Further Adventures of Lad [48]
home so soon. We want to surprise him. Oh, to think what his lovely face will be like, when he sees us walking in!"
"And to think what MY lovely face will be like, when I see him walking out!" exulted the Master. "Laddie, come over here. We've got the gorgeousest news ever! Come over and be glad!"
Lad, at the summons, came trotting out of his cave, and across the room. Like every good dog who has been much talked to, he was as adept as any dead-beat in reading the varying shades of the human voice. The voices and faces alike of his two adored deities told him something wonderful had happened. And, as ever, he rejoiced in their gladness. Lifting his magnificent head, he broke into a salvo of trumpeting barks; the oddly triumphant form of racket he reserved for great moments.
"What's Laddie doing?" asked Cyril, from the threshold. "He sounds as if he was going mad or something."
"He's happy," answered the Mistress.
"Why's he happy?" queried the child.
"Because his Master and I are happy," patiently returned the Mistress.
"Why are YOU happy?" insisted Cyril.
"Because today is Thursday," put in the Master. "And that means tomorrow will be Friday."
"And on Friday," added the Mistress, "there's going to be a beautiful surprise for you, Cyril. We can't tell you what it is, but--"
"Why can't you tell me?" urged the child. "Aw, go ahead and tell me! I think you might."
The Master had gone over to the nearest window; and was staring out into the gray-black dusk. Mid-winter gripped the dead world; and the twilight air was deathly chill. The tall naked treetops stood gaunt and wraithlike against a leaden sky.
To the north, the darkness was deepest. Evil little puffs of gale stirred the powdery snow into myriads of tiny dancing white devils. It had been a fearful winter, thus far; colder than for a score of years; so cold that many a wild woodland creature, which usually kept far back in the mountains, had ventured down nearer to civilization for forage and warmth.
Deer tracks a-plenty had been seen, close up to the gates of the Place. And, two days ago, in the forest, half a mile away, the Master had come upon the half-human footprints of a young bear. Starvation stalked abroad, yonder in the white hills. And need for provender had begun to wax stronger among the folk of the wilderness than their inborn dread of humans.
"There's a big snowstorm coming up," ruminated the Master, as he scanned the grim weather-signs. "A blizzard, perhaps. I--I hope it won't delay any incoming steamers. I hope at least one of them will dock on schedule. It--"
He turned back from his musings, aware for the first time that a right sprightly dialogue was going on. Cyril was demanding for the eighth time:
"WHY won't you tell me? Aw, I think you might! What's going to happen that's so nice, Friday?"
"Wait till Friday and see," laughed the Mistress.
"Shucks!" he snorted. "You might tell me, now. I don't want to wait and get s'prised. I want to know, NOW. Tell me!"
Under her tolerant smile, the youngster's voice scaled to an impatient whine. He was beginning to grow red.
"Let it go at that!" ordained the Master. "Don't spoil your own fun, by trying to find out, beforehand. Be a good sportsman."
"Fun!" snarled Cyril. "What's the fun of secrets? I want to know--"
"It's snowing," observed the Mistress, as a handful of flakes began to drift past the windows, tossed along on a puff of wind.
"I want to KNOW!" half-wept the child; angry at the change of subject, and noting that the Mistress was moving toward the next room, with Lad at her heels. "Come back and tell me!"
He stamped after her to bar her way. Lad was between the irate Cyril and the Mistress. In babyish rage at the dog's placid presence in his path, he drew back one ungainly foot and kicked the astonished collie in the ribs.
At the outrage, Lad spun about, a growl in his throat. But he forbore to bite or even to show his teeth. The growl had been of indignant protest at such unheard-of treatment; not a menace. Then the dog stalked
"And to think what MY lovely face will be like, when I see him walking out!" exulted the Master. "Laddie, come over here. We've got the gorgeousest news ever! Come over and be glad!"
Lad, at the summons, came trotting out of his cave, and across the room. Like every good dog who has been much talked to, he was as adept as any dead-beat in reading the varying shades of the human voice. The voices and faces alike of his two adored deities told him something wonderful had happened. And, as ever, he rejoiced in their gladness. Lifting his magnificent head, he broke into a salvo of trumpeting barks; the oddly triumphant form of racket he reserved for great moments.
"What's Laddie doing?" asked Cyril, from the threshold. "He sounds as if he was going mad or something."
"He's happy," answered the Mistress.
"Why's he happy?" queried the child.
"Because his Master and I are happy," patiently returned the Mistress.
"Why are YOU happy?" insisted Cyril.
"Because today is Thursday," put in the Master. "And that means tomorrow will be Friday."
"And on Friday," added the Mistress, "there's going to be a beautiful surprise for you, Cyril. We can't tell you what it is, but--"
"Why can't you tell me?" urged the child. "Aw, go ahead and tell me! I think you might."
The Master had gone over to the nearest window; and was staring out into the gray-black dusk. Mid-winter gripped the dead world; and the twilight air was deathly chill. The tall naked treetops stood gaunt and wraithlike against a leaden sky.
To the north, the darkness was deepest. Evil little puffs of gale stirred the powdery snow into myriads of tiny dancing white devils. It had been a fearful winter, thus far; colder than for a score of years; so cold that many a wild woodland creature, which usually kept far back in the mountains, had ventured down nearer to civilization for forage and warmth.
Deer tracks a-plenty had been seen, close up to the gates of the Place. And, two days ago, in the forest, half a mile away, the Master had come upon the half-human footprints of a young bear. Starvation stalked abroad, yonder in the white hills. And need for provender had begun to wax stronger among the folk of the wilderness than their inborn dread of humans.
"There's a big snowstorm coming up," ruminated the Master, as he scanned the grim weather-signs. "A blizzard, perhaps. I--I hope it won't delay any incoming steamers. I hope at least one of them will dock on schedule. It--"
He turned back from his musings, aware for the first time that a right sprightly dialogue was going on. Cyril was demanding for the eighth time:
"WHY won't you tell me? Aw, I think you might! What's going to happen that's so nice, Friday?"
"Wait till Friday and see," laughed the Mistress.
"Shucks!" he snorted. "You might tell me, now. I don't want to wait and get s'prised. I want to know, NOW. Tell me!"
Under her tolerant smile, the youngster's voice scaled to an impatient whine. He was beginning to grow red.
"Let it go at that!" ordained the Master. "Don't spoil your own fun, by trying to find out, beforehand. Be a good sportsman."
"Fun!" snarled Cyril. "What's the fun of secrets? I want to know--"
"It's snowing," observed the Mistress, as a handful of flakes began to drift past the windows, tossed along on a puff of wind.
"I want to KNOW!" half-wept the child; angry at the change of subject, and noting that the Mistress was moving toward the next room, with Lad at her heels. "Come back and tell me!"
He stamped after her to bar her way. Lad was between the irate Cyril and the Mistress. In babyish rage at the dog's placid presence in his path, he drew back one ungainly foot and kicked the astonished collie in the ribs.
At the outrage, Lad spun about, a growl in his throat. But he forbore to bite or even to show his teeth. The growl had been of indignant protest at such unheard-of treatment; not a menace. Then the dog stalked