Songs for July

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod

A Dog of Flanders

Nello and Patrasche were friends.

They were both of the same age. They had dwelt together almost all their days and they loved each other very dearly.

Their home was a little hut on the edge of a small village not far from Antwerp. The village was set in broad pastures with long lines of poplars and of alders along the great canal which ran through it. It had about a score of houses with shutters of bright green or sky-blue, and roofs rose-red or black and white, and walls whitewashed, until they shone in the sun like snow.

In the center of the village stood a windmill. Opposite the windmill was the little old gray church, whose bell rang morning, noon and night.

Within sound of the little bell, Nello and Patrasche lived in the little hut. It was the home of a very old man who had been a soldier. A wound had made him a cripple.

When this old man was eighty, his daughter died and left him her two year old son, Nello. The old man and the little child lived contentedly in the poor little hut.

It was a humble mud hut, but it was clean and white as a seashell. It stood in a small garden where they raised beans and herbs and pumpkins. They were very poor. Many a day they had scarcely anything to eat. But the old man was gentle and good to the boy, and the boy was a beautiful, truthful lad. They were happy on a crust and a few leaves of cabbage and asked for nothing except that Patrasche should be always with them.

For Patrasche was their breadwinner, their only friend and comforter. Patrasche was hands, head and feet to both of them. He was their very life, for the man was old and a cripple and Nello was but a child, and Patrasche was their dog.

Patrasche was a dog of Flanders with yellow hide and a large head, with wolf-like ears that stood erect, and bowed legs. He came of a race which had toiled hard for many a century.

Before he was thirteen months old he was sold to a hardware dealer, who wandered over the land, north and south, from the blue sea to the green mountains. He had been sold for a small price because he was so young. His new master was sullen, selfish and cruel. He heaped his cart full with pots and pans, and flagons and buckets, and other wares. Then he left Patrasche to draw the load as best he could.

One day, after two years of this toil, Patrasche was going along one of the dusty roads. It was full midsummer, and very warm. His cart was heavy and his owner walked on without noticing him. Going along thus in the full sun, and not having tasted water for twelve hours, Patrasche staggered and fell.

He fell in the middle of the dusty road, in the full glare of the sun. Patrasche lay in the summer dust as if dead, so his master kicked his body into the grass. He lay there in the grass-grown ditch. It was a busy road and hundreds of people went by, on foot and on mules, in wagons and in carts.

After a time there came along a little old man who was bent and lame and very feeble. He looked at Patrasche and turned aside. Then he knelt down in the grass and weeds and looked at the dog with eyes of pity. There was with him a little rosy, dark-eyed child who stood gazing upon the poor dog.

Thus it was that the little Nello and the big Patrasche met for the first time.

The old man drew the dog home to his own little hut, which was a stone's throw among the fields. There he tended him with so much care that the sickness, which had been brought on by heat and thirst, passed away. Health and strength returned, and Patrasche staggered up again upon his four stout legs.

For many weeks he had been useless, but all this time he had heard no rough word, and had felt no harsh touch. He had heard only the little child's voice and felt the caress of the old man's hand.

During the dog's sickness this lonely old man and the happy little child had grown to care for him. He had a corner of the hut with a heap of dry grass for his bed. When he was well enough to give a loud bark, they laughed aloud and almost wept for joy. Little Nello hung chains of flowers round his neck and kissed him.

So when Patrasche arose again, strong and big and powerful, his great eyes had a gentle surprise in them. There were no curses to arouse him, and no blows to drive him, and his heart awakened to a great love which never failed. Patrasche was grateful. He lay with grave, tender eyes watching his friends.

Now, the old soldier could do nothing for his living but limp about with a small cart. In this cart he carried the milk cans of his neighbors into the town of Antwerp. But it was hard work for the old man. He was eighty-three, and Antwerp was a good league off.

Patrasche watched the milk cans come and go that first day when he got well. He was lying in the sun with the wreath of flowers around his neck.

The next morning, before the old man had touched the cart, Patrasche arose and walked to it. He placed himself between its handles and showed his wish to work in return for the bread he had eaten. When they did not harness him, he tried to draw the cart with his teeth.

At length the old man made his cart so that Patrasche could walk between the handles and pull it. This the dog did every morning of his life thereafter.

When winter came, the old man thanked the fortune that had brought him the dog, for he was very old and he grew more feeble each year. He could not have taken his load of milk cans over the snow and through the mud if it had not been for the strength of this dog.

As for Patrasche, it seemed heaven to him. It was nothing but play to step out with this little green cart with its bright brass cans, and to walk by the side of the gentle old man. Besides, his work was over by three or four o'clock in the day, and after that time he was free to do as he would. He could stretch himself, sleep in the sun, wander in the fields, romp with the young child, or play with the other dogs. Patrasche was happy.

A few years later the old man became so lame that he could not go out with the cart any more. Then little Nello, who was now six years of age, took his place beside the cart. He sold the milk and brought back the coins to their owners with a pretty grace that charmed all who saw him.

Many an artist sketched the group as it went by him, the green cart with the brass cans, and the great dog with his belled harness, and the small boy with his little white feet in great wooden shoes.

Nello and Patrasche did the work so well that when the summer came the old man had no need to stir out. He could sit in the doorway in the sun and see them go forth through the garden. Then he would doze, and dream, and pray a little, and then awake again as the clock tolled three and watch for their return.

On their return Patrasche would shake himself free of his harness with a bay of glee, and Nello would tell with pride the doings of the day. Then they would all go in to their meal of rye-bread and milk or soup, and watch the shadows over the plain. After that they would lie down to sleep while the old man said a prayer.

So the days and years went on, and the lives of Nello and Patrasche were happy. They were never heard to complain. The child's wooden shoes and the dog's four legs would trot together over the frozen field to the chime of the bells on the harness.

Sometimes in the streets of Antwerp, some housewife would bring them a bowl of soup and a handful of bread, or some woman in their own village would bid them keep some of the milk for their own food. Then they would run over the white lands through the early darkness, bright and happy, and burst with a shout of joy into their home.

Patrasche in his heart was grateful. Though he was often hungry; though he had to work in the heat of summer and the chill of winter; though his feet were often cut by the sharp stones or ice; yet he was grateful and content. He did his duty with each day, and the eyes that he loved smiled down on him. That was enough for Patrasche.