Bruno

by Byrd Spilman Dewey

We sold our little home furnished, packed up our books, with a few other personal belongings, and turned our faces towards St. Augustine, to investigate several openings there, of which we had chanced to hear. We were so fortunate as to be able to rent a small cottage, and at once took possession, furnishing it from our trunks, only buying a few necessary articles of the plainest kind.

Just as we had settled ourselves in these temporary quarters, a matter of business came up, making necessary a return to Lemonville for a day or two. The trip was both tedious and expensive, so after some discussion we decided that Bruno and I should stay and keep house, while Julius made the trip alone "light weight."

I had some trouble in persuading Julius that I should be perfectly safe in Bruno's care. He wished us to close the cottage, and go to some one of the many pleasant boarding-places, where we had friends or acquaintances stopping. This I should certainly have done, had I been alone; but I reminded Julius how more than able Bruno was to take care of me, and how much trouble he always gave in a strange house. So he was finally persuaded that it would be best for us to stay in the cottage.

Julius left on a noon train, carrying only a small hand-bag. When he said good-by to us, he impressed this on Bruno's mind,—"Take good care of Judith."

Bruno stood at the door with me, watching him out of sight, then breathed a deep sigh, and crept off under the bed to have it out with himself alone and unseen. I busied myself picking up the articles which had been scattered in the confusion of packing, then sat down to drown thought in a book.

Towards evening I had a caller. One of our friends, who had seen Julius, bag in hand, at the station, and had thus learned that I was alone, sent a message by her little son that I was to "come right around" to their house for the night. I sent our thanks, with further message that Bruno and I had agreed to take care of each other. The child went home; then his mother came. She thought I "must be crazy" to think of staying alone. She "wouldn't do it for any money." I assured her I was not staying alone, and had some trouble to convince her that I could not possibly be more safely guarded than by Bruno. I assured her, further, that nothing would now induce me to lock up the house and leave it, for it would be impossible to know just when Julius would return; he would be sure to catch the first boat and train after his business was finished, and I would not for anything have him return to find his nest deserted.

I succeeded, at last, in quieting all of her kind objections, and was left in peace.

Darkness came on, and then Bruno lost courage. As I was preparing his evening meal, he ran to meet me as I crossed the room, and raising himself to an upright position, he rested his paws on my shoulders and gazed with mournful questioning into my eyes. I knew what he would say, and sitting down, I drew his head to my knee, and told him all about it,—that Julius would only stay a "little, little while," then he would come back and "stay—stay—stay always with us." His ears rose and fell, his forehead wrinkled and unwrinkled as I talked to him. Then he seemed comforted, and ate a good supper.

I sat reading far into the night, until the letters began to blur. Bruno sat beside me, sometimes with his head on my knee while I stroked his silken ears,—which always suggested the wavy locks of a red-haired girl,—and sometimes he lay at full length on the floor, with his head against my feet.

As midnight tolled, I closed my book, covered up the fire, and tried to go to sleep, with Bruno lying on the rug beside my bed. Whenever I stirred, he got up, and putting his forefeet on the side of the bed, reached his head over for me to stroke it. It was the first time I had ever spent a night in a house with no other humans, and Bruno seemed to enter thoroughly into my feelings.