CHAPTER III.
_Speculative remarks with which the reader may or may not agree--Anold woman--Hopes and wishes commingled with hard facts--The dogCrusoe's education begun_.
It is pleasant to look upon a serene, quiet, humble face. On such aface did Richard Varley look every night when he entered his mother'scottage. Mrs. Varley was a widow, and she had followed the fortunes ofher brother, Daniel Hood, ever since the death of her husband. Lovefor her only brother induced her to forsake the peaceful village ofMaryland and enter upon the wild life of a backwoods settlement.Dick's mother was thin, and old, and wrinkled, but her face wasstamped with a species of beauty which _never_ fades--the beauty of aloving look. Ah! the brow of snow and the peach-bloom cheek may snarethe heart of man for a time, but the _loving look_ alone can forgethat adamantine chain that time, age, eternity shall never break.
Mistake us not, reader, and bear with us if we attempt to analyze thislook which characterized Mrs. Varley. A rare diamond is worth stoppingto glance at, even when one is in a hurry. The brightest jewel in thehuman heart is worth a thought or two. By _a loving_ _look_ we do notmean a look of love bestowed on a beloved object. _That_ is commonenough; and thankful should we be that it is so common in a worldthat's overfull of hatred. Still less do we mean that smile and lookof intense affection with which some people--good people too--greetfriend and foe alike, and by which effort to work out their _beauideal_ of the expression of Christian love they do signally damagetheir cause, by saddening the serious and repelling the gay. Much lessdo we mean that _perpetual_ smile of good-will which argues more ofpersonal comfort and self-love than anything else. No; the loving lookwe speak of is as often grave as gay. Its character depends very muchon the face through which it beams. And it cannot be counterfeited.Its _ring_ defies imitation. Like the clouded sun of April, it canpierce through tears of sorrow; like the noontide sun of summer, itcan blaze in warm smiles; like the northern lights of winter, itcan gleam in depths of woe;--but it is always the same, modified,doubtless, and rendered more or less patent to others, according tothe natural amiability of him or her who bestows it. No one can putit on; still less can any one put it off. Its range is universal; itembraces all mankind, though, _of course_, it is intensified on a fewfavoured objects; its seat is in the depths of a renewed heart, andits foundation lies in love to God.
Young Varley's mother lived in a cottage which was of the smallestpossible dimensions consistent with comfort. It was made of logs, as,indeed, were all the other cottages in the valley. The door was in thecentre, and a passage from it to the back of the dwelling divided itinto two rooms. One of these was sub-divided by a thin partition,the inner room being Mrs. Varley's bedroom, the outer Dick's. DanielHood's dormitory was a corner of the kitchen, which apartment servedalso as a parlour.
The rooms were lighted by two windows, one on each side of the door,which gave to the house the appearance of having a nose and two eyes.Houses of this kind have literally got a sort of _expression_ on--ifwe may use the word--their countenances. _Square_ windows give theappearance of easy-going placidity; _longish_ ones, that of surprise.Mrs. Varley's was a surprise cottage; and this was in keeping with thescene in which it stood, for the clear lake in front, studdedwith islands, and the distant hills beyond, composed a scene sosurprisingly beautiful that it never failed to call forth anexpression of astonished admiration from every new visitor to theMustang Valley.
"My boy," exclaimed Mrs. Varley, as her son entered the cottage with abound, "why so hurried to-day? Deary me! where got you the grand gun?"
"Won it, mother!"
"Won it, my son?"
"Ay, won it, mother. Druve the nail _almost_, and would ha' druve it_altogether_ had I bin more used to Joe Blunt's rifle."
Mrs. Varley's heart beat high, and her face flushed with pride as shegazed at her son, who laid the rifle on the table for her inspection,while he rattled off an animated and somewhat disjointed account ofthe match.
"Deary me! now that was good, that was cliver. But what's thatscraping at the door?"
"Oh! that's Fan; I forgot her. Here! here! Fan! Come in, good dog," hecried, rising and opening the door.
Fan entered and stopped short, evidently uncomfortable.
"My boy, what do ye with the major's dog?"
"Won her too, mother!"
"Won her, my son?"
"Ay, won her, and the pup too; see, here it is!" and he plucked Crusoefrom his bosom.
Crusoe having found his position to be one of great comfort had falleninto a profound slumber, and on being thus unceremoniously awakened hegave forth a yelp of discontent that brought Fan in a state of franticsympathy to his side.
"There you are, Fan; take it to a corner and make yourself athome.--Ay, that's right, mother, give her somethin' to eat; she'shungry, I know by the look o' her eye."
"Deary me, Dick!" said Mrs. Varley, who now proceeded to spread theyouth's mid-day meal before him, "did ye drive the nail three times?"
"No, only once, and that not parfetly. Brought 'em all down at oneshot--rifle, Fan, an' pup!"
