Sisters Part 19

"Bruce--ah!" Enlightenment seemed to come to the young man. "You have called to complain of the row he made last night. We were only saying at breakfast--"

"No, no, indeed!" Rose spread out protesting hands, and ceased to feel embarra.s.sed. "Not to complain of him, poor dear, but--but--if you will forgive such impertinence, to ask somebody--I thought I should see your cook, who looks kind--to do something to make his life a little less miserable."

"Miserable!" Mr Breen broke in, and sat up, stiffening, as if half inclined to be offended, even with this very nice young lady.

"There isn't a dog in the country better off. We had his place in the yard built on purpose for him; had his kennel made to a special design--"

"A lovely kennel! I never saw a better."

"Clean straw every few days; all his food cooked--"

"But CHAINED, Mr Breen. And a collie, too!"

"Well, we couldn't have him messing all over the place; at any rate, my people wouldn't. Oh, I a.s.sure you, Miss Pennycuick, Bruce is in clover.

He was only baying the moon. Dogs often do that. It's only their fun--though it isn't fun to us."

"Fun!" sighed Rose helplessly. And she fixed her eyes upon her companion, as they sat VIS-A-VIS on the edges of their brocaded chairs, with no sense that he was a strange young man--a gaze that troubled and disconcerted him. "I am sure," she answered earnestly, "that you have a kind heart. One has only to look at you to know it."

"The idea never occurred to me before," he mumbled, flattered by her discernment, and no more offended with her.

"I am sure no one could mean better by a dog than you, giving him all those nice things," she continued. "But--but you don't THINK. You don't try to imagine yourself chained up in one spot night and day, week in and week out, with nothing to do--no interests, no amus.e.m.e.nts, unable to get to your work, to go shooting with your friends, to do anything that you were born to do--and consider how you would like it."

Mr Peter submitted to her humbly the fact that he was not a dog.

"And you think you are not both made of the same stuff? That's just where people make the mistake, even the kindest of them. Mr Breen, I once had a long talk with the curator of a zoological garden, and he told me that animals in confinement suffer mentally, just as we should do in their place. Unless they have occupation and companionship they go out of their minds. They get sullen and savage, and people say they are vicious, and punish them, when it is only misery. He said no happy dog ever got hydrophobia unless it was bitten; and that it was to save themselves from going mad that squirrels kept whirling their wheel and tigers running round and round their cages. They want notice, and change, and work, or they cannot bear it. The stagnation kills them--or I wish it did kill them quicker than it does. Look at your Bruce, born to work sheep, to scamper over miles of country, free as air, to be mates with some man who would know the value of such a friend, and be worthy of him. Oh, it is too cruel!"

Never had Rose displayed such eloquence, and a sudden glisten in her candid eyes put the piercing climax to it. Mr Peter's kind heart, which had been growing softer and softer with every word she spoke, was in melting state.

"Upon my soul," he declared, "you put quite a new light on it; you do indeed, Miss Pennycuick. I see your point of view exactly. But--"

With the utmost willingness to meet her views, he was unable to see how to do it. It was easy to say "Let him off the chain," but the mater, who was very particular, would never stand a dog muddying the verandahs and digging holes for his bones in the flower-beds. He, Mr Peter, was an only son, and she would do most things for him, but he was afraid she would draw the line at that.

"Well, you might at least take him for walks," Rose pleaded. "n.o.body could object to that." "Yes, I might take him for walks," the young man conceded thoughtfully. "Of course, I don't get home from business till tea-time, and I have to leave directly after breakfast--"

"Our Pepper, when we go to town, takes us to the station and sees us off; and you are not at business on Sat.u.r.day afternoons." "I usually play tennis or something on Sat.u.r.day afternoons--"

"Well, take him and let him see you play tennis. He'd love it."

"I question whether my club would. But see here, Miss Pennycuick, I WAS going to meet some lady friends this afternoon, but now I won't; I will take him for a walk instead. And I'll get up in the mornings, and give him a run before breakfast. There!"

