Chapter Twelve.
Leigh’s Plan.
Ever since the day the children had waited for their father outside the Lavender Cottages—the day when it was settled that they were to have Fuzzy—the idea of training the dog to be driven, and making him draw the perambulator as he had seen Ned drawing the Perrys’ old wicker carriage, had been in Leigh’s head. That was why he was so interested about the new carriage for his little sister.
He was sensible in some ways. He knew it would be no use harnessing the dog into a cart or anything till he had accustomed him a little to being driven. That was what had made him think of buying reins. He had waited a good while too, till the dog was nearly full-grown and had grown pretty obedient to his voice and call. But when he heard that the perambulator was really to be bought, he thought to himself that it was quite time Fuzzy’s “breaking-in” should begin.
For it was now late September. Baby Dolly was close upon her fifth “month-day,” as the children called it, and growing so big and lively that nurse could scarcely manage to carry her any distance without feeling rather tired, as Dolly was very fond of sitting straight up and looking about her and giving little jumps and springs when Mary or the boys ran up to her. And “Fuzz,” as Leigh generally called him—for he thought “Fuzzy” rather a girl’s name—was a very big puppy indeed—so big and playful that, when he came galloping over the lawn to the children, Mary used to run behind nurse, if she was there, for fear of being knocked over.
It was fun and affection, of course, and when he stood still Mary would pat him and call him “dear Fuzzy,” “poor old Fuzzy,” quite bravely, but at the bottom, of her heart she was a little afraid of him. And though she did not like to say so to the boys, she often wished that he had stayed a roly-poly, soft, tumbling-about creature, as he was when she had first seen him—only a few weeks old.
But Leigh would not have liked that at all, of course.
Well, the driving-lessons went on, and thanks to Leigh’s patience, of which he had a good deal when he chose, Fuzz became more manageable, as I said. After a while Leigh found an old remains of a little cart on wheels—it was really a sort of small dray which some of his young uncles had knocked together years ago for dragging wood on—which he managed to harness the dog to, to accustom him to feeling something behind him. Fuzz kicked and spluttered and ran away ever so many times; he did not like the rattling noise coming after him, but after a while he grew used to it and would scamper off quite merrily, and so fast that Leigh could scarcely keep up with him. That was the great difficulty—to make him go slowly.
But Leigh was not discouraged.
“It’ll be all right,” he thought, “when he feels he’s pulling something heavier.”
And still he kept it all a secret, except of course from Mellor and the outdoor servants, and they did not know anything about his plan for the perambulator.
It came, about ten days after it had been promised. Mary had been growing very impatient. She thought it was never coming, and even her mamma was on the point of writing to the place where she had ordered it, to ask why they were so long of sending it, when all of a sudden one afternoon it arrived.
Everybody admired it extremely. It was really a very pretty little carriage, and Baby Dolly liked it very much, to judge by the way she crowed and chattered in her own sweet baby language the first time she was tucked into it for a drive.
This was the very morning after it came. For it was luckily a fine, mild day, and the nursery dinner was made a little earlier than usual, so that Baby Dolly should have the best of the afternoon for the first trial of her perambulator; and Mary and the boys and the under-nurse and Fuzzy were all to go too.
Nurse had a holiday indeed! She began by pushing the new carriage herself, just to make sure that baby would not be frightened. But frightened—no, indeed; the little lady chuckled and crowed, and was as happy as could be. So then nurse let Leigh push it for a while, and then Artie, and then even Mary for a little bit, though not for very long, as, though it was beautifully light, it was tiring for her to stretch up her arms, and of course she was too small to see in front if the road was getting at all rough, or if there were stones or ruts to get out of the way of.
And then nurse told Emma, the under-nurse (I think I have forgotten to say that “Little Sarah” was not big enough to help with Dolly, so a new under-nurse had come), to push it for a while—not that Leigh and Artie were not most eager to do so, but nurse wanted to make sure that Emma pushed it carefully, for there are two ways of doing even such a simple thing as pushing a perambulator, though you might not think it. And Emma was rather a silly girl, though she was very good-natured.
