FREEDOM
It happened this way. One evening the young lady and her mother had gone to one of those long-lasting parties which do not begin until nearly every one in the world has gone to sleep. The maid was out too, probably to another party. The fat old cook was so sleepy that she forgot to fasten Ready to the hook and cord after she had opened the window. Wasn’t that lucky?
Ready pretended to be asleep until he heard her slow step on the stairs. Then, quick as a wink, he was out of the window and in the yard.
The shortest cut to the street was a dash through the flower bed, and Ready started to go that way. Then he remembered that really nice dogs were always polite to flowers. Now the only way a dog can be really polite to flowers is to keep away from them; so Ready turned and ran around the path.
Quick as a wink he was out of the window
But in spite of this long way around, Ready was soon on the main road. He must make no mistake now. He must never let his head get turned again. Which was the right direction? The road looked so strange, so dark and lonely, that it was hard for a dog to tell anything about it.
Ready felt that he must not wait a moment; so he started. But he soon heard an owl hooting from a tree near by, “No, no, no!”
Then Ready turned and ran in the other direction. From some very far-away place he heard, “Quite right, Bob White,” and so he knew that all was well. Now he would soon come to his dear little master’s house.
On and on he ran, along the cool dark village street, until suddenly he saw in the distance the queer-shaped old oak tree that stood by the gray church at the corner. Ready was very happy, for he knew the way perfectly now. Many a race had he taken to this place with his Master Dick. Many a frolic they had had together under that old tree.
It took about three minutes more of hard dog running to bring him to the dear green house. He noticed that it looked very dark and lonely. Perhaps all the grown-ups had gone to the party too. He gave three crisp little joy barks which always meant to Master Dick, “Ready’s here.”
There was no answer at all. So Ready, with a heavy heart, decided to lie right down by the door and wait until morning.
You may be sure that he woke up very early indeed, in order to be up before Master Dick. He gave his three joy barks again and again, but no answer came.
Just then old Rover appeared. He was the oldest dog about that part of the town, and he knew everything.
Just then old Rover appeared
“Well, well, well,” he said to Ready. “They have been looking everywhere for you, but now you are too late!”
“Too late?” said Ready.
“Yes, too late,” said Rover severely. “The little master was so sick that they took him to the seashore yesterday.”
Then Ready was the saddest little dog in the world, and he looked so.
“It’s your own fault,” said Rover. “Why did you run away?”
At this Ready broke down altogether, tail and all, and sobbed out the whole story.
“Come, come,” said Rover at last, “be a dog and keep up your courage. Try wagging your tail a little, that always helps.”
So Ready wagged his tail and it did help a little speck. Then Rover gave him some breakfast and that helped a great deal.
After breakfast was over, Rover gave Ready letters of introduction to several traveling dog friends of his in the hope that they might happen to know Master Dick’s seashore home. But when night came a very tired and discouraged little Ready returned to the lonely house. You see, most of the traveling dogs had already left the city and the others had sent down word, “Too busy,” or “Not at home.”
It was the darkest hour of Ready’s life. Indeed, I do not know what would have happened next if a happy Robin had not been still awake, singing, “Cheer up.” When he saw sad little Ready, as quick as a wink he made this other verse to his evening song:
“Chance, chance, chance,
Everybody has a chance;
Cheer up, be Ready and wagging,
Cheer up, cheer up.”
Listening to Robin’s song of cheer
I cannot tell you how much this helped Ready. He wagged his tail at once and decided he would take a little run in the moonlight, so as to be on the lookout for chances.
As he ran along, he noticed a great many dogs going by. Dogs he had never seen, dogs old, dogs young, dogs middle-aged, all in a great hurry. He asked several of them where they were going, but few had time to answer him.
One said, “Aren’t you going?” and several mumbled something that he could not make out.
At last one very fat and panting dog stopped to rest a minute.
“Won’t you please tell me where you are going?” asked Ready.
“Why, don’t you know?” was the answer. “This is the 21st of June!”
Just then another dog came along. “Hurry up, you two, or you’ll be late,” he called out.
“Come on,” said the panting, fat dog.
Now Ready had had so much bad luck running about with strange dogs that he only shook his head and said, “I don’t know anything about it.”
“Don’t know anything about it? By my tail, you must be a stranger here,” said the panting, fat one. Ready afterwards called him “Paf” for short—“P” standing for panting and “F” for fat, you see.
“At midnight on the 21st of June, if it is moonlight, a wonderful thing happens. All the beasts, birds and flowers in this part of the world meet in an open space near the woods. They have music, dancing and refreshments. Then the Eagle, who is the king of the birds, grants a wish to any animal who has a clear record.
“The Eagle gives the wish to the beasts, instead of the birds and flowers, because nobody ever has anything against the flowers anyway, and they don’t care for new experiences. As for the birds, they have so many chances to travel and do interesting things that His Majesty, the Eagle, decided to go outside of his own family and give the wish to the four-footers. You see, they get around very little as they have no wings.
“Come on,” said the panting, fat dog
“The animals are not what they once were,” Paf went on, as they hurried along. “Last year no one could get it, and the year before only one had a chance even to try.”
“Do many want to try?” asked Ready.
“Not so many as there were in my young days,” said Paf. “It’s unpleasant being refused, you see, and having all the little things you have done and forgotten thrown in your face. I’d try myself to-night, but I had a bad time a few days ago with an old alley cat. It was all her fault of course, but I know she will be here to-night to complain of me if I should come forward.
“It is hard, these days,” Paf went on, “to get a clear record, since they allow all kinds of cats to vote, and even flowering vines and chickens can speak against us. So what is an animal to do? It used to be that an English sparrow’s vote counted nothing, but now these worthless creatures have as much to say as we do. Why, no cat has a chance because the mice are all invited. Times are sadly changed.” And poor Paf sighed.
They allow all kinds of cats to vote