Sonny and the Kid

THE little old gray house, with its gray barn and low wagon shed, stood in the full sun at the top of a gullied and stony lane. Behind it the ancient forest, spruce and fir and hemlock, came down and brooded darkly over the edge of the rough, stump-strewn pasture. The lane, leading up to the house from the main road, climbed between a sloping buckwheat field on the one hand and a b.u.t.tercupped meadow on the other. On either side of the lane, cutting it off from the fields, straggled a zigzag snake fence, with milk-weed, tansy, and mullein growing raggedly in its corners.

At the head of the lane, where it came out upon the untidy but homely looking yard, stood a largish black and tan dog, his head on one side, his ears c.o.c.ked, his short stub of a tail sticking out straight and motionless, tense with expectation. He was staring at a wagon which came slowly along the main road, drawn by a jogging, white-faced sorrel. The expression in the dog's eyes was that of a hope so eager that nothing but absolute certainty could permit him to believe in its approaching fulfilment. His mouth was half open, as if struggling to aid his vision.

He was an odd looking beast, formidable in his st.u.r.dy strength and his ma.s.siveness of jaw; and ugly beyond question, but for the alert intelligence of his eyes. A palpable mongrel, he showed none the less that he had strains of distinction in his ancestry. English bull was the blood most clearly proclaimed, in his great chest, short, crooked legs, fine coat, and square, powerful head. His p.r.o.nounced black and tan seemed to betray some beagle kinship, as did his long, close-haired ears. Whoever had docked his tail, in his defenceless puppyhood, had evidently been too tender-hearted to cut those silken and sensitive ears. So Sonny had been obliged to face life in the incongruous garb of short tail and long ears--which is almost as unpardonable as yellow shoes with a top hat.

When the wagon drew close to the foot of the lane, Sonny was still uncertain. There might be other white faced sorrels than lazy old Bill. The man in the wagon certainly looked like his beloved master, Joe Barnes; but Joe Barnes was always alone on the wagon-seat, while this man had a child beside him, a child with long, bright, yellow hair and a little red cap. This to Sonny was a bewildering phenomenon.

But when at last the wagon turned up the lane, his doubts were finally resolved. His stub of a tail jerked spasmodically, in its struggle to wag. Then with two or three delirious yelps of joy he started madly down the lane. At the sound of his voice the door of the gray house opened. A tall, thin woman in a bluish homespun skirt and red calico waist came out, and moved slowly across the yard to welcome the new arrivals.

When Sonny, yelping and dancing, met the creaking wagon as it b.u.mped its way upward over the gullies, his master greeted him with a "h.e.l.lo, Sonny!" as usual; but to the dog's quick perception there was a difference in his tone, a difference that was almost an indifference.

Joe Barnes was absorbed. At other times, he was wont to seem warmly interested in Sonny's welcoming antics, and would keep up a running fire of talk with him while the old sorrel plodded up the lane.

To-day, however, Joe's attention was occupied by the yellow-haired child beside him; and Sonny's demonstrations, he knew not why, became perceptibly less ecstatic. It was of no consequence whatever to him that the child stared at him with dancing eyes and cried delightedly, "Oh, Unc' Joe, what a pretty doggie! Oh, what a nice doggie! Can I have him, Unc' Joe?"

"All right, Kid," said Joe Barnes, gazing down adoringly upon the little red cap; "he's yourn. His name's Sonny, an' he's the best dawg ever chased a chipmunk. He'll love ye, Kid, most as much as yer old Unc' Joe an' Aunt Ann does."

When the yard was reached, the tall woman in the red calico waist was at the side of the wagon before the driver's "Whoa!" brought the horse to a stop. The little one was s.n.a.t.c.hed down from the seat and hugged vehemently to her heart.

"Poor lamb! Precious lamb!" she murmured. "I'll be a mother to you, please G.o.d!"

"I want my mummie! Where's she gone to?" cried the child, suddenly reminded of a loss which he was beginning to forget. But his aunt changed the subject hastily.

"Ain't he the livin' image of Jim?" she demanded in a voice of wondering admiration. "Did ever you see the likes of it, father?"

Under the pretence of examining him more critically, Joe took the child into his own arms, and looked at him with ardent eyes. "Yes,"

said he, "the Kid does favour Jim, more'n his--" But he checked himself at the word. "An' he's a regular little man too!" he went on.

"Come all the way up on the cars by himself, an' wasn't a mite o'

trouble, the conductor said."

Utterly engrossed in the little one, neither Joe nor his wife gave a look or a thought to Sonny, who was leaping upon them joyously. For years he had been almost the one centre of attention for the childless couple, who had treated him as a child, caressing him, spoiling him, and teaching him to feel his devotion necessary to them. Now, finding himself quite ignored, he quieted down all at once and stood for a few seconds gazing reproachfully at the scene. The intimacy with Joe and Ann which he had so long enjoyed had developed almost a human quality in his intelligence and his feelings. Plainly, now, he was forgotten.

