CHAPTER II

ON THE WAY TO BEAVERTOWN

If a dog were to speak to you, Little One, in “really talk,” I dare say you would jump a foot--unless you happened to be sitting on a fallen tree at the time; then, very likely, you would do as Buddie did, jump to both feet.

“Why, Colonel!” she cried; “I didn’t know you could talk.”

“Indeed?” replied the Yellow Dog. “Well, I assure you I am an excellent talker, if you start me off on subjects in which I am interested. Like all persons that really have something to say, I need to be drawn out.”

Certainly he did not talk like a common dog, and he no longer looked like one. He held his head proudly, and his once dejected tail had an upward and aristocratic sweep. Could this be the same yellow dog that her father kicked around and accused of stealing eggs? Buddie rubbed her eyes and looked again. Yes; it was the same dog: around his neck was the rope collar with which she dragged him about.

Besides being an easy talker, Colonel seemed to be something of a mind-reader.

“It is a common belief,” he went on, “that all yellow dogs are good for is to kick around, or to put the blame on when eggs are missing. Now, I do not like eggs, and I do not know of a single yellow dog that does. It only goes to prove the old saying: Give a yellow dog a bad name and it will stick to him like a bur to his tail. But show me the yellow dog that is not the equal, in good manners, courage and intelligence, of any black or brown dog.”

Although Buddie lived a long way from any village, she had seen a great many dogs. They were mostly Indian curs, wolfish-looking creatures, and the greatest thieves in the world. Neglected by their owners, they foraged everywhere, often traveling miles in search of food, and eating almost anything they could chew. They were of all colors except yellow. Colonel was the only yellow dog Buddie had ever seen. And she was bound to admit that he was a much more agreeable dog than the ravenous creatures that came slinking around the log house every now and then, in the hope of picking up even so poor a meal as potato-parings or egg-shells.

“_I_ say, give the yellow dog a show,” declared Colonel, sitting up on his haunches and making a grand flourish with his right forepaw. “Other dogs have shows, but you never hear of a _yellow_ dog show. Let justice be done, though the sky falls.”

With his left forepaw he made another grand flourish, and paused for a reply. But all Buddie could think of was:

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be nice to have the sky fall.”

“Oh, that is just a figure of speech, like, Let justice be done,” said Colonel. “Nobody expects the sky to fall; though I dare say it _would_ if justice were done.”

Buddie did not quite understand what was meant by a figure of speech, but, like many older persons, she was impressed by large words and an easy style of tossing them off; and it seemed to her that Colonel was a very superior person--if you could call a dog a person.

“If there are no more sticks to fetch,” said Colonel, dropping again on all fours, “I think I shall make a few calls on my friends in the wood.”

“Won’t you get lost?” asked Buddie, peering doubtfully into the dark grove of spruce and balsam-fir.

“Certainly not,” replied Colonel, tossing his head. “I very often go miles into the wood, for I can always nose my way back again. How would you like to pay a visit to my friend, the Laziest Beaver? We’ll be sure to find him at home.”

[Illustration: AND LED THE WAY INTO A THICKET]

“The Laziest Beaver?” repeated Buddie, in surprise. “Are beavers lazy?” She had often heard her father say, when he had come home tired at twilight, that he had “worked like a beaver.”

“I have known a great many beavers in my time,” Colonel replied, “and I never knew one to do a stroke of work if he could get out of it. Indeed, Lazy as a Beaver, is a common expression in these parts. My friend, the Laziest Beaver, never worked in his life.”

“Well, let’s go to see him,” cried Buddie, happily. “Only, don’t go fast, as I can’t jump over things the way you can.”

“Never fear,” replied Colonel. “I shall show you the easiest paths. Besides, there is no hurry; we have all day before us.”

As he spoke he cleared a huge log with a graceful leap, and led the way into a thicket of young poplar trees.

Now, I am quite sure, Little One, that in going into the wood, Buddie did not mean to disobey her mother; she never before had done so. You are to believe, as I believe, that the bouquet of Enchanter’s Nightshade in her hair was to blame, just as it was the cause of everything else that happened to her that wonderful day.

At first Buddie had some trouble in following her guide, who slipped through the brush with an ease born of much practice. The little branches caught in her hair, and tried to poke out her eyes. But she soon learned to bend her head at the right moment and shield her eyes with her arms; and as they got deeper into the wood, where the proud pine-trees grew and the little bushes dared not intrude, walking became almost as easy as along a road.

“This friend of mine, the Laziest Beaver,” said Colonel, when Buddie stopped for a little rest, “is always going to do something, but never gets round to it. He’s been going to rebuild a dam for I don’t know how long, and he’s always talking about repairing his house, which fell down about his ears last summer. But he’d rather sit in the sun and tell stories and exchange news. He’s the greatest gossip in the woods--the crows are nothing to him--and every one that wants to find out anything goes straight to him.”

“Where does he live?” asked Buddie.

“Just a little way from here, at Beavertown. It used to be quite a village, but last year the beavers moved to a better place up the river. The Laziest Beaver was too lazy to follow them; so he lives all alone in his tumble-down house, by the side of his tumble-down dam, and lies out in the sun all day, and has just the laziest time in the world. Shall we move along?”

Their way now led downhill to the river, which, fortunately, it was not necessary to cross. A little distance up-stream a smaller river came in, and along the bank of this Colonel led the way to a meadow of tall wild grass.

This was Beavertown.