Chapter IX: The Big Black Dog

IT was about two o'clock when Hetty left the hut on the slope of the cliff path, and it was a little past three when Mr. Eyre reached it on his way home. He had had a most delightful walk, and his pockets were full of spoils, brought home for little Flo: flowers, sea-weeds, a deserted nest, feathers—every pretty thing that he had seen that was likely to please his little sick girl. There was no sound of talking as he drew near, so he entered quietly, thinking that the child was asleep.

But Flo was not there. The hut was deserted. The shawls used for covering her when she slept were on the ground—and there too was Zelica's basket, all bent and frayed. Also a wet paper and a lot of half-dead shrimps, some of them mashed up in a very unsightly manner, and Hetty's work; all these things lay here and there, but Flo, Hetty, and Zelica had vanished.

"The child must have been ill. Stay! there's the mark of a big dog's paw on the shawl! They have been frightened, and Hetty has taken her home to her mother."

Hastily gathering up the scattered articles, all save the shrimps, he began to descend the zigzag path rapidly. He turned the first corner, and—what was that at the bottom of the next descent? He flung away everything that he was carrying, and flew down the path. Yes—his fears were only too well justified! it was Flo lying on her face, and between her and the edge of the cliff sat a large black retriever, who looked up in the newcomer's face and whined. Then he put his nose to the child's head, and cried again.

John Eyre lifted his little one; her face was cut and scratched, and so were her poor little hands. But, oh! that was nothing to what he feared for her! How had she come there? She was quite insensible, and looking back he saw a scrap of her frock and one little soft shoe on the rough track; she had fallen and rolled down the steep incline—something had stopped her, perilously near the edge, over which she would otherwise have fallen eight or nine feet, coming down on the rocky surface of another division of the zigzag. It seemed as if the dog had stopped her; at all events, he was sitting between her and the edge.

But you may be sure that Mr. Eyre did not delay to decide the question. Carrying the child steadily, he hurried on, the dog running by his side, looking up with almost human anxiety in his face. He followed to the door of the lodgings, saw Flo carried in, and then ran off.

"Celia! Celia! come here. Oh, my dear, I can't take time to warn you—something has happened to Flo—she has fallen."

Mrs. Eyre was by his side. "John, is she dead?"

"No, no,—not dead. Let me lay her on her bed. See! She is only scratched—she moved then. Oh, Celia! The child is alive!"

Mrs. Eyre brought water, and opened the child's frock, which was all twisted round and round her. Flo opened her eyes,—but, alas! she did not seem to know them. She screamed, as if in terror, crying out,—

"Oh, Hetty, Hetty! The dog—the big black dog! Oh, Hetty! Come back, come back! Oh, Zelica, poor Zelica!"

"Where is Hetty, John?"

"I don't know. But, if this is her fault—!"

His voice was lost in Flo's terrified screams.

"John, dear, she is very ill. I must have help. Go to the Convalescent Home over there, and ask the nurse to come to me—she was talking to Flo the other day. And get a doctor: I think we must lose no time."

Mr. Eyre ran to the Home, and was very fortunate, for the nurse could easily be spared, as there were not many patients, and they were all nearly well. So she came at once, and so did the doctor.

It seemed a long time before the doctor came downstairs to the room where poor John Eyre waited for him, and where the three children sat cowering in a corner, terrified by Flo's shrieks, and their father's face of misery.

"Your wife, sir (I don't know your name yet), tells me that the doctor who knows the child's case could be here in a few hours if you went for him. There are no bones broken; but she is in a fearful state of terror and excitement, and I should be very glad to have this Dr. Haddon's help. You see, I don't know anything about the previous injury. Mrs. Dooner, the nurse, can stay here, and I should advise your taking these poor little things home, if possible. There will be plenty to do, without having them here."

"I will take them home, and bring Haddon back. When is the next train?"

"There is one in half an hour. If no one else sends for me, I will stay here until you return. You may be able to get back by one which stops here at nine, but to do that you must not lose a moment."

"You're very kind," John Eyre said, and began putting on the children's hats, which lay on the window seat.

Just as they were ready, a flying step passed the window, and in rushed Hetty, looking like a mad girl.

"Miss Flo," she gasped. "Oh, sir, Miss Flo!"

"Where have you been?" said John Eyre sternly.

"Miss Flo! Miss Flo!" cried Hetty.

"You may hear her screams. She is here. I found her half-way down the path. Where were you? Speak, girl!"

