"Oh, no. I'll just shake him like. They kind o' dogs can be killed over and over again, and don't take much hurt. Besides, you know," he added knowingly, "it will teach the varmint manners."

"I say, you know," said Warlock, "I think the quarrel with the butcher's cur should be mine."

"Nonsense, Warlock, he would swallow you up."

"All! you don't know how much fight there is in me when I'm fairly angered. Well, I keep company with Tabby here. We hunt together, don't we, Tab?"

"That we do."

"And fish together. So just let that butcher's dog come across me."

"Tse, tse, tse!" said the starling, admiringly. The chameleon simply warmed his other hand before the fire.

I'm not sure, that as far as that goes, Chammy wasn't the wisest in that group of friends. Catch Chammy fighting! He would take a hundred years to make up his mind to do it, and then he wouldn't.

"By-the-bye," said Shireen, "though human folk will have it that dogs and cats don't agree, there is plenty of true stories told by naturalists to prove that when a dog and a cat, indeed, I might say any dog and any cat are brought up together, they agree like lambs upon a lea. They will wander about together just as Warlock and Tabby do. Eat out of the same dish without quarrelling, and sleep together on the same mat at night.

"I see," added Shireen, "that master and Uncle Ben haven't quite finished their game yet, so while we wait I may as well tell you a little story about cat and dog life. It is mentioned and authenticated in a book called 'Friends in Fur.'" [Same author.]

This story is told of a cat called the "Czar," and a doggie whose name was "Whiskey." And it is doubly _a propos_ because, like Warlock yonder, Whiskey was a Scotch terrier, and he lived in a country village far away in the north of bonnie Scotland. In the same house dwelt the Czar, a splendid, large, rough-haired cat, who, it was said, had been imported from Russia--hence his name.

My friend, Harrison Weir, to whom I am indebted for the speaking ill.u.s.trations contained in this book, once owned a cat of this breed, and a very handsome cat it must have been. He speaks of it thus in his book called "Our Cats," page 30; "The mane, or frill, was very large, long and dense, and more of a woolly texture, with coa.r.s.e short hairs among it, the colour was a dark tabby. The eyes were large and prominent, of a bright orange, slightly tinted with green; the ears large by comparison, with small tufts full of long woolly hair; the limbs stout and short, the tail being very dissimilar as if was short, very woolly and thickly tipped with hair, the same length from base to tip, and much resembled in form that of the British will eat. Its motion was not so agile as that of other cats, nor did it apparently care for warmth, as it liked being out of doors in the coldest weather.

Another peculiarity being that it seemed to care little in the way of watching birds for food, neither were its habits like those of the short-haired cats that were its companions.

"It attached itself to no person, as was the case with some of the others, but curiously took a particular fancy to one of my short-haired silver tabbies; the two appeared always together. In front of the fire they sat side by side. If one left the room the other followed. A down the garden paths they were still companions; and at night they slept in the same: box; they drank milk from the same saucer, and fed from the same plate, and, in fact, only seemed to exist for each other. In all my experience I never saw a more devoted couple."

No two animals in the world could have loved each other more dearly and devotedly than did the Czar and his little wise companion, Whiskey.

Whiskey, I need hardly tell you, Cracker, was like Warlock there, the gamest of the game, but of course he never showed his teeth to the Czar.

They took their meals from the same dish, only Whiskey seemed to have compacted to have all the bones. They were also constantly together, all day long, except when Whiskey's duty to his master called him afield, and at night they shared the selfsame bed; the Czar often taking Whiskey in his arms because he appeared to be the biggest. I'm not sure, indeed, that the Czar did not awaken Whiskey when that little gentleman took the nightmare. Be this as it may, they were, altogether, as loving as loving could be.

And once or twice a week this kindly couple used to go out hunting together.

"Just like Warlock and me," said Tabby.

Yes, said Shireen, and they cared nothing for game laws, and took no heed of the keepers, except to hide or run from them; for this cat and dog were a law unto themselves apparently.

On their hunting expeditions they used to go out together in the morning, and after spending all the long day in the woods and wilds, they invariably came home before dark.

This coming home before nightfall was no doubt a suggestion of Whiskey's, for a dog can neither see so well in the dark as a cat, nor can his const.i.tution so easily withstand the clews of night. But the very fact of the Czar's consenting to keep early hours to please his Scottish friend, is another proof of how dearly he must have loved him.

