A Little Florida Lady

by Dorothy C. Paine

[Illustration: Harvey. (Illustration missing from book)]

Away bounded Don after it. He easily breasted the waves, and returned in triumph with the stick.

He did this time and again, much to Beth's delight.

"Say, Beth, let's try him from the end of the wharf. I wonder if he would dare jump in from there."

"I don't like to try. He might drown."

Harvey laughed the idea to scorn, and took a stick out to the end of the wharf. Beth and Don accompanied him. Don seemed anxious to have the stick thrown, for he watched it with glistening eyes. Harvey threw it. Don immediately jumped after it, and succeeded in swimming to shore with it. By this time, he was probably tired, for he did not return to the children, but lay down on the bank for a rest.

The boat had been left outside the boat house, tied to a stake of the wharf. Harvey eyed it longingly.

"I wish we could go rowing, Beth."

"So do I, but mamma said I couldn't. You wouldn't have me disobey her, would you?"

"Nobody has asked you to, has there? Say, Beth, she never said for you not to sit in the boat, did she?"

"No, but——"

"She said you couldn't row. Now, sitting in a boat that's tied isn't rowing, is it?"

"No, but——"

"Oh, come on, Beth. It's perfectly safe when it's tied."

She hesitated. Harvey was too much of a diplomat not to press his advantage.

"Now, Beth, I think you might. I wouldn't ask you to do anything your mamma didn't like. She won't mind, I know."

Still Beth was undecided.

"And, Beth, you ought to want to please me after I gave you Don."

This argument appealed to her. She wished to show her appreciation.

"All right, if you really think mamma wouldn't mind."

Harvey did not answer. He jumped down into the boat, and then helped Beth.

"Say, Beth, we'll play we're pirates. We're out in a storm, but we are pursuing that boat there."

"What boat?"

"Why, that one there. Don't you see that stick of wood? It carries chests of gold which we are after. Now sit down and we'll start the chase."

The younger pirate thereupon seated herself in the stern of the craft while its gallant commander took charge on the middle deck. He swayed from side to side. The boat rocked in a perilous manner. Sometimes the water even dashed over the pirates.

"Isn't it kind of dangerous, Harvey?" suggested the younger pirate.

"My name isn't Harvey. I'm Captain Kidd, and you must never speak to me without saluting,—so."

His self-importance caused him to move around more lively than ever, while the boat shipped water afresh.

"But isn't it dangerous, Har—, Captain Kidd?"

The captain again looked very self-important. "Pirates never think of danger. See how near we are to the English brig. Ha, ha, mate, the gold is ours. Steady now, mate, she's coming your way. When we are once alongside of her, you make a dive for her, and pinion her until I can rush to your assistance. Steady now."

Nearer and nearer floated the English boat, unconscious of danger. Perhaps the nature of the pirate craft was unsuspected. It floated no black flag.

The younger pirate grew excited over the nearness of the prize. She arose to her feet. Surely, it was within grasp now. Just as she was about to reach out for it, however, a wave took the English boat and started to carry it out of reach.

This made the younger pirate desperate. She leaned far out over the water. Suddenly, the commander cried out in fear:

"Beth, don't try. It's too far away."

His warning came too late. The younger pirate had already reached out for the English boat. A wave at that moment struck the pirate craft, and swayed it to one side. Over went the younger pirate into the water.

Fortunately, Beth got only a wetting. Before she was really in the water, Harvey had her by the dress. For a second or two, it seemed as if the boat would upset. But presently a wet, unhappy little girl stood shivering beside Harvey. Her teeth chattered from fright more than from cold.

"What'll mamma say?"

"I'll tell her it was all my fault."

"How good you are," and Beth edged up nearer to him.

"Stop dripping water all over me and come on."

They hurried towards the house, and circled around to the back entrance to escape Beth's mother.

The washerwoman, at the tubs on the kitchen porch, and Maggie were the only ones to see poor Beth. Maggie raised her arms skyward. "Laws a massa"—then she broke into hearty laughter. "I 'lows, Penny,"—the name of the washerwoman,—"hyere's moh washin' fur yo'. How yo' 'specs it'd be if we'd jes' run chile an' all frugh de wringer?"

Beth was too humiliated to say a word, and rushed up-stairs the back way.

When the affair was reported to Mrs. Davenport, she considered the situation well before seeing her little daughter.

Beth was getting to be a terrible tomboy, she thought, but she was growing strong physically with the outdoor life. And even while she did sometimes fall into danger, the same thing often occurred when mothers watched a child's every breath. Mrs. Davenport decided that the wiser way was to educate a child to be self-reliant and fearless, trusting to God's guardianship and protection.

She knew that in the years to come, Beth would learn the gentler graces, for she had a kindly heart; so, instead of punishing Beth, Mrs. Davenport had a long talk with her that did Beth a world of good. In fact, her mother's gentleness was an inspiration to right living all through her life.

CHAPTER VIII

Learning to Swim

Marian, Julia, Beth, Harvey, and Don were in bathing. The deep water enclosed by the walk and piling surrounding the boat house made a safe bathing place for them,—safe at least from the alligators, though the water was deep. Harvey and Don were the only ones in the party who knew how to swim.

The other children struggled hard to learn. Harvey was a very willing teacher, but did not know exactly how to impart his knowledge. He said:

"Why, it's very easy. See, you just have to start out like this, and there you are."

Thereupon, they started out as directed, but, alas, they were not there as he said. Their feet grew unaccountably light so that their heads disappeared under the water. However, they enjoyed even the ducking.

Don reveled in the water frolic as much, if not more, than any of them. He was ever ready to do the children's bidding, and ever kept a watchful eye on his charges. Beth, however, was his especial care. He seemed to feel an ownership for her.

Don, too, tried to encourage the children in their efforts to swim. He plunged out into deep water, and then looked persuasively back at the children nearer shore, as if to say:

"Follow me. It's really very easy."

Beth as usual proved the venturesome one, and started out after Don.

Mrs. Davenport, who was sitting on the wharf doing some fancy work and at the same time watching the children, called:

"Beth, do be careful or you'll get into trouble."

"Why, mamma, I am careful."

Mrs. Davenport again became absorbed in her work. Suddenly, she was startled by screams from the children. Above the other voices she heard Marian calling:

"Don, Don, save her."

Poor Mrs. Davenport sprang to her feet in a frenzy of terror. It was as she expected. She saw her beloved Beth sinking. She was so horrified that for a second or two she could not cry out.

Harvey was near Beth, but made no effort to rescue her.

"Harvey, Harvey," screamed Mrs. Davenport, "save her."

But even as she cried another was swimming to the rescue, and this was faithful Don. He had no idea of letting his beloved little mistress drown. He grabbed her by her bathing suit and swam towards the shore with her.

"Why, Mrs. Davenport, we didn't think you'd be frightened. It's only play," called Harvey.

How proud the delighted dog was. He thought he had really saved Beth's life. He did not know that she was just pretending for the fun of having him come to her.

Day after day, the children struggled to learn to swim, but with rather poor success.

At last, they thought of trying light logs to keep them up. This proved quite successful. They placed the log across their chests, and under their armpits, and then made their hands and feet go. This was quite like swimming. After a time they tried it even in the deep water inside the boat house.

One day Beth ran down ahead of the others. Don, for a wonder, was not with her that morning. She thought she would have some fun all by herself.

Her log was in the boat house. She fearlessly jumped into deep water with it, but somehow, she got beyond the range of the walk. In trying to paddle back to it, her log slipped away from her. Then she grew very much frightened.

It was a case of swim or sink. Terrified as she was, she had presence of mind to keep her hands and feet going. To her surprise, she did not sink. She had only a little ways to go and made it without very much effort.

When the other children came, she was all excitement.

"Just see. I can swim, I can swim."

Beth hastened to show off her wonderful accomplishment. She was disgusted when Harvey laughed at her.

"Why, Beth, you swim in regular dog fashion. You claw the water just like Don. You ought to go like this."

She tried striking out with her arms as he bid, but could not swim that way. Whereupon, she declared:

"I like swimming dog fashion best."

One evening Mr. Davenport came home and said:

"Mary, how would you like to go down to the seashore for a week?"

"And take us?" exclaimed Beth.

Mr. Davenport was in a teasing mood.

"I will take Marian because she has been good, but as to you, I must find out first from mamma if any bad girl has been around here lately. We can't take bad girls with us."

Beth held her breath for her mother's answer.

"Well, James, for a wonder we have had an unusually good girl here for the past week. If we go, she may go too."

Beth danced a jig in the intensity of her joy.

"Where are we going, papa?"

"Down to Fort George Island, which is at the mouth of the St. Johns. We will leave to-morrow morning. Can you be ready by that time, Mary?"

"I guess so."

Mrs. Davenport was accustomed to her husband's desire to start at a moment's notice. He had made a like suggestion many times before.

At Beth's earnest solicitation, she was allowed to take Don with her.

The next morning, when they boarded the boat for Fort George's, Beth was very much surprised to behold Julia.

"Why, Julia, how nice of you to come down to see us off, but how did you know we were going?"

"I didn't come to see you off; I'm going to Fort George, too. Your papa was over last night and persuaded papa and mamma to go."

"Oh goody, goody, goody."

Julia and Beth took possession of the boat from the first moment. They inspected it from one end to the other. They made friends with the captain and those under him. They went up even to the pilot house and helped run the boat, or, at least, they thought they were helping. The morning proved a very happy one for them.

The trip delighted their parents also. They were content to sit still and watch the St. Johns as it curved and widened on its course to the ocean. There is hardly a more picturesque river in America.

As they neared the sea, its briny odor was wafted to them by the breeze. Great sand dunes rose on both sides of the river.

Upon reaching Fort George, the Davenport party drove in the 'bus to the hotel, over the hardest of shell roads. Magnificent palms lined the way on both sides. All the foliage, in fact, was extremely luxuriant. The island was more tropical than anything that the Davenports had seen, so far, in Florida.

A gentleman in the 'bus proffered the information to Mr. Davenport that the island had once been visited by Talleyrand. He said it had been owned by French grandees who carried on an extensive slave trade from the island.

When questioned about the mounds of shells that are so numerous at Fort George, the gentleman explained that for many centuries the Indians had congregated on the island in oyster season, and held high festivals. They probably feasted on oysters and corn, and these mounds were the result.

The week that followed was one of almost unalloyed bliss to Julia and Beth. They got into very little mischief, although they simply lived out of doors, and up in the trees.

Each morning, a number of the people from the hotel went in surf bathing. Beth was always one of the party. Mrs. Davenport did not care to go in, but she generally sat on the beach and watched the bathers.

Since Beth had learned how to swim, she caused her mother much anxiety. She was very venturesome, and would often swim far out beyond her depth.

Don did not enjoy salt water as much as he did fresh, and therefore he often rested beside Mrs. Davenport.

One morning only children went in bathing. All the men were away fishing, and the women did not care for the sport. Mrs. Davenport was unusually anxious, and she warned Beth to stay near shore with the other children. Beth obeyed pretty well at first, but before she knew it she was out where the water was over her head.

"Beth, it's time to come in," called her mother.

Beth raised her head and spurted out some water.

"Why, mamma, I'm coming."

"No, you're not. You're going out," and Mrs. Davenport sprang to her feet in sudden terror.

"Why, mamma, I'm swimming as hard as ever I can."

In fact, Beth was trying her very best to reach shore, but notwithstanding her desperate efforts, she was slowly but surely drifting out to sea. One of those treacherous undertows that abound on the Florida coast had her in its deadly power.

Mark Charlesworth, one of the boys, rushed to the side of Beth's mother.

"Oh, Mrs. Davenport, she'll surely drown unless some one saves her. A boy was drowned just that way last winter."

Mrs. Davenport was almost frenzied. She could not swim and she knew that personally she could not rescue her child. She looked in vain for assistance.

The other children had come from the water, and rushed frantically up and down the beach wringing their hands in terror.

Beth realized that her position was critical, and she struck out with such desperate energy that soon she felt her strength failing her. Terror seized upon her so that she feared she could not keep up another instant.

"Mamma," she screamed, "I'm sinking."

Mrs. Davenport's heart grew leaden. Was there no hope for her child? Must she stand helpless and see her drown? No, no, there must be some way of saving her. She would not despair.

"Dearie, don't give out," she cried; "mamma will save you."

The words strengthened Beth to strive anew. At this instant, Mrs. Davenport's eye rested upon Don lying fast asleep in the shade. Her heart seemed to jump into her mouth in the intensity of a new hope.

