Duke p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. White dog c.o.c.ked her head to one side, and the six puppies followed their parents' example. Duke uttered a low deep howl that chimed in with Beth's singing. White dog howled in a high soprano and the six little dogs did likewise, but in shriller tones. Beth was so surprised that she stopped singing, and the dogs immediately ceased howling, evidently waiting for Beth to lead them.

She began to sing again, and the dogs began to howl, swaying their heads from side to side.

Their howling was so funny that Beth had to laugh, January joining in.

Beth then ran into the house for Mrs. Davenport.

"Mamma, come and hear the concert," she cried.

"What concert?"

"Come with me and you'll see, if they'll do it again. It's the funniest singing you ever heard."

Beth led her mother to the barn.

"Where are the singers?" asked Mrs. Davenport.

"Wait," answered Beth, calling the dogs to her. Then she began singing and the dogs began howling, holding their heads high in the air. Duke, however, proved lazy. He would come in only once in a while with his deep ba.s.s, but this made the effect more funny.

Mrs. Davenport laughed over the performance until her sides ached.

That afternoon Beth and the dogs had another concert for the benefit of Mr. Davenport and Marian. In the evening the Gordons and the Bakers called, and, hearing of the wonderful concert, they insisted upon a repet.i.tion of it. The lantern was brought in, therefore, and, with Beth heading the procession, the party adjourned to the barn. The dogs were asleep, but at the first sound of Beth's shrill little voice, they all, even to the smallest pup, p.r.i.c.ked up their ears, and then howled in concert. After that Beth's concert became famous. People drove out from Jacksonville to see and hear the canine musicale. After a time Beth trained the dogs so that they would sit up in a row on their hind legs while they sang. They were apparently carried away by the music, and appeared quite human in their vanity, swaying their bodies and rolling their eyes in a very ludicrous manner, while howling an accompaniment to Beth's singing.

[Ill.u.s.tration: January with his perpetual laugh and fiddle.]

Duke greatly endeared himself to the Davenports by his wonderful sagacity. He could almost talk. One of the very smartest things he ever did happened in this wise:

Beth had a sudden attack of fever.

"We must have a doctor," said Mrs. Davenport.

Beth overheard the remark. Since her experience of the st.i.tches under her nose, she hated all doctors; so she declared:

"I don't want any horrid doctor. I'll get well without one. Really I will."

Mrs. Davenport laid a cooling hand on her head, and said soothingly:

"Can't you trust mamma to do what is best?"

Thereupon she gave private instructions to Mr. Davenport to get a doctor as soon as possible, after which she neglected all work, trying to keep Beth quiet.

Two little kittens, brothers of those brought by Gustus in the winter, crawled up on the lounge ready for play. Even their antics tired Beth.

When the doctor came, he looked serious over the child's condition.

"She must be put to bed immediately," was his first order.

"I'll have her carried up-stairs," said Mrs. Davenport.

The doctor was a very blunt man and declared plainly:

"She's too sick to be moved. Have a bed brought in here if you can."

Without arguing the question, Mrs. Davenport ordered the servants to bring down an iron cot. Her commands were carried out quietly and with haste, and soon Beth was undressed and in bed. She was delirious by this time, and did not even note that a doctor was present.

He studied the case silently for a few minutes. He was a well-meaning man, but a doctor of the old school. He believed that if medicine was a good thing, the more one took the better. Also, if dieting was good, semi-starvation was better.

He therefore wrote out five or six prescriptions, all of very strong drugs. He also ordered that she should be fed only on gruels.

Duke seemed to grieve over Beth's illness extremely. He would not play with the puppies, and would eat hardly anything. At first, he walked into the room where Beth was and lay down beside her cot. When he saw he was in the way there, he took up his position on the piazza outside the door, and could hardly be induced to move. Even white dog failed to entice him away.

Anxious times followed for the Davenports. The fear of losing Beth made each member of the family realize, as never before, how very dear the little, mischievous child was to them. She was mischievous no longer, however. She was so patient that Mrs. Davenport feared more than ever that she would die. Often Beth would smile so beatifically that her mother thought she must be thinking of angels and heaven.

"Dearie, of what are you thinking?" she once asked.

Beth's face was illumined with a more heavenly light than ever as she drew a long breath and answered:

"Oh mamma, I was thinking how good some Bologna sausage, or anything besides horrid old gruel, would taste."

The truth of the matter was that the child was half-starved. Still the doctor insisted that she should have nothing but mutton or rice gruel, and those only in very small quant.i.ties. Under such treatment she wasted to a mere shadow of her former chubby self.

She proved a tyrant in one respect, in that she would have no one but her mother to watch her. If Mrs. Davenport left the room when Beth was awake, Beth at once worried herself into a high fever. The strain was telling upon Mrs. Davenport, but so great was her anxiety that she would hardly take needed rest.

One day Beth was asleep, and Maggie tip-toed into the room and whispered to Mrs. Davenport:

"Dear Miss Mary, won't yo' please let dis ole mammy watch de honey lamb for jes' a little while. Yo' knows I lub her wid all my heart, an' I wouldn't let nuffin harm de pet for de world. Yo' go into de odder room an' rest awhile. If de precious lamb wants yo', I'll call right away, honest."

Thus urged, Mrs. Davenport decided to grant Maggie's request, and she left the room without disturbing Beth's slumbers.

Maggie sat down by the cot. The sight of Beth so emaciated melted Maggie almost to tears. She thus soliloquized:

"Dat horrid ole medicine man, he jes' ought to be made to live on gruels de rest of his life, so he ought. It's jes' ter'ble to starve de chile de way he does. I'd like to be her doctah awhile. I'd order chicken and possum, an'----"

Suddenly Beth's eyes opened. "Maggie, what did you cook for dinner to-day?"

Maggie confided to her husband afterwards:

"Law, t.i.tus, does yo' tink I could sit up dar an' tell dat precious chile we had chicken when I knew her little stomack was jes' groanin'

for chicken? No, 'deed. Do I am deaconess, I'd rather be burned for a lie. So I jes' answers as pert-like as pos'ble. 'Law, honey, we jes'

had mutton like yo'r brof is made of.'"

Beth, however, was not to be deceived. Her senses had grown unusually acute during her sickness. She pointed her finger at Maggie and said:

"Maggie, that's not true. You had chicken and biscuits, for I smelled them. Oh, I'm so hungry."

Maggie sighed sympathetically. "Law, honey, would yo' like some brof?"

"Broth," repeated Beth almost in tears. "I hate broth. I'll starve before I eat any more. I want chicken. Please, please get me some."

The appeal melted Maggie completely. She arose and called Duke from the doorway.

"Duke," she said, pointing to the cot, "don't yo' let any one come near missy till I come back. Do yo' understand?"