Chapter 11
Chapter 11 of Tilda Jane's Orphans. This is a LibriVox recording. All the LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Tilda Jane's Orphans by Marshall Saunders Chapter 11 It was Saturday morning two weeks later, and Tilda Jane and Perletta were exceedingly busy with the baking for Sunday. The little girl went to school every day now, and when Saturday came, she had a particularly occupied time. While she and the big girl made pies and cakes, Grandpa and the pup sat in two chairs side by side. The little dog was growing famously, and had become as settled in his daily routine as any member of the family. He slept on Grandpa's bed at his feet. The old man had, with much difficulty, broken him of his tiresome habit of playing in the middle of the night, and of waking him by tugging at his white hair in the morning.
Now Puppy had his playthings on the bed, his rubber doll, his beef bones washed clean of all particles of meat, and his ball. If he woke in the morning, before his guardian did, he was obliged to play by himself. When Grandpa got up and began to dress slowly and painfully on account of his lameness, a hilarious time came for the pup. He would cunningly watch Grandpa till his woolen socks were half on his stiff foot. Then, presto, away went the sock under the bed in the puppy's mouth. Come here, good dog, Grandpa would say, pleadingly, and Puppy, in return, would give an aggravating, extremely youthful bark. Finding that persuasion was of no avail, Grandpa would seize one of his crutches and strike it sharply on the floor. Bad dog. This always amused the pup excessively. That old man had never struck him and never would, and seizing the sock with a firmer grip, he would dash round and round the room until Grandpa's head was dizzy.
As a last resort, Grandpa would go to a box on the table, lift the cover, and take out a morsel of puppy biscuit. Cunningly holding it in one hand, he would endeavor to snatch the sock as Puppy came near. However, in time, the clever little dog became such an adept in retaining the sock and obtaining the biscuit that Grandpa was obliged to have recourse to other devices. Every article of clothing was put on under difficulties. Puppy ran off with his shoes, hung on his coat tails, gnawed his trouser legs, and yet, to the amazement of his family, Grandpa, with the utmost patience, permitted this gradual deterioration of his wardrobe. One of Hank's duties was to go down on his hands and knees every night of his life and draw out from under Grandpa's bed the various articles secreted there during the day by the mischievous pup. His reflections, as he did so, were often entertaining in the extreme. This Saturday morning, he had obliged to attend to his duty, neglected the night before, and was just piling the recovered articles on the bed, talking to himself as he did so, greatly to the amusement of Tilda Jane and Perletta, who heard him through the open door.
There, he ejaculated, after another sweep under the bed with a broom, here comes somebody's thimble, all bent on one side like a battered hat. You wouldn't think the puppy had so much power in his jaws. I miss my silver thimble two days a-gone, cried Perletta, with a kind of screech, one that was gov-me. You don't mean to say he laid paws on that. Looks like it, said Hank grimly, and he put in her hand the chewed piece of silver. Hush, girl, exclaimed Grandpa, when she burst into howls of dismay. How much was that? Grandpa drew out his purse.
Here's a dollar, he said grandly. Go buy yourself, too. Perletta's lamentation ceased as suddenly as they had begun, and Hank, with a red face, made another dive under the bed. Seems to me this looks like my turn, he said dryly. Two men's gloves, good dog skin, one thumb chewed off, and three fingers. Now, when in the name of common sense did that young serpent nab those? He ain't allowed upstairs now, is he? No, said Tilda Jane soberly, but the naughty little thing sneaks up whenever our backs are turned. I think Grandpa ought to have a small switch for him. Don't you lay a finger on that dog, said Grandpa hastily, and he put a protecting hand over the wicked little head with his rolling eye sleepily upturned to him.
He'll improve when he's older. How much are your gloves worth, Hank? Two dollars, said the young man. Come here, said his father, again taking out his purse. There. Five dollars, said Hank gravely, but with a wink at Tilda Jane. I owe you three dollars, sir, and he bought out his own purse. Next, said Hank, leaving the kitchen, and more going down on one knee by the bed. Two dark green neckties, pretty well masticated, I guess. There's yours, sir. Let that pass, said the old man, with a wave of his hand. I don't care. Seems to me, puppy's been neglecting you, Tilda Jane, remarked Hank. Here's something coming, and she cautiously drew the broom toward him.
