PLTLR Classic /i£A BookJ^^^ GffitigtitN^J^ CilFXRIGHT DEPOSm PETER PETER BY ARTHUR SHERBURNE HARDY BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 1920 ^^ ^o^y :^V COPYRIGHT, 1920, By THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY ARTHUR SHERBURNE HARDY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Z.^*;' 0)CU604351 NOV -I 1920 -Ho / **And thou shall live as long as we^ And after that — thou dost not care! In us was all the world to thee'' PETER WHAT are you thinking of, Peter?" At the sound of the voice the tip of Peter's tail moved shghtly* Peter's meditations were not to be disturbed by idle questions ; they were too profound — far pro- founder than the speaker imagined. They had nothing to do with ma- terial things. Like his Master, Peter was a philosopher. There the likeness ceased. The Master's philosophy ended in perplexity, Peter's in serenity. For he was the only liv- i: 1 3 PETER ing creature who had seen its God. There was not the slightest doubt about it. Every earthly pleasure, every material satisfac- tion, was traceable to that strange being sitting hour after hour in the leather chair with the big folio open on its knees. Nothing had ever thrown the faintest shadow of doubt on Peter's conviction. Noth- ing the Being in the chair might do in the future could invalidate its divinity, and in this knowledge was supreme content. Peter made no pretence of un- derstanding his God. Long since he had acknowledged its ways were c: 2 :i PETER past finding out. He was under no obligation to explain the amazing futility of its actions. It was enough for Peter that the Master was the dispenser of good and evil, that he was asleep by his fire, would pres- ently walk with him in the wood and sup with him on their return. Nor did it matter to Peter that he was misunderstood. He was not bothered by what he did not know. He took life and God as they were given him. It was well that he had not mastered all the accents of language, the pity and the vanity of the question addressed to him; for Peter, in the behef of the Master, was a rank mate- C 3;] PETER rialist, credited only with; sor- did thoughts of supper, foolish thoughts of the squirrel that had mocked him from the oak, animal thoughts of the fire's warmth and the rug's softness. Whereas Peter was thinking of none of these things. They counted for nothing in comparison with the friendship and companionship of his God. For Peter had found what man had been seekingever since he emerged from the slime, what he had prayed for before priests were born. How many images he had fashioned in tears and broken in scorn ! How many puppets he had lifted to thrones and dragged in dust ! l42 PETER Peter had had no via dolorosa. He was born with an organized judg- ment, superciliously designated by his Master as instinct. Peter knew. He would sleep a little longer, till the folio was closed and the voice said, */ Arise and follow me." Peter was not blind to his privi- leges. He alone had free entrance to the Holy of Holies. In this re- spect he took precedence over Tom and Mary. He had a toler- ant affection for Tom and Mary, though they often offended his dignity. That he was distinctly superior to both was indisputable. There was also a woman who came occasionally into the temple, shar- PETER ing his rights. But Peter was dis- criminating. She was not a god — only a worshipper, like himself. Peter gave her his left-over love. She was kind, not masterful, and possessed a strange power of mak- ing him uneasy — even jealous. Peter could fight for a bone. But that was a trivial matter. The pre- cious thing was the Master's af- fection — not to be divided. His nearest approach to intimacy was the Master's knee. The woman had his arms. A vague sense of injustice troubled Peter's serenity. His objections to tramps were of a different order. Life after all was a mystery, the woman the 161 PETER greatest of all. Peter's sense of right and wrong was keen. He ac- cepted the Master's whip without flinching. He knew he had no business to flush that partridge. But the woman's punishments were unmerited, besides being ridiculous, and her praise unearned — the master's, rare, worthy of a God. But of Death, the greatest mys- tery of all, Peter knew nothing. For his other associates Peter entertained a tolerant contempt. What the woman did not know he knew — that the cat was a fawning egoist, selfish to the core and incapable of self-abnegation. PETER The Master was not so easily de- ceived. The poultry he took under his protection, as every fox on the hillside was aware. Peter loved authority, but used it tactfully, shutting his eyes when the puppy, in the exuberance of youth, raided the hennery and ran riot among silly folk who did not know the difference between malice and fun. His only real acquaintance was the Master's horse. Deep down in his consciousness as the spiritual sign of distinction was the fact that he belonged to a superior race — the only race in the animal kingdom which preferred the society of man to that of its own kind. i: 8 :i PETER Peter opened his eyes. The light was failing fast. All hope of the comradeship and free- dom of the open air was over. He gave a long sigh and closed his eyes again. The