Sunny Boy at the seashore

The sun was very hot on the beach, so hot that Mrs. Gray declared that she was fairly baked under her umbrella and that she did not see how the children stood the direct rays.

“Queen is hot, too,” said Sunny Boy pityingly.

The dog lay and panted, her red tongue hanging out, too warm and uncomfortable to do more than feebly wag her tail when one of the children patted her.

The ocean was crowded with bathers, trying to get cool, and Aunt Bessie, Miss Martinson, and Sunny’s mother came up to them presently, their bathing suits dripping.

“It feels so much like a thunderstorm, that we’re going up to the house and dress,” said Mrs. Horton. “No one but a Hottentot or a youngster could stand the sun to-day. The clouds look threatening off there. Does Nestle Cove have very severe storms?”

“Pretty heavy sometimes,” admitted Mrs. Gray, knitting steadily. “I remember last year we had one that crippled the electric light service. I’ll send Sunny Boy up in an hour or so, shall I? Or may we keep him to lunch? The children would love to have him.”

“I’m nervous in a storm,” confessed Mrs. Horton. “I think I’d feel better if he were with me. Don’t let him stay out much past noon.”

So when the town whistle blew the long shrill blast that meant twelve o’clock, Mrs. Gray gathered up her knitting and signaled to the four children down at the water’s edge.

“You’re just as tanned!” said Stephen to Sunny Boy, as they began to put on their shoes and stockings.

Indeed, Sunny Boy’s face and hands and legs were a soft, even brown now, and his nose was brown with little gold freckles powdered generously over it.

“Whee! see the clouds,” shouted Ralph, pointing inland. “Don’t they look like castles and mountains, Mother?”

“Or snow pudding,” said Ellen.

“My, what a big snow pudding!” and Sunny Boy giggled at the thought.

“Don’t dawdle, children,” warned Mrs. Gray. “I heard thunder a few minutes ago. We left all the windows up, you know. Ready, Sunny Boy? Then we’ll start.”

Harriet had luncheon ready when Sunny Boy reached home, and while they were eating a violent peal of thunder rumbled overhead. Before the dessert was served the sun had gone out and thick black clouds were hurrying through the sky. All the blue had gone out of the sea, and it was a sullen gray with white-caps showing far out.

“It’s a regular gale,” announced Harriet breathlessly. She had been out to get her dish-towels that had been flapping in the wind. “I never saw a sky change so quickly. Shall I put the windows down, Mrs. Horton?”

“Yes,” answered Sunny’s mother. “It is beginning to rain. Come, folks, let’s go into the living-room and watch.”

The living-room had a big window that gave a glimpse of the ocean, though the bungalow faced the street. There was a fine deep window seat heaped high with cushions, and Sunny Boy took one of these and put it in a chair behind his mother’s back, as he had seen his Daddy do.

“Thank you, dearest,” she said. “Sit on the arm of my chair and we’ll both be comfortable. Bessie, tell Harriet to come in. Never mind the dishes, they can wait.”

So Harriet came in, and she and Miss Martinson sat on the window seat, though Aunt Bessie and Sunny Boy and Mother preferred to be a little further back.

Zip! a great jagged streak of lightning split the black sky.

“I guess that struck a wave!” gasped Sunny Boy, as a tremendous clap of thunder followed.

“More like a house,” returned Harriet. “I’m glad the telephone is in the other room.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Horton was beginning, when there was a sharp crackling noise in the dining-room, a flash, and a smell as of rubber burning.

“What was it?” asked Mrs. Horton.

“Fuse burned out,” explained Aunt Bessie, who had run to see. “That’s a common occurrence in the country and out-of-the-way places like this. Listen to that!”

A great blaze of lightning showed them the street—“light as day,” Sunny said—and then a sheet of water blown by the wind rattled against the house and windows.

“Will it wreck ships?” asked Sunny Boy.

“We’ll hope not, precious,” returned Mother, hugging him. “Often when there is a storm on shore it is calm a few miles out at sea. But there will be a high tide and rough water for a couple of days, I’m afraid. You’ll see driftwood on the beach to-morrow.”

“I wonder what Queen does when it rains,” speculated Sunny, his thoughts turning to the friendly dog who roamed the sand and never seemed to have a home.

“I think Queen goes under a pier and stays till the storm is over,” said Miss Martinson. “And I think the worst of this storm is passed now. What is it, Harriet?”

