Chapter 15
15. The Pursuit of the Goose. Look there, cried Hank, and he pointed to a member of the family who had participated in the general excitement in a quiet but intensely interested way. Tilda Jane and Grandpa stared at the doorway. There, on his haunches, sat the intelligent hound Poacher, drinking in every word that Hank uttered.
Ain't that the hound that used to dog-deer? cried Hank. Ain't he the fellow that used to track his master's family all through the woods? Ain't he the friend Tilda has told us about finding her most frozen dead in the snow? Look at him! He ain't thoroughbred deerhound. His coat ain't rough, it's short and hard. And he's got a big head, not slender like a real deerhound. I tell you he's more bloodhound than anything else now, Sissy. And he turned to Tilda Jane
and continued with apparent irrelevance. Run upstairs and see if Perletta has left any old duds behind her. A great light broke over Grandpa's face as Tilda Jane jumped from her seat and went running from the room. She's taken only her new clothes, she said breathlessly, as she came back a minute later. She's left all her old ones. Any old shoes, Sissy? asked Hank. Yes, brother. Run, get me one.
Tilda Jane with her hand on her side scurried out of the room a second time. When she came back with a sample of monstrous and grotesquely large footwear in her hand, Hank took it as carefully as if it were a dainty satin slipper and holding it out to Poacher said, Good dog, smell it. The sleek, gracious hound ran his muzzle all over it and Hank said rapidly, He'll do, he'll do. I see by his face he ain't pure bloodhound, but he's got a taste for scent.
Poacher, he went on, addressing the animal as seriously as if he were a person. That goose perletta has flown away and we want you to run right along the ground and find her. Poacher's brown eyes sparkled and he slightly agitated his tail. We're depending on you, boy, continued Hank, laying a hand on his velvety head. Now you've lived here a year and more. Good board, fine keep, and nothing to do.
We've all been good to you, and now I want you to toil a little. Oh, get to work, get to work, exclaimed Grandpa impatiently. Don't talk so much. Sir, said Hank with dignity, I'm talking with a purpose. I'm laying a business proposition before this dog and he's getting interested. Poacher, he went on, turning to the animal. That goose girl took under one wing your little friend the pup and under the other
your young mistress's little pigeon. Now shall we find these pets and bring them back? Hank's voice was not loud, but it was strangely animating. And as he finished, Poacher rose up and moving restlessly about the bedroom and kitchen, began to whine excitedly. Now smell this treasure, said Hank, presenting the shoe to him. This coarse leather has felt the impress of the beauteous perlettas fairy foot.
Smell it with all your dog mind. Poacher, for the second time, ran his nose all over the leather, then looked up in Hank's face. Find her, hissed Hank. Seek her, get her for us. Poacher, in the most intense vibrating sympathy with Hank's earnestness, ran to the door and looked over his shoulder. Hank started up. Good, I'll try him. Tilda Jane shoved some crackers and cheese in the pocket of my overcoat and I'll run harness
milkweed. Keep the dog shut in here till you see me coming out of the barn. What about Mr. Waysmith? inquired Grandpa. What about him? Just as soon as Poacher and I leave, replied Hank. You, Tilda, get the breakfast. Now mind, you take a cup of good hot milk and plenty to eat. Then at eight thirty do you go to the mill, ask for Mr. Waysmith, tell him the exact facts of the case and say I'll telephone him later in the
day. And without another word, Hank rushed from the house, knowing that his young adopted sister would faithfully carry out his instructions. A few minutes later, Tilda Jane, Grandpa and Poacher, watching at the bedroom window, saw him drive away from the barn. Tilda Jane opened the window and with a caress on Poacher's velvety head, allowed him to jump out. Hank held out the old shoe to the dog, who again smelled it carefully, then ran in a curious way about the backyard.
