Squib and His Friends. Everett-Green Evelyn
was known. At any rate, he had evidently heard his father sing the well-known song —
“Full fathom five,
Thy father lies;”
and, with the capricious alchemy of a child’s mind over anything not understood, had transformed it to the version which had aroused the ire of his nurse.
Something in this little incident tickled the fancy of the Colonel and attracted his attention towards Squib, who had always amused him when he had had time to notice his children; and the bond was more closely drawn between them by two little incidents which occurred, one after the other, during the ensuing year.
The first of these had reference to a very fine Russian wolf-hound, which had been presented to Colonel Rutland a short time before. It was an animal almost as big as a calf, of a slate colour merging almost in black, with a head very broad across the brows, and a voice like a church bell. He was a very magnificent animal, but he had a fierce temper, and made few friends. Colonel Rutland was one of these few, but even he did not feel that he had the dog very well under control, and always took him out with a certain sense of misgiving.
One of the chief difficulties with regard to the creature was that he was so fierce when chained up that it was hardly safe to approach him, either to give him his food or to let him loose when the time for his daily run had arrived. Colonel Rutland was having a place made for him where he could be shut up without being chained, which he hoped would tend to the humanizing and taming of him; but, meantime, he had to be fastened up in the yard when not at large, and Colonel Rutland made a point of both chaining and loosing him himself – although it was not without misgiving that he approached the great brute straining on his chain, and glaring out at the world with red, defiant eyes.
One day, as he was approaching the kennel, liking the looks of the dog rather less even than usual, he stood meditating at a short distance as to whether it were really safe to keep such a fierce animal on the premises, and whether he might not be running a foolish risk in going near him. He was startled by the sound of a small voice proceeding from an invisible questioner quite near at hand.
“Father,” said the little voice, “shall I let Czar out for you?”
Colonel Rutland looked up, and looked down, and looked round about him, and again came the sound of the small voice, saying, —
“I’m in Czar’s kennel, father.”
The Colonel had certainly never thought of looking in such a place for the speaker. Now, turning his startled glance in that direction, he saw Squib sitting curled up on the clean straw in the huge kennel, looking out from his nest with a friendly smile.
For a moment the fathers heart stood still. Suppose the great brute should turn and see him! It was with difficulty he commanded his voice to say quietly, whilst himself striving to attract the notice of the dog, “Come out, Squib; come very quietly.”
But the child never heard the last words; he jumped up at once and made an outward bound, flinging himself upon the dog as he did so, and throwing his arms about his neck.
“Oh, father, if you would only let me have Czar to go out with me sometimes! We should have such fun together!”
At the touch of those small childish hands the aspect of the dog changed at once. The lifted crest along his back smoothed down, the red light in his eyes changed altogether, the fierce bay ceased, for the creature was engaged in licking the child’s hands and face, and in fondling him with evident delight. The father looked on in amaze, and when Squib repeated his question, “Shall I let him out now?” he gave his assent rather by sign than by word, so great was his surprise at what he saw.
“Oh, father, may I go with you?” pleaded Squib, with great, wistful eyes. “I’ve never been out with Czar yet – and I should so like to!”
His father held out a ready hand.
“Come along, my little man. We will go together. How came you and Czar to be such friends? I did not know he had made real friends with anybody yet.”
Squib did not immediately answer; he was watching the gambols of the great dog careering round and round them in wide circles – a thing he had never done before when out with Colonel Rutland, always making a rush ahead, and only coming reluctantly to his side when called with authority. Whenever Squib held out his hand, Czar made a dash at him and licked it; and once the child jumped upon the great creature’s back, and Czar took him for a breathless scamper across the park – Squib holding on like a little monkey; and only when he had come back and was holding his father’s hand again did he “go off,” and enter into explanations of this strange friendship.
“You see, father, it was like this – Czar had nobody to love him. They were all afraid of him. I saw coachman give him his supper one day – he had the stable broom, and he pushed the pan to Czar with it, and never even gave him a pat, or said a kind word to him. And it did seem so hard! So when he was gone I just went up and patted him as he was eating his great bones, and then I sat just inside his kennel and talked to him all the time, and made it sociable for him; and he brought me the biggest bone of all, and I pretended I liked it very much, and then I gave it him back and he lay down and ate it, and I stroked him and talked to him all the time. He is such an interesting dog to talk to when you know him. And after that I went every day, and – when I can – I give him his food, and we always have a great deal of conversation, and it isn’t nearly so dull for him as it was at first. But I’ve never been able to go out with him, because coachman says I mustn’t loose him. But we’ve always longed to take walks together, and if you say we may, it will be so nice.”
Colonel Rutland listened to all this with something of a shiver. He had not lived all this while without having known many instances of the wonderful understanding between children and animals, or of the forbearance shown often by the fiercest creatures to confiding little children; but, nevertheless, he could not picture the first approach of his small son to that great fierce dog in the midst of his bones without a tremor of thankful relief. Now it was abundantly evident that an excellent understanding existed between them, for Czar would come at the least sound of Squib’s voice, and, when bidden to do so, would walk just behind him with docile submissiveness. The conquest made by the little boy, quite unconscious of conquest, was complete, and never had the Colonel felt so secure of training the dog and humanizing him as he did that day.
“If I let you take Czar out into the park every day for an hour, Squib,” he said presently, “do you think you can teach him to be more gentle and obedient?”
“Oh, father, I think I can,” answered the child with brightening eyes. “I’ll explain everything to him so carefully – about being obedient and all that. I think he wants to be good – only he’s got nobody to teach him and be good to him. But I should like to teach him. I’m sure he has a very good heart, and he understands what I say, I’m quite sure.”
So the experiment was tried, and with signal success. The fierce dog became gradually tamed and dependable, and a fresh link was formed between Squib and his father.
Later on in the same year another incident occurred which increased the Colonel’s interest in “the odd one” of the family.
Like most country gentlemen of some leisure, Colonel Rutland was fond of hunting, although he could not give the time to it that some of his friends were able to do. Still, he had always one, and sometimes two hunters in his stable, and at this time, when Squib was just six years old, his favourite was a horse of the name of Charger, upon whom he had hunted three seasons in succession.
Charger had something of a history of his own with which Squib was not unconnected. Three years before, when the horse was five, and Squib three, the former had been brought up for Colonel Rutland’s inspection, as the owner desired to sell him. He was then only just broken, for he had done no work as yet, the farmer who owned him having wished to let him run as long as possible, and then to sell him to some of the gentry as a hunter and weight-carrier. He was a very beautiful creature, with a grand shoulder and very strong hind-quarters, legs as sound and fine as the huntsman himself could wish to see, and a well-turned head and gentle eye. The Colonel and his wife and some of the children