"Oh, how kind, how good you are!" she exclaimed delightedly.

"Not at all," he returned, glowing. "It is you who are good, taking all this trouble about us. I am only ashamed that you should have had to do it, and that you should have caught me in this state"--another blushing reference to his distressing toilet.

"Never mind your state," she consoled him sweetly, rising from her chair. "I like you better in this state than I do when you are smart. I thought you were too smart to--to condescend to trouble yourself about a poor dog."

"I am sorry you had such a bad opinion of me. It was simply--the thing didn't occur to me until you mentioned it."

"I know. But it is all right now. Well, I must go. You will never get your gun cleaned at this rate."

"Bother the gun! This is better than--I mean--won't you take a gla.s.s of wine?"

She declined emphatically and with haste, and hurried into the hall. He opened the front door for her, and they stood together for a moment on the dustless door-mat, mathematically laid upon verandah boards as white as new-peeled almonds.

"What a lovely garden!" remarked Rose, as she stepped down to it. Those were her words, but what she really said in her mind was: "Who would think he was a draper?"

Francie was aroused from her Sunday afternoon snooze on the drawing-room sofa.

"What IS the matter with that dog?" she complained pettishly. "Surely, after howling like a starved dingo all night--be quiet, Pepper! One of you is enough." Rose's terrier was up and fidgeting, with p.r.i.c.ked ears.

"They must be killing him!" cried Deb, lifting her handsome head from her book.

"Oh, no," said Rose; "that sort of bark means joy, not pain."

"Poor, dear beast! What's making him joyful, I wonder?"

"I must go up and see," said Rose, who had carefully refrained from mentioning her forenoon proceedings.

The drowsy pair sank back upon their cushions; only Pepper accompanied her to the attic room. He jumped upon the window seat, wriggling and yapping, and they looked forth together from the open cas.e.m.e.nt upon the spectacle of Bruce and Mr Peter apparently engaged in mortal combat.

The collie had realised that he was off the chain and about to take a walk, and was expressing himself not merely in frenzied yells, but in acrobatic feats that threatened to overwhelm his master. The latter, tall-hatted, frock-coated, lavender-trousered, with a cane in his hand and a flower in his b.u.t.ton-hole, jumped and dodged wildly to escape the leaping ma.s.s, his face puckered with anxiety for the results of his experiment. Pepper's delighted comments drew his eyes upwards, and he made shift to raise his hat, with a smile that was instantly and generously repaid. Rose nodded and waved her hand, and Peter went off, making gestures and casting backward glances at her, until he was a mere dot upon the distant road, with another dot circling around him.

"Dear fellow!" she mused, when he was out of sight.

CHAPTER XV.

Bruce went unchained, within limits, and had a run nearly every day.

Workmen came to put a railing and gate to the back verandah of his establishment, and Mrs Breen kept a fidgety watch upon his movements; but evidently the only son's will ruled, and he was more than faithful to his compact with Rose. She was able to see this from her commanding window, and to hear it from Bruce's mouth; and day by day her heart warmed towards Bruce's master. Many were the friendly smiles and salutes that pa.s.sed between the attic window and the Breen back-yard, all unknown to Rose's sisters.

They were walking with her one Sat.u.r.day afternoon, when they met Mr Peter and the collie. Pepper ran forward to greet Bruce, and they sniffed at each other's noses and wagged their respective tails in a friendly way. Deb was remarking to Rose that their pity for the Breens'

dog had been quite misplaced, when a bow from her sister and a lift of the hat by the young man caused her to stop short and raise her fine brows inquiringly.

"Rose!"

"I--I spoke to him one day," explained Rose, pink as her pinkest namesake. "About Bruce."

"Who's Bruce?"

"That's Bruce--his dog."

Frances came running up. "Rose," said she indignantly, "did you bow to that man?"

"He is our neighbour next door," mumbled Rose.

"I know that. So is the wood-carter. But is that a reason why you should bow to him? Do you know who those people are?"