The $30,000 Bequest, and Other Stories Read online

  CHAPTER I

  My father was a St. Bernard, my mother was a collie, but I am aPresbyterian. This is what my mother told me, I do not know thesenice distinctions myself. To me they are only fine large words meaningnothing. My mother had a fondness for such; she liked to say them, andsee other dogs look surprised and envious, as wondering how she gotso much education. But, indeed, it was not real education; it was onlyshow: she got the words by listening in the dining-room and drawing-roomwhen there was company, and by going with the children to Sunday-schooland listening there; and whenever she heard a large word she said itover to herself many times, and so was able to keep it until there wasa dogmatic gathering in the neighborhood, then she would get it off,and surprise and distress them all, from pocket-pup to mastiff, whichrewarded her for all her trouble. If there was a stranger he was nearlysure to be suspicious, and when he got his breath again he would ask herwhat it meant. And she always told him. He was never expecting this butthought he would catch her; so when she told him, he was the one thatlooked ashamed, whereas he had thought it was going to be she. Theothers were always waiting for this, and glad of it and proud of her,for they knew what was going to happen, because they had had experience.When she told the meaning of a big word they were all so taken up withadmiration that it never occurred to any dog to doubt if it was theright one; and that was natural, because, for one thing, she answered upso promptly that it seemed like a dictionary speaking, and for anotherthing, where could they find out whether it was right or not? for shewas the only cultivated dog there was. By and by, when I was older, shebrought home the word Unintellectual, one time, and worked it prettyhard all the week at different gatherings, making much unhappiness anddespondency; and it was at this time that I noticed that during thatweek she was asked for the meaning at eight different assemblages, andflashed out a fresh definition every time, which showed me that she hadmore presence of mind than culture, though I said nothing, of course.She had one word which she always kept on hand, and ready, like alife-preserver, a kind of emergency word to strap on when she was likelyto get washed overboard in a sudden way--that was the word Synonymous.When she happened to fetch out a long word which had had its day weeksbefore and its prepared meanings gone to her dump-pile, if there was astranger there of course it knocked him groggy for a couple of minutes,then he would come to, and by that time she would be away down wind onanother tack, and not expecting anything; so when he'd hail and ask herto cash in, I (the only dog on the inside of her game) could see hercanvas flicker a moment--but only just a moment--then it would bellyout taut and full, and she would say, as calm as a summer's day, "It'ssynonymous with supererogation," or some godless long reptile of aword like that, and go placidly about and skim away on the next tack,perfectly comfortable, you know, and leave that stranger looking profaneand embarrassed, and the initiated slatting the floor with their tailsin unison and their faces transfigured with a holy joy.

  And it was the same with phrases. She would drag home a whole phrase,if it had a grand sound, and play it six nights and two matinees, andexplain it a new way every time--which she had to, for all she cared forwas the phrase; she wasn't interested in what it meant, and knew thosedogs hadn't wit enough to catch her, anyway. Yes, she was a daisy! Shegot so she wasn't afraid of anything, she had such confidence in theignorance of those creatures. She even brought anecdotes that she hadheard the family and the dinner-guests laugh and shout over; and asa rule she got the nub of one chestnut hitched onto another chestnut,where, of course, it didn't fit and hadn't any point; and when shedelivered the nub she fell over and rolled on the floor and laughed andbarked in the most insane way, while I could see that she was wonderingto herself why it didn't seem as funny as it did when she first heardit. But no harm was done; the others rolled and barked too, privatelyashamed of themselves for not seeing the point, and never suspectingthat the fault was not with them and there wasn't any to see.

  You can see by these things that she was of a rather vain and frivolouscharacter; still, she had virtues, and enough to make up, I think. Shehad a kind heart and gentle ways, and never harbored resentments forinjuries done her, but put them easily out of her mind and forgot them;and she taught her children her kindly way, and from her we learned alsoto be brave and prompt in time of danger, and not to run away, but facethe peril that threatened friend or stranger, and help him the best wecould without stopping to think what the cost might be to us. And shetaught us not by words only, but by example, and that is the best wayand the surest and the most lasting. Why, the brave things she did, thesplendid things! she was just a soldier; and so modest about it--well,you couldn't help admiring her, and you couldn't help imitating her;not even a King Charles spaniel could remain entirely despicable in hersociety. So, as you see, there was more to her than her education.