Dodie Smith - The 101 Dalmatians

Pongo and Missis examined the pretty cart delightedly. They were too big to get between it and the crossbar themselves, but they felt sure plenty of the bigger pups would fit.

“But does he really want us to take it?” asked Missis.

The Sheepdog then spoke to Tommy, who nodded his head again and again, while talking his extraordinary language.

“His name and address are painted on the side,” said the Sheepdog, “and he would be glad if it can be returned one day. But if that isn’t possible, he will quite understand.”

“If we ever get home, I feel sure Mr. Dearly will return it,” said Pongo. “Please tell Tommy how very grateful we are.”

The Sheepdog translated this to Tommy, who smiled more than ever and made more chuckling noises.

“He says he is pleased you are pleased, and would like to see all the puppies. I think it would be safe to march them all past his window when you leave—which should be soon now.”

So they said good-bye to Tommy, and then the Sheepdog, going backwards, pulled the cart along the passage and out through the back door. He had quite a job.

“It’s lucky my little pet sleeps on the ground floor,” he said. “It’s because our stairs are so steep. I could never have got this cart down them.”

They went back to the barn and woke the pups, and all the bigger ones came outside and tried the cart on for size. (The moon was lower now but still gave plenty of light.) One family of eight fitted perfectly, and a dozen other pups could manage quite well, so Pongo arranged that all these should travel close to the cart and take it in turns to pull it, two at a time. The Cadpig was enchanted and settled down in the hay so that pups could practise pulling.

While this was happening, Pongo was told the plans made by Midnight Barking. Only five miles was to be travelled before dawn—which would not be for over three hours—to a village where a friend of the Colonel’s lived at a bakery.

“And next door is a butcher’s, so food will be all right,” said the Colonel. “Then you’ll do another five miles as soon as it’s dark tomorrow—but my friend will tell you all about that. I hope to get you to London in ten or twelve days, billeting you where you can be safely hidden and fed. The last stages of the march will be the most difficult, but there are warehouses, if we can get in touch with their watchdogs. There’s a Great Dane somewhere near Hampstead working on that already. Fine fellow. I hear he’s a Brigadier-General.”

Ten days or even longer! Missis felt her heart sink.

“Pongo,” she said suddenly, “when is Christmas Day?”

“The day after tomorrow,” said the Colonel. “No, bless me, it’s tomorrow —because it’s Christmas Eve already, even if it isn’t light yet. Don’t worry, Mrs. Pongo. You shall have some Christmas dinner.”

But it was not food Missis was thinking about, but the Dearlys, all alone for Christmas. Sometimes she forgot them for an hour or two, but never for very long. She thought now of that last evening, when she had rested her head on Mrs. Dearly’s knee, trying to make her understand—and of the warm white drawing room, where there was to have been a Christmas tree, with presents for the three dogs and the fifteen pups. Missis had heard the Dearlys planning it.

Pongo guessed his wife’s thoughts—which was easy to do because his own were much the same. “Never mind, Missis,” he said. “We’ll be home by next Christmas.”

The pups who were to take turns at pulling the little blue cart were now quite good at it.

“Then off you go,” said the Colonel. “But first, our cows have asked you in to have a drink with them.”

He led Pongo, Missis, and all the pups into the dim cowshed, where the hay still smelled of summer weather. The head cows, Blossom and Clover, were waiting to welcome them and tell them how to drink at the milk bar. The pups found this easy, especially those who could remember being fed by their mothers—though the smaller pups had to stand on their hind legs and be supported by others pups. The long, warm drink of milk made a splendid breakfast.

At last, after all their kind hostesses had been thanked, it was time to start.

Tommy stood at his window, peering into the moonlight, watching the march-past. Pongo and Misses wrinkled their noses at him in their best smile; every pup turned its head—except the Cadpig, who lay on her back in the hay-filled cart and waved all her four paws.

Pongo said to Missis, “How different Tommy is from the bad little boy who threw a stone at us.”

Missis said, “The bad little boy was only bad because he had never known dogs.” And she was probably right.

The Colonel took them to the crossroads and started them on their way.

“I wish I could come with you, but I’ve a job to do,” he said. Then he and the cat, who was riding on his back, said good-bye hastily and went off so fast that Pongo had to bark his thanks after them. The Colonel barked back that Sergeant-Major Lucky could now be a Lieutenant, then galloped away. Pongo stared in astonishment, wondering what job had to be done in such a hurry. It was a long time before he learned the truth.

The Colonel had just been informed by Lieutenant Willow that the Baddun brothers, having failed to find the puppies on the heath, were now on the outskirts of the village, less than half a mile behind the Dalmatians. He could think of only one thing to do, and he set out to do it—with great pleasure.

He galloped until he saw the Badduns’ lanterns ahead of him. Then he told the cat to get off his back. The minute she was off, he hurled himself at the Badduns and bit both brothers in both legs. Seldom can four legs have been bitten so fast by one dog. The Badduns howled with rage, fear, and pain, dropped their lanterns, and limped back to Hell Hall as quickly as possible. (It is difficult to limp well when you are lame in both legs.) They never knew what bit them. They only knew it bit hard.

“Good work, Colonel,” said Lieutenant Willow.

“I’m promoting you to Captain,” said the Sheepdog. Then he gave a modest little cough and added, “Oh, by the way! I’ve just made myself a Brigadier-General.”

Meanwhile, the Dalmatian army was swinging along the road in fine style. Though cold, the night was very still. The pups were rested and hopeful. And the fact that a tired little dog could take a rest with the Cadpig in her cart made tired little dogs feel less tired. Indeed, Missis at first had to insist that the smaller pups take turns to rest. But progress was not really fast. There were so many pauses while the pups who pulled the cart were changed, pauses while pups got in and out of the cart; and every half-mile the whole army had a rest. Still, all went wonderfully well until they were within half a mile of the village where they were to spend the day.

There was a hint of dawn in the sky now, but Pongo felt sure they could reach the village before it was dangerously light. He quickened the pace slightly and told the pups to think of breakfast ahead of them at the bakery.