My, what a mess. Nutmegs chewed considerable. One half-eaten apple, a piece of pie. Why, he's setting up a lunch counter under your bed, Father. Some rags. My new cup towels, explained Tilda Jane, in distress, torn to ribbons, and I only hemmed them night before last. A book, continued Hank, with an unmoved face. Desperation, if it ain't my library book. I'll be fine for that. Six leaves gone at the first. Middle missing, and no end. And a heap of paper in the southwest corner of the bed valance. If this is retail work, what will that pup be when he goes into business wholesale? Grandpa, can I get a little switch? asked Tilda Jane, pleadingly. A nice little switch, a tender one, just to let him know he can't take everything under your bed. I don't want his spirit broken.
I'll scarcely whip him at all, said Tilda Jane kindly. I'll whip the table leg, and myself too, a little, and talk cross to him. I can make him cry and whine just as easy, and feel he's a bad dog. And at last but not least, said Hank solemnly, a great big roll of something in a corner, the new gown I bought for you, Father, by all that's filial, tassels chewed off, and a big V out of the skirt. As he spoke, he rose and tragically held out the red flowered gown. Grandpa stared at it, and then turned to Tilda Jane. I guess you better get the switch, sissy. A slender one, quite slender, but get it. It ain't fair to give you so much sewing. Well, I'm off for the mill, explained Hank, rising and brushing off his knee. The very first chance I get, I'll drive in a lot of hooks round the walls, so you can hang things up out of that pup's way. If I don't, and he keeps on at that rate, by the time he's six months old, we'll be as destitute of clothes as the go-with-outums in Central Africa. Now, Dad, mine this is a half holiday, being Saturday. I'm going to keep you all the afternoon in the sunshine. It's just the day for a sleigh ride.
All right, said Grandpa agreeably, and Hank hurried from the house. Grandpa's eyes turned to the puppy. He had just dropped off to sleep, and in a short time would wake up. Eat, sleep, and play. That summed up his life. He was a terrible care, yet Grandpa looked at him with certain satisfaction. He's getting to enjoy dog company, Hank often used to say to Tilda Jane, and it shows that no sane person can be happy without responsibility if it's only a pup. Another cause of gratitude Grandpa had, in spite of the pup's bad actions, was that he had certainly benefited the rheumatism that used to torture the old man, especially at night. It's the gentle warmth of the dog sleeping on your feet, said Hank. You never did have half enough clothes on you at night, and you wouldn't coddle yourself with hot water bottles as some old folks do. Perletta, the irrepressible, whenever the subject came up, had a long string of stories to relate about the person and her part of the country who had been cured of sciatica and rheumatism by sleeping with dogs and cats. Tilda Jane tried to listen patiently to her stories, for no one else liked the poor girl. Perletta was undoubtedly peculiar. She was rude, awkward, foolish, and forward. She went about with a dissatisfied frown on her face, except at such times when she indulged in silly good humor or in cunning attempts to draw attention to herself.
She was terribly jealous of Tilda Jane, who was a general favorite. To be an orphan, too, she used to say gloomily. Yet Tilda Jane, she gets all the soft words. "'Cause she's got sense," Hank would remark piteously, and you haven't. Well, why ain't I got it? Appears to me I have. And then if you were in the humor, you would enter upon a long argument on the subject. On this particular morning, she had kept asking Tilda Jane if she did not hear a voice in the air, calling Perletta, Perletta, Perletta. Perletta?
No, said Tilda Jane soberly. I hear nothing but the tea kettle singing. There's something calling me three times by spells, persisted Perletta. I wonder what it's a sign of. It's a sign that you're not making that apple pear work quite enough, said Tilda Jane. I shall have my pie crust ready long before the apples are sliced. "'Tilda,' said Grandpa suddenly, "'Tilda, get me my dog book.'" The little girl reached to a shelf behind her and handed him a handsome volume with a picture of a dog on the cover.
