She, finding the costly present really for herself, expressed her gratification, though with glistening eyes, in the quiet way which best pleased her husband. George then rapped his brother over the head with a silver-mounted flute. His father finding that all had had their presents, then asked him if he brought nothing for him.
“I have something here, sir, which Mr. Haliburton said, he thought would be valuable to you.”
All looked in eager expectation, when George diving with his hand down to the very bottom of the chest, and bringing up something, which in its egress turned topsy turvy check-shirts, trowsers, pea-jackets, etc., etc. It was a stout oaken staff, which he put into his father’s hand. The latter bore quietly the merriment which succeeded; though madam could not forbear expressing some indignation, at what she took almost as an insult from their old friend to her husband, who, moving the huge baton slowly through his fingers, appeared to be examining closely the grain of the wood for some time in silence.
“Haliburton judged right,” at length he said; “there are few things I should have valued so much. This staff came from Narley Wood, the old family estate in Leicestershire, and was cut from an oak planted by my great grandfather’s own hand. (He pointed to some letters rudely cut in the wood.) Wendell shall have my gold-headed cane. I shall never carry any but this in future.”
Mrs. Wendell was beginning to speak, when a violent uproar was heard from the precincts of the kitchen, in which the yelping of a dog and the screams of a cat predominated. It drew near, and the door burst open suddenly, when in rushed a large black and white dog, yelling fearfully, as if in the extremity of pain and terror, with old tabby on his back, her tail erect, and looking like the cylindrical brush used in these latter days to clear stove-pipes, her talons apparently dug deep into his skin; while Vi’let followed, belaboring him with a broom-handle. Leaping over the chest, he made his way to George, on whose knees he laid his head, whining piteously.
“Why, Jaco! how did you find your way here? I left you in the vessel—poor fellow,” said George. The dog was released from his feline foe by Vi’let, when she found to whom he belonged. He then leaped upon his master, with strenuous endeavors to lick his face, and made other extravagant demonstrations of joy at finding him.
George then mentioned that he had bought him in Italy, of a person who kept him to show off in the celebrated Grotto del cane.
“I had no great curiosity to see the poor devil die and come to life again, so I tried to beg him off. His master only laughed, and was forcing him into the cave by blows, when he seemed to have understood what I said, for he made out to clear himself, and came and fawned on me. After this, I could not help taking him under my protection, so I persuaded the rascal to sell him to me.”
“It would have been more like you to have knocked the fellow down, and taken the dog away in spite of him,” said his father. “I am glad you have learned a little prudence. What did you call him? Jaco.”
“That’s the name the sailors called him; it is a corruption they made of his Italian name, Cicco, meaning blind—he’s blind of one eye. He’s a good fellow, though no great beauty.”