Far Away and Long Ago | Page 6

luminous exhalation from the earth, and,
assuming a human shape, floated slowly towards the house, and
roamed about the great trees, or, seating itself on an old projecting root,
would remain motionless for hours in a dejected attitude. I never saw it.
Our constant companion and playmate in those days was a dog, whose
portrait has never faded from remembrance, for he was a dog with
features and a personality which impressed themselves deeply on the
mind. He came to us in a rather mysterious manner. One summer
evening the shepherd was galloping round the flock, and trying by

means of much shouting to induce the lazy sheep to move homewards.
A strange- looking lame dog suddenly appeared on the scene, as if it
had dropped from the clouds, and limping briskly after the astonished
and frightened sheep, drove them straight home and into the fold; and,
after thus earning his supper and showing what stuff was in him, he
established himself at the house, where he was well received. He was a
good-sized animal, with a very long body, a smooth black coat, tan feet,
muzzle, and "spectacles," and a face of extraordinary length, which
gave him a profoundly-wise baboon-like expression. One of his hind
legs had been broken or otherwise injured, so that he limped and
shuffled along in a peculiar lopsided fashion; he had no tail, and his
ears had been cropped close to his head: altogether he was like an old
soldier returned from the wars, where he had received many hard
knocks, besides having had sundry portions of his anatomy shot away.
No name to fit this singular canine visitor could be found, although he
responded readily enough to the word _Pechicho,_ which is used to call
any unnamed pup by, like pussy for a cat. So it came to pass that this
word _pechicho_--equivalent to "doggie" in English--stuck to him for
only name until the end of the chapter; and the end was that, after
spending some years with us, he mysteriously disappeared.
He very soon proved to us that he understood children as well as sheep;
at all events he would allow them to tease and pull him about most
unmercifully, and actually appeared to enjoy it. Our first riding-lessons
were taken on his back; but old Pechicho eventually made one mistake,
after which he was relieved from the labour of carrying us. When I was
about four years old, my two elder brothers, in the character of
riding-masters, set me on his back, and, in order to test my capacity for
sticking on under difficulties, they rushed away, calling him. The old
dog, infected with the pretended excitement, bounded after them, and I
was thrown and had my leg broken, for, as the poet says--
Children, they are very little, And their bones are very brittle.
Luckily their little brittle bones quickly solder, and it did not take me
long to recover from the effects of this mishap.
No doubt my canine steed was as much troubled as any one at the
accident. I seem to see the wise old fellow now, sitting in that curious
one-sided fashion he had acquired so as to rest his lame leg, his mouth
opened to a kind of immense smile, and his brown benevolent eyes

regarding us with just such an expression as one sees in a faithful old
negress nursing a flock of troublesome white children--so proud and
happy to be in charge of the little ones of a superior race!
All that I remember of my early life at this place comes between the
ages of three or four and five; a period which, to the eye of memory,
appears like a wide plain blurred over with a low-lying mist, with here
and there a group of trees, a house, a hill, or other large object, standing
out in the clear air with marvellous distinctness. The picture that most
often presents itself is of the cattle coming home in the evening; the
green quiet plain extending away from the gate to the horizon; the
western sky flushed with sunset hues, and the herd of four or five
hundred cattle trotting homewards with loud lowings and bellowings,
raising a great cloud of dust with their hoofs, while behind gallop the
herdsmen urging them on with wild cries. Another picture is of my
mother at the close of the day, when we children, after our supper of
bread and milk, join in a last grand frolic on the green before the house.
I see her sitting out of doors watching our sport with a smile, her book
lying in her lap, and the last rays of the setting sun shining on her face.
When I think of her I remember with gratitude that our parents seldom
or