"Don, Don, go to Beth," she cried.

But Don would not heed. He did not realize the danger. He was tired and wished to sleep.

"Beth, call Don."

Beth who was drifting farther and farther away heard, and yelled:

"Don, Don."

The dog immediately pricked up his ears. Then he jumped to his feet.

"Don, Don."

At that second appeal, he bounded into the water.

Mrs. Davenport felt like falling on her knees in thanksgiving.

"Dearie, don't give up. Don's coming."

Beth heard and her strength revived sufficiently for her to struggle afresh against that terrible undertow.

The big waves swirled around Don who swam directly towards Beth.

Mrs. Davenport's heart almost stood still while her anxious eyes kept watch on her struggling child and the noble dog.

"Thank God, the eddy has Don too in its wake and is helping him on to my child. Beth's strength again seems to be failing. Will she be able to hold out? On, Don, on. Supposing he cannot make it. Supposing the child sinks before he reaches her?" These seconds of watching seemed an eternity to the frantic mother.

"Thank God, he is almost within reach of her. Bravo, Don, bravo. He has Beth fast by the bathing suit. Brave, brave dog. Now he has headed towards shore. Will he ever be able to make it with that awful undertow to work against besides the extra precious burden he carries? How heroically he struggles. Oh, noble, noble Don, you will save her yet, and keep a mother's heart from breaking. Yes, he is slowly but surely making headway against the eddying waters. Now, now, his feet surely touch bottom. Yes, and Beth knows it and struggles to her feet. Thank God, she is still conscious."

Though Beth was very much frightened, she was in no way harmed by her watery experience, and rushed straight to her mother's open arms, both unmindful of the wetting Mrs. Davenport received.

Don pricked up his ears, and wagged his tail from side to side. He could not understand why they did not notice him immediately as they had done before when he rescued Beth. Really, it was enough to ruffle the patience of any dog. He barked to attract attention. Thereupon, Mrs. Davenport turned to him, and patted him while tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Yes, Don, we know what a very noble fellow you are, and love you with all our hearts. We'll never forget what you've done."

Beth said nothing, but patted Don who expressed his appreciation as best he could by licking Beth's hands and face. If he could have talked, he would have said:

"Little mistress, I'm so glad I could show my love for you. I do dearly love you all, and am thankful that I saved you. Life with you is better than it was at sea. I will always be faithful to you."

This narrow escape of Beth's made Mrs. Davenport wish to return home. She said she would not stay with the children where the water was treacherous. The following day, therefore, they all returned to Jacksonville.

CHAPTER IX

The Little Dressmaker

It must not be imagined that Beth always romped. Although she was a tomboy, she was a very industrious little girl. She did not go to school the first year she was in Florida, and on rainy days she learned how to sew.

Mr. Davenport started a bank in Jacksonville, and soon after was elected president of the State's fair. He was a liberal-minded citizen, and therefore accepted the position, wishing to advance the standard of Florida exhibits.

Beth became interested in the undertaking. She asked to enter the lists herself and compete for prizes.

Mr. Davenport thought it an excellent idea that children should be encouraged to exhibit, and therefore offered prizes for juvenile displays.

Beth decided to make a dress all by herself. Her mother suggested that she was rather young for such a big undertaking, and that, perhaps, she had better first dress a doll, but Beth would not listen to such a thing.

Mrs. Davenport, therefore, bought the material and a pattern, and gave them to Beth. She offered to cut out the dress, but Beth thought that this would not be honorable nor fair. She must do it all by herself. Mrs. Davenport admired the spirit, and encouraged it in her, although she feared she might make a failure.

Beth, however, had one great quality of success,—perseverance. She would never give up anything in which she was interested, until she had succeeded. For the next three days, she could not be enticed from her work.

"Beth, please, come with me," begged Harvey, who came quite regularly to persuade her from her undertaking. But she was deaf to all persuasion. Julia had no better success, and it ended by Beth infecting Julia with the sewing fever. Julia brought material for a dress over to the Davenports' and went to work on it. She sewed faithfully for an hour or two, and then jumped up in disgust.

"Oh, botheration, Beth; I can't get the horrid thing right, and I'm not going to try."

"Let me help you, Julia. Maybe we'll get prizes."

"Oh, bother prizes. Let's quit."

"No, I'm going to finish this dress. Please stay and sew with me."

"If I do, what will you do for me?"

"Anything you want me to."

"All right then, I'll stay, but when you've finished, you have to go up in a tree with me and spend the night. We'll be like the captive princess."

They had just finished a fairy tale of a princess confined in a tower which she never left during many years. The tower was well provisioned so that she did not starve.

"It'll be great fun," continued Julia. "We'll take plenty of food up with us. I'm so glad you promised to go."

"May I tell mamma about it?"

"No."

"Then I won't go. I know mamma wouldn't like it, Julia, and it's wrong to worry her."

"And it's downright wicked to break one's word. You aren't going to be wicked, are you?"

Beth looked worried. "Please don't ask me to play princess, Julia."

"But you just have to, Beth; that's all there is about it."

This was Julia's ultimatum. She persisted in remaining with Beth until the dress was finished, although, she, herself, did comparatively little sewing. She even stayed nights at the Davenports for fear Beth would betray her secret.

Beth worked so steadily that Mrs. Davenport feared that she would make herself sick, and was glad when finally Beth jumped up and said:

"There, mamma, it's finished. Buttonholes and all. I guess it's all right, isn't it?"

The dress was very creditably made for so young a girl. Mrs. Davenport was justly proud of it and of Beth.

"Mrs. Davenport," began Julia, "can't Beth stay all night with me?"

"Yes, I'll be glad to have her out of doors. Run along, Beth."

Beth, however, held back. "I'd rather stay with you, mamma."

"Why, child, what is the matter?"

"Oh, she's just tired from this everlasting sewing, Mrs. Davenport;" and then Julia whispered to Beth, "You're not going to be wicked and break your word, are you? I'll never speak to you again if you don't come."

Thus pressed, Beth reluctantly kissed her mother and departed.

"We'll go over to my house, and get enough food for supper and breakfast."

Away they hurried to the Gordons. Julia robbed the larder to quite an extent.

"Mamma, I'm going back to Beth's. You don't mind, do you?"

"No."

Thereupon, avoiding observation, they ran back to Beth's. They selected a grand water oak with immense spreading branches that would effectually screen them from view. Besides, it was quite a ways from the house, which suited Julia's purpose.

Julia, carrying the provisions, scrambled up into the tree as nimbly as a squirrel, crying:

"Isn't this the grandest fortress you ever did see?"

Beth was too busy climbing to answer. She was a natural born climber, but she lacked practice. Besides, her plumpness would prevent her from ever being quite as agile as Julia.

"This will be my bedroom. See, I do not have to build any bed. These branches and leaves make a perfect resting-place," declared Julia.

"Yes, but suppose you fell asleep and rolled out. You'd break your neck."

"I don't roll out of bed at home, and I'm not going to here."

"But I do, and I don't want to break my neck. I guess I'll stay awake all night, but I'll lie down."

As Beth spoke, she lay back on some inviting looking branches. Their appearance, however, proved deceitful. They were not as strong as they looked, and she came very near having the tumble that she dreaded. Luckily, however, she caught on to a strong branch, and with Julia's assistance was soon in comparative safety.

"I guess I'd better sit up all the time."

"I reckon you'll do nothing of the sort. I'll tell you what: You may have my bedroom, and I'll find another higher up."

Although Beth was still trembling from the narrowness of her escape, she did not wish to take advantage of Julia's generosity, but the latter insisted.

Thus persuaded, Beth, cautiously this time, tried reclining on the branches. She found that they really made a delightful bed.

"It is beautiful, Julia. Why, I don't believe I should be afraid to sleep here. These limbs would keep me from falling."

"And here is another bed just as good. You see I'm right across the hall from you. I didn't have to go to the next floor as I feared at first. It's nicer being near each other, isn't it, Beth?"

"Yes, much nicer, but wouldn't you rather have this room, Julia? It is so lovely."

"No, it isn't. Mine is best. I can look way up to the sky."

"Why, that isn't nice at all. I wouldn't sleep in a room without a roof. Mine has a roof painted green."

"I don't care, mine's nicer."

"No, it isn't. Mine is."

Whereupon they had a fuss, such as all children sometimes have. They declared that "they didn't like each other," and that one was "hateful" and the other "too mean to live," and that "they'd never speak again."

In a minute or two after, they were talking as lively as two young magpies. They had figuratively kissed and made up.

"Now," said Julia, "I'm going to draw the portcullis so we can never go down unless some one comes to release us."

"I don't care to stay here always."

"We're only playing, goosie, but you have to stay until morning because you promised."

After that one thrust, Julia relented and tried to be as nice as she possibly could, and Beth had such a good time that her conscience stopped troubling her.

The minutes passed so quickly that they both were surprised to see how low the sun was. The captive ladies decided it was time to eat supper, so they divided supplies, using their laps as tables.

Beth, the unfortunate, had not taken a mouthful when a great pinching bug dropped on her head. She jumped to her feet screaming, and her supper was all scattered to the ground. She decided to go after it.

"Where are you going, Beth?"

"After my supper."

"But the portcullis is drawn."

"I'm going to have my supper, portcullis or no portcullis."

Already it was growing so dark that objects were becoming indistinguishable. Suddenly Beth uttered a cry.

"What's the matter?"

"I,—I thought it was a bear. It's only Don, however, and he's eaten up all my supper, the mean thing, and now he's run away."

"Never mind, Beth. You can have half of mine."

They ate their scanty meal in silence. It was growing so dark that immediately after supper they went to bed.

Neither of the children felt comfortable, but neither would own it.

"Isn't this heaps of fun, Beth?"

"Yes, heaps, Julia."

Then each of them let a great sigh escape. Silence prevailed for awhile. All the world seemed asleep. Such stillness was terrifying to the children.

"Are you asleep, Julia?"

"No, but I thought you were."

Again they were quiet until it had grown pitch dark.

"I can't sleep."

"Neither can I, but it's fun, isn't it?"

"It's a sperience, Julia."

Again two great sighs, and then quiet once more.

Suddenly, there was a hoot right above them. Julia and Beth both gave such a start that they almost tumbled out of the tree. Then two scared whispers were heard:

"What was that?"

"I don't know."

Another hoot.

"I wish we were together, Julia."

"So do I. Say, Beth, I believe there's room for you here with me. Let's try it."

"I'm afraid to come."

"Don't be a 'fraid cat."

"I'm not, only——" For the third time that melancholy hoot above them.

"Julia, come to me."

"I won't do it. I spoke first You come here."

Solitude was so terrifying that Beth risked the trip across for companionship. Fortunately, the hoot did not occur during her trip to Julia, or she would probably have landed on the ground.

The space proved rather narrow, and rather perilous for two, but Beth and Julia snuggled together very close.

Soon the hooting began again, and continued at regular intervals.

"I believe it's a hoot-owl."

"So it is."

Although they knew it was only an owl, the melancholy cry was neither conducive to sleep nor to high spirits. The children found it decidedly depressing. They talked awhile in whispers. The sound of one's own voice even is startling in such a situation. Very often they sighed, and sometimes there was a pensive quietness broken only by the hoot-owl.

"What time do you s'pose it is, Julia?"

"I think it must be twelve at least. They're not coming for us to-night. They've forgotten us."

Their parents had not forgotten them, but when meal-time came and they did not appear, the Davenports supposed they were over at the Gordons', and the Gordons thought they were at the Davenports'. The children often stayed for meals without asking, and so neither family worried.

About half-past eight the Gordons decided to go and bring Julia home. When they walked in at the Davenports, the first question asked them was:

"Why did you not bring the children with you?"

"The children? Why, they are here, are they not?"

Anxiety immediately possessed every one present. Mrs. Davenport's first thought was of the river, and her heart became leaden. She gave voice to her fear.

"Nonsense," answered Mr. Davenport decidedly, although he himself was not so sure as he seemed; "they are not drowned."

With lanterns to aid them, a search was begun through the grounds.

Two scared little girls presently saw lights flitting like fireflies below them.

"Perhaps it's burglars."

"Or—or the Prince to rescue us."

"I don't want any Prince; Julia. I want my mamma. I'm tired of being a Princess. I want to go home. Let's call."

"But what if they are burglars."

"Burglars don't carry lights, do they?"

