A New Story Book for Children

by Fanny Fern

THE FAITHFUL DOG.—Page [249].

THE FAITHFUL DOG.

We all know that animals have no souls, and yet it is sometimes hard to believe it, when they give, as they often do, such proofs of intelligence. I am very sure that I have been as much attached to a dog or a horse, which has been my constant companion, as I have to human beings. And, after all, who more human than they? what beautiful examples they have set us of constancy, of patience, and of kindness to those who have injured them.

Listen, while I tell you a story of a dog belonging to an English nobleman. The farmers in the neighborhood of this gentleman complained to him that the dog frightened their flocks; and one of them finding a dead lamb, one day, brought it in his arms to the nobleman, accusing the dog of the murder. The nobleman had no proof that his dog killed the lamb; but, as he was just about starting upon a long journey, and not wishing either to take the dog with him, or leave him behind to the angry farmers, he said to his servant, pointing to the dog, who lay upon the carpet, “Take that dog, after I have gone, and give him away to somebody at a distance, that these farmers may not be finding fault with him, and troubling me when I come back.” He then left the room. The dog, who understood, at least, the tones of his master’s voice, and the glance of his eye, if nothing else, waited till he heard his footsteps die away, and then immediately took leave of the house, and all it contained, and started off by himself. In the evening, the nobleman, not seeing the dog about as usual, asked his servant if he had disposed of him. The servant said he had not, and spent an hour to no purpose, in searching for him. All the servants were questioned, but none knew anything of the dog; and they, together with the nobleman, came to the conclusion, that the angry farmer who had imagined that he had killed his lamb, had killed him out of revenge.

About a year after this, the nobleman, who was journeying with his servant in Scotland, being overtaken by a storm, took shelter in a very poor inn, quite away from the main road. As the storm kept increasing, he concluded to stay all night. The landlord and his wife looked strangely at each other, when he told them this, and the maid servant who spread the cloth for his supper seemed quite disconcerted. “She is evidently not accustomed to wait upon lords,” said the nobleman to his servant, “and is awkward and embarrassed, you see, in consequence.”

He ate with a good appetite the plain fare that she set before him, and was still seated at the table, when the door was pushed open and in came—a dog—his dog,—the very dog he thought had been killed by the farmer. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed to his servant, “my dear old dog;” and he stretched out his hand to pat him. But the dog, after looking long and earnestly at his master, shrank away from him, and took the first opportunity to go out of the room; but still took his station on the outside, as if watching for something. Of the dog’s history, the nobleman learned from the hostler, that he had followed some travelers there, and being very foot-sore and weary, remained there when they went away, and had been there ever since; “and,” added the hostler, “he is as harmless a dog as ever lived.” By and by the nobleman went up to his chamber; when he got to the top of the stairs, the dog sprang before him, with a fierce growl, and planted himself between his old master and the door, as if to prevent his entrance. The nobleman patted him, calling him by the kind old names he used to like, and the dog licked his hand, as if to say, “oh yes, I remember them all;” but still he stood before the door to prevent his master from going inside.

Then the dog, still looking at his master, moved in advance a few paces, would go down one stair, then run back, and tug at his master’s clothes with the greatest violence; then rub his face fondly against his master’s side, and whine and coax, trembling all the while with agitation and excitement.

“One would suppose, by the behavior of my dog, that there was something wrong about this house,” said the nobleman to his servant.

The servant looked anxious, but only said, “I wish we had not come here, your honor.”

“There is no help for it now,” said his master; “the storm is perfectly furious, so I’ll make the best of it and go to bed. We have pistols, if there’s mischief brewing; you sleep, I suppose, in the little room near mine.”