Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 6Sylvester, Charles Herbert
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Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 6
Sylvester, Charles Herbert
Children's literature; Literature -- Collections
The contrast of his small, swarthy, weatherbeaten, keen, worldly face to
hers--pale, subdued, and beautiful--was something wonderful. Rab looked
on concerned and puzzled, but ready for anything that might turn
up--were it to strangle the nurse, the porter, or even me. Ailie and he
seemed great friends.
"As I was sayin', she's got a kind o' trouble in her breest, doctor;
wull ye tak' a look at it?" We walked into the consulting-room, all
four; Rab grim and comic, willing to be happy and confidential if cause
could be shown, willing also to be the reverse on the same terms. Ailie
sat down, undid her open gown and her lawn handkerchief round her neck,
and, without a word, showed me her right breast. I looked at and
examined it carefully, she and James watching me, and Rab eying all
three. What could I say? There it was that had once been so soft, so
shapely, so white, so gracious and bountiful, so "full of all blessed
conditions"--hard as a stone, a center of horrid pain, making that pale
face, with its gray, lucid, reasonable eyes, and its sweet resolved
mouth, express the full measure of suffering overcome. Why was that
gentle, modest, sweet woman, clean and lovable, condemned by God to bear
such a burden?
I got her away to bed.
"May Rab and me bide?" said James.
"_You_ may; and Rab, if he will behave himself."
"I'se warrant he's do that, doctor;" and in slunk the faithful beast.
I wish you could have seen him. There are no such dogs now. He belonged
to a lost tribe. As I have said, he was brindled, and gray like Rubislaw
granite; his hair short, hard, and close, like a lion's; his body
thickset, like a little bull--a sort of compressed Hercules of a dog. He
must have been ninety pounds' weight, at the least; he had a large blunt
head; his muzzle black as night, his mouth blacker than any night, a
tooth or two--being all he had--gleaming out of his jaws of darkness.
His head was scarred with the records of old wounds, a sort of series of
fields of battle all over it; one eye out, one ear cropped as close as
was Archbishop Leighton's father's; the remaining eye had the power of
two; and above it, and in constant communication with it, was a tattered
rag of an ear, which was forever unfurling itself, like an old flag; and
then that bud of a tail, about one inch long, if it could in any sense
be said to be long, being as broad as long--the mobility, the
instantaneousness of that bud were very funny and surprising, and its
expressive twinklings and winkings, the intercommunications between the
eye, the ear, and it, were of the oddest and swiftest.
Rab had the dignity and simplicity of great size; and having fought his
way all along the road to absolute supremacy, he was as mighty in his
own line as Julius Caesar or the Duke of Wellington, and had the gravity
of all great fighters.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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