Master had for- gotten. The enemy of all joy was still on the knee. A fleeting memory crossed Peter's brain, of a day of wrath, when he had scat- tered the enemy in mouthfuls over the floor. Jolly days those, for all the whacks ! Now were the sober years of discretion. Not for him to question the doings of a God. He knew precisely what was about to happen. Tom and Mary would come in to be kissed good- PETER night. Next they would roll with him on the rug and pull his ears. He didn't mind that overmuch. He had been a puppy himself, and love was love in all its forms. Then the woman would come. Peter gave a low growl. The Master looked up. "What's the matter, Peter — dreaming?" No, Peter was not dreaming. He rose, nosed the folio from the knee, and rested his head in its place — his own place. The Mas- ter laid his hand on the head, smoothing back the silky ears. Peter's eyes were mute, as human tongues sometimes are, for sheer happiness. i: 103 PETER Then came night, exile, when the woman had her way, and he went on guard. Peter was conscious of his faults. They had been pointed out to him times innumerable, whereby his virtues had become a second na- ture of which he was not conscious at all. The Master extolled his pa- tience, obedience, politeness. Peter would have laughed in his sleeve, if he had had one. Certain things were inexpedient to do. But character, unacquired vir- tues, inherited from ancestral expe- rience under the law of the jungle, were his. He was proud, without vanity. He lapped the water from 1 11 3 PETER the spring without seeing the re- flection, and passed the woman's long mirror with superb indiffer- ence. He was thus ignorant of the gray hairs gathering about his eyes. Of abstract time he had no knowl- edge. Memory and anticipation were his. He could put two and two together, but not two and four. He knew, but he did not know that he knew. That something was happening he was painfully aware — something sinister, unac- countable, which warned him that it was better to creep under the four bars he used to take with one flashing leap, to seek the flat stone warmed by the sun — something c: 12 :i PETER intangible, persistent, which nei- ther growl of protest nor curling lip revealing white fang intimi- dated. The evidence was unmis- takable. Tom and Mary were growing rough, the woman less hospitable, and his friend the horse inconsiderate. Time was when he ran two miles for the road's one ! Every leaf-strewn lane, every sun- fleeted valley in the hills Peter knew by heart — but not the Val- ley of Shadows. At its gate he en- tered, uneasy, but fearless — com- forted and secure in the unfailing loving-kindness of his God. There came an evening when Tom and Mary passed all bounds. PETER Such hugs and kisses and tears ! Peter bore this uneven distribution of affection with his customary patience, shook his ruffled gar- ments into form, turned three times dehberately and lay down — no longer in his once favorite position, hind legs outstretched, nose between paws. That had been abandoned long ago out of respect for the craven enemy that tormented him. Peter's remedies against hidden foes too cowardly to fight in the open were few — the field grass and sleep — always sleep. Sleep now was not even forgetfulness. Proud as ever, the semi-conscious whine of sleep was I 14 3 I PETER his only capitulation to the enemy. Flat on his side, he heard far away the murmur of conversation, open- ing his eyes at the sound of his name — to close them again. They were speaking of him, not to him. Then, suddenly, the Master rose to his feet with decision, put on his hat and coat, and called : "Come, Peter!'' Peter, wincing, bounded to his feet, wide awake in a second. His friend the horse was at the door. It was humiliating to be lifted to the seat. There were tears in the woman's eyes, which usually hap- pened when the Master went on a journey. Peter curled himself I 15 3 PETER up on the seat. If the Master was going on a journey, he was going with him. Peter knew every road-turn- ing with his eyes shut — but not this road, nor its ending. The place and its tenant were strangers. That the Master should leave him with this stranger was unprecedented. But Peter followed obediently. Was not the friend of the Master his also? The room whose door closed upon him was a strange one, carpeted with straw. Where was the furniture ? The sound of departing wheels mystified him. He listened as they died away, then barked furiously. Was he losing ■ c 16:1 PETER his nerve? For the first time in his life he felt utterly lonely. The silence of the place was terrifying, and its odor nauseating. Peter was a judge of odors. This one, at- tached to no personality, was dis- quieting. He so far forgot himself as to howl. But betrayal never entered his mind. He took three uncertain steps, with wobbling traitor legs, steadied himself with an effort, tumbling over on his side, seeing visions — visions of wood and stream, of rug and fireside — and Master — and gave a long, low sigh. Going on his last journey Peter took his God with him. CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . A Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 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