Irma in Italy Part 25

CHAPTER XIV

NAP--AND OTHER THINGS

A whole day as strenuous as the morning Richard had provided would have been too much for Irma's strength. Fortunately Aunt Caroline came to her rescue, and insisted on a rest during the early afternoon, and prescribed a drive later. But after driving a short time, Aunt Caroline herself suggested visiting the Oratory of San Bernardino, and one or two other churches where certain masterpieces of Sodoma and other great artists were to be seen.

In the evening, after dinner, Uncle Jim brought in a number of letters, forwarded from Rome. There were three for Marion, whose face brightened perceptibly as he glanced at the envelopes.

"Here are two from Cranston," added Uncle Jim, as he gave Irma hers.

"Cranston," exclaimed Katie, "is there any one here from Cranston? That is where my grandmother lives."

"I know it," rejoined Irma, whereupon Katie tossed her head with a little air of exaggerated surprise, as if to say, "And how does it happen that you know anything about my grandmother?"

"But I do not know your grandmother," continued Irma. "She has been away ever since I lived there. It is only Nap,--the little dog----"

She could not bring herself to say "your little dog," even if she had been willing to admit Katie's ownership.

Instantly Katie comprehended. "Oh, you are the girl," she said, "who found my little Pat."

"Rescued him," began Aunt Caroline, who well knew the story.

"Whereby hangs a tale," added Uncle Jim.

"A dog's tail?" queried Richard, with a boy's desire to make a joke, although he didn't yet understand the story of this particular Nap.

"I am sure I am very much obliged to you for taking care of my dog,"

said Katie, "though my relations would have kept him for me."

"They didn't seem able to," thought Irma.

"Well, he's Irma's dog now," said Uncle Jim decidedly. "You would be quite sure he knows to whom he belongs if you could see him follow Irma about, as I saw him last summer."

"Nap, as you call him, 'Pat' as I say, is still my dog. I have never given him away. Every one knows that," and Katie looked in defiance at Irma.

"As the bone of contention is so far away, by which I do not mean that Pat is unduly thin, it seems as if we might leave the subject in peace for the present."

"Of course," continued Katie, "I did not expect to be in Europe so long.

But I am to join grandma in Paris next month, and a week or two later we shall sail. I shall be glad enough to see Pat again."

There was no more just then for Irma to say. She wondered if Katie really meant what she said. Later, when they were alone, she would ask her.

Soon Katie left the sitting-room, and Marion and Irma and one or two others for whom letters had come proceeded to read them.

Richard, who had been politely silent for some time, now turned to Irma, when he saw she was at leisure. "Would you mind telling us about the little dog. All I could understand was that Katie intends to have her own way about something, and when that is the case, it is very hard to make her change her mind."

"I should like to hear about it, too," said Marion. "I know just a little about Nap."

"I'll tell you what," cried the resourceful Richard. "There's a little balcony outside, at the end of the hall, just large enough for four. If we go there, Ellen, Marion, and Miss Derrington, we can have the whole story, without disturbing any one else."

"There's really little enough to tell," began Irma, as they seated themselves outside. "Only, about three years ago, a little less, perhaps, when I first went to Cranston to live, one morning I met a boy with a small dog. He asked me to buy it to save it from being shot. The lady who owned it was going abroad, he said, and had ordered it shot.

But he thought it cruel, and was willing to sell it. Well, I took a great fancy to the little creature, he had such lovely brown eyes; and while I was wondering whether I could buy him, Gertrude came along, and between us we bought him. Gertrude is always so generous." For a moment Irma was silent, as her mind went back to that memorable October day, and to the way in which the little dog had helped settle the misunderstanding between her and Gertrude.

"Then we had to name him, and happened to choose Nap, which sounds so much like his original 'Pat' that he must have felt pleased."

"But where does Katie come in?" asked Richard.

"That's the strange part of it. We took Nap with us on an excursion to Concord, and there we ran across Ada Amesbury, who is old Mrs.

Grimston's granddaughter. Nap and she recognized each other at once, because, you see, he really belonged to Katie Grimston, whose home, you know, is in Concord."

"Well, if Mrs. Grimston or Katie wished to have the dog shot, just because they were going to Europe, I can't see why they should object to your having him!"

"Oh, naturally that story of the boy's was only made up. He saw a chance to get a little money by selling the dog, and Katie's family thought Pat was lost. Ada Amesbury was to have taken care of him in Katie's absence. When I first heard about it I thought I ought to give Nap up, but Mrs. Amesbury said it was fair for me to keep him until Katie's return."

"I should say so!" interpolated Richard.

"But now Katie has stayed away so long it will be very hard for us to part with Nap, especially for my little sister Tessie,--Theresa, I mean."

"Oh, you and Katie can surely settle the matter now," said Ellen. "She should be glad enough to let you keep him. A dog is a great trouble to any one who travels much."

"I suppose Katie will stay at home for some time after she returns.

Perhaps I oughtn't to say Katie behind her back, but I know so many who speak of her in that way. She has quant.i.ties of friends in Cranston."

"Ellen," said Richard, "even though Katie is our cousin, don't you know her well enough to be sure that if she has once said she would claim Nap, she is not likely to give in, or give up, or whatever you call it?"

"That's the worst of it," said Ellen; "she isn't easy to influence."

"Oh, well," sighed Irma, "I suppose if she is so fond of Nap, she has a right to him. Of course we have written to Mrs. Grimston and Ada has written to Katie, but she has always said she expected to have the dog on her return."

"You could easily get another pet dog," interposed Marion, who thus far had taken no part in the discussion.

"It couldn't possibly be the same," and Marion knew that Irma was despondent.

"It is cold," cried Ellen. "Let us go back to the sitting-room," and as they pa.s.sed through the dimly lit hall, Marion saw Irma wipe away a tear. Had she known that he noticed this, and had she thought the matter worth explaining, she might have told him that Nap was not alone responsible for the tear, but that behind it was the feeling of homesickness, her very strong desire to see Tessie and the boys and her parents, and yes, even Mahala and Gertrude, and in fact every one in Cranston.

Marion this evening was more sympathetic than usual, because he had received a letter with better news than any he had had since leaving home. Yet such was his reticence that he could not talk of it, even to Aunt Caroline.

On their return to the sitting-room, when Irma was introduced for the first time to Mrs. Sanford, she partly understood the reason for Richard's extreme energy. Mrs. Sanford was pale and delicate in appearance, and as Richard's father had long been dead, she could see that he not unnaturally had to take great responsibility, and had had to make plans that under other conditions would have been first proposed by his mother.

"It seems a great pity," he was saying to Aunt Caroline, "that you should not go on with us to San Gimignano. It's a fine drive, right through the heart of Tuscany, to the queerest old town. You may never have such a chance again."

"Richard!" exclaimed his mother, smiling, even while her tone held more or less reproof.

"A chance, I mean, to go with us."