Then they heard voices calling:

"Julia, Beth."

"Here we are, papa. Here, up in this big tree."

This answer brought relief to many hearts. Even Julia was not sorry to descend again to earth, and be once more an ordinary girl. Romance is not always as pleasant as being practical. Let children who are inclined to run away from home, remember this.

CHAPTER X

The Horse Race

"I'm going to double the recipe, Maggie."

"Law, honey, yo' hadn't best. I 'lows it's more partickiler to get good dat way."

"I can't help it. I want plenty of it so the judges can all have a taste. They'll be sure to give me a prize."

Beth had on an apron in which she was almost lost. In her hand, she held an open cook book from which she read:

"'The whites of five eggs.' Twice five is ten. Give me ten eggs, Maggie."

The good-natured Maggie counted out the desired number.

"I'll break dem for yo', honey."

"No, Maggie, I must do it every bit myself or it wouldn't be fair. Oh, dear me. The yolk has got into this one so it's no good. Another egg, please, Maggie."

All ten of the whites were finally in one dish. Beth tried to beat them and spattered them not only over herself but over the pantry floor.

"Whites of eggs are very slippery, Maggie."

"I wouldn't beat more'n half at a time, honey."

Beth accepted the suggestion and succeeded in getting a good stiff froth from the eggs. Next, she measured out the other ingredients. She tried to be careful, but somehow she spilled flour not only over the pantry floor but also over herself.

"Beth, you are a powdered beauty," called a boyish voice from the open pantry door.

"Why, Harvey, where did you come from?"

"Oh, I came to see you, and your mother told me I'd find you here. What are you making?"

"Wait until I put this pan in the oven, and I'll tell you all about it. Maggie," added Beth to the cook, "you're not to peep at my cake even. Promise me."

"Law, honey, I won't even go into the kitchen if yo' don't want me to. I'll stay here in de pantry until yo' calls me, but I fear you'll forget it."

"No, indeed, I won't."

The precious cake was consigned to the oven, and then Beth joined Harvey on the piazza.

"I've made an angel's cake, Harvey, and I'm going to get a prize for it. Mamma says the only way to learn to cook is just to cook."

All this time, Harvey had been holding one hand behind him. Beth now noticed that he was hiding something.

"What have you there?" she asked.

Harvey looked bashful. "Well, ever since I came so near burning you up, I've been saving my money to buy you a present, and here it is."

Beth drew in her breath at sight of a beautiful dog collar. "Oh, it's for Don, and what's this mark on it? 'Don. Owned by Beth Davenport.' Oh, it's too lovely for anything. Where is Don? I must try it on him."

The prize cake was all forgotten. Away she and Harvey scampered.

Don was out near the stable. The collar fitted him exactly, and the children talked and admired it for some time.

Suddenly Beth gasped, "Oh, my cake," and ran as fast as she could back to the kitchen.

Upon opening the oven, an avalanche of smoke came forth. The cake was burned to charcoal.

The heart-broken little cook sat down on the floor and cried bitterly. Maggie stuck her head through the pantry window.

"For de law's sake—dat beau'ful cake. I knew I jes' ought to have 'tended it."

"Maggie, Maggie, why didn't you tell me it was time to look at it?"

"Sure, honey, didn't yo' tol' me I must have nuffin to do with it?"

"Yes, but——" the sentence ended in sobs.

"Never mind, Beth," said Harvey; "Maggie will make you another, won't you, Maggie?"

"I don't want her to make me another. I was going to take a prize with this one, and the judges won't give prizes for burnt cake, boo-hoo."

Suddenly Beth resolved not to cry over spilt milk. She jumped to her feet.

"Harvey, run away. I'm going to make another cake, and I won't let it burn. I'll get the prize yet."

Harvey reluctantly departed. Beth immediately went to work and made another. When once it was in the oven, she watched it so carefully that Maggie feared it would be spoiled by overzeal. For a wonder, it was a great success. A professional cook could not have made a better-looking cake.

By this time, it was growing so late that Beth did not wait to make frosting.

She took her dress and cake over to the Fair building, which was about a quarter of a mile from her home. She was in plenty of time to make her entries.

Dollie was grazing in the pasture when Beth returned. This reminded her of her great desire to ride Dollie, so she called the horse to her, and she came running at the call. Dollie was always sure of sugar from Beth.

Beth put her hand up against the horse and whispered:

"I wish I might ride you, Dollie. I know I could. I'll go and ask mamma if I may."

Away ran Beth to her mother.

"Mamma, may I ride Dollie this morning?"

"No, dear, I'm going to use Dollie myself. I'm going to get Mrs. Corner, who is to spend the day with me. We are going to the races this afternoon."

"Won't you bring Laura back, too?"

"She probably can't come. She goes to school, you know."

"Mamma, will you let me ride Dollie sometime?"

"Yes, dear, sometime, but don't tease now."

Beth took this as a decided promise. She told Maggie, January, Harvey, and Julia that she was to ride Dollie; that her mamma had said so. She did nothing but talk about the matter the whole morning.

Mrs. Davenport returned with Mrs. Corner in time for luncheon. About two o'clock Beth ran into the library where her mother and her guest were having a cozy chat before starting for the races. She had thought so much about her ride that she took it for granted that Mrs. Davenport must know her thoughts.

"Mamma, I'm going now. May I?"

At this particular moment the conversation between the two women was especially absorbing so that Mrs. Davenport hardly heeded Beth.

"May I, mamma?"

Mrs. Davenport glanced towards her for a second. She took it for granted that Beth wished to play with either Julia or Harvey.

"All right. Run along, dear."

In the seventh heaven of happiness, Beth skipped up-stairs.

She decided that it would never do to ride in an ordinary dress, and believed that her mother would not object if she borrowed her riding habit. Beth knew just where to find it. The skirt was one of those now old-fashioned affairs that almost swept the ground even on a grown-up person.

However, Beth was not to be daunted. She heroically jumped into the skirt, but found that the belt was almost twice too large for her. This necessitated the use of a safety pin. She took a step towards the bureau, and fell sprawling over the floor, tangled in yards of trailing skirt. She tried to rise, and tripped again. For a moment, she rested on the floor, thinking to herself that it must be a much harder matter to manage a habit than a horse. Then, gathering up the unruly skirt in both hands, she managed to reach the bureau where she pinned the skirt tightly around her. But even now her troubles were not over.

The waist proved almost as big a problem as the skirt. She buttoned it on over her own dress, but even then it was about twice too large for her.

She looked at herself in a glass, and burst forth into hearty peals of laughter.

"I declah"—already she pronounced "declare" almost like the darkies—"I feel like a cat dressed up in clothes. It can't move without tumbling all over itself, and neither can I."

She held up her arms and flapped them. They were almost lost in the voluminous sleeves. Her hands were not to be seen at all.

"I never can manage a horse without hands," she murmured.

She overcame this difficulty by pinning up the bothersome sleeves.

Next, she jammed her mother's riding hat down on her curls. It, too, was much too large for her, and had some blond frizzes sewn across the front of it. The hat with its false front added the finishing touch of rakishness to Beth. She, however, was as proud as a peacock over her attire.

As fast as her awkward skirt would allow, she hurried in search of January.

He was very much amused over her appearance.

"Missy, I declah, yo' looks like a rag bag dat needs some rags to fill it out. Whaffor don't yo' get chuck full of somethin'?"

She would not heed such remarks, but said with great dignity:

"I wish the saddle put on Dollie."

"I'm skeered yo'r maw won't like me to."

"But she told me I might ride."

Still January hesitated.

"I dunno as I kin kotch Dollie."

"You can try. Hurry, January."

For once Dollie was easily caught and saddled. January helped Beth to mount. Nobody but him saw the start. He was so much interested that he walked down as far as the gate and opened it.

Dollie did not seem to wish to go for Beth, but the latter settled the question with a switch cut by January. She headed Dollie in the direction of the Fair grounds.

There was more driving than usual on the shell road, because of the Fair and the races. Many a person turned, stared, and smiled to see that quaint little figure on Dollie going along so primly.

A young lady, a cousin of Beth's, was spending the winter in Jacksonville that year, and was very popular in society. On this particular afternoon she, too, was driving on the shell road and chanced upon Beth. She and her escort laughed so heartily over the child's ludicrous appearance that Beth, at first, was inclined to be offended. However, she drew Dollie up alongside of the carriage.

"Are you laughing because we're going slow? I'm not a bit afraid. Say, Cousin Lulu, would you like to have a race with me?"

Lulu and her escort laughed harder than ever. Beth tried to look more dignified.

"I bet I could beat you, Cousin Lulu. Are you afraid I would? Come on and try."

The young man in the carriage leaned forward.

"Do you ride well enough for that?"

"Of course, I do."

This was hardly true, as she had never ridden at a fast pace in her life. She did not think it necessary to own to this, however.

The young man was highly amused.

"Well, little lady, we'll try your skill. If you reach the Fair grounds gate before we do, I'll give you a box of candy. Now when I count three and say go, we'll both start. Now one, two, three, go."

Beth gave Dollie a cut with the switch. She was bound to win that box of candy.

Dollie, surprised by the sudden blow, leaped forward, almost unseating Beth who, however, managed in some way not to fall.

The young man had a fine horse which also started forward at a good fast pace, and soon nosed ahead of his rival.

Dollie, not to be outdone, quickened her gait. Both horses began to feel the contagion of the race, especially Dollie who had been, as January said, a race horse in her day. Her mouth tightened on the bit.

Beth's blood quickened too. After she found she could cling on, she was not a particle frightened but began to enjoy the sport.

The young man turned to Lulu, saying:

"She does well for such a little thing, doesn't she?"

He touched his horse with the whip. It went faster. Whereupon Dollie took the bit so completely that Beth had no control over her. Her racing blood was thoroughly aroused, and it would have taken an extremely strong hold to quiet her. She simply flew, and Beth began to be scared. The words of January flashed through her mind: "She'll go so fast, you'll wish you hadn't got on her."

Nose to nose the horses sped over the hard shell road. The situation grew critical for Beth.

She wondered what her mother would say if she were thrown and her lifeless body were carried home.

"She will be so sorry that she scolded me yesterday. I wish I could tell her that I know I deserved it. I don't want to die."

The world seemed more beautiful than ever now that death seemed near her.

"Whoa, Dollie, whoa," she cried.

But Dollie paid not the slightest attention. With head curved well down she sped as fast as in her palmiest racing days. Slowly but surely she forged ahead of her fast rival.

"The horse is running away with the child. Stop her, stop her," cried Cousin Lulu in alarm.

Her warning came too late.

They were now opposite the Fair grounds, which had a very high fence surrounding them. There were two gates, one for pedestrians and the other for carriages.

Dollie swerved in at the foot passageway and her helpless rider could not stop her. People scattered in every direction before the runaway horse. Even the gate-keeper stepped aside, dropping his tickets in his fright.

"Oh, what shall we do? She'll surely be killed. She'll be dragged from her horse. Her dress has caught on the gate," cried Cousin Lulu with her heart in her mouth.

Beth let go the reins and held with one hand to the saddle pommel, and with the other to Dollie's mane. This saved her. Her skirt tore loose from the gate. Onward flew horse and child.

Cousin Lulu and her escort hastened after through the driveway. Far ahead of them they saw Dollie and Beth flying towards the race track with lightning speed.

Mr. Davenport chanced to come from the Fair building at this very minute.

"Oh, Uncle James," screamed Lulu, "Dollie is running away with Beth."

He hardly understood, but saw the runaway horse now nearing the race track and hastened after it.

With the long memory of a horse, Dollie recognized the track as a scene of bygone triumphs, and made straight for it. No rider urged her on as of old, no rivals were by her side; but Dollie of her own accord started around that course at a breakneck speed with a little girl clinging wildly to her mane.

People were already gathering on the grandstand and they held their breath for very fear, Beth held hers also. Dollie needed all of her breath for her solitary run. On, on, she flew. Beth clung closer, while people sprang to their feet in their anxiety over the outcome.

By this time Beth was hatless. Her long curls and the clumsy torn skirt were flying backwards.

On, on they came. People leaned far over the stand. Jockeys ran out on the track. One of them cried enthusiastically:

"It is a beautiful run if only the little one isn't killed."

Dollie in truth was making a wonderful run for a horse that had no competition. With long swinging strides she came around the track, and her speed remained unabated. If people had not been so fearful for the child's life, some one might have thought to time Dollie, and it is very probable that it would then have been proved that she was fully equaling her record if she was not breaking it.