His master and mistress had withdrawn their love and were pouring it out upon this stranger child. His ears and stub tail drooping in misery, he turned away, walked sorrowfully over to the horse, and sniffed at the latter's nose as if to beg for some explanation of what had happened. But the old sorrel, pleasantly occupied in cropping at the short, sweet gra.s.s behind the well, had neither explanation nor sympathy to offer. Sonny went off to his kennel, a place he scorned to notice, as a rule, because the best in the house had hitherto been held none too good for him. Creeping in with a beaten air, he lay down with his nose on his paws in the doorway, and tried to understand what had come upon him. One thing only was quite clear to him. It was all the fault of the child with the yellow curls.

Sonny had had no experience with children. The few he had met he had regarded with that impersonal benevolence which was his att.i.tude toward all humanity. His formidable appearance had saved him from finding out that humanity could be cruel and brutal. So now, in his unhappiness, he had no jealous anger. He simply wanted to keep away from this small being who had caused his hurt.

But even this grace was not to be allowed him. By the time Joe Barnes and Ann, both trying to hold the little one in their arms at the same time, had made their impeded way to the house, the little one had begun to find their ardour a shade embarra.s.sing. To him there were lots of things better than being hugged and kissed. This shining green backwoods world was quite new to his city born eyes, and he wanted to find out all about it, at once, for himself. He began struggling vigorously to get down out of the imprisoning arms.

"Put me down, Unc' Joe!" he demanded. "I want to play with my doggie."

"All right, Kid," responded Joe, complying instantly. "Here Sonny, Sonny, come an' git acquainted with the Kid!"

"Yes, come and see the Kid, Sonny!" reechoed the woman, devouring the little yellow head with her eyes. His real name was Alfred, but Joe had called him "the Kid," and that was to be his appellation thenceforth.

Hearing his name called, Sonny emerged from his kennel and came forward, but not with his wonted eagerness. Very soberly, but with prompt obedience he came, and thrust his ma.s.sive head under Joe's hand for the accustomed caress. But the caress was not forthcoming. Joe simply forgot it, so absorbed was he, his gaunt, weather-beaten face glowing and melting with smiles as he gazed at the child.

"Here's your dawg, Kid!" said he, and watched delightedly to see how the little one would go about a.s.serting proprietorship.

The woman was the more subtle of the two in her sympathies. "Sonny,"

she said, pulling the dog forward, "here's the Kid, yer little master.

See you mind what he tells you, and see you take good keer o' him."

Sonny wagged his tail obediently, his load of misery lightening under the touch of his mistress's hand. He leaned against her knees, comforted for a moment, though his love was more for the man than for her. But he would not look at the Kid. He shut his eyes with an expression of endurance as the little one's hand patted him vehemently on the face, and his stub tail stopped wagging. In a dim way he recognized that he must not be uncivil to this small stranger who had so instantaneously and completely usurped his place. But beyond this he could think of nothing but his master, who had grown indifferent.

Suddenly, with a burst of longing for reconciliation, he jerked abruptly away from the child's hands, wriggled in between Joe's legs, and strove to climb up and lick his face.

At the look of disappointment which pa.s.sed over the child's face Joe Barnes felt a sudden rush of anger. Stupidly misunderstanding, he thought that Sonny was merely trying to avoid the child. He straightened up his tall figure, s.n.a.t.c.hed the little one to his breast, and exclaimed in a harsh voice, "If ye can't be nice to the Kid, git out!"

The words "Git out!" with the tone in which they were uttered, would have been comprehensible to a much meaner intelligence than Sonny's.

As if he had been whipped, he curled down his abbreviated tail, and ran and hid himself in his kennel.

"Sonny didn't mean to be ugly to the Kid, father," protested Ann, "He jest don't quite understand the situation yet, an' he's wonderin' why ye don't make so much of him as ye used to. I don't blame him fer feelin' a leetle mite left out in the cold."

Joe felt a vague suspicion that Ann might be right; but it was a very vague suspicion, just enough to make him feel uneasy and put him on the defensive. Being obstinate and something of a crank, this only added heat to his irritation. "I ain't got no use fer any dawg that don't know enough to take to a kid on sight!" he declared, readjusting the little red cap on the child's curls.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HE CURLED DOWN HIS ABBREVIATED TAIL, AND RAN."]

"Of course, father," acquiesced Ann discreetly; "but you'll find Sonny'll be all right."

Here the child, who had been squirming with impatience, piped up, "I want to go an' see my doggie in his little house!" he declared.

"Oh, no, Kid, we're goin' to let Sonny be fer a bit. We're goin' to see the calf, the pretty black an' white calf, round back o' the barn, now. You go along with Aunty Ann while I onhitch old Bill. An' then we'll all go an' see the little pigs."

His mind altogether diverted by the suggestion of such strange delights, the little fellow trotted off joyously with Ann, while Joe Barnes led the old sorrel to the barn, grumbling to himself at what he chose to call Sonny's "ugliness" in not making friends with the Kid.

