Geordie and the Sick Dog.
AN ENGLISH STORY.
It was Saturday afternoon, and had been longed for all the week by little Geordie, as he was called, for he was a very little fellow. Geordie had built himself a boat, and had promised to give it a fine sail in a pond, not a great way from the house in which he lived, called the fen ditch.
So away he went, before he had quite eaten his dinner, with his boat in one hand, and the remains of a slice of bread and butter in the other; for his mother was a poor woman, and Geordie did not get meat every day, and never on a Saturday.
But his cheeks were rosy, and his eye was bright, and his ringlets laughed in the wind as he ran along, looking at his boat with eyes of delight all the way, and every now and then taking a huge mouthful, and then stopping for breath, for fear the dry crumbs should be blown down his chest.
There was a beautiful breeze, as he called it,—for he called everything beautiful that pleased him. He had a beautiful piece of bread and butter; and a beautiful knife; and a beautiful pair of shoes,—only his toes peeped through them.
He had a kind, cheerful, and tender heart, and so everything appeared beautiful to him, and few things had the power to make him discontented or peevish; but, just as Geordie got over the Warren hills, which led to the place of his destination, he saw Harry Dyke, the groom at the great house of Lady Clover, coming over the swale, as it was called, with several of the boys of the village dancing about him, apparently in great delight.
When he came nearer, he found that Harry was carrying, wrapped up in a piece of an old sack, a little dog, which Geordie recognised as being one which he had before seen, with its two fore paws leaning over the ledge of the sash-pane in Lady Clover’s carriage, when she drove through the village.
One of the boys had got a couple of brick-bats, and a long piece of cord, and seemed very officious. He called out to Harry, “Harry, let me throw him in, will you?—there’s a good fellow. But wo’n’t you give him a knock on the head,—just one knock to dozzle him?”
“Why, they are going to drown that little pet-dog, that us children used to say, lived a great deal better than we did; and, when I have been very hungry, I have often wished I was Lady Clover’s lap-dog, for I heard say that she sometimes gave it rump-steak for its dinner, with oyster-sauce.” So thought little Geordie to himself; he did not, however, say anything.
“O! here is little Geordie,” said one of the boys. “Geordie, Geordie, come and have some sport!—we are going to drown a dog in the ditch.”
“What are you going to drown it for?” said Geordie.
“O! to have some fun, I suppose. No, it is not that; it is because my lady can’t bear the nasty thing—it has got the mange, or some disorder. There;—do not touch it. Don’t you smell it?”
The poor little dog looked at Geordie, and struggled to get out of the sacking, and gave a whine, as if it would be glad to get away from its enemies.
“Lay down, you beast,” said Harry, and gave it a severe blow on the head; “lay down; I’ll soon settle your business.”
By this time they had come to the fen brook, and the dog was placed on the ground, and taken from the sack-cloth in which it was wrapped. It was a deplorable looking creature, and its hair was off in several places; it yelped wofully as it looked around, while the boys began to prepare the noose and the brick-bats.
“O! do not drown him,” said Geordie; “pray, do not drown him. What are you going to drown him for?”
“Why, because he is sick, and ill, and dirty. He is no good to any one,” said Harry. “My lady used to be very fond of him; but now, he looks such an object, she says he is to be destroyed.”
“Give him to me,” said Geordie; “I’ll have him, and keep him till he gets well—he shall have half my dinner every day. Here, little dog, have this piece of bread and butter.”
“Go away, and leave the dog alone,” said the boy who had the cord; “you are not going to spoil our sport. Get out of the way with you.” And so he drew near, and fastened the cord to the dog’s neck.
“O! do give him to me! Pray don’t drown him,” said Geordie; “pray do not. O! do give him to me; I will make him well—indeed I will. Do let me have him?—there’s a good Harry Dyke,” and the tears came into Geordie’s eyes.
“Go along, Mr. Dog Doctor,” said Harry; “go along, Mr. Cry Baby.”
“Here, Harry, I’ll give you my boat for the little dog—it is a beautiful boat; here, put it into the water instead of the dog—do, do, do;” and so Geordie thrust the boat into Harry’s hand, and, without waiting to settle the bargain, laid hold of the dog.
“Leave go of him,” said the boy with the cord and the brick-bats, “leave go, I tell you; if you do not, it shall be the worse for you. Leave go, or”——
“Ay, you may rap my knuckles,” said Geordie, “I do not mind that.—Harry Dyke, Harry Dyke, am I not to have the dog, and you have the boat?” said he, struggling.
“O! I do not care about it,” said Harry; “take him, if you will have him; the boat will do for my brother Tom, and I wish you joy of the bargain.”
The other boys hearing this, were much disconcerted; and would, no doubt, have molested Geordie still further, but the little fellow no sooner heard Harry’s tacit consent, than he immediately set off at full speed, with the dog under his arm, in the direction of home.
