Now, every dog knows how to swim without being taught, but Thatcher thought it would be pretty sport to see his Lordship go after sticks and the like, and swim back with them in his mouth. So one morning he tucked Van under his arm, and carried him off to the pond, Betsy following close at his heels.
This was something new. Van rather liked a bath, when Mrs. Johns or Treesa soused him all over in a tub of warm soap-suds, and rinsed him and dried him with a towel. But a tub like this—all wide and shiny, with blue sky at the bottom, and green trees and red buildings standing on their heads all around the edge,—this was not to be taken lightly—it was too large an affair.
Van sniffed at the brim of it, put his paw in, and drew it out again, wet and cold. He looked up at Thatcher for an explanation, when all of a sudden, without any preparation whatever, he was picked up and thrown, as if he were a stone, straight into the middle of the pond.
Down he went, gasping,—away under—down—down—swirling over and over. Then up he came, kicking and spluttering. He shook the water out of his frightened eyes, and struck out for shore and Thatcher, whom he had not as yet connected with the outrage. You would have thought he had been swimming for years.
“Hurrah! Good boy!” cried Thatcher. “Now go after that stick.” He cast a bit of wood in. “See that? Now go for it!”
Van looked at the stick, and then at Thatcher. He may have thought of the poor stick that doubtless would be compelled to swim back as he had to, but he made no effort to rescue it.
“Go after it, I say!” And Van found himself hurtling through the air once more. When he came up from the cold depths, the piece of wood was at his side, but still he did not see how it had anything to do with him, and he swam back once more to Thatcher.
Again he was thrown in, and farther than before. This time as he made his way to shore, he put two and two together, and made four out of it.
One, it was Thatcher who had done the deed, and he was not to be trusted; two, he did not need swimming lessons; three, the water was cold and he was tired; and four, he did not intend to give Thatcher another chance to play so contemptible a trick upon him. He turned suddenly and made for the far side of the pond.
Swift as a bird, Betsy was there to meet him. He shook himself, and she gathered him, all dripping, to her bosom, and ran for the house.