"Zelica ran away; I went after her. She—I saw her on the green place at the top of the cliff. She ran off, and I after her. She got into a lane that goes away from the sea, and when I saw that I couldn't catch her, I turned back; but I had lost my way. Oh, I have run till I'm nearly dead, and when I got to the hut—oh, sir!—"

"You left the child, and went away, far enough to lose yourself. I don't know what happened to her, but I think she is dying. Go—go home! Let me never see your face again."

"Oh, Mr. Eyre! I deserve it; but the mistress will have no one to help her."

"I will see to that. Here is your money. Go at once! I cannot bear the sight of you."

He took the three children, and left the house. He was but just in time to catch the train.

Hetty sank upon the window seat and listened, her heart wrung almost past endurance, to the sounds upstairs. Poor Flo! Had any one thought of it, the sight of Hetty, for whom she called so pitifully, would have quieted her better than anything. But Mrs. Eyre did not know that Hetty was in the house, and no one else attended to the meaning of the child's cry.

"Zelica! oh, Zelica! The big black dog has eaten Zelica! He'll kill me too! Hetty! Hetty! come back!"

"If this can't be stopped, the child will be in convulsions," said the nurse.

The doctor took a small bottle out of his pocket, saying, "I must, I suppose. I would rather have waited for Dr. Haddon."

He mixed a few drops with water, and gave the glass to Mrs. Eyre.

"Flo, you must drink this," Mrs. Eyre said softly. And Flo, having learned long ago to obey that gentle voice, checked her wild outcry and swallowed the medicine at once.

"Oh, mamma! is that you?"

"Yes, darling. Lie still; I want you to go to sleep."

"But—the big black dog."

"There is no dog here. Close your eyes, Flo; try to sleep."

Flo obeyed, and slept uneasily for about half an hour. During this sleep, Mrs. Eyre whispered to the nurse, "Mrs. Dooner, I must just run down and see what has become of the other children."

Mrs. Dooner did not know that they had gone away, and the doctor did not hear what was said. Mrs. Eyre left the room.

Poor Hetty, half stupefied with grief and terror, heard her step, and knew it. The child had ceased to cry. What had happened? She could not face her kind mistress. She could not bear to hear her say "Go," as her master had done. She could not bear to hear that the child was dead. She started up, crept out of the room, and ran out of the house.

She went to the railway station, and was told that there would not be another train until seven o'clock—a slow train, the ticket clerk told her, but she could not understand him, she was so dazed. There was a seat close by, and she crawled over to it, and sat there until the train ran in. Then she took her ticket, and got into a third-class carriage.

The door was opened just as the train was starting, and a woman got in. At the same moment something white made its appearance. Zelica sprang into Hetty's lap.

"Is the cat yours?" inquired the porter.

"Oh, Zelica, Zelica!" cried Hetty. "You don't know what we've done."

The man looked at the woman who had just got in, and said, "I hope the girl's in her right mind."

The woman half rose, but sat down again, saying, "I'm only going to the next station, and she's but a slip of a girl." And as Hetty sat quite quiet, she was soon satisfied that there was no danger.

It was a long, weary journey. The train stopped at every station, and sometimes where there was no station at all. Hetty felt as if she was dreaming, and could not wake. She did not even cry, and whether the noise she heard were the whistle of the engine or Flo's screams, she did not know. But at last they reached B—, and she left the train. She had a long way to walk, but she did not think of that; she went slowly along with the cat in her arms. At last she reached the straggling street of Little Hayes, and then she found herself at her mother's door.

It was shut, of course, for it was nearly midnight. Hetty tapped with her hand, and when no notice was taken of this, she tried to call out, and could not. Then she picked up a little stone and hammered at the door. She heard the door of the inner room open and her mother's voice, crying, "Dan! Ned! Get up and come down. The house must be on fire, the police are knocking at the door."

Dan, however, was so sound asleep that he never heard her, and Ned only said, "Yes, ma'am, directly," and relapsed into sleep.

Mrs. Hardy and Matty, in their night-gowns, opened the door; and instead of the policeman they expected to see, there stood Hetty. The light from Mrs. Hardy's candle fell upon her white face as she stumbled in, letting the cat fall. Zelica walked over to the fireplace with an air of dignity, and selected the warmest spot to lie down in.

"Oh, you unfortunate child what's wrong with you now?" said Mrs. Hardy.

