Raggety

He met His Lovely Lady long before I met her. And perhaps somewhere else she’ll tell you herself about their meeting, but this is what I know of it. I was going away for the summer to study and in a place where little dogs are not encouraged, so he had to stay behind, and Nellie Jones, who was in my Sunday School class and also my god-daughter, brought him to the train to say “Good-bye.” He was rather excited by the crowds and the train so I did not let him come out onto the platform but made Nellie stay in the waiting-room with him, and there I, with a sad heart, said good-bye for a little while. He wagged his tail encouragingly, his eyes fixed on mine waiting for that happy permission to go which I could not give; Nellie cried and clung about my neck and I hurried away so that the parting, which must be, might be quickly accomplished. I turned at the door and saw the sad little group, Nellie with her scant little skirt and long legs dangling from the bench, and sitting next to her, with that world-old look of infinite patience and of things not understood but endured, sat that little yellow comrade I was leaving behind. “Good-bye, Raggety. Good-bye, dear faithful little friend.”

How many times have I said it through the long years, but as many times have I said in greeting as I said at our very first meeting, “Raggety, Raggety, how do you do?” I dare not think of that time when I must say, “Good-bye, Raggety. Good-bye, dear faithful little friend,” with no hopes of a greeting to follow.

There the Lovely Lady found them, Nellie and Raggety. And two years later I told her of my little dog, for did not the Lovely Lady herself have precious tiny Balribbie of gentle memory. I told her of Raggety’s living at the Donahue’s, and how I missed his warm fluffiness. And then I spoke of one of the many homes Raggety and I have had together and she exclaimed with delight, “Why, I know Raggety!” And she’s going to tell you herself how they met.