The Dogs of Boytown Part 9

"Well, do so the first chance you get. That's on of the loveliest dog stories ever written, and it's true. Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye terrier.

"This is the Clydesdale or Paisley terrier. Not at all a common breed.

I doubt if you'll ever see one in the United States. He looks something like the Skye, but his coat is silkier. He's steel blue on the body and head, with golden tan feet. The Yorkshire comes from the other side of the border, and he's something like the Clydesdale, only with longer legs and shorter body. He's a fancy dog with a wonderful coat, parted down the middle and sweeping the ground. He's steel blue with tan markings on the head, chest, and legs.

"There you have all the terriers," he concluded, "and I guess you've had a long enough lesson for one day. These facts are all very interesting, but they become prosy and confusing if taken in too large doses. Here, take this book home with you, and look it over at your leisure. You'll find in it all the things I've told you and a lot more besides."

"Terriers are the smartest dogs there are, I guess," said Harry.

"Well, I don't know as I should want to say quite that," said Mr.

Hartshorn. "Smartness and other qualities are as much a matter of individuals as of breeds. However, the terriers certainly have won that reputation."

"Do you know any good stories about them?" asked Harry, who was never backward in such matters. Mr. Hartshorn laughed.

"Unfortunately my memory for stories isn't very good," said he, "but I have lots of stories in books, and before you boys come up again, I'll look up some of them. Meanwhile, see if they have a book in the Boytown Library by Edward Jesse, called 'Anecdotes of Dogs.' It was published in London in 1858, and it isn't very common, but if you can find a copy, it's a dandy. It contains most of the historic dog stories. It includes several stories about terriers, chiefly ill.u.s.trating their intelligence, but also their devotion. Many of them, I recall, are stories of dogs that found their way home over unknown roads after being carried away for long distances. This homing instinct seems to be very strong in the terrier. The breed has always been a very close and intimate companion of man, and that has sharpened his wits and deepened his sympathies.

"The only terrier story that I recall at the moment is a little anecdote that ill.u.s.trates the terrier's shrewdness rather than his uprightness of character. A lady music teacher was going to the home of one of her pupils one day when some sort of wire-haired terrier surprised and startled her by running out from a field and seizing her skirt in his teeth. She tried to drive him away, but he wouldn't go.

Becoming somewhat alarmed by his actions, she called to two laborers who were working in the field, and they came to her a.s.sistance.

"'He wants you to go with him, ma'am," one of the men said. 'I've heard of dogs actin' like that. Maybe it's a murder or something. I guess we'd better go along.'

"They followed the dog to the rear of a cottage, and he at once began to dig feverishly at a heavy plank. The workmen, half expecting to find a corpse, lifted the plank, only to disclose a large beef bone.

This the terrier at once appropriated and made off with it, without waiting to express his thanks for a.s.sistance."

The boys laughed over this story, and thanked Mr. Hartshorn warmly for the interesting things he had told them. Then, squabbling good-naturedly over the possession of the dog book, they hurried off to catch the late afternoon train back to Boytown.

It was not long before they had another lesson in dog lore, though this time it was not Mr. Hartshorn who was their teacher. The next Sat.u.r.day the three of them made another trip to Thornboro to return the book, in the fascinating contents of which they had been reveling for a week. They met Tom Poultice on the road with half a dozen of the dogs out for exercise. They were a lively lot, and it took about all of Tom's attention to keep them in hand.

"Mr. 'Artshorn isn't 'ome to-day," said Tom. "You come along with me and the dogs and I'll show you some fun. You can leave the book up at the 'ouse when we get back."

The boys accepted this as a rare privilege, and for an hour or two accompanied Tom and his troublesome pack about the country roads. The bull terriers were fairly well behaved, but the Airedales seemed bent upon getting into all kinds of mischief. On two occasions Tom had his hands full breaking up what promised to become a free-for-all fight.

But the boys could not help admiring the boundless vigor of these dogs who seemed hardly able to contain all the youth and joy and life within them. It made the boys want to run and romp and caper in sympathy.

As they entered the drive at Willowdale on their return, they saw a sweet-faced woman standing on the porch with a little woolly white dog beside her.

"That's Mrs. 'Artshorn," said Tom. "You can give the book to 'er.

She'd like you to stop and speak to 'er."

Somewhat shyly the boys followed his advice, but Mrs. Hartshorn, like her husband, seemed to have the faculty of making them soon feel at their ease. She at once introduced them to Daisy, her toy white poodle. Daisy's long hair had been trimmed and clipped in a ridiculous manner that made the boys laugh, but she soon proved herself to be as smart as a whip. Mrs. Hartshorn put her through all her pretty tricks.

