The Dog Crusoe and His Master | Page 9

of man for a time, but the loving look alone can forge
that adamantine chain that time, age, eternity shall never break.
Mistake us not, reader, and bear with us if we attempt to analyze this
look which characterized Mrs. Varley. A rare diamond is worth
stopping to glance at, even when one is in a hurry. The brightest jewel
in the human heart is worth a thought or two. By a loving look we do
not mean a look of love bestowed on a beloved object. That is common
enough; and thankful should we be that it is so common in a world
that's overfull of hatred. Still less do we mean that smile and look of
intense affection with which some people--good people too--greet
friend and foe alike, and by which effort to work out their beau ideal of
the expression of Christian love they do signally damage their cause, by
saddening the serious and repelling the gay. Much less do we mean that
perpetual smile of good-will which argues more of personal comfort
and self-love than anything else. No; the loving look we speak of is as

often grave as gay. Its character depends very much on the face through
which it beams. And it cannot be counterfeited. Its ring defies imitation.
Like the clouded sun of April, it can pierce through tears of sorrow;
like the noontide sun of summer, it can blaze in warm smiles; like the
northern lights of winter, it can gleam in depths of woe;--but it is
always the same, modified, doubtless, and rendered more or less patent
to others, according to the natural amiability of him or her who bestows
it. No one can put it on; still less can any one put it off. Its range is
universal; it embraces all mankind, though, of course, it is intensified
on a few favoured objects; its seat is in the depths of a renewed heart,
and its foundation lies in love to God.
Young Varley's mother lived in a cottage which was of the smallest
possible dimensions consistent with comfort. It was made of logs, as,
indeed, were all the other cottages in the valley. The door was in the
centre, and a passage from it to the back of the dwelling divided it into
two rooms. One of these was sub-divided by a thin partition, the inner
room being Mrs. Varley's bedroom, the outer Dick's. Daniel Hood's
dormitory was a corner of the kitchen, which apartment served also as a
parlour.
The rooms were lighted by two windows, one on each side of the door,
which gave to the house the appearance of having a nose and two eyes.
Houses of this kind have literally got a sort of expression on--if we may
use the word--their countenances. Square windows give the appearance
of easy-going placidity; longish ones, that of surprise. Mrs. Varley's
was a surprise cottage; and this was in keeping with the scene in which
it stood, for the clear lake in front, studded with islands, and the distant
hills beyond, composed a scene so surprisingly beautiful that it never
failed to call forth an expression of astonished admiration from every
new visitor to the Mustang Valley.
"My boy," exclaimed Mrs. Varley, as her son entered the cottage with a
bound, "why so hurried to-day? Deary me! where got you the grand
gun?"
"Won it, mother!"

"Won it, my son?"
"Ay, won it, mother. Druve the nail almost, and would ha' druve it
altogether had I bin more used to Joe Blunt's rifle."
Mrs. Varley's heart beat high, and her face flushed with pride as she
gazed at her son, who laid the rifle on the table for her inspection, while
he rattled off an animated and somewhat disjointed account of the
match.
"Deary me! now that was good, that was cliver. But what's that
scraping at the door?"
"Oh! that's Fan; I forgot her. Here! here! Fan! Come in, good dog," he
cried, rising and opening the door.
Fan entered and stopped short, evidently uncomfortable.
"My boy, what do ye with the major's dog?"
"Won her too, mother!"
"Won her, my son?"
"Ay, won her, and the pup too; see, here it is!" and he plucked Crusoe
from his bosom.
Crusoe having found his position to be one of great comfort had fallen
into a profound slumber, and on being thus unceremoniously awakened
he gave forth a yelp of discontent that brought Fan in a state of frantic
sympathy to his side.
"There you are, Fan; take it to a corner and make yourself at home.--Ay,
that's right, mother, give her somethin' to eat; she's hungry, I know by
the look o' her eye."
"Deary me, Dick!" said Mrs. Varley, who now proceeded to spread the
youth's mid-day meal before him,