"Well, well, now that was cliver; but--." Here the old woman pausedand looked grave.
"But what, mother?"
"You'll be wantin' to go off to the mountains now, I fear me, boy."
"Wantin' _now_!" exclaimed the youth earnestly; "I'm _always_ wantin'.I've bin wantin' ever since I could walk; but I won't go till you letme, mother, that I won't!" And he struck the table with his fist soforcibly that the platters rung again.
"You're a good boy, Dick; but you're too young yit to ventur' amongthe Redskins."
"An' yit, if I don't ventur' young, I'd better not ventur' at all. Youknow, mother dear, I don't want to leave you; but I was born to be ahunter, and everybody in them parts is a hunter, and I can't hunt inthe kitchen you know, mother!"
At this point the conversation was interrupted by a sound that causedyoung Varley to spring up and seize his rifle, and Fan to show herteeth and growl.
"Hist, mother! that's like horses' hoofs," he whispered, opening thedoor and gazing intently in the direction whence the sound came.
Louder and louder it came, until an opening in the forest showed theadvancing cavalcade to be a party of white men. In another momentthey were in full view--a band of about thirty horsemen, clad in theleathern costume and armed with the long rifle of the far west.Some wore portions of the gaudy Indian dress, which gave to them abrilliant, dashing look. They came on straight for the block-house,and saluted the Varleys with a jovial cheer as they swept past at fullspeed. Dick returned the cheer with compound interest, and callingout, "They're trappers, mother; I'll be back in an hour," bounded offlike a deer through the woods, taking a short cut in order to reachthe block-house before them. He succeeded, for, just as he arrived atthe house, the cavalcade wheeled round the bend in the river, dashedup the slope, and came to a sudden halt on the green. Vaulting fromtheir foaming steeds they tied them to the stockades of the littlefortress, which they entered in a body.
Hot haste was in every motion of these men. They were trappers, theysaid, on their way to the Rocky Mountains to hunt and trade furs. Butone of their number had been treacherously murdered and scalped by aPawnee chief, and they resolved to revenge his death by an attack onone of the Pawnee villages. They would teach these "red reptiles" torespect white men, they would, come of it what might; and they hadturned aside here to procure an additional supply of powder and lead.
In vain did the major endeavour to dissuade these reckless men fromtheir purpose. They scoffed at the idea of returning good for evil,and insisted on being supplied. The log hut was a store as well asa place of defence, and as they offered to pay for it there was norefusing their request--at least so the major thought. The ammunitionwas therefore given to them, and in half-an-hour they were awayagain at full gallop over the plains on their mission of vengeance."Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord." But these men knewnot what God said, because they never read his Word and did not own
his sway.
Young Varley's enthusiasm was considerably damped when he learned theerrand on which the trappers were bent. From that time forward he gaveup all desire to visit the mountains in company with such men, but hestill retained an intense longing to roam at large among their rockyfastnesses and gallop out upon the wide prairies.
Meanwhile he dutifully tended his mother's cattle and sheep, andcontented himself with an occasional deer-hunt in the neighbouringforests. He devoted himself also to the training of his dog Crusoe--anoperation which at first cost him many a deep sigh.
Every one has heard of the sagacity and almost reasoning capabilitiesof the Newfoundland dog. Indeed, some have even gone the length ofsaying that what is called instinct in these animals is neither morenor less than reason. And in truth many of the noble, heroic, andsagacious deeds that have actually been performed by Newfoundland dogsincline us almost to believe that, like man, they are gifted withreasoning powers.
But every one does not know the trouble and patience that is requiredin order to get a juvenile dog to understand what its master meanswhen he is endeavouring to instruct it.
Crusoe's first lesson was an interesting but not a very successfulone. We may remark here that Dick Varley had presented Fan to hismother to be her watch-dog, resolving to devote all his powers to thetraining of the pup. We may also remark, in reference to Crusoe'sappearance (and we did not remark it sooner, chiefly because up tothis period in his eventful history he was little better than a ballof fat and hair), that his coat was mingled jet-black and pure white,and remarkably glossy, curly, and thick.
A week after the shooting-match Crusoe's education began. Having fedhim for that period with his own hand, in order to gain his affection,Dick took him out one sunny forenoon to the margin of the lake to givehim his first lesson.
And here again we must pause to remark that, although a dog's heart isgenerally gained in the first instance through his mouth, yet, afterit is thoroughly gained, his affection is noble and disinterested. Hecan scarcely be driven from his master's side by blows; and even whenthus harshly repelled, is always ready, on the shortest notice andwith the slightest encouragement, to make it up again.
Well; Dick Varley began by calling out, "Crusoe! Crusoe! come here,pup."
