AUNT TOTTY’S PETS.—TIGER.
The next of her pets that Aunt Totty told us about was a dog called “Tiger.” This was what she told us.
“Tiger,” said Aunt Totty, “flourished about the same time as Moko, the monkey I described to you the other day. He was a very big dog, something between a Newfoundland and a Mount St. Bernard. He belonged to my old nurse and foster-mother, who lived on a little farm not very far from Marseilles. Her husband, who was now a farmer, had once been a soldier, and was a brave and worthy man.
“Once, after I had had the measles, I was sent for change of air to stay a week or two with my old nurse. The chateau, where we then lived, was not many leagues away; still for some reason the change of air was considered necessary for my complete cure. How I enjoyed the visit I can scarcely tell you. I had everything entirely my own way, and of course had a holiday from all lessons. From the moment I entered the house, Tiger adopted me as his playfellow and friend. I loved him dearly, and had a great respect for him at the same time, for never was dog at once so gentle and so terrible. He would jump upon me to caress me, and knock me down flat under the weight of his great paws, while I in turn used to sit upon his back, roll on the top of him when he was resting, and unmercifully pull his ears and his tail.
“He was mine to do as I liked with, for my nurse would deny me nothing, and I chose to adopt Tiger for my own. Everyone loved the brave big dog who knew him: but now I must come to the point of my story.
“One evening, at twilight, I was out playing with my little foster-brother a short distance from the cottage, on the outskirts of a large wood. We were sitting on a bank talking, and he was telling me of a ghost which, he said, had been frightening everybody in the neighbourhood of late.
“‘Ah,’ cried little Pierrette, shuddering, ‘this frightful ghost makes the grown-up people run away: what should we do if we saw it now?’
“‘Nonsense,’ I answered, ‘a boy ought never to be frightened——.’ I got so far when, to my horror, I saw, coming out of the dark wood, a tall white figure, which came walking slowly towards us. As it approached slowly, slowly, a cold shiver ran down my back, my eyes seemed starting from my head, and shrieking out, ‘The ghost, the ghost!’ I ran back towards the cottage. Pierrette—in consequence perhaps of what I had just said—stood his ground boldly; at least for the moment.
“For my part I thought of nothing but myself, and rushed screaming into the house. Pierrette’s father, Pierre, ran to the door, hearing my cries, and could himself see the terrible ghost at a distance. He at once took down an old gun from above the chimney-piece—one which, I believe, had figured in Napoleon’s campaigns—and hastily loading it with deer-shot, marched out in the direction of the phantom. Walking a few steps, he called out in a voice which he strove in vain to make firm,—
“‘Who goes there?’
“The ghost made no answer, but waved his arms about in the air.
“‘Who goes there?’ again cried Pierre. ‘If you do not answer, I shall fire.’
“Again the ghost only waved his long arms—arms which appeared to me to reach the sky. Pierre put the gun to his shoulder, he pulled the trigger, but it did not go off; it was old and out of order. Then a shout of diabolical laughter broke the quiet night, echoing all around. And I regret to say my nurse’s husband fled—positively fled; caught his foot against a stone, tumbled on his nose, picked himself up again, and ran into the cottage—though I must do him the justice to say that he caught me by the hand, and dragged me in along with him.
“Once safe inside, we both thought of Pierrette,—where was he? And I told how he had stood still when I ran away. Then a happy thought occurred to me: I called Tiger from his kennel; and as, on looking out, we could no longer see the ghost, we all—father, mother, I, and Tiger—went out to look about for the boy.
“After searching a little while in vain, we returned to the cottage, where, at the door, we found Tiger and Pierrette lying down together waiting for our return—the little boy having fallen asleep with his head comfortably resting on the dog’s body, just as you see them in the picture.
“The next evening, as soon as it began to grow dark, we watched for the ghost, and saw it appear again almost at the same hour in the same place. But this time the brave Tiger was let loose upon him at once.
“The phantom had only advanced a little way from the wood, and was beginning to wave his long arms, when Tiger, without the least hesitation, sprang upon him, howling with rage. The ghost showed no fight at all, but at once turned and fled. In running, he got his feet entangled in the sheets which he was wrapped up in, and fell to the ground. Tiger was upon him in an instant, and the ghost cried for mercy.
“Pierre and some other peasants came to the rescue, when they found that they had been so frightened only by one of themselves—a drunken, idle fellow, who, rather than work, played this trick. And why? Well, partly for fun, no doubt, but also in order to steal his neighbours’ fowls and vegetables; for he thought that no one would venture to come out at night to interfere with the ghost.
“The fame of Tiger’s exploit was so great, that he was soon afterwards purchased at a high price by the owner of some flocks of sheep, which pastured in the mountains; and who said very reasonably:—‘The dog who dare attack a ghost will never be afraid of wolves.’”
When I go walking along, long, long,
I always keep singing a song, song, song.
It shortens the way,
By night or by day,
If you keep singing a song, song, song.
