get a light, one or two rough towels, and some ten minutes' hard rubbing, soon put a glow of heat over my whole body; and by the time I turned into bed, after a cup of scalding hot coffee (I was too hungry to eat), my misfortunes were forgotten, and all I felt was thankfulness for having reached my house, which seems to me, even now, to have been a very doubtful matter, had 'Jack' not barked when he did.

"See how many things turned out all for my good--the mare and the colt in the snow, the dingo running after her through hunger, and my dog barking at it, showed me where my house was, when I was fairly lost, and thus saved my life, and enabled me to spin you this yarn, which I must now finish by saying that since that time I am always glad to have a warm house to shelter me in such weather as this, and cannot help thinking that if any boys had ever been placed in my predicament, they would only be too thankful to remain inside on such a day as this, without requiring their mother to order them to do so."

"But what about the poor mare? Did she die? and did the wild dogs eat the colt?"

"O, I almost forgot to tell you that, to my astonishment, in two or three days, when the snow hardened a bit, the pair found their way home, and I, after a deal of trouble, got them to the banks of the Tumut River, which, although only a couple of miles away, was so many hundred feet lower, that they could paw away the snow, and so got gra.s.s enough to live till spring when they soon got fat. The little colt I named 'Snowdrop,' and when she was old enough, broke her in; and many a good gallop we had over the place where she and her mother neighed to me on that dark and dismal night."

FOOTNOTE:

[A] A peculiar shout, heard at a great distance, which is common among the Australian settlers.

SPRING HAS COME.

Spring has come back to us, beautiful spring!

Blue-birds and swallows are out on the wing; Over the meadows a carpet of green Softer and richer than velvet is seen.

Up come the blossoms so bright and so gay, Giving sweet odors to welcome the May.

Sunshine and music are flooding the air, Beauty and brightness are everywhere.

ABOUT "BITTERS."

[Ill.u.s.tration: {Bitters being chased by a rooster}]

Charley and Jimmie D. were playing near the barn one day, when along came the forlornest looking cur you ever did see. The children commenced calling him, and laughed loudly as the animal came towards them, he was _such_ an ill-looking thing.

"Good fellow! nice fellow!" said Charley, patting him. "Jim, you run in, and get him something to eat--won't you? and don't tell mother yet; you know she dislikes dogs so. We'll tie him up to-night, and tell her to-morrow, if no one comes for him."

Such another looking dog I think I never saw--scrawny and poor, as though he had never been more than half fed; a slit in one ear, tail not much to speak of, and color a dirty black and white.

Jimmie soon came back from a successful forage, and gave him a good supper. At least doggie seemed to think so, for he gobbled it up in about a minute, and then wagged the stump of his tail for more.

"No, sir," said Charley, "no more to-night."

Then they shut him up in a little room in a corner of the barn, and ran to find their father, and tell him, well knowing he would not care, if their mother was willing.

They found their father, who went with them to see him, and laughed long and loud as they led out the ugly beast.

Then all went in to supper; the great secret almost revealing itself in their tell-tale looks and occasional whisperings, neither of which attracted their mother's attention.

Supper over, they made a final visit to their pet, and then left him for the night.

"What shall we name him?" said Jimmie, when they were alone in their room at night.

"O, we must have a funny name, he's such a sorry looking feller!

Wouldn't you call him 'Bitters'?" said Charley.

"Bitters!" said Jim, with a laugh.

"Yes, that's bad enough."

So Bitters he was named; and next morning they won their mother's reluctant consent to keep the dog, provided he was kept at the barn, or away from the house, at all events.

Then they fed and played with him till school time, and shut him up till noon.

Bitters seemed to take to his new admirers, and appeared quite satisfied with his quarters, and was getting to look a little more like a respectable dog, when one morning, as he was running round a corner of the barn, he came suddenly upon the old rooster, who bristled up and showed fight. Bitters turned, and ran for dear life, as hard as he could go, and never has been seen or heard from, from that day to this, much to the boys' regret.

F. E. S.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DOG STEPHEN.]

FRED AND DOG STEPHEN.

"Now, just one good cuddle," said little six-year-old Freddie, "and then I'll be ready for school;" and he curled himself up like a young Turk in his mother's lap, and nestled there in a very enjoyable way.

She was sitting by the dining-room window; it was open, and a pitcher of wild phlox and pink-and-white wake-robins stood in it. While they sat there they saw Uncle Rube, who lives over on the hillside, coming along the crooked path with a basket on his arm. His head was down, and he was thinking so intently that he did not hear the steps behind him of his young dog, Stephen.

Now, Rube means to make the best dog in the world of Stephen--the playful little puppy!--and he never permits him to follow him anywhere unless by special invitation. About once a week he will say to him, "Stevie, would you like to go to your grandfather's with me? Come on, then;" and here they will come, the puppy so glad that his gait is more awkward than ever, his fat body, twisted out of all shape, wriggling along, while his tail will flap about in every direction and his ears look like wilted cabbage-leaves.