Mr. Davenport ran up the track in an agony of fear, ready to head off the runaway animal if it seemed advisable. The jockeys followed in his wake.

"That is the child's father. How terrible it must be for him," said some of the spectators.

Dollie's speed remained unabated.

When she was three-quarters of the way around, Mr. Davenport was almost within hailing distance of his brave little girl who still clung to the excited horse.

Mr. Davenport was undecided whether to try to stop the horse or not, for fear a sudden stop might unseat his child.

Beth saw her father and grew excited.

"Oh, papa," she cried, taking her hand from the pommel to wave it to him.

The action came near being fatal. Dollie was making the curve. Beth swayed, and Mr. Davenport and many another spectator shuddered, fearing she would be dashed to death. She, however, proved a better rider than they expected. She was growing accustomed to the rapid motion of the horse, and gained confidence thereby. She straightened herself, clinging with one hand and gathering up the reins that had been hanging loose, with the other. Then she pulled on them again, crying:

"Whoa, Dollie, whoa."

Dollie perhaps was tiring of her mad run, for she heeded the frantic appeal. Gently as any well-regulated machinery, she slackened speed.

Delighted at the success of her horsemanship, Beth repeated the action, crying:

"Whoa—nice Dollie." Then in a tumult of relief she shouted:

"Hurrah, I'm not going to die after all."

People on the grandstand heard the sweet childish cry of joy and saw Dollie a moment after come to a standstill. Instantly a wild outburst of enthusiasm followed. People clapped and stamped wildly, shouting themselves hoarse. Mr. Davenport, too agitated for speech, rushed up to Beth, and clasped her close to his heart. The jockeys clustered around, and they too clapped their hands in approval.

"Why are all the people shouting?" asked Beth.

Mr. Davenport gave her a convulsive hug and answered:

"They are shouting for you, my dear."

For a few seconds Beth was quite overcome, and then she whispered to her father:

"I guess they're not shouting for me, but for Dollie. I didn't really want her to go so fast, but I couldn't stop her at first. In fact, I thought I was going to be killed, sure. I am very, very glad I was not thrown."

If she was glad, Mr. Davenport was more so, but he was still too overcome to say much. Beth was rather surprised to have him hug and kiss her so often, for generally he was not a demonstrative man.

Presently Beth said:

"Papa, I know how to ride now, don't I? And say, papa, I won a box of candy from Cousin Lulu's beau."

One of the jockeys heard her. He grinned his approval and said:

"She's got pluck enough to be one of us. I reckon she's born with a liking for horses. My, didn't the old mare go!"

CHAPTER XI

Don Meets a Sad Fate

Marian and Beth were getting ready for bed. Marian looked tragic. She brushed her hair so energetically that it seemed as if she must be pulling it out by the handfuls. Suddenly, she threw down the brush, and clasped her hands dramatically.

"I simply must have the money."

Beth, interested, looked up at her,

"What's the matter, Marian? I thought you had plenty of money. You've been saving your allowance for weeks to spend at the Fair."

"So I have, but I lost my pocketbook with every bit of the money at the Fair to-day."

"Why, Marian Davenport," Beth gasped.

Marian burst into tears. Beth rushed up to her sister and threw her arms around her neck.

"I'm awfully sorry, Marian."

Marian brushed the tears away and continued:

"I hate to have papa and mamma think me so dreadfully careless, so I'm not going to let them know, but I've just got to have some money. Beth, won't you lend me part of yours? I'll pay you just as soon as I can get some more."

Beth hung her head. "I'm awfully sorry, but I've spent all my money."

Marian looked at her in surprise. "Why, Beth Davenport, how is that?"

Beth seated herself upon the floor. "Well, Marian, you know both you and I decided to buy mamma's birthday present before the Fair began for fear we wouldn't have anything left to buy it with. Well, after that I had only a dollar."

"But that dollar was to last you all the week."

Beth took down a brush and brushed out the snarls while she talked.

"Yes, I know it was, but you see, Marian, Julia and Harvey were with me to-day. They were my guests. Papa gave me the tickets to take them. Well, it was dreadfully hot, and we did want some ice cream awfully, so I asked them to have some. There was thirty cents gone."

Marian looked judicial. "Well, what about the other seventy?"

Beth brushed snarls so vigorously that she winced once or twice.

"Well, you may think me dreadfully foolish, but I invited them to the Punch and Judy show. That took thirty cents more."

"Well, but you still should have forty cents."

Beth stopped brushing and clasped her hands.

"Well, I just couldn't help it. I—well, this is how it happened. You know papa gave Gustus tickets for the Fair for himself, his brothers and sisters, and mamma let him have the afternoon off. Well, just as we came out of the Punch and Judy show we met them. You know mamma gives Gustus clothes, but the others looked dreadfully ragged. I stopped and spoke to them and asked them if they were going into the show. Marian, tears came into Gustus's eyes, as he said, 'Missy Beth, the likes of us don't go to shows. I'se never been to a show in my life.'"

"Never been to a show in his life? How was that, Beth?"

"That was just what I asked him, Marian. I knew mamma paid him for waiting on us. He told me that he took all his money to his mother. Marian, I just couldn't help it. I spent my last forty cents for four Punch and Judy tickets for four of them, and Harvey and Julia bought some for the others. Do you think we were foolish?"

Marian hesitated for an instant.

"I suppose I should have done the same thing in your place. I am awfully sorry, though, you haven't any money to lend me."

"Maybe my dress and cake will take prizes. Then I'll have some to lend you."

Beth could hardly wait for the last day of the exhibition to see if she would be awarded any prize. She thought that nothing could mar her happiness if she received one.

The prices were decided upon on Friday night, but were not to be made public until Saturday morning. Beth was up bright and early, therefore, on Saturday. She was all impatience to be through breakfast that she might learn her fate, but she found that she might as well possess her soul in patience, as Maggie proved provoking, and would not hurry in the least.

To pass away the time, Beth hunted up Don. At sight of her, he barked and wagged his tail. She threw her arms about his neck. "Yes, Don, I know you're glad to see me, and I love you with all my heart. Come on and we'll have a play."

But, for some unaccountable reason, he did not seem ready for a frolic. As soon as she let go of him, he walked back by the stable and lay down.

"Come on, Don," she called coaxingly.

He did not budge. She stamped her foot impatiently.

"Oh, everybody's provoking this morning. You're horrid and mean, Don, and I don't believe I love you, after all."

He looked up at this. His gaze seemed a reproach to her, but she grew only the crosser.

"Oh, you needn't be looking that way at me. You're lazy, and you know it. If you were sorry, you'd play with me. No, I don't love you one little bit."

She walked back to the house, and then sulked until the breakfast gong sounded.

To make up for being somewhat late, Maggie had prepared an extra fine meal. Mr. and Mrs. Davenport and even Marian proved unusually talkative that morning, and they started their breakfast very happily. Beth, too, could not withstand the general good humor, and soon her spirits began to rise. She said, however:

"Do you know, that horrid old Don would not play with me this morning. He——"

At that instant, January came running up on the piazza, where they were eating breakfast.

"Missy Beth," he cried, "come quick; Don acts mighty queer. 'Pears like he's dying."

Not only Beth, but Mr. and Mrs. Davenport and Marian jumped up from the table and ran out to the barn.

They found the noble dog where Beth had left him. He was, in truth, in the very throes of death.

Beth fell on her knees beside him, and lifted his head upon her lap. Tears were streaming from her eyes so that she could hardly see him.

"Don," she cried, "you know I didn't mean it. You know I love you."

His fast glazing eye brightened momentarily at the sound of her voice. If he could have spoken, he would have said:

"Little mistress, I never doubted your love. I wasn't lazy. You know now why I wouldn't play."

"Oh, we must do something for him. It would break my heart if he died," cried poor Beth.

"I'm skeered it's too late, but mebbe, if I fotch," began January. But Don, with one long, loving look at Beth, gave up his breath with a gasp, stretching out in the rigidity of death.

"It is too late," said Mr. Davenport huskily.

"No, no, no," cried Beth; "God wouldn't be so cruel as to let him die. Don, look at me. Dear old doggie, I love you, I love you."

But Don was beyond range of her call. Mrs. Davenport and Marian were crying softly, too, and there were tears even in the eyes of Mr. Davenport and January.

"You'se breakfasts all gettin' cole," called Maggie, not knowing of the trouble.

"Food would choke me," declared Marian.

"I couldn't eat either. Do you want anything, James?" asked Mrs. Davenport.

"No,—I'm not hungry now," there was a break in Mr. Davenport's voice.

"Clear off the table, Maggie. Don is dead."

"Don dead?" cried Maggie, running out, "Why what am de mattah?"

"I 'lows he got hole some of de rat pizen," said January.

At sight of Beth's intense grief, Maggie's heart melted.

"Dar, dar, honey, don't yo' cry. Yo'se pah'll get you anoder dog."

"I don't want another dog. I—want—my—Don. I want him, I'll never be happy again," and Beth cried so hard that Mr. Davenport tried to comfort her.

"Beth," he said, "I have some news that will make you happy. I knew all about it last night, but I wouldn't tell you because I wanted you to find it out for yourself. Both your dress and cake have taken prizes—first prizes at that."

Her sobs did not lessen in the least. She hid her face on her father's shoulder and murmured:

"A hundred prizes wouldn't make up for dear old Don,—my dear old doggie who saved my life."

CHAPTER XII

The Arrival of Duke

The death of Don so preyed upon Beth's spirits, that one night Mrs. Davenport took her in her arms and said:

"Do you remember that once when I was sad about something, you slipped your arms around my neck and asked, 'Mamma, what makes you think of the unpleasant things? why don't you just think of the nice things? That's the way I do.'"

"Did I say that really?"

Mrs. Davenport smiled at the mournfulness of Beth's tones.

"Yes, dear, and now mamma wants you to practice what you preached. I think you and I will have to form a 'Pleasant Club.' Every night we will tell each other all the pleasant things that happen during the day. What do you say?"

The child nestled close to her mother.

"It would be nice, mamma, only nothing pleasant happens now that Don is dead."

"Why, why," exclaimed Mrs. Davenport, "that isn't at all like my happy Beth. Put on your thinking cap and see if you can't remember something nice that happened to-day."

Beth remained silent for a moment, and then suddenly smiled.

"Why, yes, mamma, now that I think of it, a whole lot of nice things happened. Do you know, ever since Don died, Julia has been perfectly lovely. She always plays just as I want to. And what do you think? Harvey played with Julia and me to-day, and he would never stay before when Julia was here. We even got him to play dolls with us, although he said dolls were beneath a boy."

Mrs. Davenport smiled. "Why should he feel that way?"

"Well, you see, mamma, he doesn't think much of girls and their play. He's always saying to me, 'Beth, don't you wish you were a boy?' So one day I answered, 'No, indeed, Harvey.' It wasn't quite the truth, mamma, for I should like to be a boy, but I wouldn't let him know it. Then I asked him: 'Don't you wish you were a girl, Harvey?'"

"What did he say, dear?"

"He grunted and said, 'Eh—be a girl? I'd rather be nothing than be a girl.'"

Mrs. Davenport could hardly keep her face straight; nevertheless, she said gravely:

"If Harvey ever says that to you again, you tell him your mamma says that girls are of just as much consequence as boys. God would not have created them otherwise. Well, what else happened to-day?"

"Oh, Harvey offered me a bird's nest that he'd stolen. Mamma, I couldn't help scolding him about it. You know papa doesn't think it right. So I had Harvey take the nest back."

"That was a good girl."

"And oh, mamma, I forgot to tell you how nice Marian has been. This afternoon after school, she made some candy for Julia and Harvey and me. It was just lovely. And now that I think of it, Maggie has been good too. She hasn't scolded us once, although I guess we are in her way very much sometimes."

Mrs. Davenport now kissed Beth good-night.

"Doesn't my little girl see that there never was a sorrow so great but that it has its bright side? You have much for which to be thankful, dear, and you must try to be happy."

This talk helped Beth somewhat. Nevertheless, for weeks thereafter, a dog did not cross her path without bringing tears to her eyes. And many a night she cried herself to sleep, grieving for Don.

Sorrow, however, is not eternal, and comfort came to her from an unexpected source.

One afternoon the Davenports were driving home from Jacksonville, when Beth chanced to look back. She thereupon uttered such an exclamation of delight that Mr. Davenport, who was driving, pulled in on the horses.