"I have killed Miss Flo!" Hetty answered, in a hoarse whisper. "She's dead, or dying; the master told me to go home, for he couldn't bear the sight of me. Mother," holding out her trembling hands, "don't you hate me, for oh, I'm just dead myself."

Mrs. Hardy made no answer in words. She just took the poor girl in her arms and kissed her. Hetty clung to her, but neither cried nor tried to explain; and Mrs. Hardy was very much frightened.

"Matty, get a chair; help me to put her in it. There. Now tell me, Hetty, my poor child, tell me what happened. I'm very sure you never hurt Miss Flo a'purpose. Maybe things aren't as bad as you think."

"Yes, I'll tell you all. Where shall I begin? Oh, it was a girl gave me some shrimps—that was the beginning."

"Well?—go on. Did you give the child the shrimps to eat?"

"No—oh, no! It was—Zelica. She—mother, I can't remember. I'm worn out. Matty, don't look at me like that—you've no call to be afraid of me. I'll go away if you like, but take care of Zelica—Miss Flo's pet."

"The girl isn't herself," said Mrs. Hardy. "Help me to get her to bed, Matty; maybe she'll come to when she has slept."

They made her a cup of tea, and then got her to bed. She fell asleep at once; and in the morning her mind was somewhat clearer. But she was not a bit like Hetty. She told her story, but she never once cried over it. If she had wept and bemoaned herself as usual, her mother would have had plenty to say to her, but this trembling, silent girl frightened the good woman out of her wits.

It was on Friday night that Hetty came home, and on Saturday she was too ill to get up; but Mrs. Hardy made inquiries, and found out that the child was certainly alive. On Sunday Hetty dressed herself, and said, "I'll go up to Adelaide Terrace. Maybe Mrs. Goodenough may know something."

"I'll go with you," said Matty. "I'll be back in time for church, mother."

The two sisters walked together, almost in silence. The door was opened by Mrs. Goodenough. This worthy creature had questioned Lina, and had a general idea as to what had happened.

"Well!" said she, "I think, in your place, Hetty Hardy, I'd have had the decency to stay away."

"Have you heard how Miss Flo is?"

"Just alive—that's all. There's that boy crying again! Master John, if you don't stop, I'll spank you! The master brought the three home, and said I must stay here and take care of them."

"Troublesome they are, too—but of course I couldn't refuse."

"They're all crying," said Hetty miserably. "Mrs. Goodenough, let me come in and mind them."

"Let you come in! The master says to me, says he, 'Mrs. Goodenough, I look to you—I've turned Hetty Hardy out for bad conduct, and if she comes here, send her about her business; character she'll get none,' says he, 'and I'll send a policeman after her if the child dies, for it's manslaughter, if not murder!' So good-bye, Hetty; don't be coming here any more. It's my turn to shut the door with you on the wrong side of it now."

She shut the door accordingly.

"Hetty dear, the half of that is not true. Mr. Eyre never spoke like that. You never meant to hurt the child, and—"

"No, I did not. But it's all my fault. Nothing's too bad for me!" And she turned wearily to walk home again.

On the way they met Fred Smith, who you may remember was employed in the Little Hayes post office.

"Why, Hetty!" he cried. "Whatever ails you?"

Hetty shook her head and walked on, but Matty lingered to tell Fred what was wrong.

"Poor Hetty!" he said; "and she is so fond of the child! I'll tell you what, Matty: I'll go this very moment, and find out about the trains, and I'll go to R—, and bring Hetty word how the child is."

"But, Fred, it is Sunday!"

"Yes, and my Sunday out, or I could not go. Oh, never you mind, Matty; I'm sure I am not doing wrong in trying to comfort poor Hetty when she's in such trouble. I owe her a good turn, for she made me downright ashamed of myself once."

It was late in the evening when he came to the Hardy's.

"Is that you, Fred Smith?" Mrs. Hardy said. "Dan's out."

"I've brought Hetty good news, ma'am. The little girl is much better, they think. Mr. Eyre is coming home to-morrow, but Mrs. Eyre is to stay till the child can be moved."

"Oh, Fred, thank you!" said Hetty. "It's very kind of you to come and tell me."

"He did more than that for you," Matty said. "He went to R— to inquire."

"Oh, I like to get a sight of the sea," Fred remarked hurriedly. "Good-night, ma'am. I must get home."

"It was very kind, all the same," said Hetty again. "Oh, if Miss Flo gets well, what a load will be off my heart! They can never forgive me, I know; but I do love Miss Flo."