Dodie Smith - The 101 Dalmatians

At last Sir Charles rose stiffly, put another log on the fire, and then settled back in his chair and closed his eyes. Soon he was asleep, and the Spaniel beckoned Pongo and Missis to the fire. They sat on the warm hearth and looked up at the old gentleman. His face was deeply lined and all the lines drooped, and somehow he had a look of the Spaniel—or the Spaniel had a look of Sir Charles. Both of them were lit by the firelight, and beyond them was the great window, now blue with evening.

“We ought to be on our way,” whispered Pongo to Missis. But it was so warm, so quiet, and they were both so full of buttered toast that they drifted into a light and delightful sleep.

Pongo awoke with a start. Surely someone had spoken his name?

The fire was no longer blazing brightly, but there was still enough light to see that the old gentleman was awake and leaning forward.

“Well, if that isn’t Pongo and his missis,” he murmured smilingly. “Well, well! What a pleasure! What a pleasure!”

Missis had opened her eyes now.

The Spaniel whispered, “Don’t move, either of you.”

“Can you see them?” said the old gentleman, putting his hand on the Spaniel’s head. “If you can, don’t be frightened. They won’t hurt you. You’d have liked them. Let’s see, they must have died fifty years before you were born—more than that. They were the first dogs I ever knew. I used to ask my mother to stop the carriage and let them get inside—I couldn’t bear to see them running behind. So in the end, they just became house dogs. How often they sat there in the firelight. Hey, you two! If dogs can come back, why haven’t you come back before?”

Then Pongo knew that Sir Charles thought they were ghost dogs. And he remembered that Mr. Dearly had named him “Pongo” because it was a name given to many Dalmatians of those earlier days when they ran behind carriages. Sir Charles had taken him and Missis for Dalmatians he had known in his childhood.

“Probably my fault,” the old gentleman went on. “I’ve never been what they call ‘psychic’ nowadays. This house is supposed to be full of ghosts, but I’ve never seen any. I dare say I’m only seeing you because I’m pretty close to the edge now—and quite time, too. I’m more than ready. Well, what a joy to know that dogs go on too—I’ve always hoped it. Good news for you too, my boy.” He fondled the Spaniel’s ears. “Well, Pongo and his pretty wife, after all these years! Can’t see you so well now, but I shall remember!”

The fire was sinking lower and lower. They could no longer see the old gentleman’s face, but soon his even breathing told them he was asleep again. The Spaniel rose quietly.

“Come with me now,” he whispered, “for John will be back soon to get supper. You have given my dear old pet a great pleasure. I am deeply grateful.”

They tiptoed out of the vast, dark hall and made their way to the kitchen, where the Spaniel pressed more food on them.

“Just a few substantial biscuits—my tin is always left open for me when John is away.”

Then they had a last drink of water, and the Spaniel gave Pongo directions for reaching Suffolk. They were full of “rights” and “lefts,” and Missis did not take in one word.

The Spaniel noticed her dazed look and said playfully, “Now which is your right paw?”

“One of the front ones,” said Missis brightly. At which Pongo and the Spaniel laughed in a very masculine way.

Then they thanked the Spaniel and said good-bye. Missis said she would always remember that day.

“So shall I,” said the Spaniel, smiling at her. “Ah, Pongo, what a lucky dog you are!”

“I know it,” said Pongo, looking proudly at Missis. Then they were off.

After they had been running across the fields for some minutes, Missis said anxiously, “How’s your leg, Pongo?”

“Much, much better. Oh, Missis, I am ashamed of myself. I made such a fuss this morning. It was partly rage. Pain hurts more when one is angry. You were such a comfort to me—and so brave.”

“And you were a comfort to me the night we left London,” said Missis. “It will be all right as long as we never lose courage both together.”

“I’m glad you did not let me bite that small human.”

“ Nothing should ever make a dog bite a human,” said Missis in a virtuous voice.

Pongo remembered something. “You said only the night before last that you were going to tear Cruella de Vil to pieces.”

“That is different,” said Missis grimly. “I do not consider Cruella de Vil is human.”

Thinking of Cruella made them anxious for the puppies, and they ran on faster, without talking any more for a long time.

Then Missis said, “Pongo, how far away from the puppies are we now?”

“With good luck we should reach them tomorrow morning,” said Pongo.

Just before midnight they came to the market town of Sudbury. Pongo paused as they crossed the bridge over the River Stour.

“Here we enter Suffolk,” he said triumphantly.

They ran on through the quiet streets of old houses and into the market square. They had hoped they might meet some dog and hear if any news of the puppies had come at the Twilight Barking, but not so much as a cat was stirring. While they were drinking at the fountain, church clocks began to strike midnight.

Missis said gladly, “Oh, Pongo, it’s tomorrow! Now we shall be with our puppies today!”

As the night wore on, they travelled through many pretty villages to a countryside wilder than any they had yet seen. There were more woods and heaths, fewer farms. So wild was it that Pongo would risk no short cuts and stuck cautiously to the roads, which were narrow and twisted. The moon was behind clouds, so he could not read what few signposts there were.

“I’m so afraid we may go through our village without knowing it,” he said. “For as we have not been able to send any news by the Twilight Barking, nobody will be on the lookout for us.”

But he was wrong. Suddenly, out of the darkness, came a loud “Miaow.”

They stopped instantly. Just ahead of them, up a tree, was a tabby cat. She said, “Pongo and Missis? I suppose you are friendly?”

“Yes, indeed, madam,” said Pongo. “Are you by any chance the cat who helped to find our puppies?”

“That’s me,” said the cat.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” cried Missis.

The cat jumped down. “Sorry to seem suspicious of you, but some dogs just can’t control themselves when they see a cat—not that I’ve ever had any trouble. Well, here you are.”

“How very kind of you to keep watch for us, madam,” said Pongo.

“No hardship, I’m usually out at night. You can call me Tib. My real name’s Pussy Willow, but that’s too long for most people—a pity, really, as it’s a name I could fancy.”

“It suits you so well,” said Pongo in a courtly tone he had picked up from the Spaniel, “with your slender figure and soft grey paws.” He was taking a chance in saying this, for it was too dark for him to see her figure, let alone her paws.

The cat was delighted. “Well, I have kept my figure—and it was my paws got me the name Pussy Willow. Now you’ll be wanting a bite of food and a good long rest.”

“Please tell us if all is still well with our puppies,” said Missis.