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Page 3
Finn's heart had swelled almost to bursting when the Master came to him
in the quarantine station at Plymouth, for, to tell the truth, he never
had been able to make head or tail of being left alone in this place,
though the Master had tried hard to explain. But he had been well
treated there, and was certain the Master would eventually return to
him. Yet, when the moment came, there was a sudden overwhelming swelling
of his heart which made Finn gasp. He almost staggered as the Master
greeted him. The emotion of gladness hurt him, and his dark eyes were
flooded.
After that there were no further surprises for Finn. Once he had felt
the Master's hand burrowing in the wiry gray hair of his neck, Finn knew
well that they were homeward bound, that the unaccountable period of
separation was over, and that he would very presently see the Mistress
of the Kennels; as in fact he did, that very night, at Nuthill by the
Downs. And Betty--well, it was perfectly clear to Finn that she was
somehow part and parcel with the Mistress; and whilst never now effusive
to any one, he made it clear at once that he accepted Betty as one of
his own little circle of human folk, to be loved and trusted, and never
suspected. In the evening the great hound lay extended on the hearthrug
of the square, oak-paneled hall at Nuthill. (He occupied a good six feet
of rug.) Betty stepped across his shoulders once, to reach matches from
the mantel; and Finn never blinked or moved a hair, save that the tip of
his long tail just languidly rose twice, ever so gently slapping the
rug. The Master, who was watching, laughed at this.
"You may account yourself an honored friend already, Betty," he said.
"I'll guarantee no other living soul, except the Mistress or I, could
step over old Finn like that without his moving. In these days he
doesn't unguard to that extent with any one else."
"Ah, well," laughed Betty; "even less wise dogs than Finn know who loves
them--don't they, old man?"
Finn blinked a friendly response as she rubbed his ears. But as yet it
was not that. Finn had given no thought to Betty's loving him; but he
had realized that she was kin to the Mistress and the Master, and
therefore, for him, in a category apart from all other folk, animal or
human; a person to be trusted absolutely, even by a hound of his unique
experience.
II
NUTHILL AND SHAWS
In a recess beside the hearth in the hall at Nuthill Finn found an oaken
platform, or bench, five feet long by two and a half feet wide. It stood
perhaps fifteen inches from the floor, on four stout legs, and its two
ends and back had sides eight inches high. The front was open, and the
bench itself was covered by a 'possum-skin rug.
"This, my friend, is your own bed," said the Master, when he showed the
bench to Finn, after all the household had retired that night. "You've
slept hard, old chap, and you've lived hard, in your time; but when you
want it, there will always be comfort for you here. But you're free, old
chap. You can go wherever you like; still, I'd like you to try this.
See! Up, lad!"
Finn sniffed long and interestedly at the 'possum-rug which had often
covered the Mistress's feet on board ship and elsewhere. Then he stepped
on to the bed and lowered his great bulk gracefully upon it.
"How's that?" asked the Master. And Finn thrust his muzzle gratefully
into the hand he loved. The bed was superlatively good, as a matter of
fact. But when, in the quite early morning hours, the Master opened his
bedroom door, bound for the bath, he found Finn dozing restfully on the
doormat.
So that was the end of the hall bed as a hall bed. That night Finn
found it beside the Master's bedroom door; and there in future he
slept of a night, when indoors at all. But he was allowed perfect
freedom, and there were summer nights he spent in the outer porch and
farther afield than that, including the queer little Sussex slab-paved
courtyard outside the kitchen door, where he spent the better part of
one night on guard over a smelly tramp who, in a moment unlucky for
himself, had decided to try his soft and clumsy hand at burglary. The
gardener found the poor wretch in the morning aching with cramp and
bailed up in a dampish corner by the dust-bin, by a wolfhound who kept
just half an inch of white fang exposed, and responded with a truly
awe-inspiring throaty snarl to the slightest hint of movement on the
tramp's part.
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