No matter how warm the noontide sun might be, when September came Waddles liked to lie by a fire in the evening. If there was none in the hall chimney-corner he would nose open the door into the kitchen and stretch himself on the warm hearth before the range, for though he would not like to have had it mentioned, he was rheumatic, and his left hind leg often gave him trouble in crossing stone walls. As for rail fences, he had ceased even going through them, and always crawled under.
Mrs. Waddles also enjoyed fireside evenings, and had coaxed her way until she shared the rug with her spouse as a matter of course, though he alone slept at Anne’s door, Happy going back to the nursery kennel for the night. Jack still slept there with her, for if ever there was a “mother boy” it was he. All day long he kept her in sight, and at night drew as close to her as in the days of his dependent puppyhood.
It was one of the first of these evenings. A log was smouldering lazily on the hearth in the hall, though doors and windows were open and the house was full of moonlight.
The family had all gone to Miss Jule’s for supper and to talk over a harvest festival with outdoor sports that Mr. Hugh proposed to hold at Robin Hood’s Inn.
Before Anne went out she ran to the hall table to take one more look at something very precious that had come that afternoon—her camera, so long wished for, had actually arrived, and she was all eagerness for daylight that she might use it, as she had watched her father at his work so often that she felt as if she really knew how. He had insisted that she begin with plates instead of films, that she might the more easily develop her pictures and thus discover her own mistakes, so the camera was a substantial four by five instrument in a leather-covered case, with a light tripod for time work.
Waddles lay on the outer edge of the bearskin rug, Happy being next the fire, everything was quiet except her little whimpering snore and the crickets that chanted outside, led, it seemed, by one persistent individual in the wood-box.
Suddenly Happy gave a groan, and began to shiver and cry in her sleep. Up started Waddles, stumbled over her before he understood from where the noise came, and then gave her a little shake, saying, in a language that, deaf though she was, she understood: “Wake up. What is the matter? You were so greedy about that cold sausage at supper that I knew you’d have trouble.”
Happy gave a despairing kick or two, then rolled over, and, gaining her feet, sniffed once or twice, her back bristling, and then opened her eyes. “I thought that I was a kennel dog again,” she said with a little gasp, settling herself close by Waddles, as if craving protection from such a catastrophe, and scratching an ear to be sure that she was herself.
“I never lived in a kennel, though when I was very young I used to wish I did. The Hilltop dogs got lots to eat and I didn’t.” “Why didn’t you like it?” asked Waddles, who, having thoroughly waked up, was in the mood for a lazy, comfortable chat.