"Oh, just see the beautiful dog!" exclaimed Beth. "I believe he's following us."

About three yards behind the carriage was a very large dog, but possessing a grace and a swiftness of motion unusual to his size. He was not only beautiful, but also intelligent-looking. His coat was of dark brown, and smooth as sealskin, showing every muscle of his body. His broad square head and monstrous jaw reminded the beholder of a tiger. His ears were close-cropped, which gave a compactness to his head that brought into prominence his great changeable eyes: eyes that the Davenports afterwards found so fiery sometimes that they reflected red lights; at other times so mildly brown that they beamed with the greatest affection. The dog was a combination of Russian bloodhound and mastiff.

"He looks the thoroughbred, through and through," declared Mrs. Davenport. "See how majestically he moves. Duke would be a good name for him. Here, Duke. Here, Duke."

At the call, the dog raised his head and came bounding up to the carriage. By a strange coincidence, Mrs. Davenport had hit upon his name.

"Come here, Duke," cried Beth.

Large as the dog was, he jumped into the back part of the carriage where Marian and Beth sat. Both children were wild with delight.

"Papa, let's take him home with us," begged Marian.

Mr. Davenport, however, would not listen to the suggestion.

"He is a very valuable dog, and it would not be honorable," he declared. "Push him out immediately."

Both children began pleading, but Mr. Davenport proved relentless. Therefore, Duke was finally put out of the carriage.

"Go home, Duke," cried Mr. Davenport, driving on.

The children looked back to see if the dog obeyed. To their joy, they saw him following as unconcerned as before. Mr. Davenport took out the whip and waved it at him. Duke stopped a second or two, and then started after them at a little greater distance.

"Well," said Mr. Davenport, "all we can do is to let him come with us now. To-morrow, I shall inquire in town and find his owner."

So Duke lodged at the Davenports that night, and was treated by the children as a royal guest. He captivated their hearts from the first, and he fully responded to their love.

At breakfast the next morning, Mr. Davenport looked up from his paper and said:

"Well, here is a notice of Duke's loss. I do not wonder that he ran away. This Brown who advertises is one of the hardest drinkers in town. Poor dog, to have such a master."

"Papa, couldn't you buy Duke?" asked Beth.

"I may consider the matter. Don't set your heart on the dog, however. He is very valuable, and Brown may not wish to part with him."

That day, at noon, Beth and Duke were frolicing near the barn. Suddenly, without seeming cause, Duke rushed towards the house, looking crestfallen. Beth, however, soon saw why Duke had run. She beheld a man walking up the driveway towards her. She had grown accustomed to Southern politeness, and resented the man's not raising his hat when he said:

"Hello, little un. I've come after my dog. Where is he?"

Beth's heart sank. "Who are you?" she stammered.

"My name is Brown, and I've come after Duke."

"But I thought my papa was going to buy him."

The man laughed. "The old fellow did offer to buy him, but I wouldn't sell. I told him I wouldn't take a hundred dollars for the dog. But hurry up, little un, and get Duke for me."

Beth felt more resentful than ever. The man had dared to call her father "old fellow," and herself "little un." Besides, he had come for Duke. There were tears in her eyes, but she brushed them angrily away, and declared defiantly:

"You can hunt him up for yourself. I don't know where he is."

The man swore under his breath, and muttered something about having no use for people who tried to steal dogs. However, he moved on towards the house.

Beth was so anxious about the outcome of his errand that she followed at a cautious distance.

The man met Maggie at the kitchen door.

"Hello, mammy," he said. "Where is my dog Duke?"

Maggie caught sight of Beth's eyes, and intuitively felt the child's solicitude. She was up in arms in a minute.

"Yo' needn't mammy me; I ain't yo'r mammy; and what's more if I cotch yo' takin' any dog from here, I'se gwineter give yo' the worst frailin' yo' ever had. So yo' jes' bettah be skeedadlin'."

At this instant, Mrs. Davenport came to the door.

"If you wish Duke, you'll have to come into the house and get him. He's hiding behind the bed in the spare room, and I can't get him to come out."

Brown, unmindful of Maggie's threat, perhaps realizing that her bark was worse than her bite, went with Mrs. Davenport to the spare room. Beth followed after them. Brown got down upon his knees and tried to entice the dog out. Duke, however, would not budge.

"Beth, if you called him perhaps he'd come," suggested Mrs. Davenport.

Beth burst into tears. "Mamma, I can't do it. It breaks my heart to have him go."

The man arose. There was a kindlier light in his eyes. "Little un, get him for me and I'll promise not to whip him."

"Dear," whispered Mrs. Davenport, "call him; it is a kindness to Duke. He belongs to the man."

So Beth called, and immediately Duke answered the summons. However, he shrank from his owner.

"Duke," said Beth, "we'd like to keep you, but we can't. You must go quietly."

Mr. Brown had a leather collar which he fastened on the dog. Then he led him quietly away. Beth cried, and even Mrs. Davenport's eyes were suspiciously moist.

That night it rained, and the Davenports had a wood-fire around which they gathered. Beth was just saying, "I wish I could have kept Duke," when she was interrupted by a noise upon the piazza.

"It sounds like a convict with chains," suggested Marian, who had a lively imagination.

Beth looked towards the front window and cried:

"It's Duke."

Sure enough, with his paws upon the window ledge, and his great intelligent eyes looking at them, there was Duke looking very triumphant.

Marian and Beth rushed to the front door, and called him into the house. He came all wet and muddy, dragging a great chain which he had evidently broken. Notwithstanding his drabbled condition, both children were demonstrative in their greeting, and their parents could not find it in their hearts to object. In fact, Duke was brought in beside the fire and made much of that night.

The next forenoon his owner came to carry Duke away. In leaving, he remarked to Maggie that he'd see—well, that the dog didn't get away again.

That day passed without any new developments, but the next morning the Davenport family was wakened by a series of barks.

Marian and Beth immediately jumped out of bed, and rushed out upon the upper piazza. In the yard below, looking as conscious as a truant child, was Duke.

Beth, not waiting to put on anything over her night-dress, rushed down-stairs and opened the door for the dog. At once, she noticed an ugly gash on the front of his chest. The Davenports could not imagine how he received it, but they doctored and petted him to his great delight.

Soon after breakfast, Mr. Brown again appeared, very indignant over Duke's truancy.

"I'll make the ugly beast pay for all the trouble he has caused me," he muttered, flourishing before the cowering dog a riding whip which he carried.

"You shan't whip him," declared Marian, her eyes blazing. "I'll—I'll have you arrested if you do."

Beth looked as if she would like to hug Marian for her boldness. The man laughed.

"I ain't going to whip him. It wouldn't do no sort of good. But I'll outwit the ugly beast yet. It seems as if I couldn't keep him from you, but I'll get the better of him yet. Last night I locked him in a room in the barn where all the lower sashes are barred with iron. He kept me awake howling most of the night. Not till morning was he quiet. I thought I'd conquered him, but when I went to the barn my dog was gone. I found the upper glass in one of the windows broken, and saw that he must have jumped and escaped that way, though it seems incredible."

"That's the way he cut himself," declared Marian, giving Duke a parting love pat.

That day, Mr. Brown, by means of a heavy chain, led Duke down to one of the river boats.

"Keep an eye on this dog," he said to the captain; "I'll chain him up well here. At Silver Lake a man'll come aboard for him. I'm sending him there because he runs away."

Duke howled so pitifully that after the boat was well under way from Jacksonville one of the sailors took pity on him and unloosed him, supposing him perfectly safe aboard boat in midwater.

However, Duke was not to be hindered by obstacles. With one bound, he leaped to the side of the boat and jumped overboard.

"Well," the captain muttered, "I don't know what Brown'll say, but it can't be helped."

Duke swam immediately to shore. There one of the wharf hands saw him as he landed, and exclaimed:

"Why, that's Brown's dog. Perhaps he'll give me something if I take him home."

So the wharf hand caught Duke and took him up to Brown's home at noon. Brown, who had been drinking and was in a very unpleasant mood, was struck with amazement at sight of the dog. He gave the wharf hand some small change, and, when he was gone, took Duke into the back yard and beat him. Next, he tied the dog with an extra heavy chain.

"There," he exclaimed, "you're stronger than I think you are if you break that."

Ill-usage had thoroughly aroused Duke. When Mr. Brown was out of sight, he struggled so vigorously that the collar around his neck worked into the raw flesh. Undaunted, however, he struggled on until he again broke his fetters. Away he bounded over the four miles to the Davenports'. Needless to say, the children were overjoyed to see him.

To their surprise, Mr. Brown did not appear that day, nor the following morning. Consequently, Mr. Davenport went up to his house at noon, and asked to see him. Brown by this time was sober, and at heart ashamed of his treatment of Duke.

"Brown," said Mr. Davenport in greeting, "I've come to tell you that your dog is out at our place again."

"I supposed as much," he answered curtly.

"Well, why haven't you been out for him?"

"It's labor lost. I can't keep the dog."

Mr. Davenport hesitated a moment.

"Brown, perhaps we've been somewhat to blame in this matter, but, really, I couldn't help the children's making a fuss over the dog. Beth, my youngest child, was grieving herself sick over the death of a favorite dog, and Duke won her heart at once. For her sake, I'd be very glad if you'd sell the dog."

"I won't sell the dog."

Mr. Davenport walked to the door.

"I don't see that there is anything that I can do then except to send Duke back to you. I'll have one of my darkies bring him in to-morrow morning."

Mr. Brown did not answer a word. However, when Mr. Davenport was halfway down the steps, he stopped him and said:

"I'm the only one to blame. I see that love is more powerful that hate. Tell your little girl to keep the dog. I make her a present of him with one condition. If you ever leave Florida, I want the dog back. Good-morning."

Before Mr. Davenport could utter a word, Brown closed the door as if fearful of gratitude.

CHAPTER XIII

Anxious Hours

One day, a strange white dog appeared at the Davenports'. No one knew whence she came. Perhaps Duke enticed her to the house. He tried to bespeak Beth's interest by barking vigorously and jumping up and down wildly, as if begging the child to keep her.

At first, it was hard for Beth to feel any interest in the dog. It was fearfully thin, and always acted as if it expected to be kicked. It had one redeeming feature in that its eyes were very beautiful. They were large and brown, with a mildly pathetic look that appealed to Beth's soft heart so that she decided to keep the dog.

For the first few days the newcomer sneaked under the house when any one was around. When she saw, however, that she was left unmolested, she gained courage. Duke was all devotion, and the white dog thrived under such attention. She freshened up so well that Beth wondered how she ever thought the dog ugly. Kindness and good food work wonders with dogs as well as with people. The days of her stay lengthened into months.

One morning, Beth came running in from the barn, her eyes brilliant from excitement.

"Mamma, mamma," she called, "what do you think? White dog"—they had never given her a name—"has seven of the cutest little puppies you ever saw. Duke took me out and showed them to me."

"Duke took you out?"

"Yes, mamma. When I went out to play with him this morning he caught hold of my dress and tried to pull me towards the barn. I thought he was just playing; but when he did it the second time, I followed him, and he led me to white dog and the puppies. Oh, they're the cutest things you ever saw."

[Illustration: "The cutest things you ever saw.">[

Beth watched the growth of the puppies with great interest. She was delighted when their eyes opened, and when they began to run around she was almost too happy for words.

That night she said to her papa: "I've been thinking about Mr. Brown. He must miss Duke awfully. He wasn't such a horrid man after all, or he wouldn't have let me keep Duke."

Mr. Davenport smiled. "Beth, a man was talking to me about him to-day. The man said Brown was trying to reform; that he hadn't taken any liquor for some time past. I was very glad to hear it."

Beth pondered a minute or two, then asked:

"Do you think if he had a dog now he'd be nice to it?"

"Yes, I believe he would. Brown wasn't half bad except when he drank. But you're not thinking of giving Duke back to him, are you?"

Beth shook her head very vigorously. "I couldn't do that, papa. I love Duke too much."

She said no more but got out paper and pencil. She was backward in all schooling at this time, and could only print. However, she sat down at the table beside her father and went to work. It proved a very difficult task to her, but she persevered until she finished. Most of the correctly spelled words she learned from her father.

This is what she wrote:

"To dukes master duke has puppies wood you like a pup i havent thanked you for duke but i love duke very much and think you a nice man to give duke to me
"your little friend
"Beth davenport."