Grandpa opened the book and began to read to himself in a low voice as he often did. Until a dog is matured, he must be a source of anxiety to one who knows the risks. During this age of growth and development, there are, however, times of greater danger or critical periods. These are when being weaned, when getting the permanent teeth in between these two periods chiefly, or to put it otherwise, till the puppy is eight or nine months old. Grandpa sighed and turned over the leaf.
The most important factor of all in the environment is the individual who undertakes the work of rearing puppies. If he lacks intelligence and sympathetic feeling with dogs, by which alone they can be comprehended, it is idle to hope that any directions will be of avail. Grandpa reached out a hand and patted the sleeping head. Nearly 80, and I never knew that before. Then he continued his reading.
A litter that with the same general management will grow up to the highest perfection they are capable of, under one man, will be miserable, calls under another, who neglects details of adaptation. Litter, exclaimed Grandpa, breaking off suddenly. That means a lot. Thank fortune I've only got one. He gave a slight shudder at the thought of a number of pups, equally destructive, equally troublesome, ranging through his small house.
Tilted Jane, he said after a few minutes, when he was obligated to put his book aside to prevent the roused pup from chewing it, this dog is getting too much soft food. He's got to have more crusts and crackers. Very well, Gramps, she said agreeably, and some meat, continued the old man. I've just been reading that all puppies after eight weeks require a little meat, for the dogs are flesh eaters. I'll mint some fine for him at dinnertime, Grandpa.
And the books says thoroughbred dogs should not go in the street before six months of age, lest they get distemper from other dogs. Tilted Jane raised her flushed face from the oven door that she was just closing on the completed pies. That's so, Grandpa, but I guess it doesn't matter for currs like your dog and mine. That doesn't sound like you, Sissy, he said severely. Ain't currs as good as raised dogs?
Oh, yes, sir. I didn't mean that, she said anxiously. I just meant I don't want to keep the currs from having fun. I think that pup ought to go out some of these sunny days, I mean for walks. Of course, I've always exercised him in the yard.
He wants something more. Now he's growing so fast. But he's got a cold in his throat, said Grandpa. He rattles in his sleep. I hope he don't keep you awake, said the little girl.
Never mind about me, replied Grandpa hastily. Talk about the dog. I was figuring that if the creature went with his bare feet in the snow and ice, it would give him more cold. That dog wants onion, sass, interposed her lettuce suddenly. Onion stewed with lemon juice dropped in after.
That'll cure the rattling. Grandpa's face was quite concerned. I gave him some sweet oil, she added. He gobbles it right up, but the book says you mustn't dose puppies too much. He'll get stronger as he gets older, said Tilda Jane consolingly.
Nobody could take better care of him than you do, Grandpa, for you never let him get too hot or too cold. And he is scarcely out of your sight, which is the right way to raise good dogs and good babies. You've got to watch the little creatures. That's reasonable, said Grandpa. And now about this going out, how would driving do?
Just this thing, said Tilda Jane, clapping her hands. You could wrap him all up but his cunning little head. Make him a little coat, said Grandpa. Make it right away. I did think of making a pudding for dinner, said Tilda Jane, but let the pudding go.
Let it go. We'll eat bread and butter, said Grandpa. Where's your cloth? Get her work basket, per letta. I think per letta had better go on stoning those raisins, said Tilda Jane.
I can imagine the coat by myself. Grandpa was always in a great hurry where the pup was concerned, glanced at the clock. It's ten already. Soon it will be eleven. And then we're close on dinnertime.
You'd better make haste. You can run the thing up on the sewing machine Hank brought. I want the dog to wear it this afternoon. Tilda Jane got a roll of black broadcloth that had been left from Grandpa's new Sunday suit. Now she said we must fit Doggie.
You hold him up, Grandpa. End of chapter eleven.