Of course Crusoe knew his name by this time, for it had been so oftenused as a prelude to his meals that he naturally expected a feedwhenever he heard it. This portal to his brain had already been openfor some days; but all the other doors were fast locked, and itrequired a great deal of careful picking to open them.
"Now, Crusoe, come here."
Crusoe bounded clumsily to his master's side, cocked his ears, andwagged his tail,--so far his education was perfect. We say he bounded_clumsily_, for it must be remembered that he was still a very youngpup, with soft, flabby muscles.
"Now, I'm goin' to begin yer edication, pup; think o' that."
Whether Crusoe thought of that or not we cannot say, but he lookedup in his master's face as he spoke, cocked his ears very high, andturned his head slowly to one side, until it could not turn anyfarther in that direction; then he turned it as much to the otherside; whereat his master burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter,and Crusoe immediately began barking vociferously.
"Come, come," said Dick, suddenly checking his mirth, "we mustn'tplay, pup, we must work."
Drawing a leathern mitten from his belt, the youth held it to Crusoe'snose, and then threw it a yard away, at the same time exclaiming in aloud, distinct tone, "Fetch it."
Crusoe entered at once into the spirit of this part of his training;he dashed gleefully at the mitten, and proceeded to worry it withintense gratification. As for "Fetch it," he neither understood thewords nor cared a straw about them.
Dick Varley rose immediately, and rescuing the mitten, resumed hisseat on a rock.
"Come here, Crusoe," he repeated.
"Oh! certainly, by all means," said Crusoe--no! he didn't exactly_say_ it, but really he _looked_ these words so evidently that wethink it right to let them stand as they are written. If he could havefinished the sentence, he would certainly have said, "Go on with thatgame over again, old boy; it's quite to my taste--the jolliest thingin life, I assure you!" At least, if we may not positively assert thathe would have said that, no one else can absolutely affirm that hewouldn't.
Well, Dick Varley did do it over again, and Crusoe worried the mittenover again, utterly regardless of "Fetch it."
Then they did it again, and again, and again, but without theslightest apparent advancement in the path of canine knowledge; andthen they went home.
During all this trying operation Dick Varley never once betrayed theslightest feeling of irritability or impatience. He did not expectsuccess at first; he was not therefore disappointed at failure.
Next day he had him out again--and the next--and the next--and thenext again, with the like unfavourable result. In short, it seemed atlast as if Crusoe's mind had been deeply imbued with the idea that hehad been born expressly for the purpose of worrying that mitten, andhe meant to fulfil his destiny to the letter.
Young Varley had taken several small pieces of meat in his pocket eachday, with the intention of rewarding Crusoe when he should at lengthbe prevailed on to fetch the mitten; but as Crusoe was not aware ofthe treat that awaited him, of course the mitten never was "fetched."
At last Dick Varley saw that this system would never do, so he changedhis tactics, and the next morning gave Crusoe no breakfast, but tookhim out at the usual hour to go through his lesson. This new course ofconduct seemed to perplex Crusoe not a little, for on his way down tothe beach he paused frequently and looked back at the cottage,and then expressively up at his master's face. But the master wasinexorable; he went on, and Crusoe followed, for _true_ love hadnow taken possession of the pup's young heart, and he preferred hismaster's company to food.
Varley now began by letting the learner smell a piece of meat, whichhe eagerly sought to devour, but was prevented, to his immensedisgust. Then the mitten was thrown as heretofore, and Crusoe made afew steps towards it, but being in no mood for play he turned back.
"Fetch it," said the teacher.
"I won't," replied the learner mutely, by means of that expressivesign--_not doing it_.
Hereupon Dick Varley rose, took up the mitten, and put it into thepup's mouth. Then, retiring a couple of yards, he held out the pieceof meat and said, "Fetch it."
Crusoe instantly spat out the glove and bounded towards the meat--oncemore to be disappointed.
This was done a second time, and Crusoe came forward _with the mittenin his mouth_. It seemed as if it had been done accidentally, for hedropped it before coming quite up. If so, it was a fortunate accident,for it served as the tiny fulcrum on which to place the point of thatmighty lever which was destined ere long to raise him to the pinnacleof canine erudition. Dick Varley immediately lavished upon him thetenderest caresses and gave him a lump of meat. But he quickly triedit again lest he should lose the lesson. The dog evidently felt thatif he did not fetch that mitten he should have no meat or caresses. Inorder, however, to make sure that there was no mistake, Dick laid themitten down beside the pup, instead of putting it into his mouth, and,retiring a few paces, cried, "Fetch it."
Crusoe looked uncertain for a moment, then he picked up the mitten andlaid it at his master's feet. The lesson was learned at last! DickVarley tumbled all the meat out of his pocket on the ground, and,while Crusoe made a hearty breakfast, he sat down on a rock andwhistled with glee at having fairly picked the lock, and opened_another_ door into one of the many chambers of his dog's intellect.