“I can’t make out what it is,” said Harriet, her voice puzzled. “I guess it is alive, but it doesn’t move—”

Sunny Boy slipped down from the arm of his mother’s chair and ran over to the window. He flattened his nose against the rain-spattered glass and peered out. Then, without a word to any one, he ran from the room.

“Sunny! Sunny Boy! where are you going?” called Mrs. Horton.

“That crazy child’s gone right out into the rain,” cried Harriet, running to the front door. The others followed her.

Sunny Boy was out in the middle of the street, bending over a little object that lay in the road. As his mother reached the door he picked it up and came running back, his eyes shining, the water dripping from his yellow hair.

“It’s alive, Mother!” he shouted. “Do you s’pose the lightning struck it?”

“Sunny Boy!” said Mrs. Horton drawing him in and closing the door, while a peal of thunder rattled the windows again, “what made you run out in the storm like that?”

“Why, it’s a dog,” explained Sunny Boy, wide-eyed. “A little dog, Mother, and it was right in the middle of the street. An automobile might run right over it and never see it.”

“Bring it out into the kitchen, the poor thing,” said Harriet. “I noticed it ten minutes ago, but I couldn’t make out whether ’twas a bundle of rags or something alive. Here, I’ll turn on the light. Let’s see what kind of dog you’ve got.”

Sunny Boy put the dog into the apron Harriet held out. Two big brown eyes looked out from a tangled mass of silky hair that should have been white, but was now spotted and streaked with red mud, and a curly tail wagged gently.

“Why, it’s a little beauty!” exclaimed Aunt Bessie. “Poor thing, it’s so cold it’s about exhausted. Some one’s pet I suppose, and these house dogs can’t stand exposure. What shall we feed it?”

“Warm milk, wouldn’t you, Harriet?” asked Mrs. Horton. “And then, if it drinks it, we’ll put it in a box with a bit of clean flannel over it and let it sleep. I don’t believe it is much more than a puppy.”

Soon the little dog had gratefully lapped up the warm milk Harriet brought it, and had been put in a comfortable box and warmly covered. The storm was quite over, and the sun was shining out again.

“Can we keep him?” asked Sunny Boy, changing his shoes which had got wet in his trip to rescue the dog. “May I have him to play with, Mother?”

“Why, dear, it is in all likelihood some one’s pet,” explained Mrs. Horton. “If you lost your pet dog, think how you would feel till you found it. We must make inquiry among the cottages to find if any one has lost a dog, and we’ll pin a notice up on the post-office bulletin, too. I don’t want you to get too attached to the dog, for I am sure its owner will soon claim it. But, of course, till that happens, you may play with it as much as you like.”

Sunny Boy went down to the beach before supper and found that the storm had carried away part of the fishing pier. The waves were higher than usual and the wet sand made walking difficult. He met Ralph and told him about the dog.

“He can play with Queen,” Ralph suggested. “What are you going to call him?”

Sunny Boy had not thought of naming the dog, because he thought of course it was already named by the person who had lost it. But Ralph did not agree, and said:

“The dog can’t talk and tell you who he is. He needs a name as much as ever, and I think, Sunny, that you should give him a name to go by till his own is learned.”

“All right then, call him Curly,” suggested Sunny Boy. “He has long, curly hair. Mother says she is going to wash him, and then he’ll be pure white. Maybe she will let him sleep with me.”

But Mrs. Horton, questioned on the subject that night, did not approve of dogs sleeping on nice, white beds.

“If you want him to, Curly may sleep on a rug in your room,” she told Sunny Boy. “But not on the bed. If you allow him to jump up, he’ll have to go and sleep in his box in the kitchen.”

Curly proved to be a very popular addition to the family. Although Mrs. Horton asked nearly every one she met, and wrote out a description of Curly and pinned it on the lost-and-found bulletin in the Nestle Cove post-office, no one claimed the dog. When Mr. Horton came down the next Saturday and took them all out driving, Curly perched on Sunny’s lap in the front seat and very plainly enjoyed the trip.

“He’s used to riding in a car,” said Mr. Horton. “I wonder why no one advertises for him or tries to find him.”

“Maybe I can keep him always,” said Sunny hopefully. “He can sit up, Daddy, and beg, and play dead. I think he’s a very educated dog.”