She put the note in an envelope and sealed it. Then she said to her father:

"Papa, will you give this to Mr. Brown? He's to have one of Duke's puppies if he wants it."

Mr. Davenport delivered the note as desired.

The next afternoon, Beth saw a buggy turn in at their place, and presently she discerned Mr. Brown within it. She waited, half-bashful, until he drove up.

He leaped from the buggy and raised his hat. Beth was delighted because in every way he seemed so much improved.

"I've come for the puppy."

"It's in the barn, I'll get it for you," cried Beth, running there as fast as she could.

Duke was playing with the puppies. When Beth appeared and took one he followed her out, but at sight of his former owner, he stopped still. Mr. Brown, however, called out pleasantly:

"Hello, Duke, I'm not going to take you away. Won't you come to me? Come, nice dog."

Duke must have felt the transformation in his former master, for he allowed Mr. Brown to pat him. Beth did not say a word, but held out the puppy. Mr. Brown took it, and said a little brokenly:

"I'm not used to making nice speeches to little girls, but you're very good to give this puppy to me."

"Why, it's nothing at all. Didn't you give me Duke?" murmured Beth.

He hesitated an instant. "But it means a great deal to me. It shows that you trust me. Missy, I promise never to strike this one as long as I have him. Good-bye."

Thereupon he jumped into the buggy and drove away.

Beth returned to the barn with Duke. January as usual was idling. He had his fiddle and was playing "Dixie." Beth sat down on the hay near him, while the dog family frolicked around her. She was happy, so happy that from sheer light-heartedness she began to sing.

Duke pricked up his ears. White dog cocked her head to one side, and the six puppies followed their parents' example. Duke uttered a low deep howl that chimed in with Beth's singing. White dog howled in a high soprano and the six little dogs did likewise, but in shriller tones. Beth was so surprised that she stopped singing, and the dogs immediately ceased howling, evidently waiting for Beth to lead them.

She began to sing again, and the dogs began to howl, swaying their heads from side to side.

Their howling was so funny that Beth had to laugh, January joining in. Beth then ran into the house for Mrs. Davenport.

"Mamma, come and hear the concert," she cried.

"What concert?"

"Come with me and you'll see, if they'll do it again. It's the funniest singing you ever heard."

Beth led her mother to the barn.

"Where are the singers?" asked Mrs. Davenport.

"Wait," answered Beth, calling the dogs to her. Then she began singing and the dogs began howling, holding their heads high in the air. Duke, however, proved lazy. He would come in only once in a while with his deep bass, but this made the effect more funny.

Mrs. Davenport laughed over the performance until her sides ached. That afternoon Beth and the dogs had another concert for the benefit of Mr. Davenport and Marian. In the evening the Gordons and the Bakers called, and, hearing of the wonderful concert, they insisted upon a repetition of it. The lantern was brought in, therefore, and, with Beth heading the procession, the party adjourned to the barn. The dogs were asleep, but at the first sound of Beth's shrill little voice, they all, even to the smallest pup, pricked up their ears, and then howled in concert. After that Beth's concert became famous. People drove out from Jacksonville to see and hear the canine musicale. After a time Beth trained the dogs so that they would sit up in a row on their hind legs while they sang. They were apparently carried away by the music, and appeared quite human in their vanity, swaying their bodies and rolling their eyes in a very ludicrous manner, while howling an accompaniment to Beth's singing.

[Illustration: January with his perpetual laugh and fiddle.]

Duke greatly endeared himself to the Davenports by his wonderful sagacity. He could almost talk. One of the very smartest things he ever did happened in this wise:

Beth had a sudden attack of fever.

"We must have a doctor," said Mrs. Davenport.

Beth overheard the remark. Since her experience of the stitches under her nose, she hated all doctors; so she declared:

"I don't want any horrid doctor. I'll get well without one. Really I will."

Mrs. Davenport laid a cooling hand on her head, and said soothingly:

"Can't you trust mamma to do what is best?"

Thereupon she gave private instructions to Mr. Davenport to get a doctor as soon as possible, after which she neglected all work, trying to keep Beth quiet.

Two little kittens, brothers of those brought by Gustus in the winter, crawled up on the lounge ready for play. Even their antics tired Beth. When the doctor came, he looked serious over the child's condition.

"She must be put to bed immediately," was his first order.

"I'll have her carried up-stairs," said Mrs. Davenport.

The doctor was a very blunt man and declared plainly:

"She's too sick to be moved. Have a bed brought in here if you can."

Without arguing the question, Mrs. Davenport ordered the servants to bring down an iron cot. Her commands were carried out quietly and with haste, and soon Beth was undressed and in bed. She was delirious by this time, and did not even note that a doctor was present.

He studied the case silently for a few minutes. He was a well-meaning man, but a doctor of the old school. He believed that if medicine was a good thing, the more one took the better. Also, if dieting was good, semi-starvation was better.

He therefore wrote out five or six prescriptions, all of very strong drugs. He also ordered that she should be fed only on gruels.

Duke seemed to grieve over Beth's illness extremely. He would not play with the puppies, and would eat hardly anything. At first, he walked into the room where Beth was and lay down beside her cot. When he saw he was in the way there, he took up his position on the piazza outside the door, and could hardly be induced to move. Even white dog failed to entice him away.

Anxious times followed for the Davenports. The fear of losing Beth made each member of the family realize, as never before, how very dear the little, mischievous child was to them. She was mischievous no longer, however. She was so patient that Mrs. Davenport feared more than ever that she would die. Often Beth would smile so beatifically that her mother thought she must be thinking of angels and heaven.

"Dearie, of what are you thinking?" she once asked.

Beth's face was illumined with a more heavenly light than ever as she drew a long breath and answered:

"Oh mamma, I was thinking how good some Bologna sausage, or anything besides horrid old gruel, would taste."

The truth of the matter was that the child was half-starved. Still the doctor insisted that she should have nothing but mutton or rice gruel, and those only in very small quantities. Under such treatment she wasted to a mere shadow of her former chubby self.

She proved a tyrant in one respect, in that she would have no one but her mother to watch her. If Mrs. Davenport left the room when Beth was awake, Beth at once worried herself into a high fever. The strain was telling upon Mrs. Davenport, but so great was her anxiety that she would hardly take needed rest.

One day Beth was asleep, and Maggie tip-toed into the room and whispered to Mrs. Davenport:

"Dear Miss Mary, won't yo' please let dis ole mammy watch de honey lamb for jes' a little while. Yo' knows I lub her wid all my heart, an' I wouldn't let nuffin harm de pet for de world. Yo' go into de odder room an' rest awhile. If de precious lamb wants yo', I'll call right away, honest."

Thus urged, Mrs. Davenport decided to grant Maggie's request, and she left the room without disturbing Beth's slumbers.

Maggie sat down by the cot. The sight of Beth so emaciated melted Maggie almost to tears. She thus soliloquized:

"Dat horrid ole medicine man, he jes' ought to be made to live on gruels de rest of his life, so he ought. It's jes' ter'ble to starve de chile de way he does. I'd like to be her doctah awhile. I'd order chicken and possum, an'——"

Suddenly Beth's eyes opened. "Maggie, what did you cook for dinner to-day?"

Maggie confided to her husband afterwards:

"Law, Titus, does yo' tink I could sit up dar an' tell dat precious chile we had chicken when I knew her little stomack was jes' groanin' for chicken? No, 'deed. Do I am deaconess, I'd rather be burned for a lie. So I jes' answers as pert-like as pos'ble. 'Law, honey, we jes' had mutton like yo'r brof is made of.'"

Beth, however, was not to be deceived. Her senses had grown unusually acute during her sickness. She pointed her finger at Maggie and said:

"Maggie, that's not true. You had chicken and biscuits, for I smelled them. Oh, I'm so hungry."

Maggie sighed sympathetically. "Law, honey, would yo' like some brof?"

"Broth," repeated Beth almost in tears. "I hate broth. I'll starve before I eat any more. I want chicken. Please, please get me some."

The appeal melted Maggie completely. She arose and called Duke from the doorway.

"Duke," she said, pointing to the cot, "don't yo' let any one come near missy till I come back. Do yo' understand?"

The delighted dog wagged his tail, and Maggie left the room.

Duke's first impulse was to rush up to the cot, and show his joy in true dog fashion. He longed to cover Beth's face and hands with kisses. He knew, however, that excitement was bad for her. He therefore walked quietly up to the cot and laid his head down beside his little playmate as if inviting a caress. She put a weak little hand on his head.

"Yes, Dukie, I know you love me."

Maggie re-entered the room. In her hand was a plate, and on that plate was a large slice of white chicken meat. Beth's eyes glistened at sight of it.

"Dar, honey chile, dey jes' shan't starve yo' to death. Here am a whole lot ob chicken for yo'."

Beth grabbed the plate. "Oh, Maggie, it's—it's heavenly."

Suddenly, Maggie heard Mrs. Davenport approaching. Her eyes rolled tragically.

"Law, honey, it's yo'r maw. Hide de chicken under yo'r pillow. I'll get rid of her, an' den yo' can eat de chicken in peace. Quick, honey, or she'll take it away from yo'."

Beth put the plate with the chicken under her pillow. Maggie tried to look unconcerned.

Mrs. Davenport entered the room. "Well, my dearie is awake, is she?"

"Oh, mamma, I'm so hungry. I do wish I could have a piece of chicken."

"No, no, dearie, that would never do. I'll get you some lovely mutton broth."

Tears rose in Beth's eyes. "I don't want broth."

"Oh, yes, you do, dearie." Mrs. Davenport left the room to get the broth. Maggie went to the bed and drew out the chicken.

"Quick, honey, yo' eat it while she's gone and she need neber know."

Beth's eyes feasted on the chicken for a second or two. She halfway put out a hand for it, but quickly drew it back again.

"No, Maggie, it wouldn't be honorable."

"Law, child, yo'd bettah eat it. Yo'r maw'll find me with it, and den she'll blame me."

Beth held out her hand for the plate. She looked at the chicken very longingly, and Maggie thought that she had made up her mind to eat it. She did take up the meat, but she held it out to Duke, saying:

"It'll be honorable for you to eat it. Duke, and then mamma'll never blame Maggie. It was very nice of you, Maggie, to get it for me, but I couldn't deceive mamma."

Duke gulped the meat down at one swallow much to the envy of Beth. She held out the empty plate to Maggie.

"Take it away, Maggie. The smell of it makes me so dreadfully hungry."

Maggie took it and left the room, muttering:

"It's a ter'ble shame, a ter'ble shame."

Mrs. Davenport came in with the steaming broth.

"Here, dearie, is your broth."

Beth burst into tears. "I can't eat it. I just can't touch the horrid stuff. Please take it away."

Her mother did not attempt to argue the question. That afternoon, when the doctor came, she asked:

"Isn't there something else we can feed her on, doctor?"

He pondered for a moment. "Well, she seems to be improving a little, and if we could get a bird or a rabbit we might make her some broth out of that."

"I think rabbit broth would be delicious," cried Beth rapturously.

Mrs. Davenport said:

"We'll send January to town to see if we can get a rabbit or a quail."

An hour later January returned and reported: "Dere ain't no rabbit or no bird in de market, Miss Mary."

Beth was very much disappointed, but was pacified, however, by the assurance that darkies would be sent out to hunt rabbits in the morning. She even consented to take a little rice gruel, cheered by the prospects of having something better on the morrow.

In the morning, when the darkies were ready for hunting rabbits, Mrs. Davenport said to Duke:

"Go with them, old fellow. Perhaps you can chase a rabbit down for your little mistress. She wants a rabbit very, very much."

He seemed to understand, for he rose and went with the hunters. Rabbit hunting was his favorite pastime. Therefore he displayed the first signs of joy that he had shown since Beth's sickness. He bounded lightly across the fields, sniffing the ground expectantly.

At first the darkies were encouraged by his manner, and followed him on and on. When, however, they had gone many miles, and most of the forenoon passed without Duke's scaring up a single rabbit for them, they became discouraged. In fact, they returned to the house and reported their ill-luck to Mrs. Davenport.

"I reckon dis ain't time for rabbits. We didn't see a single one all dis time."

"Where is Duke?" asked Mrs. Davenport.

The darkies grinned. "Oh, dat fool dog, he ain't no sense at all. We tried to get him to come wid us, but he went on sniffin' as if he was jes' bound to have a rabbit, even when dar ain't none."