From that hour Sonny's life was changed. In fact, it seemed to him no longer life at all. His master's indifference grew swiftly to an unreasoning anger against him; and as he fretted over it continually, a malicious fate seemed to delight in putting him, or leading him to put himself, ever in the wrong. Absorbed in longing for his master, he hardly thought of the child at all. Several times, in a blundering effort to make things right with Sonny and the Kid, Joe seated himself on the back doorstep, took the little one on his knee, and called Sonny to come and make friends. At the sound of the loved summons Sonny shot out from the kennel, which had become his constant refuge, tore wildly across the yard, and strove, in a sort of ecstasy, to show his forgiveness and his joy by climbing into Joe's lap. Being a large dog, and the lap already filled, this meant roughly crowding out the Kid, of whose very existence, at this moment, Sonny was unaware. But to the obtuse man Sonny's action seemed nothing more than a mean and jealous effort to supplant the Kid.

To the Kid this proceeding of Sonny's was a fine game. He would grapple with the dog, hug him, pound him gleefully with his little fists, and call him every pet name he knew.

But the man would rise to his feet angrily, and cry, "If that's all ye're good fer, git! Git out, I tell ye!" And Sonny, heartsore and bewildered, would shrink back hopelessly to his kennel. When this, or something much like it, had happened several times, even Ann, for all her finer perceptions, began to feel that Sonny might be a bit nicer to the Kid, and, as a consequence, to stint her kindness. But to Sonny, sunk in his misery and pining only for that love which his master had so inexplicably withdrawn from him, it mattered little whether Ann was neglectful or not.

Uneventfully day followed day on the lonely backwoods farm. To Sonny, the discarded, the discredited, they were all hopeless days, dark and interminable. But to the Kid they were days of wonder, every one. He loved the queer black and white pigs, which he studied intently through the cracks in the boarding of their pen. He loved the calf, and the three velvet-eyed cows, and the two big red oxen, inseparable yoke fellows. The chickens were an inexhaustible interest to him; and so were the airy throngs of b.u.t.tercups afloat on the gra.s.s, and the yet more aerial troops of the b.u.t.terflies flickering above them, white and brown and red and black and gold and yellow and maroon. But in the last choice he loved best of all the silent, unresponsive Sonny, of whose indifference he seemed quite unaware. Sonny, lying on the gra.s.s, would look at him soberly, submit to his endearments without one answering wag of the tail, and at last, after the utmost patience that courtesy could require, would slowly get up, yawn, and stroll off to his kennel or to some pretended business behind the barn. His big heart harboured no resentment against the child, whom he knew to be a child and irresponsible. His resentment was all against fate, or life, or whatever it was, the vague, implacable force which was causing Joe Barnes to hurt him. For Joe Barnes he had only sorrow and hungry devotion.

Little by little, however, Sonny's lonely and sorrowful heart, in spite of itself, was beginning to warm toward the unconscious child.

Though still outwardly indifferent, he began to feel gratified rather than bored when the Kid came up and gaily disturbed his slumbers by pounding him on the head with his little palm and tumbling over his st.u.r.dy back. It was a mild gratification, however, and seemed to call for no demonstrative expression.

Then, one noon, he chanced to be lying, heavy-hearted, some ten or a dozen paces in front of the kitchen door, while Joe Barnes sat on the doorstep smoking his after-dinner pipe, and Ann bustled through the dish washing. At such times, in the old happy days, Sonny's place had always been at Joe Barnes's feet; but those times seemed to have been forgotten by Joe Barnes, who had the Kid beside him. Suddenly, tired of sitting still, the little one jumped up and ran over to Sonny.

Sonny resolutely pretended to be asleep. Laughingly the child sprawled over him, pulled his ears gently, then tried to push open his eyes. A little burst of warmth gushed up in Sonny's sad heart. With a swift impulse he lifted his muzzle and licked the Kid, a generous, ample lick across the face.

Alas! as blundering fate would have it, the Kid's face was closer than Sonny had imagined. He not only licked it, but at the same time b.u.mped it violently with his wet muzzle. Taken by surprise and half-dazed, the Kid drew back with a sharp little "Oh!" His eyes grew very wide, and for an instant his mouth quivered as if he was going to cry. This was all Joe Barnes saw. Springing to his feet, with a smothered oath, he ran, caught the Kid up in his arms, and gave Sonny a fierce kick in the ribs which sent him rushing back to his kennel with a howl of grief and pain.

Ann had come running from the house in amazement. The Kid was sobbing, and struggling to get down from Joe's arms.

Ann s.n.a.t.c.hed him away anxiously. "What did Sonny do to ye, the bad dawg!" she demanded.

"He ain't bad. He's good. He jest kissed me too hard!" protested the little one indignantly.

"He hurt the Kid's face. I ain't right sure but what he snapped at him," said Joe Barnes.