“Father is coming to whip you,” she said, and walked off to her room.
But he did not come. Dicky waited with beating heart, but he did not come. He waited till he almost forgot he was waiting, and yet his father did not come. And when at last he heard soft shuffling steps coming along the passage, his heart almost stopped. To his astonishment he saw in the darkness beyond the door two small round orange lamps shining about a foot from the ground. It was only Jasper, who padded quietly into the room and lay down on the hearthrug with a quiet sigh of satisfaction. Having settled himself in the shape of a large foot-stool, Jasper did not lift his nose again, but he turned up his eyes at Dicky—they were brown eyes now, exquisitely humble and kind—and wagged his stumpy tail. Dicky had flung himself on the floor beside the dog and embraced him. Were these the terrible sobs which would never leave off? No, presently they did stop; and gradually Dicky even forgot that he was waiting for something awful. The occasional dab of the dog’s cold nose on his hot cheeks was comforting, and so it was to curl all round him. Dicky felt almost as though he were a dog himself when he was curled up like that.
“Do you know, Jasper, if I were a dog, I should be a very clever dog? Much, much cleverer than you,” he whispered with his face buried in the black fur. His head felt swollen and confused. “A re-markable dog,” he repeated, “I should be a very re-markable dog.”
Downstairs Dr. Brook was sitting close up to the fire and staring gloomily into it. He had forgotten that he held a short switch in his hand, and that it still hung down between his knees. He was thinking in pictures and the pictures were not of Dicky. He had forgotten Dicky; he had even forgotten himself. They say the whole of life passes before a drowning man’s eyes. The doctor ever since he sat down had felt like a man drowning in a sea of troubles. If not the whole of his own life, still, much of it, had passed before his eyes. Only when at last he was eating his cold solitary dinner in the dining-room, did he remember again that Dicky had been naughty that morning, and that Dicky was probably incurably stupid. But even if he were it did not seem now to matter much, or to matter in a different way. Ella, too, he thought, must go to her College of Music; things could somehow be managed. The doctor sat a very long time over his dinner.
But upstairs still stranger things were happening to Dick. First he felt hot and large, then cold and small. He kept on shivering. Was this silky hair his own or Jasper’s? And where was he? He was apparently in a wet, grey place. What he touched with his hands and feet felt rough and gritty. Suddenly he saw a brown stoat with an arched back ambling rapidly in front of him—it was as big as a fox. Yes, he was on a road—the very road he had walked along that very afternoon, only now the wet hedges were ever so much higher. And before Dicky knew what he was doing he was dashing after the stoat, right into the quickset hedge after it. What was he doing? He smelt a queer strong smell which excited him; and he pushed and struggled through the roots and thorns, following the smell. He seemed, too, to be wearing a very odd cap with long flaps, which kept catching in the brambles and dragging him back. This did not hurt, but it was a nuisance, and he had constantly to shake his head. He traced the smell of stoat to a rabbit hole and thrust his head down it. Hullo! Dicky had no idea rabbits smelt so deliciously, as nice as pineapples or peaches! Dicky had wanted to kill the stoat, but he would have liked to eat the rabbit. He tried to make the hole larger, by tearing away the earth with his hands, but, although he got on much faster than he expected, he soon saw that was no use; and dragging himself violently backwards out of the hedge, he found himself in the road again with nothing to do.
Yes, there was nothing, absolutely nothing to do. The sensation was a strange one, for he couldn’t even think of anything. He just stood there snuffing the wet wind. Then suddenly he found himself trotting towards home. He had not gone very far when he was aware of another smell which he somehow recognised instantly as “The Sacred Smell.” He knew what it was, though he had never smelt it properly before. It reminded him of a feeling he had sometimes had in church—how long ago that seemed!—and partly of a feeling he had had when once an old general in scarlet and covered with medals had patted him on the head. Only this time The Sacred Smell was mixed with other smells; with smells of horse, leather, onions and smoke. This, Dicky knew, was not as it should be, and he was distinctly alarmed. However, he thought he had better stand still. It was always better, something whispered to him, not to run away from The Sacred Smell—unless the danger was terrific.
Of course, having smelt The Sacred Smell, he was not at all surprised to see next a huge pair of muddy boots coming towards him, and a pair of huge knees in dirty trousers moving up and down. When they were a short distance off, they stopped; and Dicky, looking up, saw what he had expected; an unshaven, dark-skinned Man in a cap, with a spotted handkerchief knotted round his neck. The Man made a squeaking noise with his pursed-up lips, such as rats make, and slapped his thigh once or twice. Dicky knew what this meant, but even when the Man called in a croaking voice, “E-e-e-’ere good boy,” Dicky still thought it was best not to move. He stood and turned his face instead to the hedge, looking, no doubt, as absent-minded and miserable as he felt. (It was odd, but now when Dicky felt wretched and miserable that feeling was strongest, not just under the middle of his ribs, but at the end of his spine where his legs began; there now was the seat of anguish.) The Man took a step or two nearer, then another step. Still Dicky did not stir. Suddenly the Man dashed forward and made a grab at him. Dicky ducked, started aside and bumped right into the road-bank. He saw the Man’s hand outstretched above him, and he knew there was now only one thing to do: to roll right over on to his back, in order to show he wouldn’t resist and hoped for mercy. The Man stroked Dicky’s head and made soothing noises; and then, suddenly, put an arm under him, lifting him up and holding him tight to his side.
“THE MAN DASHED FORWARD AND MADE A GRAB AT HIM”
Dicky felt perfectly miserable, but what could he do? He knew it would be folly to try to escape, and that it would be wiser to wait for an opportunity. The Man tucked him with a jerk still more firmly under his arm, and started to walk slowly on. He walked on for more than an hour, till they came to a gorse common, where a caravan was standing with empty shafts and a pair of steps behind. Gripping Dicky tighter than ever the Man gave a whistle, and a Woman came out of the caravan.