A friend of ours had three dogs,—two tolerably big ones and one little one. The big dogs he had had several years, but the little one, a Scotch terrier, had been bought only a few months before the time I am telling of.
About half a mile from our friend's house there was a mill, and the miller kept a large mastiff dog, who had always been very quiet and peaceable, until just about the time this little terrier came into the neighborhood, when there began a succession of battles between the mastiff and our friend's two big dogs. These battles became so frequent and so fierce, that they attracted the serious attention of both the miller and our friend.
What could it be that had made of these dogs such sudden and bitter enemies? Nobody could tell. But the poor creatures were never without a lame leg, a torn ear, or hurt eye; for as soon as the wounds of one battle got well, and often before, there would be another, even more bloody than the last, until our friend made up his mind that he must either shoot his dogs, or give them away to somebody that lived farther from the mill.
One bright morning, while things were in this condition, the miller was leaning out over the half-door of the second story of the mill, when he noticed our friend's little terrier trotting down the road, with his ears and tail set up very gaily. He thought it queer that the little fellow should be so far away from home alone—so, without exactly knowing that he did so, he watched him. He came running along, first on three legs, then on four—in that funny way that little dogs do, sometimes, you know—right down to where the miller's dog was lying stretched at full length in the sun.
The miller's dog took no notice of him at first, but kept lazily blinking his eyes and now and then snapping a saucy fly off his side; but the little dog began to walk around and around him, apparently saying something, in dog-talk, which seemed to make him uncomfortable, and to gradually rouse him up and make him angry, for he stuck up his tail and bristles, and began to walk around too, growling and looking very ferocious. This seemed to be all the little terrier wanted, for he trotted off up the road, leaving the other to growl to himself. The miller then went to his work, forgetting all about the matter until some ten minutes afterwards, when chancing to look out the door, what should he see but the little terrier, followed by the two big dogs of our friend, running toward the mill, and looking as though they were a good deal excited about something.
Thinking it possible that the trouble between his own and neighbor's dogs might now be explained, he went to the door and carefully watched the movements of the animals.
Our friend's two big dogs followed the little one until they came just opposite the mill, when they stopped in the road, bristled up their backs, and began to walk round and round after each other, snarling and looking dreadfully savage, while the little terrier went over to the miller's dog, who had already begun to put on his fierce looks, and entered into a growling conversation with him, which grew more and more violent, till the two parties got nearer and nearer, and finally pounced upon each other, and began a most terrific fight. As soon as this was accomplished, the little terrier coolly seated himself in the sun by the mill, to "see it out."
The secret was out at last. The little terrier had been playing the part of mischief-maker between his master's and the miller's dogs, just for the pleasure of seeing them fight. He had gone down to the miller's dog, and told him, probably, that our friend's two dogs had said that his tail was not so long as theirs, nor, consequently, his coat so fashionable, nor were his manners so elegant; neither, being only a miller's dog, was his position in society so distinguished as theirs—nor was he altogether so well-bred and gentlemanly a dog as either of themselves.
This, of course, would make any miller's dog who was so foolish as to be sensitive about such matters, very angry; but a sober-minded, cool-headed miller's dog, would first, before getting angry, have found out whether all these things were true; if so, he would then have ever after treated our friend's two dogs with the silent contempt they deserved. But it seems this miller's dog was not sober-minded, or cool-headed, for he at once got very angry, and turned about, and said a great many insulting things of our friend's two dogs, which the little terrier very carefully remembered, and trotted back and repeated to them, with some nice little additions of his own. Whereupon they too—without thinking whether this little trickstering Iago of a terrier was not imposing upon them, appear to have immediately declared their intention of chastising the insolence of this low-bred miller's dog; which intention we suppose the little terrier ingeniously applauded, so that they allowed him to lead them off by their noses, as it were, to the mill, where they got into a fight, and got sorely bitten by the miller's dog (who was bigger than they, and had a much longer tail), besides being thoroughly drenched with cold water by the miller himself, as did also the miller's dog—just as they all deserved, for being so silly and foolish as to take everything that a little gossipping busy-body of a terrier had told them for truth.
Is there not a moral somewhere in all this?