"Well," said Mrs. Davenport, with feeling, "I only wish you had half the perseverance of Duke. If he could understand like you, he would go until he dropped before he'd give up."

She therefore had to go to Beth and report their failure. The poor child cried and cried, she was so very much disappointed.

"I'll—I'll starve, and I'm so terribly hungry," she moaned.

"Dearie, if you'll only take some gruel, I'll get you the most beautiful doll you ever saw, or a ring, or anything you wish."

At the moment, even this promise failed in appealing to Beth. She desired rabbit more than anything else in the world.

"Won't you please try some gruel, dear? Won't you, to please me?"

"I'll—I'll try, but I don't believe I can swallow a bit of the nasty stuff. I want rabbit."

Mrs. Davenport hurried away to get the gruel.

Left to herself, Beth continued to cry.

"I don't believe God cares for me, or He'd have sent me a rabbit. I asked Him last night when I prayed. Miss Smith"—her Sunday-school. teacher—"says God always answers prayer if it is good for one, and I'm sure rabbit is good for me."

The tears came a little faster.

"She says, though, one must ask awfully hard. Perhaps I don't ask hard enough. I'll ask again."

Beth folded her hands and closed her eyes.

"Dear God, I can't eat gruel any more. I'll die if I have to eat gruel, and I don't want to die. I want rabbit."

It would seem that the days of miracles had not passed; for even while she prayed, she felt two paws rest on her cot. She opened her eyes and there was Duke waiting impatiently for her to notice him. She could hardly believe her eyes, for in his mouth he held a little live rabbit as if for her to take it. To make sure she was not dreaming, she stretched forth her hand for the rabbit. Duke let her take it without offering the least resistance. In fact, he looked at her as much as to say:

"I heard them say that my little mistress wanted a rabbit. I was bound she should have a rabbit, and here it is."

Mrs. Davenport entered the room. "Here is your broth, dear."

"Take it away," cried Beth exultingly. "I'm going to have a rabbit. God sent Duke to bring me one. Wasn't he good not to eat it himself—he always used to eat them when he caught them, and God was so good to me, too."

The speech appeared a little ambiguous to Mrs. Davenport, but it was all very plain to the child.

Never did a stew seem more delicious to any one than did that rabbit stew to Beth. In fact, it proved a turning point with her, the fever subsiding thereafter very rapidly.

CHAPTER XIV

The Rescue

With the elasticity of childhood, Beth grew well rapidly, and was once more her mischievous self.

One evening about the middle of May, Mr. and Mrs. Davenport and Marian went up the river a short distance to a party, and invited the Gordons to drive with them.

Julia came over to spend the night with Beth, and Mrs. Davenport arranged for Maggie to stay in the house, that the girls might not be alone. Duke, also, was kept within doors for protection.

The girls passed a pleasant evening, and retired rather late. Duke followed them up to their room, and went to sleep just outside the door, which they left open on his account. Maggie slept in a room at the end of the hall.

Gustus that night had sneaked out to see some of his friends. He had stayed so late that he feared to return through the dark. Still he dreaded even more the scolding that he would get if he were missed in the morning. So he started home, whistling as he went, to keep up his spirits. Suddenly his attention was attracted by a reddened sky in the direction of the Davenport home.

"Foh de Lawd's sake," he muttered, "dat do look like our home wuz burnin' for sure. Jes' s'pose it wuz. Little missy am thar an' might burn. I'd jes' bettah take to my heels, an' run as fas' as ever I kin, an' see." He ran a few steps, and then stopped. Besides the red in the sky, he thought he saw sparks flying. His heart rose in his mouth.

"Jes' s'pose dat dar fire am de work ob de debbil. He might be waitin' dar spoutin' out fire to kotch me. Dat's it. I won't go near dar all by myself. I'll jes' go back."

He turned, and ran a few steps the other way, and then halted again.

"Jes' s'pose dat ain't de debbil, but a real shure nuff fire. Den missy'll burn, an' I'll be to blame. I jes' ought to go an' see, but what if it am de debbil? Den he'll hab me sure nuff, an' dat'd be worser dan burnin'."

The Davenports' home was really on fire. It was never discovered how the fire started. The only plausible explanation was a defective flue in the kitchen stove, but it could never be proved.

The house was built of fat pine, and the fire spread with alarming rapidity. First the kitchen burst into a mass of flames that leaped along the roof of the piazza to the main part of the building. There had been no rain for some time, and the dry wood proved as combustible as if oil had been applied. The sparks flew over all the house until it was one blaze of fire. The servants were sleeping in their quarters, and did not discover the terrible danger of the inmates of the house.

Maggie and the children slept on, and it seemed as if there would be no awakening until it was too late, unless Gustus ran to the rescue.

The flames crackled as if trying to rouse the poor, innocent sleepers, but still they slept. The fire rushed on and on as if anxious to wipe out the precious human lives before help arrived. Even Duke slept, and the silly superstition of Gustus might prove the death of those he loved.

"White folks ain't scared ob de debbil like us black people. Dey nebber see tings de way we do. Maybe de debbil only 'pears to us kose we's black like he am. If dar wuz only a white person wid me, dey wouldn't be scared to go an' see if it were a fire or de debbil. I ought to find out which it am. De fire might burn Missy Beth, and de debbil might carry her off if he don't kotch me. De debbil nebber goes 'way empty-handed."

Gustus tarried, harrowed by his superstition, but with love trying to master fear. Unless love conquered quickly, he would be too late to save her whom he worshiped.

"Missy Beth's been powerful good to me," he moralized to himself. "She wouldn't let me burn, nor she wouldn't let de debbil carry me off. She always tells me dar's nuffin to fear only my own b'liefs, but if she was black like me she'd know bettah. She's white like an angel, an' angels only see glory. Yes, she's an angel, an' God will save her. He won't let de debbil hab her nor de fire scorch her."

Trying to ease his conscience thus, he once more turned away from the fire as if the struggle were ended, but real love is never conquered. It still tugged at the heart strings of Gustus.

"God's far, far away. It's night, an' maybe He sometimes snoozes like de rest ob us. Den Missy Beth's in danger, an' unless I help her. God won't know anything 'bout it. I have it. I'll go an' wake Massa Harvey. He'll know what to do."

Gustus ran towards the Baker homestead which was the next place to the Davenports'. Love had gained a half victory, but half victories are always dangerous. He might rouse Harvey, but unless God intervened in some way, Harvey would be too late, and his friend would burn.

On ran Gustus, while the fire raged more and more fiercely. Its fiery tongues leaped out nearer and nearer the children, Maggie, and Duke, sure to devour them unless God vouchsafed some other warning besides the one that had been given Gustus. He had been tried and found wanting.

"Massa Harvey, Massa Harvey," Gustus cried a few minutes later, under the window of the room where he knew Harvey slept. "For God's sake, come an' save Missy Beth."

Harvey wakened out of a sound sleep. He thought he was dreaming, but again he heard the agonized appeal:

"Massa Harvey, for God's sake, save Missy Beth."

Harvey sprang to the window. "What's the matter, Gustus?"

"I think de debbil am after Missy Beth," moaned Gustus, who had decided that it was the Evil One instead of a real fire.

His words gave Harvey no lucid idea of the situation. He feared Beth was in danger, but he little realized the urgency of the case. However, he did not stop to question, but slipped into his clothes as fast as he could, and went below to join Gustus. His parents had gone to the party, and he did not waken any of the servants.

The minute he opened the front door, one look to the right revealed the awful truth to him.

"Is Beth there?" he gasped to Gustus who had run around to the door to join him.

"I reckon so. Yo' won't let de debbil get her."

"The devil? It's worse. It's fire. She'll burn," cried Harvey in agony, tearing across the fields as fast as he could. Gustus followed trembling in every limb. He realized now that he had been a coward, that if his beloved little "missy" burned, he would be greatly to blame.

"I didn't know," he moaned to himself, and then his cry changed to a prayer, "Dear God, don't let her burn. Don't let her burn," he pleaded as he ran, pitifully penitent.

As Harvey flew towards the burning house, his thought dwelt on the other fire from which he and Beth had been saved.

"God won't let her burn. He won't do it," he cried to himself, and yet half fearful that the fire demon which seemed to pursue Beth might conquer this time.

"De Good Book says dat if we ask anything, an' believe, dat it will be granted us," gasped Gustus as if reading Harvey's doubts. "Let's both pray as hard as ever we kin dat God'll save Missy Beth, an' He'll do it."

The faith expressed by the superstitious colored boy heartened Harvey somewhat. He ran on as fast as ever, but both in his heart and in that of Gustus was the prayer that Beth might be saved.

That prayer was answered. After the colored boy was found wanting, an animal was used as God's messenger. The fire awakened Duke. The air all around him was full of smoke that almost choked him. He realized there was danger, but he thought more of another that he loved than of his own safety. With a bound, he sprang through the open doorway barking wildly. He leaped up on the bed where the children slept. He had no words in which to warn them of danger, but the ways of God are above those of men, and weak instruments prove strong in His hands.

Julia and Beth wakened at the same instant.

"What is it, Duke?" cried Beth only half awake, for the dog was pulling wildly at her night-dress. The smoke answered her question. Both of the girls knew that Duke was warning them that the house was on fire. They jumped out of bed, and ran to the door. The fire now was fast breaking into the house.

"What shall we do?" gasped Beth at sight of the smoke and flames circling around the stairs at the end of the hall.

"We can climb down the piazza," answered Julia turning towards it. Beth started to follow her, but a thought stopped her.

"If we go that way Maggie'll burn. I must try to warn her."

"But we'll choke to death," cried Julia, carried away for a moment by the terror fire has for the bravest.

"I can't help it. I can't let Maggie burn. You can climb down the piazza, but I'm going to try to reach Maggie," answered Beth, going towards the hall, with Duke at her heels.

It was a terrible temptation to Julia to take Beth at her words. She feared that Death waited in the hall. The thought made Julia shiver notwithstanding the sickening heat that was beginning to fill the house. Her face blanched, but it was no whiter than that of Beth, who felt fully as strongly as Julia the danger she ran in trying to save Maggie.

"Let's wrap ourselves in blankets," cried Julia seizing two from the bed, and throwing one to Beth. She had conquered her fear sufficiently to make a supreme effort to save Maggie. She was too brave to let Beth outshine her in daring.

"Maggie, Maggie, wake," yelled Beth, wrapping the blanket around her and rushing out into the smoke and fire towards the room where Maggie slept.

"Fire, fire, fire," screamed Julia, the smoke half choking her.

Their cries wakened Maggie. She jumped out of bed, and rushed out into the hall.

"Oh, de good Lo'd," she moaned, trembling all over in sudden horror; "dis house is burnin', an' we'll die." Then she saw the two girls. Their danger calmed her fears.

"No, we won't die, honeys," she cried more calmly. "We kin get down de stairs, I know. Come on, my honeys. I won't leave yo'. We'll jes' keep our mouths shut, an' we'll be all right."

She, too, seized a blanket to protect herself from the fire.

She was nearest the stairs, but she waited until the girls came up to her. Not another word was said. The smoke was drying up their throats and lungs, and they felt that they needed every bit of air just to breathe.

Fortunately, in the main part of the building, the fire was worse on the outside than the inside. Their greatest foe was the smoke that grew more dense every instant. Down the stairs they flew. Once at the bottom, the door leading outside seemed very far away. Still they did not make a sound, but used every effort to escape. There was no thought of trying to save anything but their lives. That was the one mercy that was asked of God. Other possessions could be replaced. On, on they flew. Thank God, the door is almost within reach. They gasp for breath. Even Duke pants. Will their strength last until they can reach God's pure air?

Maggie now proved leader. Her trembling hands unbarred the door that alone stood between them and liberty. With a last mighty effort, she swung it open. Out they flew, and now the flames which curled in wild fury about the piazza almost scorched them. Thank God, this fiery trial is but for a moment. They dash through the flames, and are safe. Breathing is no longer a pain. They make their way beyond the reach of the sparks. Maggie fell on her knees crying:

"Praise to de Lo'd. Praise to de Lo'd."

Julia looked at the piazza down which she had wished to climb.

"Beth, if we had tried to come that way we couldn't have done it," she said, and there was thankfulness in her heart that she had conquered her fear. Otherwise precious time would have been lost, and she might have been burned to death.

"Our home is gone," sobbed Beth, for at that instant the roof fell. Duke howled as if he, too, knew that something had been lost that never again could be exactly the same. His howls attracted Beth's attention.

