No Name To Fit This Singular Canine Visitor Could Be Found, Although
He Responded Readily Enough To The Word _Pechicho,_ Which Is Used To
Call Any Unnamed Pup By, Like Pussy For A Cat.
So it came to pass that
this word _pechicho_ - equivalent to "doggie" in English - stuck to him
for only name until the end of the chapter; and the end was that,
after spending some years with us, he mysteriously disappeared.
He very soon proved to us that he understood children as well as
sheep; at all events he would allow them to tease and pull him about
most unmercifully, and actually appeared to enjoy it. Our first
riding-lessons were taken on his back; but old Pechicho eventually
made one mistake, after which he was relieved from the labour of
carrying us. When I was about four years old, my two elder brothers,
in the character of riding-masters, set me on his back, and, in order
to test my capacity for sticking on under difficulties, they rushed
away, calling him. The old dog, infected with the pretended
excitement, bounded after them, and I was thrown and had my leg
broken, for, as the poet says -
Children, they are very little,
And their bones are very brittle.
Luckily their little brittle bones quickly solder, and it did not take
me long to recover from the effects of this mishap.
No doubt my canine steed was as much troubled as any one at the
accident. I seem to see the wise old fellow now, sitting in that
curious one-sided fashion he had acquired so as to rest his lame leg,
his mouth opened to a kind of immense smile, and his brown benevolent
eyes regarding us with just such an expression as one sees in a
faithful old negress nursing a flock of troublesome white children - so
proud and happy to be in charge of the little ones of a superior race!
All that I remember of my early life at this place comes between the
ages of three or four and five; a period which, to the eye of memory,
appears like a wide plain blurred over with a low-lying mist, with
here and there a group of trees, a house, a hill, or other large
object, standing out in the clear air with marvellous distinctness.
The picture that most often presents itself is of the cattle coming
home in the evening; the green quiet plain extending away from the
gate to the horizon; the western sky flushed with sunset hues, and the
herd of four or five hundred cattle trotting homewards with loud
lowings and bellowings, raising a great cloud of dust with their
hoofs, while behind gallop the herdsmen urging them on with wild
cries. Another picture is of my mother at the close of the day, when
we children, after our supper of bread and milk, join in a last grand
frolic on the green before the house. I see her sitting out of doors
watching our sport with a smile, her book lying in her lap, and the
last rays of the setting sun shining on her face.
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