Another year with Denise and Ned Toodles

“Here is a lady to speak with you, sir. She—”

“Stand aside! Get out of my way! I can say what I wish to. Do you own that savage beast which sprang over your fence and caused me to be upset in your gutter?”

Mr. Blair arose from his chair beside his library table, and stood speechless, for Aunt Miranda had followed close upon the groom’s heels, and brushed him aside like a fly when he attempted to explain why he was forcing himself into his master’s presence unannounced, and bringing with him an elderly lady very much the worse for her sudden spill, and wild with rage at its cause.

“Whom have I the pleasure of seeing?” began Mr. Blair.

“I don’t know that it will make the least difference to you who I am, and as for the pleasure it will give you, perhaps it will prove quite the reverse, for I have come to insist upon the death of that savage brute you see fit to own and allow to rush from your grounds to attack inoffensive passers-by. Such an outrage I have never in all my life heard of. Suppose I had been killed? What do you suppose my niece will think when that pony comes tearing home, as he no doubt has already done, without me? I tell you a dog like that cannot be allowed to live. Now how soon will you kill him?”

“Why, really, madam,—” began Mr. Blair, but got no further, for—

“I’m not madam at all. I’m Miss, and expect to remain so all my days, for there never yet lived a man that I would let dictate to me, and I’m pretty capable of looking out for myself. So we will drop that and attend to the dog question. Have you a revolver, and will you shoot him? I sha’n’t leave this place until I see him ready for burying,” and down she planted herself upon a near-by chair, and began settling her tossed-about bonnet.

If ever a man looked nonplused, Mr. Blair was that man, for Nero was a very valuable dog, and, aside from his dislike of Ned, whom he evidently took to be a Newfoundland dog, like himself, was a faithful, valued watch-dog. What in the world to say, or do, in order to pacify this irate old lady who had suddenly pounced upon him with such an extraordinary demand, and how to get her out of his house without bodily ejecting her, was a question too tremendous for him to answer. Before he could collect his wits, and do so, an interruption came from an unexpected source, and he was spared the ordeal.

Meantime things were happening at home. John had just stepped from the stable to go to the house when there fell upon his ears the rapid clipperty-clip! clipperty-clip! of rushing feet, and down the road came Ned upon a dead run, the phaeton spinning along behind him, and the carriage-rug flying out behind like a danger-signal.

“The Lord have mercy upon us, and what has tuk place wid the old lady now?” gasped John, and he rushed toward the entrance-gate to call to Ned, and stop his mad career before he could come to grief.

Ned recognized the well-known voice instantly, and as though it brought reassurance to him at once, he slackened his pace, and a second later stood with his head nestled in John’s arms, while that good soul patted and comforted him as he would have comforted a frightened child. Ned was wringing wet with perspiration, and panting from the combined effects of fear and his wild stampede, and John was filled with indignation at the sight, for well he realized what a runaway, resulting from a fright, meant to horse or pony.

“Ah, me bonny lad, me bonny lad, quiet down now; quiet down now. Don’t ye know that it’s John what’s got ye, and never a sthroke af har-rm kin come near ye? There now; there now. Faith, I’d like to have jist wan word with that mule-headed old lady what drove ye to the village. She’d be afther rememberin’ what John Noonan said to her, I’ll bet me last cint. Bad cess to her and her fool ways,” and John led his charge toward the Birds’ Nest. Mrs. Lombard and the children had heard the clatter of Ned’s hoofs, and now came hurrying upon the scene, and, as though even John’s consolation sank into insignificance beside hers, Ned gave a loud neigh, and started toward Denise.

“Oh, my precious pony!” she cried, as she put her arms about his neck, and kissed the damp muzzle, never stopping to think or care whether Ned was as moist as though he had been dipped into the river. “What did Aunt Miranda do to you? What did she do?” for Ned’s mouth showed signs of his rough handling, and it filled Denise with indignation. “Oh, mamma, just look at his poor mouth! It is all cut from being jerked and pulled so. How could Aunt Miranda treat him so? How could she?” cried Denise almost in tears, while Pokey cuddled and caressed the misused little beast from the opposite side.

But much as Mrs. Lombard was distressed at the sight of Ned’s deplorable condition, she was still more alarmed at the thought of what might have befallen Ned’s passenger, and said:

“We must go at once to learn what has happened to Aunt Miranda, and where she is. Something very serious may have occurred, and I am terribly distressed. Harness as quickly as possible, John, and leave Ned to the children’s care. We must go at once to find Miss Lombard.”

John flew to do his mistress’s bidding, although deep down in his heart he harbored the wicked wish that the object of their search had received a wholesome lesson, and that it would prove sufficiently wholesome to induce her to take her departure from Springdale at an earlier date than she had contemplated.

In a very few minutes the surrey stood at the door, and Mrs. Lombard took her seat in it, to be whirled toward the village. She entertained little doubt of the cause of the disaster, as Ned had come home by the dreaded river-road, so thither she made her way as fast as Sunshine and Flash could speed her, and that was by no means a snail-pace. As they drove along the road they discovered traces of Aunt Miranda by the way, for, after mailing her letter, she had made several small purchases, and these, with the cushion of the phaeton, were dotted along the road. When they came to the scene of her spill, there lay the whip, and her change-purse, and the story was told.

