Gran’ma lived in a roomy old house with a delightful garden, surrounded by a very high red-brick wall that was covered in the spring with white blossoms, and in the autumn with peaches with red cheeks that laughed at her and imitated hers; purple plums covered with bloom, and other plums that looked like drops of gold among the green leaves; and these used to get so ripe and juicy in the hot sun, that they would crack and peer out at her as if asking to be eaten before they fell down and wasted their rich honey juice on the ground. Then there were great lumbering looking pears which worried John, the gardener, because they grew so heavy that they tore the nails out of the walls, and had to be fastened up again—old John giving Gran’ma the shreds to hold while he went up the ladder with his hammer, and a nail in his mouth.
That garden was Gran’ma’s world, it was so big; and on fine mornings she could be seen seriously wandering about with Dinnywinkle, her little sister, up this way, down that, under the apple-trees, along the gooseberry and currant alleys, teaching her and Grant that it was not proper to go on the beds when there were plenty of paths, and somehow Dinnywinkle, who was always bubbling over with fun, did as the serious little thing told her in the most obedient of ways, and helped her to scold Grant, who was much harder to teach.
For Grant, whose papa was a setter, and mamma a very lady-like retriever, always had ideas in his head that there were wild beasts hiding in the big garden, and as soon as his collar was unfastened, and he was taken down the grounds for a run, he seemed to run mad. His ears went up, his tail began to wave, and he dashed about frantically to hunt for those imaginary wild beasts. He barked till he was hoarse sometimes, when after a good deal of rushing about he made a discovery, and would then look up triumphantly at Gran’ma, and point at his find with his nose, till she came up to see what he had discovered. One time it would be a snail, at another a dead mouse killed by the cat, and not eaten because it was a shrew. Upon one occasion, when the children ran up, it was to find the dog half wild as he barked to them to come and see what he was holding down under his paw,—this proving to be an unfortunate frog which uttered a dismal squeal from time to time till Gran’ma set it at liberty, so that it could make long hops into a bed of ivy, where it lived happily long afterwards, to sit there on soft wet nights under a big leaf like an umbrella, and softly whistle the frog song which ends every now and then in a croak.
Grant was always obedient when he was caught, and then he would walk steadily along between Gran’ma and Dinny, each holding one of his long silky ears, with the prisoner making no effort to escape.
But the job was to catch him; and on these occasions Gran’ma used to run and run fast, while Dinny ran in another direction to cut Grant off.
And a pretty chase he led them, letting them get close up, and then giving a joyous bark and leaping sidewise, to dash off in quite a fresh direction. Here he would perhaps hide, crouching down under one of the shrubs, ready to pounce out on his pursuers, and then dash away again, showing his teeth as if he were laughing, and in his frantic delight waltzing round and round after his tail. Then away he would bound on to the closely shaven lawn, throw himself down, roll over and over, and set Dinny laughing and clapping her hands to see him play one of his favorite tricks, which was to lay his nose down close to the grass, first on one side and then on the other, pushing it along as if it was a plough, till he sprang up and stood barking and wagging his tail, as much as to say, “What do you think of that for a game?” ending by running helter-skelter after a blackbird which flew away, crying “Chink—chink—chink.”
That was a famous old wilderness of a place, with great stables and out-houses, where there was bright golden straw, and delicious sweet-scented hay, and in one place a large bin with a lid, and half-full of oats, with which Gran’ma used to fill a little cross-handled basket.
“Now, Grant,” she cried, as she shut down the lid, after refusing to let Dinny stand in the bin and pour oats over her head and down her back—“Now, Grant!”