The Dog Crusoe and his Master | Page 8

changing masters without her consent
being asked, or her inclination being consulted.
"You'll have to tie her up for a while, I fear," said the major.
"No fear," answered the youth. "Dog natur's like human natur'!"
Saying this he seized Crusoe by the neck, stuffed him comfortably into
the bosom of his hunting shirt, and walked rapidly away with the prize
rifle on his shoulder.
Fan had not bargained for this. She stood irresolute, gazing now to the
right and now to the left, as the major retired in one direction and Dick
with Crusoe in another. Suddenly Crusoe, who, although comfortable
in body, was ill at ease in spirit, gave utterance to a melancholy howl.
The mother's love instantly prevailed. For one moment she pricked up
her ears at the sound, and then, lowering them, trotted quietly after her
new master, and followed him to his cottage on the margin of the lake.
CHAPTER THREE.
SPECULATIVE REMARKS WITH WHICH THE READER MAY
OR MAY NOT AGREE--AN OLD WOMAN--HOPES AND WISHES
COMMINGLED WITH HARD FACTS--THE DOG CRUSOE'S
EDUCATION BEGUN.
It is pleasant to look upon a serene, quiet, humble face. On such a face

did Richard Varley look every night when he entered his mother's
cottage. Mrs Varley was a widow, and she had followed the fortunes of
her brother, Daniel Hood, ever since the death of her husband. Love for
her only brother induced her to forsake the peaceful village of
Maryland, and enter upon the wild life of a backwoods settlement.
Dick's mother was thin, and old, and wrinkled, but her face was
stamped with a species of beauty which never fades--the beauty of a
loving look. Ah! the brow of snow and the peach-bloom cheek may
snare the heart 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 analyse this
look which characterised 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 over-full of hatred. Still less do we mean that smile and look of
intense affection with which some people--good people too--greet
friends 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 subdivided 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 surprised 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