Jim and His Dog—Part IV
SPOT HAD BEEN sold a fortnight, and it now wanted only three days to Christmas. Jim very seldom talked about him, but he often thought about him, and wondered how he was getting on in the Squire’s stables—whether he was getting fat, whether he liked his straw bed as much as the old ragged blanket, and, above all, whether he still remembered his friend Jim.
He thought so much about this last question that he one day asked his mother whether she didn’t want her flour from the mill, telling her that, when he went to fetch it, he should turn a little out of the way, as he came home, and ask the Squire’s groom to let him have a peep at Spot. So his mother told him he might as well go that very afternoon, and he set off accordingly with the other children.
The family was very prosperous just now. The curate, who had heard the whole story, sent plenty of nourishing things to Robert Curtis, who was now walking about with a stick, and hoped to be at work again before long.
Jim strapped the empty bag, which was to contain the flour, upon his back, and putting the money for it into his pocket, set off in high spirits with his brothers and sisters.
They had planned several little entertainments for themselves that afternoon, which they were to combine with the commission for their mother. The first was to watch the sacks pulled up by a sort of windlass into the miller’s loft, where they disappeared one after the other; and the children and everybody else wondered how many he had stowed away up there, and having hundreds, as they imagined, why he always kept the flour up at such a price. The second entertainment was to feed the beautiful white swans that lived on the island in the middle of the mill-pond, or among the rushes on its borders. And the third (and best in Jim’s eyes) was to visit Spot in the Squire’s stables.
The empty bag was no weight, and the children ran races, and then walked a little to get breath, arriving at the mill by half-past three. It was a very picturesque old building. There was the loft, with its two wide open doors, through which the full sacks of flour were perpetually disappearing, facing the broad, wide, deep millpond, almost like a small lake. To the left was the garden-gate, which led down three steps through the garden, where herbs, and common flowers, and cabbage roses flourished all together, to the door of the miller’s house, adjoining the mill.
The children trotted down the steps and along the little garden-path, pushed open the first door, which was ajar, and which opened into a large barn, and then knocked gently at another door to the left, which led into the little parlour. The miller came out and told the children he would fill their bag in a few minutes, pocketing the money Jim had brought at the same time, and telling him it was the last he could let him have so cheap, as flour had gone up again. The children watched the bags going up into the loft with great interest for some time, and then they went to the edge of the pond, and called to the swans at the top of their voices, “Dill, dill, dilly-dilly, dill, dill, dill!” The swans, which were upon the island, heard the welcome sound directly, and they slid smoothly into the water and made straight for the spot where the children were standing. It was very confiding of them, for they had been cheated more than once with small stones instead of bread; but now there were genuine crusts held out to them, saved from dinner. They looked very beautiful as they came toward the children. They were in such a hurry to get to them that they raised their pure white wings for sails, and every now and then they made little rushes in the water, just as you may have seen a good rower do when he wants to give the boat a spurt forward.
It took some little time to watch the swans arriving, and then to feed them, and Jim was beginning to fear it would be too late for the third and last entertainment; so he strapped his bag, now heavy and full of flour, on to his back, and set off on his way home. It took them about ten minutes to turn down to the stables, but they made the best of their time, and arrived a little after four. Jim was glad the cross old coachman was out of the way, and he got permission from the groom, who was his father’s cousin, to peep into the stable and have a look at Spot. But Spot was not the first thing visible. There were the horses standing in their several stalls, on their clean straw beds, with platted borders and the name of each horse over his manger, and in the farthest stall was Master Harry’s pony, eating his oats and beans with the best of them.
But beautiful as the horses were, Jim had no eyes for them. He was calling to a little brown creature who came crawling from under their feet at the risk of being kicked to death, his tail well between his legs, but wagging as if it would be wagged off at the sight of Jim. You can well imagine the patting, and coaxing, and licking of hand and faces that went on. The groom was obliged to interfere at last, and tell the children they would have the old coachman after them if they didn’t look out. So they departed with many lingering looks back at Spot, who was obliged to be held tight by the groom to prevent his following Jim; and this was so consoling that it softened the regrets at this second parting.
The children now had to get home as fast as they could, and they went through the lanes in the gathering darkness clinging close together, a perfect little bunch of children.
“We’ll get no Christmas presents this year, shall we, Jim?” said his sister.
“It isn’t likely,” answered Jim, “unless you call holly a present. I mean to get some of that there, with as many berries as I can find, and stick it up in the window to make it look like Christmas.”
“Teacher told us at the school we weren’t to expect any Christmas-tree or anything, ’cause the parson’s bad,” said another sister dolefully.
“I wish we were going to have one,” said a little brother; and then, finding themselves at home, they walked up the garden and into the house.
“Christmas comes but once a year; but when it comes it brings good cheer,” is the old saying, and a very true one. It sometimes brings trouble, and suffering, and poverty, but still the good tidings of great joy to all who will open their ears to hear them.
Something of this sort Robert Curtis and his wife were thinking as they sat by the fire on the afternoon of Christmas-day, listening to the children singing their Christmas hymns. In the middle of the singing a cart stopped at the door, and the children rushed to the window and peeped through the holly-branches to see this unusual sight. No cart ever stopped there except the fisherman’s occasionally, and the butcher’s once a week. But there certainly was one now—one of the Squire’s—and the driver was getting down from the seat in front, and lugging out a large box and a small hamper, which he carried in turn up the path and landed at the door. By this time Robert Curtis and his wife were out helping him, and asking him all sorts of questions; but he only waited to land the box safely on the table, and the hamper on a chair near the door, and then saying he could answer nothing, only that the Squire had sent him, he got into the cart and drove off. There was nothing for it but to unpack the big box as fast as possible. The shouts of delight when it was opened, and the contents taken out one after another, baffle description. First, two warm flannel shirts for father; then a new best gown for mother; and things for the children. But—but—Jim’s eyes were filling with tears, and he was getting red and white, and red again, as it seemed to become more and more apparent that for some unaccountable reason he had been forgotten and passed over altogether. Could that pair of scarlet knickerbocker stockings, which his little brother was drawing on with such glee, have been originally intended for him? But no, his brother assured him they were a perfect fit, and consequently, far too small for Jim. His father and mother were turning over the things anxiously, although his mother’s practised eyes had long since determined that there was nothing suitable for him, when suddenly some one remembered the hamper behind the door.
Need I tell you what was in that hamper, or what Harry had deemed the most appropriate Christmas present to send Jim? Need I say who jumped out of the hamper as soon as it was opened? What other dog would have been so still? But we all know by this time what Spot was like, so there is no use in saying any more about it. He was in great delight as soon as he was out of the basket, and Jim was so very delighted, too, that he took Spot quite on faith at first, never asking who had sent him. He forgot for a minute or two to notice Spot’s beautiful new brass collar, with his own name upon it, or the letter directed to him that was tied to it. But he opened the letter at last, and read as follows:
Dear Jim,
Grandpapa made me a present of Spot, so I thought I would make him a Christmas present to you, and I hope you will like him for a present.
We all wish you and Spot many merry Christmases and happy new years—together.
Your sincere friend,
HARRY.
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