Dodie Smith - The 101 Dalmatians

She went back to the sofa and stroked Perdita, who, for once, did no washing but just gazed at the falling snow-flakes. The voices singing “Silent Night” were high and clear and peaceful, and not very loud.

Suddenly everyone in the room heard a dog bark.

“That’s Pongo,” cried Mr. Dearly and dashed to a window.

“That’s Missis,” cried Mrs. Dearly, hearing a different bark as she too dashed to the window.

They flung the window open wide and stared down through the swirling snow. And then their hearts seemed turned to lead by disappointment.

Down below were two black dogs.

Mrs. Dearly said gently, “You shouldn’t be out on a night like this. Go home to your owners, my dears.”

(She used the word “owners” when she should have said “pets”—that mistake humans so often make.)

The dogs barked again, but Mr. Dearly said, “Home!” very firmly, for he felt sure the dogs lived somewhere near and had been let out for a last run before going to bed. He shut the window, saying to Mrs. Dearly, “Odd-looking dogs. I can’t quite recognize the breed.”

He did not hear the despairing howl that came from Missis. It had happened, just as she had feared! They were turned away, outcasts in the night.

Pongo had a moment of panic. This was something he had not foreseen. But quickly he pulled himself together.

“We must bark again,” he said, “and much louder.”

“Shall the puppies bark too?” suggested Missis.

The puppies were all lined up out of sight from the window, because Pongo felt that so many dogs at once might come as a bit of a shock. He now said, “No. Only you and I must bark, Missis. And one at a time. Then they will recognize our voices sooner or later. We would recognize theirs, whatever clothes they wore, whatever colour their face and hands were.”

So he barked again, and then Missis barked. They went on and on, taking it in turns.

Up in the drawing room Mrs. Dearly said, “I can’t believe that’s not Pongo and Missis. And look how excited Perdita is!”

“It’s because we are all so longing to hear them,” said Mr. Dearly. “We imagine we do. But there must be something wrong with those black dogs—just listen! Perhaps they’re lost.” And again he opened the window.

Pongo and Missis barked louder than ever and wagged their tails wildly.

“Anyone would think they knew us,” said Mr. Dearly. “I shall go down and see if they have collars on. Perhaps I can take them to their homes.”

Pongo heard this and said to Missis quickly, “The moment the door opens, dash in and lead the way up to the drawing room. Pups, you follow Missis, noses to tails. I will bring up the rear. And never let there be one moment when Mr. Dearly can close the front door. Once we are in , we can make them understand.”

The front door opened, and out came Mr. dearly. In shot Missis, closely followed by the Cadpig—now out of her cart—and all her brothers and sisters except Lucky, who insisted on waiting with Pongo. What with the darkness and the whirling snow, Mr. Dearly did not see what was happening until a pup bumped into him in passing (it was Roly Poly—of course). Then he looked down to see what had bumped him and saw a steady stream of black pups going through the front door and the white hall and up the white stairs.

“I’m dreaming this,” thought Mr. Dearly and pinched himself hard. But the stream of pups went on and on.

Suddenly there was a hitch. The two pups faithfully dragging the Cadpig’s little blue cart, now empty, could not get it up the steps. Mr. Dearly, who could never see a dog in difficulty without helping, at once picked the cart up himself. After seeing the cart, he no longer felt he was dreaming. “These dogs are a troop from a circus,” he thought. “But why have they come to us? ”

A moment later Pongo and Lucky went past and the stream of dogs stopped. Mr. Dearly called into the night, “Any more out there?” To his relief, no dog answered, so he went in and closed the door. Pongo’s sooty hindquarters were just rounding the bend of the stairs. Mr. Dearly followed, four steps at a time, still carrying the little blue cart.

The scene in the front drawing room was rather confused. Large as the room was, there was not floor space for all the puppies, so they were jumping onto tables and chairs and piling up on top of one another. There was rather a lot of noise. Mrs. Dearly was just managing to keep on her feet. She had never been frightened of any dog in her life, but she did feel a trifle startled . The Nannies had taken refuge on top of the grand piano.

Mr. Dearly took one look through the door, then dashed into the back drawing room and flung open the double doors. A sea of pups surged in. And now that there was a little spare floor space, Pongo barked a command.

“All pups who can find space: Roll! Roll, Missis!” And he himself rolled with a will.

The Dearlys stared in utter bewilderment—and then both of them shouted, “Look!”

The white carpet was becoming blacker, the black dogs were becoming whiter—

“It’s Pongo!” cried Mr. Dearly.

“It’s Missis!” cried Mrs. Dearly.

“It’s Pongo, Missis, and all their puppies!” cried the Nannies, from the top of the piano.

“It’s considerably more than all their puppies,” said Mr. Dearly—just before Pongo forcibly embraced him.

Missis was embracing Mrs. Dearly. And in a corner of the room there was a great deal more embracing. Perdita was going absolutely wild trying to embrace eight puppies at once. They were her own long-lost family! It had never struck Pongo that they might be among the rescued pups. He had not even noticed their brown spots, because he had scarcely seen any of the pups by daylight before they all rolled in the soot. It turned out that Perdita’s family was the one that fitted the Cadpig’s little blue cart so well and had pulled it so faithfully.

Mr. Dearly had put cart down in the back drawing room and the Nannies had now got off the piano and gone to look at it.

“That’s a child’s toy,” said Nanny Cook.

“And it’s got a name and address on it,” said Nanny Butler. And she read out, “Master Tommy Tompkins, Farmer. Dympling, Suffolk.”

“Dympling?” said Mrs. Dearly. “That’s where Cruella de Vil has a country house. She told us about it when we had dinner with her and asked if we’d like to buy it.”

And then Mr. Dearly Saw It All. He remembered Cruella’s desire for a Dalmatian fur coast, guessed that she had collected all these pups so that Mr. de Vil could make many such coats.

“You must have the law on her,” cried both the Nannies together.

Mr. Dearly said he would think about that after Christmas, but now he must think about feeding the pups—when all the shops were closed. He hurriedly telephoned the Ritz, the Savoy, Claridges, and other rather good hotels and asked them to send page boys along with steaks. The hotels were most anxious to help when they heard that the Missing Dalmatians had come home. “And at least six dozen more than I ever hoped for,” said Mr. Dearly—not that he had had time to count the pups.

Nanny Butler said, “They must be bathed first.”

“Bathed?” gasped Mrs. Dearly. “ All of them?”

“They can’t sleep in their soot,” said Nanny Cook firmly. “Nanny Butler and I will work in our bathroom, and you two can work in yours. And how about asking that Splendid Vet and his wife to pop round and bathe pups in the laundry?”

So Mr. Dearly rang up the Splendid Vet, who was delighted to be waked up and called out at nearly midnight on Christmas Eve. He and his wife soon arrived.