Squib and His Friends

by Evelyn Everett-Green

“Don’t be afraid of my dog, sir,” he called out in German; “he won’t hurt you. It’s only because he’s so surprised to see anybody here. Generally we are all alone all the time.—Be quiet, Czar,” he added sternly to the dog, “I won’t have you make that noise.”

The traveller looked up at the child, perched upon his mimic throne in the midst of the stream, and a smile of amusement and friendly interest dawned slowly over his face.

“And who may you be, my little man?” he asked, speaking in English, although there was something in the accent which told Squib that it was not his native tongue. “Are you a water-sprite? And is this your faithful guardian?” and he held out his hand to Czar, who came slowly up to him, sniffed at his hand and his coat, and then lay down again with his head on his paws, quite content with his investigation.

“He likes you,” cried Squib, skipping across the stones towards the stranger, to whom he felt curiously drawn; “he doesn’t like many people. Generally he’s very suspicious for a long time, but he’s not suspicious of you. Some people think he’s a very fierce dog, and are afraid of him; but you weren’t afraid, were you?”

“I didn’t know he was fierce,” answered the stranger, smiling and patting Czar’s great head, while the dog wagged his tail benevolently. “It is not worth while to be afraid of a danger beforehand. Is your dog very clever as well as very fierce?”

“I don’t know,” answered Squib. “Czar understands me, I think, but I don’t think he’s particularly clever. Ought he to be, do you think?”

“I am not sure. Sometimes when dogs are fierce and clever both, they can be very dangerous. Shall I tell you a story I heard not very long ago about a dog that was both, and what he did?”

“Oh, if you please, sir,” answered Squib, who delighted in an animal story whenever he could hear one.

“I am not sure what kind of dog it was, but I think it was a hound of some sort. A farmer had it who lived in a lonely place. He wanted a rather fierce dog to guard his house at night and be about the place by day. He had a daughter who was fond of the creature, and it would obey her, and she looked after it, and called it in when any person came up to the farm and was afraid of the dog. It seemed fond of her, and she was fond of it.

“I don’t quite know how long it was after the dog came, but at any rate by-and-by the shepherd came to tell the farmer that every night a sheep was missing from the flock. He kept a close watch and found out that it was a dog that came every night, ran down and killed a sheep, and ate a part of the carcass. In the dark he was not able to see exactly what kind of dog it was, but he said that it looked to him like the hound the farmer had bought. This, however, seemed impossible, for the hound slept in the kitchen and was locked in there every night, and was always safe there each morning, doors and windows being all locked. But still the sheep were killed night by night, and still the shepherd declared himself more and more certain that the hound was the culprit.”