The islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1891-1899, 1896-02-20


speck dancing on the water far away.
They could not tell what it vast was
too indistinct for that-but they knew
it might be a drowning man, so they
lowered their little boat at once and
made for him as hard as they could
pull. But it was no man. When they
came near, they found nothing but this
poor lost dog, floating on bit OF wreck
the spar of some vessel that had prop
ably foundered in the storm and gone
silently down with her crew. They took
him into their boat and brought him
back with them. This was all his story.
Here he stood now, dazed, half
starved, bewildered, looking with
strange eyes at each strange face about
him, dumb through it all. AS the mas
ter Of the collier told the little story
more than one plying hand was put
forward to stroke the big, black heat,
but the creature took no notice Of anJ
one of them, only stood quite still,
piercing through the little group with
those sad, eager, human eyes of his.
"Poor fellow Poor dog" they said.
The children stood little from him
with grave, touched faces. They were
gazing so earnestly at him that they did
not see their father, who had come
down to the quay-as he came often
to give momentary eye to his young
monkeys and see that they were not
drowning themselves or getting into any
other hopeless mischief, and who was
standing now behind them and had been
listening while the master told his tale.
They only knew he was there when they
suddenly heard his voice.
"What are you going to do with him!
Will you part with him?'' he called out
to the master Then the lads turned
round, with little cry. "Oh, father!'
they exclaimed, and their hearts leaped
to their mouths. They were afraid to
utter another word. They stood with
their lips parted with eagerness as they
waited for the masters answer
well, sir, I'm open to an offer for
him." the man said, after moments
silence, and then the children burst into
shouts Of delight.
Ten minutes afterward they were
walking home with the beast between
them. They chartered away as they went
of all that they would do with him,
what they should call him, how he
should go everywhere with them, and
how many things they would teach him.
They held him by the ear and clapped
his back and gamboled round him. Who
can tell what his thoughts were all the
time? Who could tell them, as he walk
ed on with those dumb, wondering, pa
tient eyes Of his, with the new voices
in his ear, and all the old world and the
old life gone from him like dream?
"We brought him home with us in
week or two,'' my friend said to me
1--WE had been walking up and down the
lawn while he told me the little story,
"and the boys soon grew very fond of
him, but it is a curious thing that dur
ing all these five years he has been with
us now he has never grown more than
half at home here I think he has been
as happy with us as he would have been
anywhere, and a more docile, patient,
kindly natured beast than he is you
never knew, but yet he has always to
me been like dog living with broken
heart. / don't believe for my part that
he has ever forgotten that old master
of his, whoever he may have been, for
day or an hour since he lost him. Look
at him now. Look what fine, human
pathos there is about that tragic, silent
face of his. Depend upon it, he is think
ing Of the old story at this moment,
puzzling it all out again, remembering,
perhaps, how he saw the boat 60 down
and heard his masters last cry, if, in
deed, it was his last. Perhaps he may
doubt even yet whether it was. I some
times think he has still at moments a
kind of forlorn hope that the lost days
will come back again and the lost eyes
look into his once more
We went up to him again where he
lay and stood looking at him. He was
DOING, with eyes half closed, in the
sunshine, his black coat grown a little
rusty now, his ears dropping, his senses
perhaps beginning to be dulled by age,
for he was old. He was not likely to live
much longer, my friend said
AS we stood so he took no notice of
us. He was thinking of other things
perhaps in half waking dream living
the old life again.
Poor Brutus'' / said once and
stopped down to smooth his grand old
head, but still he did not move or look
up.
"Ah, he doesn't care for that name"
my friend said HE will answer to it
sometimes, but he knows very we'll that
he had another name once quite different
from Brutus We have never been able
to find out what it was. 1t is buried,
too, with all the rest of his history"
We heard the boys voices coming to-
ward us merrily and their footsteps on
the gravel under the chestnut trees. For
a moment Brutus opened his eyes at the
sound of them and gently moved his
bushy tail Then, stretching out his
great fore paws with peaceful sigh, he
laid his head down on them and dozed
again. We left him lying SO, slumbering
calmly in the sunshine, with his dog
gish. faithful thoughts perhaps gone
dreamily back to the old days and hear
ing in sleep the old voices that were lost
to him forever in that sorrowful night
when the unknown ship went down at
sea- M. Craik.