The key to Betsy's heart

VANART VI. sat on the edge of his dish, with all of his four paws in the milk, and barked fiercely at his small sister, who hovered, shy and meek, on the farther edge of Elysium. He knew what all dogs (and some men) know, that Might is Right; and he reasoned, not uncleverly, that if his four-weeks-old voice could intimidate Sister Belle, he could certainly keep her off until he had feasted and made sure of his own share.

A ray of afternoon sunlight crept in through the skylight of the big New York studio, and lighted up this scene, just as Bob Grant opened the door, looked for the cause of the commotion, dropped his parcel of sketches on the floor, and laughed.

“You greedy little sinner! Is that the kind of a dog you are going to be? You’ll be needing some discipline, I’m thinking. Come here to me, you young nipper.”

The wee morsel looked up for an instant, beheld Bob Grant, and continued barking—at him. He held his head royally, too, as if he knew that he was the King of Hearts, bearing a noble name, and with a long pedigree behind him.

“Why, you’re a raving beauty, even now. And, if I am not mistaken, you’re mine. Who your young companion is I don’t know. I hope to Goshen Billy didn’t send me the two of you!”

No thought of a master entered Van’s mind at that time. His attention was on the milk, and so intent was he on asserting his rights, that he quite forgot to drink. The Dog in the Milk was evidently first cousin to the “Dog in the Manger.”

Bob opened the letter that was tied to the basket in which the puppies had arrived. Uppermost lay the register of birth and ancestry. It read like this:

“Vanart VI.:—born March 26th, 1902. Smooth fox-terrier. Color—white, with chestnut-brown head and saddle and spot at base of tail.”

Then followed his father’s name, Vanart I.; his mother’s, Queen Mab, and a long list of forefathers and foremothers. Bob Grant read, and learned that Vanart I. was born in the Royal Victoria Kennels at Montreal; that his father was the famous Rex, which means king;—all down the line appeared royal names.

So it was apparent that our hero was very well born indeed,—a prince of the blood, and heir by grace of his own personal beauty and attractions to his great father’s title. The latter fact was explained in the letter that lay underneath the register:

Bob laid aside the letter and turned his attention once more to the problem at his feet. No doubt at all as to which was his own puppy. Bob picked Van out of the dish, wiped the milk off his feet, and introduced himself.

Van did not cringe, or try to get away, but looked up from the big hand that held him, into the face of the young man, with a fearless confidence, and fell to chewing Bob’s finger, as if it were the whole business of life.

“Well, Vanart VI., you are here, and I hope a kind Providence will tell me what to do with you. For the present I’ve got to put up with you somehow. Two of them,—Oh, Christmas!”

“Woof!” said Van, affably, and he bit Bob’s thumb a little harder, just to show him that the chosen son of Vanart I. and Queen Mab was not to be trifled with, and that, in reality, he owned Bob. But the merry little eyes twinkled gayly, as if, after all, this being the Lord of Creation was a good joke.

For two weeks—while he was getting his breath, you might say—Van lived in the big New York studio with Bob Grant. Every day he grew in grace, and became, more and more, a shapely, active little dog. Beautiful indeed he was. Even in his young puppyhood he was lithe and agile as a kitten. His feet were small, as became his birth and breeding; he carried his brown head proudly on his delicate neck, that arched as none but a thoroughbred’s might. His soft, pointed ears were alert to all the new noises of a strange and interesting world, and he wagged, or was wagged, by a funny bud of a tail, which every well-brought-up fox-terrier knows is the style in good society. His chest was broader than that of the ordinary breed, and his eyes were dark and tender; and one who knew dogs understood at a glance that a strain from some far-away bull-dog ancestor had added kindliness and affection to the sometimes ill-tempered disposition of a full-blooded fox terrier.

In those two weeks Van learned many things. One was that pins are not good things to play with. Bob came in one day and found him on his back, making queer little sounds through a rigidly open mouth, at which he was pawing frantically to rid himself of something. Lodged between his upper and lower molars was a pin which he had tried to swallow. Bob removed it, and then Van barked and capered as if he had done a clever thing. But he knew also that it was a thing not to be repeated.

The next thing he learned was that sisters do not stay with one always. One day little Belle disappeared,—going out of the big New York studio on the arm of Billy, never to return. Van did not mind that so much. His short life had been all surprises so far, and he liked being cock-o’-the-walk far better than sharing the glory.

So Belle faded from his little brain, like the other visions of his border-land, and he quite forgot her in the excitement of the new and wonderful things that he was learning. Until now the world had been a constant series of changes, and more were to come; for so far he knew nothing of the big out-of-doors.

Billy came in one evening, and stood looking down at the bonny bit as he lay in his basket.

“Have you taken him out in Madison Square, yet, Bob?”

“Not yet. I’ve been too busy.”

“Get on your hat and we’ll show him the town. I’d like to see how he will behave.”

He was wakened, yawning and blinking, crumpled gently under his master’s arm, and they all went out into the soft May night.

First there was a long, bewildering street, full of noises and lights that stunned and blinded the little Prince. For a moment he hid his head in the folds of Bob’s jacket, and felt like whimpering at the bigness of things. He himself was so small and new, and all this must have been there before he came. He would certainly have to run to catch up. Well, running was fun. He straightened up, settled himself comfortably, and prepared to enjoy real living, no matter what happened.

