Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1890-12-24
"CERIS.'
n W. 4 NORRIS.

To which Martha replied: "That she H.
Miss, and no wonder. But he shall ave his
dinner; though do think you ought to ave
give him whipping. You naughty little
0reatur' you. How could you behave so?"
But Peter, who liked Martha, knowing hel
to be a person OF sterling qualities, rubbed
himself against her and showed no signs oil
penitence; and so Chris departed, feeling that
he was in safe hands.
She spent q long and tedious day at the
Wimbledon villa, which Mr.. Compton had
hired for the summer months. That hard
worked gentleman did not himself appear,
his avocations compelling him to leave for
London early in the morning and remain
there until late at night. Chris was glad to
get away from them, and registered an out
ward vow that she would not again trespass
upon their hospitality.
It was growing dark when she reached Bal
Rclava Terrace once more, and whtstled twice
after the peculiar fashion which Peter knew.
But Peter did not como charging out of the
house with volley of short, joyous barks, as
he was won't to do on those rare occasions
when he had been deserted, for a short time
by his mistress. Only Martha stood in the
doorway with an odd scared look upon her
face, and caught Chris by the arm, whisper
ing: Hush, miss don't whistle for him; he
can't ear you. The poor little dog" She
stopped short and gave kind Of gasp,
which ended almost like a sob.
"What have you done with him2' asked
Chris, turning pale. where is he7"
"oh, miss-oh, my dear, he's dead It was
mono Of my doing. The Lord he knows I'd
give the 'arf of what I've saved in all these
years to give him back to you as you give
him to mel but there! what's the good of
talking7 You won't forgive me, know, nor
yet can't forgive myself. Come into the
kitching, and I'll tell you all about it."
Martha had perhaps anticipated an out
Ayr,-a NF oh an m had
judged the probable effect of her news. Chris
followed her into the kitchen, and sat down
upon one Of the wooden chairs without ut
tering single word and 80 she had to tell
her tale unaided by any Of those interroga-
tons and interpretations which are dear to
women.
Told In that way, it was the tale of q foul
murder, and the case for the murderess was
| scarcely arguable. Miss Ramsden, it APP
peRred, had got up in q very bad temper, and
| with the memory of her wrongs Of the pre-
vious night strong upon her. Coming down.
stairs somewhat earlier than usual, she had
encountered Peter and had struck at him
| with her stick, whereupon he had, as she de-
clared flown at her and bitten her foot. Martha
could not say whether this was or was not q
| true account OF an incident which she had
| not witnessed, but at any rate Miss Ramsden
had no wound to show. "And, my dear,
know no more than the babe unborn what
she was thinking Of when she told me to get
her dressed, because she was going out to
| the chemists to buy some medicine; and
when see her come back, and the young
| man from the chemists with her, I supposed
twas no more than some dispute about the
| bill, like what she's always 'avin' with them,
| and that she'd brought him ERE to show him
| her receipt. was cookin' the dinner at the
time, and let Peter out o. my sight, which
never ought to ave done It, and the same
Of all
| arter that she rang for me and went up to
| the droring-room-and twas all over. The
pore dog was mad says she, and he 'ad to
be put out o. the way. And you'd best re-
move the body says she. Well, spoke to
Miss Rebecca as never thought could have
| spoke to her; but was that angry the words
| come out O. themselves, and believe went
90 fur as to give her warning, though amt
| goin' to desert her, whatever she done. And
| II tits any comfort to you to know that she's
| lynn down in her bed at this moment, shakin'
| all over with fright"
where is he2" interrupted Chris, quietly.
Martha led the way into the scullery, whore
poor Peter lay, stin and stark, his joys and
| sorrows ended forever, and those soft, loving
eyes Of his, in which his mistress had SO
| often read as much as any human tongue can
| speak dull and glazed. Chris bent over him
and kissed his curly head. Then, "Mar-
tha," said she, "have you a spade2 want
| 20 DuEy him. ana Lnero - NO uLne 10 10 lOSIs
Martha had no spade, but she had a shovel
and pick which she used for breaking GOAL ;
and with those implements grave was soon
dug in the back-garden in which Peters body
was laid. When the work, which had been
| accomplished in silence, was completed,
Chris knelt down and kissed her dear friend
once more.
Goodbye, dear, dead Peter" she whis-
pered. "You were always good and true
and I believe we shall meet again, in spite of
what people say. there is a heaven for
Aunt Rebecca, th0Te must be heaven fol
dogs."
Indeed, I think SO too, my DEAR" sobbed
Martha, casting orthodoxy to the wiz
"And oh if you could forgive the pore old
missusI believe she was frightened of the
dog, and do believe she's sorry now-yes,
that dop
"It makes no difference" answered Chris,
coldly, whether she is sorry or not. will
never forgive her, and will never, If can
help II, see her or speak to her again."
The girls face was so pale and stern that
Martha could only weep feebly and murmur:
ooh, dear, oh, dear what ever shall we do r.