“Now, we’se all pussed it except Fuzzy,” said Mary. She was dancing along holding nurse’s hand and feeling very happy and safe. For, to tell the truth, she was often a little frightened of the doggie knocking her over if she was walking along alone or with only Artie. “Poor Fuzzy!” Mary was always very affectionate to Fuzz when she felt herself well protected; “don’t you think, nursie, he’d like to puss it too? If Leigh made him walk like a bear,”—for walking like a bear was one of the tricks Leigh had taught Fuzz,—“on his two behind legs, and then put his two before legs on the pussing place; don’t you think he could do it a little, nursie dear? And then we’d all have took turns?”
Nursie laughed at Mary’s funny idea.
“I’m afraid Miss Dolly and the perambulator would soon all be in a heap on the road if Fuzzy was to have a try at pushing,” she said.
And Fuzz, who always seemed to know when they were talking of him, came close to nurse and looked up wistfully in her face with his bright sweet eyes as if he would say, “I’m rather afraid so too.”
Leigh gave him a pat.
“Pushing the p’rambulator,” he said. “No, indeed. You know something better than that; don’t you, Fuzz?”
And Fuzz wagged his tail as much as to say, “Yes, indeed; Leigh knows what I can do. But we’ll keep our secret.”
No one paid any attention to what Leigh said however; no one had any idea there was any secret to keep.
So the little party finished their walk very happily, and returned home greatly pleased with the new perambulator.
It was about a fortnight later that something happened which I must tell you about.
All this time Leigh kept on patiently with his training or “breaking-in” of Fuzz. Whenever he had a chance of getting off to the stables alone, for half an hour or so, he harnessed the dog to the remains of a cart that I told you of, and drove him up and down the paths. No one but the stablemen and the gardeners knew about it, and they only thought it was a fancy of the boy’s and never spoke about it.
And Leigh told nobody—not even Artie—of what he had got in his head.
He kept saying to himself he wanted to “surprise” them all, and that if he told Artie every one would be sure to hear of it.
“And I must manage to try it first without nurse fussing,” he thought. “She’d never believe it would do. She’s so stupid about some things.”
But at the bottom of his heart, I think he knew that what he was meaning to do was not a right thing for him to try without leave from the grown-up people, and that it was the fear of their stopping it much more than the wish to “surprise” everybody that made him keep his plan so secret.
So he said nothing, but waited for a chance to come.
And before long the chance did come. It does seem sometimes as if chances for wrong things or not-right things come more quickly and more surely than for good things, I am afraid. Or is it, perhaps, that we are more ready to catch at them?
Now I must tell you that Emma, the under-nurse, was not a very sensible girl. She was more taken up with herself and her dresses and chattering to whoever would listen to her than with her own work and duties; and she was very fond of calling nurse old-fashioned and fussy and too strict, which was not right. She spoke of her in that way to Leigh, and made him fancy he was too big a boy to be treated like a nursery child, which was very mischievous. But she was a good-natured girl, and she was what is called “civil-spoken” to nurse and to the other servants, so nurse hoped she would improve as she got older, though she found her lazy and careless very often.
Just about this time, unfortunately, poor nurse sprained her ankle. It did not make her ill, for it was not very bad and soon began to get better, but it stopped her going out walks for two or three days.
The first day this happened was one of the afternoons that Leigh had Latin lessons with a tutor, so only Artie and Mary went out a walk with Baby Dolly in the perambulator and Emma pushing it.
Nurse spoke a great deal to Emma about being very careful, and not going near the field where the bull was, and not crossing the little bridge which was soon going to be mended, and about several other “nots.” And Emma listened to what she said, and that day all went well. Artie and Mary trotted along very peacefully, and now and then, when the road was smooth, Emma let them push baby for a little bit, and baby cooed and crowed when they talked to her. They went near the Perrys’ cottage and they met all the children—Janie as usual carrying the baby, Comfort pushing the old wicker carriage with the two other babies, and staring away at the open book in her hand at the same time, so that Janie had to keep calling out every minute or two to warn her where she was going. Ned was not with them, that was the only difference. For Ned was beginning now to do a little work out of school hours.