"You dear, dear fellow," she cried, the tears flowing faster than ever. "If it hadn't been for you we'd all be dead."

He poked his nose into her outstretched hand, and looked up at her as if he would like to comfort her. At that instant Harvey and Gustus rushed upon the scene.

"Beth, Beth," cried Harvey wildly.

"We're here," she answered.

Tears of thankfulness rushed into the eyes of Harvey and Gustus, and for once they were not ashamed of crying.

"Beth," repeated Harvey, running up to her and seizing her hands. His emotion choked back the words that rose. Never had he been more grateful, and never had he less power of expression.

"Little missy, I done feared yo'd went up in de flames," cried Gustus, and added, "but I had dat dar grain of mustard seed dat made me b'lieve de Lo'd would somehow save yo'."

"Somehow, even when I'm awfully scared, I don't think I'm going to be killed," said Beth.

"I jes' reckon yo' has dat grain of mustard seed I'se tellin' 'bout."

"I reckon it's a good thing to have, Gustus," put in Harvey. "But instead of letting the mustard seed do everything by itself, I believe we'd better rouse the servants. Unless care is taken their quarters and the barn may burn."

[Illustration: The darkies' quarters.]

This proved a happy suggestion; for while these buildings were far distant from the house, it was found the sparks had already set the barn afire. However, the servants managed to put the fire out.

The glare from the fire illuminated the sky, and attracted the attention of the Davenports and the Gordons returning in a merry mood from the party.

"It looks like a house burning," said Mrs. Davenport. "Supposing it were ours," she added forebodingly.

Mr. Davenport had experienced a like fear for some moments, but had refrained from letting any of the party know. They had remarked that he was driving the spirited span to their full speed, but supposed he was hurrying because of the lateness of the hour.

"It is a fire," cried Mrs. Gordon. "Our daughters—God keep them."

Moments seemed hours to the anxious parents. As dread became certainty, they felt as if the horses were almost standing still, whereas they were going as fast over the hard shell road as was possible. Ambulance or fire horses could not have passed the ones Mr. Davenport drove, urged both by his voice and by the whip.

"Beth—Julia," cried two mothers the same second, as they rushed from the carriage and gathered two blanketed figures to their hearts. Tears of relief and thankfulness flowed thick and fast.

"It's terrible that our lovely home is gone," cried Beth.

"In evil there is good. You are safe, my darling," her mother murmured.

The fathers felt no less keenly the escape of their beloved children, but expressed themselves less emotionally. Marian could get hardly any one to notice her, but finally managed to say so as to be heard:

"I don't think they ought to be standing around with bare feet, and blankets wrapped around them."

"You must all come home with us," cried Mrs. Gordon. "I will not accept a refusal. We have a great abundance of room."

Already the fire was beginning to die down, and Mr. Davenport saw that no good could be accomplished by remaining longer.

"January, I want you to watch to see that no damage is done by sparks," he said.

"Sparks won't have no sort of chance wid me aroun', massa."

Room was made in the carriage for the two children, and the horses were started in the direction of the Gordon homestead. For a few moments, in the excitement of telling about the fire, Beth forgot all about Duke. They were almost at the Gordons' door when she thought of him. She looked hastily back, half hoping he might be following, and to her joy saw him directly behind the carriage. Beth pleaded to be allowed to take her beloved dog up to Julia's room with them. Julia added her entreaties, and the children were permitted to do as they wished in the matter.

Once the children were in bed, they talked awhile of their fortunate deliverance. Duke came in for a big share of praise. Then Julia fell asleep, but Beth felt very wide awake. Presently, even Duke on the floor near their bed also slept. Beth knew that he was sleeping because he moaned as if he were haunted by a nightmare of the fire.

"Poor, poor fellow, he feels almost as bad as I," thought Beth. For a long time she lay awake wondering what her father would do now that their home with all its contents was burned.

"Just s'posing—just s'posing——" With these words Beth fell into a troubled sleep.

About ten minutes afterwards, she began crying in her sleep, which wakened Julia.

"Why, Beth dear, what's the matter?" and Julia twined her arm lovingly around her friend.

Beth wakened with a start. She sat up in bed. "Where am I, Julia? In Florida?"

"Of course, dear. What made you——"

"Oh, I'm so glad I'm here. I went to sleep s'posing——"

"Supposing what, Beth?"

"Oh, I don't like to tell for fear it may come true. I dreamed that it did come true and it made me very miserable."

"You're just nervous over the terrible fire. All the bad that can happen has already happened to you."

"I don't know about that," murmured Beth, but could not be persuaded to tell Julia more about her dream. Julia therefore sank back into slumberland, and forgot all about her friend's dream, but not so Beth. The fear of what she dreamed haunted her, waking and sleeping.

The next morning, Beth had quite a time dressing. Most of Julia's clothes proved a very tight fit.

"I'll have to pretend I'm a young lady. Then I shall not mind if it is tight," Beth said as she struggled into Julia's blue dress.

"It's a little short, but then short dresses are the style now," commented Julia in an effort to be polite.

Immediately after breakfast, the Davenports and the Gordons started over to view the fire. For some reason known only to herself, Beth did not care to go. She even refused to be moved by Julia's entreaties, and insisted that Julia go without her.

Duke remained to keep Beth company. When the two were alone, Beth put her arms around the faithful dog. He looked up into her eyes and whined.

"I believe you know," cried Beth. "Are you afraid of it, too?"

Again Duke whined.

"You do know, Duke." There were tears in Beth's eyes. "If it happens, they'll take you from me. Don't you remember what Mr. Brown said?"

Duke looked as if he understood.

"They shan't take you from me. I'll go in town and see Mr. Brown. You shall go with me, Duke."

He wagged his tail as if pleased, at the promise. Beth ran for a hat, and then, with Duke, started down the road towards town.

The day was extremely sultry, and the warmth in combination with the excitement of the night before soon caused Beth to tire, but she would not give up her undertaking.

"You'd do as much to stay with me, wouldn't you, Duke?" she asked, to encourage herself.

Duke barked. Perhaps it was because he did not mind the heat and was anxious for a frolic. Beth envied his spirits. To her the way seemed very long and dusty, but on and on she trudged. She did not know exactly where Mr. Brown lived, but thought by asking she could easily find out, and so it proved.

It was a very tired, warm, and dusty little girl who finally turned in at the Browns'.

A great, overgrown puppy rushed at Beth and Duke as they opened the gate. At first, Beth could hardly believe her own eyes. It scarcely seemed possible that it was the same puppy she had given Mr. Brown such a short time before. The little fellow had outgrown all his brothers and sisters, and could no longer be rightly termed little. Duke was unaffectedly glad to see his son. Away they ran together.

"Duke, Duke, come back."

Beth's call did not bring him, but Mr. Brown came around the corner of the house.

"Why, missy," his face lighted up in greeting. Beth wondered how she ever thought him ugly-looking. "You saw my puppy, didn't you? I tell you he's a fine fellow. Duke never compared with him."

"Do you really like the puppy the best?" cried Beth, eagerly rushing up to him in her excitement.

"Not a doubt of it." He smiled at her evident delight. "Gift——"

"Is that what you call him?"

"Yes. The name is to remind me of your kindness. I——"

"Was I really kind?" she interrupted wistfully. She did not wait for an answer. "Then perhaps you'd be willing to do me a very, very great favor."

"What is it you want? But you'd better sit down first. You look tired."

"I am a little tired. It was pretty hot walking."

"You don't mean you walked here?—and on such a hot day?"

When he found that she had, he seated her in the shade on the cool piazza, and would not listen to another word until he went into the house and returned with a bottle of orangeade for her.

"Now while you drink, I'll tell you why I like Gift better than Duke. In the first place, Gift really loves me—why, I don't believe that even such a charming little lady as you could get Gift to leave me. Let's try and see. Here, Gift; come, Gift."

The two dogs came running at his call.

"He always answers just so promptly." Beth noted how proud he looked. "Now little missy, call Gift and make friends with him."

Beth did as bidden. Gift proved very friendly in response. Duke seemed inclined to be jealous.

"Now missy, rise as if to go and call Gift to follow. It will be as big a temptation as he ever had. He doesn't usually make friends the way he has with you and Duke. Perhaps I'm a fool to try him so."

"Then I will not——"

"No, no. I want to know if Gift cares for me as much as I think he does. You must try him."

Beth was growing nervous over the situation. Somehow, she realized that the love of Gift meant more to the man before her than almost anything in his life. If the dog failed him at this point it might have a very disastrous effect.

"Come, come; do as I say," cried Brown with somewhat of his original curtness of manner.

Beth did not dare refuse, but trembled for the result. She arose. Duke wagged his tail in delight that she was going.

"Come on, Gift." He paid no heed, but his master saw that she was not calling as if she really wanted the dog.

"Call as if you meant it."

She saw that she could not fool him. She felt compelled to act under his direction, but it seemed the irony of fate that once she had unwittingly taken his dog from him, and that now she should be made to try again when neither of them wished the dog to leave him. Tears were in her eyes, but she clapped her hands as if ready for a frolic. "Come on, Gift; come on." Duke also barked an invitation. Gift leaped down the steps and was by their side in an instant.

"Oh, please call him back, or let me come back."

"Go on. Don't you dare let him see that you don't want him. If he follows you home, I never want to see any of you again. Both dogs then are yours forever," growled Gift's owner.

Tears now blinded poor Beth so that she could hardly see to open the gate. Duke did not wait for it to be opened, but leaped over the fence. Gift hesitated about following. He was perfectly able to make the jump, but he evidently thought of his master for the first time. He looked back undecided what to do.

"Oh, if he only would call him," but Brown stood as if turned to stone. Suddenly Gift ran back to his side. Beth never felt more grateful.

"Call him. I am not sure of him yet," cried Brown in a strange voice.

"It's cruel to the dog and to me," thought Beth. She now held the gate open. "Come, Gift." Again Duke barked.

"I'm ashamed of you, Duke Davenport, for tempting your own son," thought Beth.

Gift looked up at his master as if for a word of instruction. He received no word or sign in reply. Then Gift made a slight move as if to follow Beth, but suddenly turned and licked his master's hand. Next, he settled down on the porch for a sleep as if the matter were settled once and forever.

Beth now expected to see Mr. Brown show some emotion, but he simply called, "Missy, come back."

She would have thought that she had overestimated his feelings in the matter if she had not caught sight of tears in his eyes when she returned.

"Gift is the best friend I have," he said quietly when Beth was reseated. "Do you know he helps keep me from saloons. If he is with me and I start in one, he growls. Now, what favor do you want to ask of me?"

She had almost forgotten the object of her visit, and the abruptness with which it was recalled to her embarrassed her.

"I—I want to pay you for Duke. I have some money of my own in the bank and I think——"

"But I gave Duke to you." He looked grieved. "I accepted Gift from you, I don't see——"

"You don't understand. Do you remember what you said when you gave me Duke? You said if I ever left Florida I'd have to give him back to you."

"That was before I had Gift."

"And you wouldn't take Duke from me?" She sprang to her feet.

"Not for the world."

Suddenly Beth seized Duke, and danced around and around with him. "Oh, goody. Duke, you old dear, we needn't stay awake nights worrying over that part any more."

Mr. Brown hitched up and drove Beth back. On the way, she told him of the fire, and how Duke had saved their lives. Duke and Gift were following the carriage, and perhaps Duke was telling his son of his own heroism, because Gift often barked as if excited over something.

Mr. Brown said he would like to see the ruins and so Beth drove with him to the homestead. They found Mr. Davenport, Julia, Harvey, Maggie, and Gustus out near the stables.

"Why Beth, where have you been?" cried her father.

She jumped out of the carriage and ran and threw herself into her father's arms. "Papa, now that our house is gone, I was afraid you'd take us back North to live. I don't want to go, but if I had to go, it would have broken my heart to part with Duke, but now, I'll never, never have to part with him, no matter what happens. Mr. Brown says he's mine forever."

"Dear, I do not expect to go back North. Next fall, we'll build a fine new house, and you shall be a little Florida lady the rest of your life, if you wish."

"I'm to live South always," cried Beth, turning a radiant face toward her friends.

"Three cheers for our little Florida lady," proposed Harvey. All present joined in the hurrahing that followed. Gustus's voice rang out the loudest of any.

Beth's face was radiant. The sun was shining once more for her. Her two great fears had proved groundless. Duke was hers, and henceforth she was to remain A Little Florida Lady.

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