Suddenly, I heard a familiar sound at a little distance,—it was Carlo’s bark! Nearer and nearer it came; then I heard steps coming fast through the crackling brushwood, then little Carlo sprang out of the dark into the fire-light, and leaped upon me, licking my hands with joy. He was followed by one of my elder brothers, and by my mother! To her I ran. I dared not look in her eyes, but hid my face in her bosom, sobbing out, “O mother, forgive me! forgive me!” She pressed me to her heart, and bent down and kissed me very tenderly, and when she did so, I felt the tears on her dear cheek.
I need hardly say that I never again undertook to make an Onondaga squaw of myself, though my mother always held that I was dark enough to be one, and I suppose the world would still bear her out in her opinion.
I am sorry to tell the fate of the faithful dog who tracked me out on that night, though his story is not quite so sad as that of some of my pets. A short time after this event, my brother Charles was going to the city of S——, some twenty miles away, and wished to take Carlo for company. I let him go very reluctantly, charging my brother to take good and constant care of him. The last time I ever saw Carlo’s honest, good-natured face, it was looking out at me through the window of the carriage. The last time, for he never came back to us, but was lost in the crowded streets of S——.
He was a simple, country-bred pointer, and, like many another poor dog, was bewildered by the new scenes and pleasures of the city, forgot his guide, missed his way, wandered off, and was never found.
CORA, THE SPANIEL.
The pet which took little Carlo’s place in our home and hearts was a pretty, chestnut-colored water-spaniel, named Cora. She was a good, affectionate creature, and deserved all our love. The summer that we had her for our playmate, my brother Albert, my sister Carrie, and I, spent a good deal of time down about the pond, in watching her swimming, and all her merry gambols in the water. There grew, out beyond the reeds and flags of that pond, a few beautiful, white water-lilies, which we taught her to bite off and bring to us on shore.
Cora seemed to love us very much, but there was one whom she loved even more. This was little Charlie Allen, a pretty boy of about four or five years old, the only son of a widow, who was a tenant of my father, and lived in a small house on our place. There grew up a great and tender friendship between this child and our Cora, who was always with him while we were at school. The two would play and run about for hours, and when they were tired, lie down and sleep together in the shade. It was a pretty sight, I assure you, for both were beautiful.
It happened that my father, one morning, took Cora with him to the village, and was gone nearly all day; so little Charlie was without his playmate and protector. But after school, my sister, brother, and I called Cora, and ran down to the pond. We were to have a little company that night, and wanted some of those fragrant, white lilies for our flower-vase. Cora barked and leaped upon us, and ran round and round us all the way. Soon as she reached the pond, she sprang in and swam out to where the lilies grew, and where she was hid from our sight by the flags and other water-plants. Presently, we heard her barking and whining, as though in great distress. We called to her again and again, but she did not come out for some minutes. At last, she came through the flags, swimming slowly along, dragging something by her teeth. As she swam near, we saw that it was a child,—little Charlie Allen! We then waded out as far as we dared, met Cora, took her burden from her, and drew it to the shore. As soon as we took little Charlie in our arms, we knew that he was dead. He was cold as ice, his eyes were fixed in his head, and had no light in them. His hand was stiff and blue, and still held tightly three water-lilies, which he had plucked. We suppose the poor child slipped from a log, on which he had gone out for the flowers, and which was half under water.
Of course we children were dreadfully frightened. My brother was half beside himself, and ran screaming up home, while my sister almost flew for Mrs. Allen.