The Perrys all came to a stop when they met the other party.
“How do you do?” said Mary and Artie politely. “How do you like our new p’ram-bilator?”
“It do be a beauty, Miss,” said Janie.
Poor Janie looked tired and hot, though it was not a warm day; the baby was growing heavy.
“Law,” said Emma, “I’d never carry that child if I was you. Why don’t you put it in the cart and make one of the others walk?”
“Law” is not a pretty word; but Emma was not very particular when she was alone with the children.
“Comfort’d never get her reading done if she had to look after Sammy walking,” said Janie. “And I’d have to push the carriage if the dear baby was in it.”
“Where’s Ned?” asked Artie. “And why doesn’t he pull the carriage?”
Emma stared.
“Law, Master Artie—” she was beginning, but Janie, who did not seem at all surprised at the question, for of course she had seen Ned’s attempts to make a horse of himself, answered quietly—
“It didn’t do—not so very well, sir, and it gave me a turn, it did, to see Sammy and Bertie a-tumblin’ about, and all but overturned. No, ’tweren’t no good; so Ned, he’s give it up.”
“What a pity!” said Artie and Mary together, “isn’t our p’ram-bilator nice, Janie?”
“’Tis indeed, the wheels is beautiful and the springs,” said Janie, as she stood watching, while Artie pushed it up and down, to let her see how it went; while even Comfort took her eyes off her book for a minute or two to join in, the admiration. “And Miss Baby do be getting on finely,” the little nurse-sister added.
“You’ve not come our way for a good bit, Miss,” said Comfort to Mary. “It’s a nice road past the cottages and on to the wood—so smooth, I can go on reading all the way. No need to look to one side nor the t’other.”
And then the Perrys moved on, with a curtsey from Janie, which she managed with some difficulty on account of the fat baby, and a kind of nod from Comfort, as she let her eyes drop on to her book again.
That evening at tea, Mary and Artie told Leigh and nurse about meeting the Lavender Cottages children, and how tired poor Janie looked.
“Isn’t it a pity Ned couldn’t dror the carriage?” said Artie.
“Draw, not dror,” said Leigh. “How vulgar you are, Artie. No, I don’t see that it could do much good to Janie, for somebody’d have to drive, and so she’d still have the baby to carry. The big sister should take turns with her.”
“Yes, indeed,” said nurse. “That’d be much better than nonsense about harnessing boys. It’s a wonder those children weren’t driven into bits, that day you told us of.”
“Oh, but Ned was so stupid,” said Leigh. “He hadn’t got proper reins, and he fastened the rope in a perfectly silly way. I could show him how to do it properly. In Lapland, you know, nurse, and in some other country, even dogs pull carts quite nicely.”
“They must be a different kind of dog from ours then,” said nurse. “I know dogs used to turn the spit with the meat to roast it before the fire, but they were a queer kind, and I suppose they were trained to it when they were little puppies.”
“Yes,” said Leigh, “that’s it. It’s all the training. It’s no good unless you begin to teach a dog while he’s a puppy.”
He did not say anything more just then; but that evening he said to Emma that he was going out a walk with the little ones the next day, as he would not have any lessons that afternoon.
“I suppose nurse won’t be able to go out to-morrow,” he added.
“No, not till the day after, if then,” said Emma. “But never mind, Master Leigh, I’ll go any way you like to name, and we’ll have a nice walk, if it’s a fine day.”
“I hope it will be a fine day,” said Leigh.
And the next morning, quite early, before his lessons, he took Fuzz a regular “exercising” up and down the long avenue leading to the stables at the back of the house—cart and all—the dog had really learnt to go pretty well. But then a rough little wooden sledge, on wheels, is a very different thing from a beautiful new perambulator with a sweet baby sister inside it.