Beautiful Joe [52]
fine dog, but he'd got corrupted by
evil companions. Then Windham asked me where my sheep were. I told him in the
pasture. He asked me if I still had my old ram Bolton. I said yes, and then he
wanted eight or ten feet of rope. I gave it to him, and wondered what on earth
he was going to do with it. He tied one end of it to the dog's collar, and
holding the other in his hand, set out for the pasture. He asked us to go with
him, and when he got there, he told Harry he'd like to see him catch Bolton.
There wasn't any need to catch him, he'd come to us like a dog. Harry whistled,
and when Bolton came up, Windham fastened the rope's end to his horns, and let
him go. The ram was frightened and ran, dragging the dog with him. We let them
out of the pasture into an open field, and for a few minutes there was such a
racing and chasing over that field as I never saw before. Harry leaned up
against the bars and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. Then Bolton
got mad, and began to make battle with the dog, pitching into him with his
horns. We soon stopped that, for the spirit had all gone out of Dash. Windham
unfastened the rope, and told him to get home, and if ever I saw a dog run, that
one did. Mrs. Windham set great store by him, and her husband didn't want to
kill him. But he said Dash had got to give up his sheep-killing, if he wanted to
live. That cured him. He's never worried a sheep from that day to this, and if
you offer him a bit of sheep's wool now, he tucks his tail between his legs, and
runs for home. Now, I must stop my talk, for we're in sight of the farm.
Yonder's our boundary line, and there's the house. You'll see a difference in
the trees since you were here before."
We had come to a turn in the road where the ground sloped gently upward. We
turned in at the gate, and drove between rows of trees up to a long, low; red
house, with a veranda all round it. There was a wide lawn in front, and away on
our right were the farm buildings. They too, were painted red, and there were
some trees by them that Mr. Wood called his windbreak, because they kept the
snow from drifting in the winter time.
I thought it was a beautiful place. Miss Laura had been here before, but not for
some years, so she, too, was looking about quite eagerly.
"Welcome to Dingley Farm, Joe," said Mrs. Wood, with her jolly laugh, as she
watched me jump from the carriage seat to the ground. "Come in, and I'll
introduce you to pussy."
"Aunt Hattie, why is the farm called Dingley Farm?" said Miss Laura, as we went
into the house. "It ought to be Wood Farm."
"Dingley is made out of 'dingle,' Laura. You know that pretty hollow back of the
pasture? It is what they call a 'dingle.' So this farm was called Dingle Farm
till the people around about got saying 'Dingley' instead. I suppose they found
it easier. Why, here is Lolo coming to see Joe."
Walking along the wide hall that ran through the house was a large tortoise-
shell cat. She had a prettily marked face, and she was waving her large tail
like a flag, and mewing kindly to greet her mistress. But when she saw me what a
face she made. She flew on the hall table, and putting up her back till it
almost lifted her feet from the ground, began to spit at me and bristle with
rage.
"Poor Lolo," said Mrs. Wood, going up to her. "Joe is a good dog, and not like
Bruno. He won't hurt you."
I wagged myself about a little, and looked kindly at her, but she did nothing
but say bad words to me. It was weeks and weeks before I made friends with that
cat. She was a young thing, and had known only one dog, and he was a bad one, so
she supposed all dogs were like him.
There was a number of rooms opening off the hall, and one of them was the dining
room where they had tea. I lay on a rug outside the door and watched them. There
was a small table spread with a white cloth, and it had pretty dishes and
glassware on it, and a good many different kinds of things to eat. A little
French girl, called
evil companions. Then Windham asked me where my sheep were. I told him in the
pasture. He asked me if I still had my old ram Bolton. I said yes, and then he
wanted eight or ten feet of rope. I gave it to him, and wondered what on earth
he was going to do with it. He tied one end of it to the dog's collar, and
holding the other in his hand, set out for the pasture. He asked us to go with
him, and when he got there, he told Harry he'd like to see him catch Bolton.
There wasn't any need to catch him, he'd come to us like a dog. Harry whistled,
and when Bolton came up, Windham fastened the rope's end to his horns, and let
him go. The ram was frightened and ran, dragging the dog with him. We let them
out of the pasture into an open field, and for a few minutes there was such a
racing and chasing over that field as I never saw before. Harry leaned up
against the bars and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. Then Bolton
got mad, and began to make battle with the dog, pitching into him with his
horns. We soon stopped that, for the spirit had all gone out of Dash. Windham
unfastened the rope, and told him to get home, and if ever I saw a dog run, that
one did. Mrs. Windham set great store by him, and her husband didn't want to
kill him. But he said Dash had got to give up his sheep-killing, if he wanted to
live. That cured him. He's never worried a sheep from that day to this, and if
you offer him a bit of sheep's wool now, he tucks his tail between his legs, and
runs for home. Now, I must stop my talk, for we're in sight of the farm.
Yonder's our boundary line, and there's the house. You'll see a difference in
the trees since you were here before."
We had come to a turn in the road where the ground sloped gently upward. We
turned in at the gate, and drove between rows of trees up to a long, low; red
house, with a veranda all round it. There was a wide lawn in front, and away on
our right were the farm buildings. They too, were painted red, and there were
some trees by them that Mr. Wood called his windbreak, because they kept the
snow from drifting in the winter time.
I thought it was a beautiful place. Miss Laura had been here before, but not for
some years, so she, too, was looking about quite eagerly.
"Welcome to Dingley Farm, Joe," said Mrs. Wood, with her jolly laugh, as she
watched me jump from the carriage seat to the ground. "Come in, and I'll
introduce you to pussy."
"Aunt Hattie, why is the farm called Dingley Farm?" said Miss Laura, as we went
into the house. "It ought to be Wood Farm."
"Dingley is made out of 'dingle,' Laura. You know that pretty hollow back of the
pasture? It is what they call a 'dingle.' So this farm was called Dingle Farm
till the people around about got saying 'Dingley' instead. I suppose they found
it easier. Why, here is Lolo coming to see Joe."
Walking along the wide hall that ran through the house was a large tortoise-
shell cat. She had a prettily marked face, and she was waving her large tail
like a flag, and mewing kindly to greet her mistress. But when she saw me what a
face she made. She flew on the hall table, and putting up her back till it
almost lifted her feet from the ground, began to spit at me and bristle with
rage.
"Poor Lolo," said Mrs. Wood, going up to her. "Joe is a good dog, and not like
Bruno. He won't hurt you."
I wagged myself about a little, and looked kindly at her, but she did nothing
but say bad words to me. It was weeks and weeks before I made friends with that
cat. She was a young thing, and had known only one dog, and he was a bad one, so
she supposed all dogs were like him.
There was a number of rooms opening off the hall, and one of them was the dining
room where they had tea. I lay on a rug outside the door and watched them. There
was a small table spread with a white cloth, and it had pretty dishes and
glassware on it, and a good many different kinds of things to eat. A little
French girl, called