When he reached his home he was quite out of breath, and his mother was fearful something had happened to him. “Why, Geordie, Geordie, what is the matter with you; and what have you got under your arm?”
Geordie laid down the dog, and the sight of the poor creature, whose looks told the state of disease in which it was, made the good woman quite afraid to have it in the house; and, without hearing anything of the circumstances connected with the poor animal, or giving Geordie time to explain, she declared it should not set foot in the house, and drove Geordie and his purchase out of it together; telling the latter to take it from whence it came, and that the house was not to be converted into a hospital for sick dogs.
Geordie was more disconsolate than ever; he went into the fields, with the dog under his arm: now be laid it down, and patted it; then he talked to it, and, in his childish manner, tried to comfort it. The poor creature looked up to Geordie, and wagged its tail, and seemed quite glad to find somebody could feel for it.
“Ay, that is the way of these ladyfolks,” thought Geordie to himself; “they like their pets, and fondle them enough while they look pretty and frisk about, and play about; but, when they get sick, and ill, or old, then they hang and drown them. I wonder what makes them do it.”
What to do with the dog Geordie knew not. At last, however, he bethought himself that he would take him up into a little loft, over a small stable which his father had, and there make him a bed with some nice hay, and try and make him better.
So he mounted the ladder, and got into the loft. He soon made the poor thing a bed, and then he thought he would get him something to eat; but Geordie had no money. He had, however, a good many marbles, for Geordie was a capital hand at ring-taw; and so he took his marble-bag, and went into the green, where several boys were playing, and very soon sold his marbles. They produced four-pence, for there were more than fifty, at sixteen a penny.
He then bought some dog’s-meat at the butcher’s, and a halfpenny worth of milk, and a halfpenny worth of sulphur, to mix with the milk; for somebody once said, in his hearing, that sulphur and milk were good physic for dogs.
He then washed the animal, and fed him; and what with washing, and physicing, and comforting, in a few days the poor dog regained his strength; in a few days more he regained his coat; and it was not many days more before he was as well as ever.
Geordie then ventured to bring him in to his father and mother; who, seeing the animal quite changed in appearance, and a lively, handsome, little dog, and not very old, were quite pleased with him; and no less pleased with their son’s conduct, when it was all explained to them.
Some weeks after this, Lady Clover came through the village, in her carriage, as usual, and was astonished to behold her little dog sitting, with his fore paws out of Geordie’s mother’s parlor window, just as he used to sit out in her ladyship’s carriage.
Lady Clover alighted, and went towards the house. The dog immediately began to bark, nor would the soft tones of the lady’s voice by any means pacify him. In a few minutes she learned the whole of her former pet’s history, and wished to have him again. “She would give Geordie a crown for him,” she said; but Geordie would not sell his dog.
“No, I thank you, my lady.” “Bow-wow, wow,” said the little dog. “He might be sick again, my lady, and then he would be drowned, my lady.” “Bow-wow, wow—bow-wow, wow.”
“Keep the plaguesome creature quiet,” said her ladyship, “and hear me.”—“Bow-wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow,” said the little dog.
Her ladyship could not obtain a hearing, and left the cottage in high displeasure. “I would not sell him for his weight in gold,” said Geordie,—“not to Lady Clover.”
It was some years after this that Geordie grew almost a man, and Chloe, for that was the dog’s name, grew old; Geordie’s father had prospered in life; and, from being a poor cottager, had become a respectable farmer.
One night he returned from market with a considerable sum of money, arising from the sale of his crops, the principal part of which he had to pay away to his landlord in a few days.
Some evil-disposed fellows had obtained a knowledge of this money being in the house, and determined to break into and rob it—perhaps also to murder those who might oppose them.
It was a very dark night, and all were sound asleep, when Black Bill, and two companions, approached on tip-toe, to make an entrance in the back premises.
By means of a centre-bit they had soon cut a panel out of the wash-house door; they then entered the kitchen without making the least noise. Black Bill had a large carving-knife in one hand, and a dark lantern in the other, and, supposing the money to be in the bed-room, was mounting the stairs, to take it at any hazard.
The stairs creaked with the weight of the robber, and in a moment Chloe aroused the whole house with her barking—her shrill voice was heard in every room. In a moment Geordie was up, and his father’s blunderbuss at his shoulder.
“Speak, or I will fire!” said he. No answer,—but a scampering through the passage. Geordie followed—he heard the robbers making their escape; he fired—the robber fell.
Lights were procured. It was found that the fellow was only slightly wounded in the leg, which prevented his running away. In the morning it was discovered who the robber was—it was the very boy, now grown a man, who had the cord and the brick-bats!
Chloe did not live long after this, but died of sheer old age; not, however, you see, till she had amply repaid the kindness which had been bestowed upon her by Geordie.—Learn from this, my little readers, a lesson of humanity!