The snow was not deep on the ground now, but there was a light covering of it and fortunately no change had taken place in the weather since Perletta's flight. Poacher soon gave up the old tracks leading from the back door to the barn and struck the fresh one by the front gate. Here he set off at a good steady pace down the road toward French Row. He did not run excitedly, but in a cool businesslike way. His nose close to the snow and Hank, with a whoop of delight,
waved the old shoe at his father and Tilda Jane and told the dancing milkweed to keep close behind her friend the hound. As he went deliberately down the road, Tilda Jane and Grandpa turned and looked at each other. Not till the last jingle of the sleigh bells died away on the early morning air did the little girl speak. Then she threw her arms round the neck of the excited old man and after a vehement, we'll get them, Grandpa, we'll get them, she kissed his troubled face
and hurried to the kitchen to prepare the breakfast. When they sat soberly taking their mush and milk, she said, I might have guessed Perletta would take that road. There's a camp of Indians on it. Do you think she would go to them, asked Grandpa anxiously? I've heard that Indians eat dogs. They wouldn't know its value. They'd kill that little pup. I don't think Perletta would go to live with Indians now, Grandpa, said the little girl
consolingly. She's got too fond of her comfort. She just likes that road because there are Indians on it. She has a funny mind, you know. I think she's looking for a house just like this, where some aged person will adopt her. If she wants a house like this, observed Grandpa, in a scornful and mystified tone, why didn't she stay here? Well, Perletta is a crosswise kind of person, said Tilda Jean in a puzzled voice, and yet there is a sense in her folly because I remember yesterday she was
fitting the pup in those old fruit baskets hanging up in the wood house and the one he fitted in is gone. Didn't you catch on to her mischief, asked Grandpa, and if you didn't, why didn't you? Oh, how could I suspect, said Tilda Jean warmly, how could I think she would take that cute little boy out in the cold, and he's travelling about the country in a basket with holes in it this cold weather, said Grandpa angrily. That animal fresh from my warm bed. Oh, that marplot,
that snake in the grass. She'll keep him warm, Grandpa, said Tilda Jean quickly. She'll stuff him too, if she has to go hungry herself. She would kill him with kindness, if she had him long enough. I'm not worrying about that. It's the missing of him and the pigeon. Why, I feel as if there'd been a death in the house, and she looked about her with a shudder. Grandpa said nothing, and she continued, Oh, it was so sweet to see you coming out of your room in the morning,
with that little fellow hanging on to your trousers legs and nibbling at your crutches, and then he'd curl himself up into a little bow of pleasure and run to say good morning to everyone. Can't you see him licking Poacher and Gipy and going down flat before Hank, and then jumping up in the air, and then when the house got still and lonely, he'd drag his big meat-bones about and make such a joyful noise. I just feel lost without him, and staring miserably
about the room, her eye caught the half-blind wandering Gipy, who was sniffing about corners and under tables and chairs, quite well aware that something had happened, but not quite sure what it was. Come here, my only treasure, said the little girl, and she lifted him up and laid him on her lap. Grandpa was saying something in a grim tone of voice, You're not talking much about the pigeon. The pigeon, repeated Tilda Jane, that little
knowing bird, why he's in my mind all the time. Under the other things I'm talking about, you know how I feel about him, Grandpa. I loved him just like a little brother. Of course, I put you and Hank first, but I don't believe God-minds are loving those little creatures next. He makes them anyway. Which did you like best, Perletta or the pigeon? asked Grandpa inexorably. Oh, what a cruel question, exclaimed the little girl. Only you don't mean to be cruel, Grandpa.
It often comes in my mind. The pigeon and the dogs are so good and Perletta is so dreadful, I'd say to myself, suppose the house was on fire. Which would I save first? Or suppose we were all in a boat and were upset. Would I save Perletta or the animals? Grandpa, in spite of his distress of mind, gave utterance to a low shrill cackle at the picture of the slight Tilda Jane bearing away the huge Perletta from any impending danger. I guess you'd better hear the other side of the
question, he said. It would be whether that big moose would save you, not you save her. Tilda Jane was going on in a low intense voice. I've tried to love her. I did love her a little, but this running away and stealing our pets has given her a powerful setback in my mind. The old man gave her a shrewd look. Sissy, he said slowly. Trouble at breakfast brings dyspepsi. Put your mind on your food and stop crying in your mush. Tears are salt,
and this cornmeal is over-seasoned now. Tilda Jane threw him a grateful glance and wiped her eyes. I feel like an old woman today, she said languidly, and some days I feel quite young, but I will eat to keep my strength up. Have a drop more coffee, Grandpa dear. I've saved some cream for another cup. If you take half in your milk, he said shortly, come now, share and share alike. The little girl drank her milk, then with a glance at the clock
got up and said, I'll just run along to the mill, Grandpa dear. Shall I go and ask one of the meliquan children to come and sit with you? No, he said shortly. I never hung my dirty linen on my fences. I shut it up in the closet at home. Keep your doors closed and no one need come round with palavering questions. The meliquan's a very kind grandpa, remarked Tilda Jane, just a little reproachfully. I know, I know, he said shaking his head, but to sit alone with my trouble is
company enough for me. Tilda Jane put on her hat and coat without worrying him further. He was in such improved health that she had no scruples about leaving him alone. When she got into the outdoor air, Mother Nature once more came to her aid. Early in the morning the sky had been overcast and snow was threatened. Now the sun was breaking through the dull clouds and a strip of glorious blue sky was unfolding itself to the fascinated gaze of the little girl.
Just like a banner of hope, she said enthusiastically, how good God is. When I'm way down in despair, there's some little sign of love up on high.