"I suppose, after seeing all those Airedales and bull terriers, you won't think much of my little dogs," said Mrs. Hartshorn. "Tom Poultice is very scornful about toys. But a dog is a dog, no matter how little. I want you to come in and see my prize Pomeranian, Tip."

They followed her into the house and up a broad staircase. At the top she turned and said:

"I think Tip is in the nursery with the baby. Don't be startled if he tries to eat you up. You needn't be quiet, because it's about time for baby's nap to be over."

She ushered them into the nursery, a pretty pink and white room, and there lay a handsome, chocolate-colored little dog on a mat beside a white crib. At the sight of strangers Tip growled a little and showed his white teeth.

"Don't you want to take a look at the baby?" asked Mrs. Hartshorn, with a twinkle in her eyes.

Harry Barton stepped bravely forward, but was met by an attack so savage that he hastily retired. Tip did not bark; barking was not permitted in the nursery. But he defended his charge with a ferocity quite out of proportion to his diminutive size.

"Lie down, Tip," said Mrs. Hartshorn, laughing. "It's all right." And Tip retired, grumbling, to his rug.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Pomeranian]

"He's little, but, oh, my!" said Mrs. Hartshorn. "I don't believe one of you would dare to touch that baby with Tip anywhere around. Now isn't he a dog, after all?"

The boys admitted quite readily that he was.

"He chased a tramp away once," said she. "The tramp came to the front door when Mr. Hartshorn was away, and spoke so roughly to my maid that I was really quite frightened. Tip heard him and came out like a flash. The man swore and kicked at him. Nothing makes a dog so angry as kicking at him, and Tip jumped and nipped the man's finger.

He swore again, but Tip renewed his attack to such good purpose that the man backed away and finally retreated in disorder with Tip at his heels. I've known big dogs that couldn't do so much."

The boys looked upon Tip with new respect.

"Now come and see my Pekes," said Mrs. Hartshorn.

The boys followed her into another room where two Pekingese spaniels got lazily out of a basket and came forward to greet her. And for the next few minutes the boys found infinite amus.e.m.e.nt playing with the fluffy little pets.

CHAPTER VI

ANXIOUS DAYS

It was April before the three boys had an opportunity to accept Mrs.

Hartshorn's invitation to visit her at Willowdale. On this occasion, as on the last, Mr. Hartshorn was away from home and there were only the four of them at luncheon. A soft-footed maid in a white cap and ap.r.o.n filled their plates with creamed chicken on toast, followed by delicious hot waffles and maple syrup.

When luncheon was over, she led them into her husband's den and took down one of his books.

"I suppose you've been about filled up with dog talk," said she, "but I want to be sure that you're converted to a love for the toys. So many men and boys don't care for them, but when you come to know about them, they're just as interesting as any other dogs. That is, most of them are. There are some kinds that I confess I don't especially care for myself. Come sit on the sofa and look at this book with me."

When they were comfortably seated, she began turning over the pages of the book, pointing out pictures of the various toy breeds.

"We'll take the short-coated ones first," said she, "since that's the way they're arranged in the book. Now can you imagine anything more delicate and graceful than this little dog? It's the Italian greyhound, you see. Some of the toy breeds have been created by a dwarfing process by modern fanciers, but this little chap was known in Italy in the Middle Ages. You can see dogs something like him on Greek and Roman statuary.

"Now here's the good old pug. You know the pug, don't you? There aren't so very many of them about now, though. They used to be the favorite lap-dogs, but somehow the Poms and the Pekes have come in to take their place. It is a very old breed and its ancestors were probably brought from China by the Dutch who later introduced it into England. Fawn used to be the popular color, but black has been in favor for several years.

"Now these are what we call miniatures, because they are merely dwarfs of larger breeds. The toy Manchester or black-and-tan was bred from the large Manchester terrier and should look just like his big brother, only he should weigh less than seven pounds. Same way with the toy bull terrier. The miniature bulldog was developed sixty years or more ago by the lace workers of Nottingham, England."

The boys were much interested in the next picture, which showed the tiniest sort of a dog sitting in a gla.s.s tumbler.

"Why," said Jack, "he looks more like a rat than a dog."

"It's a real dog, nevertheless," said Mrs. Hartshorn, "though probably the smallest breed in the world. It's a Chihuahua, p.r.o.nounced Che-wa-wa, and it comes from Mexico. They weigh from a pound and a half to about four pounds, about as much as a kitten. Of course, they're rather delicate, and I doubt if you could expect one to attack a tramp. The head is round as an apple, with pointed nose and big, outstanding ears. The Chihuahua always has a little soft spot in the top of the skull.

"Now we come to the long-haired toys, which are the most popular at the present time. I believe the Pomeranian is the most popular of them all. He is really a small spitz and came first from Germany. You noticed Tip's compact little body, fox-like head, and alert expression. A wonderful little dog. His chief glory is his fine, fluffy coat and mane.