And almost every night these sons of Nimrod brought home with them some trophy from the hunting-ground. Sometimes it was a rabbit, more often a bird--if the latter, Whiskey generally had the honour of carrying it, and very proud was he of the distinction; if a small rabbit, the Czar bore the burden.

And so things went on till one mournful night, when Whiskey returned later than usual and all alone. He came into the house, but lay down on the mat near the door, and from that he would not budge an inch. He refused his porridge and all consolation, and lay there in a nervous and acutely listening att.i.tude, starting up whenever he heard the slightest sound outside.

His mistress at last went to bed and left him.

It must have been long past midnight when Whiskey came dashing into his mistress's bedroom, knocking over a chair in his excitement, and barking wildly as he rushed hither and thither.

When his mistress got up at last poor little Whiskey preceded her to the door, barking again and looking anxious and excited.

Outside a pitiful mew was heard, and as soon as the lady opened the door in rushed the Czar on three legs. He had left one foot in a horrid trap.

And now nothing could exceed the kindness of the dog towards his wounded companion and playmate. He threw himself down on the rug beside her, whining and crying with very grief, and gently licked the bleeding stump where the cat himself had gnawed it off to save his life.

And every day for weeks did Whiskey apply hot fomentations with his soft wee tongue to p.u.s.s.y's leg, until at last it was completely healed.

But they had no more romping together in fields and woods, for the Czar's hunting-days were over--in this world at all events.

"Cornered at last," cried Uncle Ben, laughing, as he looked at the chess-board. "No, you haven't a move. Ho! ho! Well, I've had my revenge."

"And I," said the Colonel, "shall have mine another evening."

"Right you are. Now, good-bye, Lizzie and Tom. Come, Cracker, old dog, you go my way, don't you?"

So good-nights were said, and hands were shaken, and off went Uncle Ben and his c.o.c.katoo adown the road towards his bungalow, where his man Pedro was waiting to place before him his frugal supper.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

"GO HOME, MY FRIENDS, IT IS ALL OVER."

The school stood quite in the suburbs of the little village--the girls'

school I mean--and there was nothing very unusual about it. Year in and year out, with certainly no more holidays than they deserved, the teachers--orphan girls both--laboured all day long at their duties, and had the satisfaction of knowing that they were well beloved by their sometimes noisy pupils, to whom their wish, however, was always law; and the children generally made a good show when examination time came round.

It was in here, one hard frosty day, that Shireen dropped on her way down town, to pay her usual round of visits.

She had just left Uncle Ben's bungalow, after a long talk and song with the sailor, and a few words to c.o.c.kie, the c.o.c.katoo, who, if he did not say very much, was a wonderful mimic, and made many droll motions. He never saw a boy, for example, without going through the movements of using a whip. Perhaps c.o.c.kie believed with Solomon, that it was a pity to "spare the rod and spoil the child."

There was a kind of general welcome to Shireen when she entered the school-house; but, strangely enough, she went straight up to the desk, and paid her compliments to the two teachers before doing anything else.

Then Shireen looked about her from the seat she had taken, namely, a high three-legged stool. She could, from this elevation, see a large number of her little friends, with whom she would hold a little conversation presently. But there was one homely, good-natured face that she missed, and one of the teachers, as if reading her thoughts, stroked her back and head, as she remarked with a smile.

"Emily isn't here to-day, p.u.s.s.y."

"No," said the other girl. "Emily has been a good girl, and worked hard; and she has finished her education, and gone home to keep house for her father."

So Shireen did not stop so long to-day in the school as was her wont, for the chief attraction was gone. But she dispensed her favours among her friends freely enough before she went. And they were not all girls, either, whom Shireen regarded affectionately. For though it was a girls' school, there were tiny, wee pests of fair-haired boys there, not an inch bigger, presumably, than the school tongs, and of one or two of these Shireen seemed very fond.

Down the room she trotted at last, however. She was not long in meeting with an adventure, for round the distant corner came Danger, the butcher's bull-terrier. There wasn't a good tree within fifty yards, so Shireen had a race for it. She got up into the sycamore safely, nevertheless. Danger coming in a good second, and stopping to bark savagely up at her.

Shireen raised her back and growled defiance down at him.

Then she taunted him.

"Why don't you come up?" she cried derisively. "Why don't you climb the tree? Because you can't, clever though you think yourself. Fuss!

Futt! Wouldn't I make the fur fly out of you if you did come up. And wouldn't I carve my name on your nose, just. Go home! Go home, you ugly brute. Mind, you'll catch it when Cracker meets you. Oh, he'll give it to you properly next time."