People who passed looked admiringly at the uplifted, bobbing brown head, and the wide-open, beautiful eyes that were awake to everything. Some even stopped and patted him. He barked joyously in response, and turned to fresh adventures.

And they came. Out of the street they turned into a bigger and wider one. Then there opened out in front of them a great square place,—a place with houses all around, and a roof very different from that in the studio. It was soft and dark and green, and it waved and rustled in the night breeze. There were many twinkling lights, and many, many people. Some were moving swiftly, some slowly. Others were gossiping or nodding on benches. It was all very wonderful.

Then, most astonishing of all, Van’s four little paws were set down on a fuzzy, wet, cold carpet; and he stood alone in the very middle of the whole wide world. Bob and Billy were simply bystanders; no hand was upon him to restrain him; all this was his,—the trees, the lights, and the starry dome above. Life began to unfold.

Afraid? Not he! He started at once on a voyage of discovery. There were children there—the first he had ever seen. They beckoned and called to him, and he trotted to them. They chased him and he scampered after them, barking at their heels. He explored the grass-plots and a pansy bed; he looked wonderingly at the fountain that rose and fell with a throb of hidden power,—always falling and yet always there; at the round basin of water that was like nothing so much as a giant milk dish.

Then he started for the people who were sitting in amused groups on the benches, even the sleepy ones waking up to watch the dainty little sprite.

“I’ll bet it’s his first night out,” said one fat old man who had been reading a newspaper under an electric light, “but he’s game to his ear-tips.”

“He’s a sport, all right,” said another. “See him go for that cross old woman over the walk!”

The cross old woman looked down to see a small brown and white puppy sitting confidingly on the edge of her faded skirt. She made a movement as if to jerk it away, looked again, then stooped and patted the winsome little head. Van seemed friendly. She stooped and picked him up, and for a moment held him to her bosom, where nothing had lain since the days when her hair was brown and her cheek smooth and rosy. He looked into her eyes with his soft young brown ones, and all the bitter hardness faded out of her face, as his delicate tongue flashed across the tip of her nose. Then he gently nipped her hand, and struggled to be off on fresh voyages of discovery.

Bob called to him, but he glanced at him defiantly, and ran in the other direction. The fat man moved off down the walk, saying to others as he went:

“Have you seen that pup over yonder? He’s sure some pup! Ha, ha! He’s the whole show. Better have a look.”

A crowd collected to watch the tiny joyous thing: the old-timers who studied the want and employment “ads”; the other shabby ones who were busy swapping politics; the still shabbier ones who slept there with their arms folded, their stubbly chins on their soiled shirt-fronts; the casual passer-by,—even the policemen strolled up,—with an eye to preserving peace and order, but remained to enjoy the fairy-like antics of this new dweller in the world. Everybody forgot for a little while that there were such words as “Keep off the grass.”

Van leaped for a June beetle,—missed it; a night moth winged by him,—he chased it on flying feet, although his legs were still so young and uncertain that he tumbled over every hummock in his path. A child rolled a rubber ball toward him; he seized it and bore it to the feet of his master, and lay down to demolish it. Bob rescued it, and Van attacked a stick that a bent old man poked at him.

“You’re a bit of all right, and no mistake!” said the old man. “I bet you can read the papers. Want to try?” He pulled the evening sheet out of his pocket, and presented it to his young acquaintance.

Van closed his teeth on it, dragged it after him across the walk, and sent the fragments flying far and wide.

Through the thickest of the crowd a seedy young man with a furtive eye sidled to the inner edge of the onlookers. His hand flashed out as Van gamboled near, and then—there was no Van on the dewy grass.

For a moment no one understood. It was all so sudden that no one could tell who did it.—Yes, there was one who did,—a policeman who was there to watch for just that very thing. The seedy young man had reached the outer edge of the group and in an instant more would be speeding down Twenty-fourth Street.

A big hand landed firmly on his coat-collar, another went into his pocket, and out came Van,—dazed, but thinking it all part of the great game the world was playing for his benefit. It was so quickly done that the crowd hardly knew anything had happened, until those nearest saw the thief wrench himself from the detaining hand and disappear in the darkness. The policeman, glad of the chance to be so near the small performer, held Van in the flat of one palm, and stroked him with the other, as he passed him over to Bob.

“Here’s yer white elephant, young feller, and a foine wan he is. Ye’re lucky to git him back. Them dog-pinchers is mighty handy with their hooks.”

“You’re right,” said Bob. “They know a good thing when they see it. A little more, and he would have been lost.”

“A little more, and yer dog ’ud be performin’ in a circus a year from now. There’s manny a wan av us ’ud be likin’ to keep him.”

Bob and Billy walked back to the studio, and Bob said soberly:

“I like the little sinner, and it’s mighty good of you to give him to me, but I can’t keep him here. City’s no place for a dog, and an untrained pup at that.”

“Why don’t you send him up country?”

Bob thought a moment.

“Good idea! The very thing! Sister Kate’s just acquired a kid,—adopted it, or something—up at the Hospital, you know. The kid’ll be lonesome on the Hill-Top, with no companions. Off you go, Van,—I’ll take you up there to-morrow. Kate’ll be surprised all right. They have never had a dog or a chick or a child before, in the house, and it’ll do ’em good. Ha, ha! I can see Dr. Johns’ eyes open; but he won’t turn him out, for what Kate does ‘goes’ with the doctor, and what Bob does ‘goes’ with Kate. Your destiny is fixed, young fellow. Missionary work for yours.”