Turning directly into Mr. Blair’s grounds, Mrs. Lombard stopped at the door-step, and was met by Mrs. Blair, who strove in vain to restrain her laughter, for she had been sitting in the adjoining room, and had overheard the conversation her husband was holding with his angry guest.

“Pray tell me what has happened?” began Mrs. Lombard.

“Forgive me for smiling, but if you could hear the controversy taking place in the library at this moment, I am sure you would smile, too. Miss Lombard is endeavoring to convince Mr. Blair that Nero should be taken to instant execution, and he, poor man, is striving to collect his wits sufficiently to know how to gratify her, yet spare the dog’s life. But I cannot tell you how sorry we are that such a thing should have happened. Nero jumped the fence again, and rushed upon Ned. Patrick saw him and rushed to the rescue in time to see Miss Lombard pull Ned into the ditch, where she was very gently spilled out of the little carriage, and where she sat bolt upright when he ran to her aid. She was not in the least hurt, and I hope that Ned was not, and she is even now laying down the law to Mr. Blair. Step into this room a moment and you will excuse my mirth, I believe.”

They went into the room next to the library, and divided from it by a heavy portiere, just in time to hear:

“Very well, if you do not shoot him, I shall go straight back to the village and get an officer to do it. Mark my word, that dog will be a dead one before I sleep this night. He is not fit to live! Not fit to live!”

“Dear me, we certainly all have our trials in this world,” whispered Mrs. Lombard, as she moved toward the library, and a moment later was using all her persuasive powers to induce Aunt Miranda to come home with her. After many attempts to soothe that lady’s ruffled spirit, she at last succeeded in bringing about a truce between her and Mr. Blair. Nero should live until Mr. Lombard’s return from town that evening, and then Mr. Blair and Mr. Lombard should agree upon his fate. With this Miss Lombard had to feel satisfied, and, with a vigorous shake of her head, Aunt Miranda followed her niece from Mr. Blair’s home, much to that harassed man’s relief. But when the door-step was gained a new difficulty confronted them, for Miss Lombard would not get into the surrey.

“But it is quite a long walk,” urged Mrs. Lombard, “and after your fright you ought not tax yourself.”

“Tax myself! Do you think I am an invalid? It would take a good deal more than that snip of a horse to unnerve me. I am not hurt a mite, but, my heart and body! I’d like to have a reckoning with that dog. I will, too, before I am done. Now get into that surrey and ride home if you aren’t equal to the walk. I am, and I’ll do it.”

“I shall walk with you,” said Mrs. Lombard very quietly, but very decidedly. Aunt Miranda gave one swift glance at the sweet-faced, dignified lady beside her and said:

“Humph!”

John grumbled inwardly and drove slowly along the road.

When Mr. Lombard returned that evening, Aunt Miranda pounced upon him with her woes. He listened to all she had to say, and then said in his positive way, possibly some of her own determination had been inherited by him, and she had met her match in him, even though he was ordinarily the gentlest of men:

“So you came to grief simply because you would have your own way, and would not listen to the advice offered by those who had had some experience with Mr. Blair’s dog, even though they were considerably younger than yourself? Is that the case, Aunt Miranda?”

“He has no right to keep such a dog!”

“That may all be true, too. But how would you suggest preventing him from so doing if he chooses?”

“What is the law for, I’d like to know?” demanded Aunt Miranda.

“To help Mr. Blair keep a dog, and prevent his neighbors from destroying it, is one of its provinces.”

“And encourage him in harboring an animal which flies over his fence to tear people to pieces?” was the indignant query.

“Well, you see, Nero is a pretty valuable dog, notwithstanding his aversion for small horses which insult him by resembling him; and, even though I have pretty good cause to feel anything but friendly toward him, I cannot in justice blame the dog for trying to ‘do’ a dog bigger than himself. True, I should be glad to convince him of his error, and think that I shall do so by taking Ned up there and letting them get acquainted. At present it is not safe for Denise to drive by there, and for that reason she has been forbidden to do so. Had you been willing to listen to the warning given, you would have been spared a fright, and a number of other unpleasant things, as well as our being spared one, and having the pony frightened and caused to run away. Was the game worth the candle?” and a very quizzical expression came over Mr. Lombard’s face.

“I never allow people younger than myself to dictate to me!”

“We are never too old to give heed to a kind or a wise suggestion, my dear aunt, and, even though you are my senior, I shall take the liberty of advising you to do so when it is liable to prove for your own good.”

Now Aunt Miranda hated to be talked to in this manner as she hated the evil one himself, and up she bounced, crying:

“Lewis Lombard, I have spanked you more than once in your life, and I don’t propose to take your impertinence now. Your father was always as weak as water, and that is the reason he had such a headstrong son.”

“We will not discuss my father, Aunt Miranda,” replied Mr. Lombard in a tone which caused Aunt Miranda to recall the gentle, dignified man whom she had detested simply because she could not rule him, but who was over the courteous gentleman to her.

“Well, thank goodness I shall not have to remain in a town which harbors such a beast. I shall leave day after to-morrow.”

And two days later Aunt Miranda, her parrot, and her bundles were conveyed to the station by one of the village hacks, as she still stoutly refused to enter the surrey.