-FOREST AND STREAiyr. 
[Dec. 28, 1901. 
Faithful Fido, 
Two Englishmen were speaking with me quite recently 
about the supernatural, and in the course of conversa- 
tion we referred to the number of English country bouses 
that are said to be haunted. We agreed that the number 
of those so favored seems out of all proportion to the 
remnant to which no uncanny suspicion attaches. But my 
friends assured me that ghosts are rated at a premium 
"on the other side," so that, far from being a detriment, an 
active and well-attested apparition rather enhances the 
value of the mansion that chances to be the theater of his 
operations, and that the purchaser of an English country 
house is apt to pay for it in inverse ratio to his chances 
of sleeping unmolested under its roof. 
It will be seen that we treated the subject in a jocular 
vein from a high plane of skepticism. I had had glimpses 
before, however, of the dregs of superstition that, lurk 
at the bottom of every true skeptic's heart, so I deter- 
mined to sift my Englishmen, each separate and away 
from his fellow, pan out his hidden faith and crow 
over him in my own esteem. A few artful questions drew 
from the elder man a confession of an uncomfortable night 
spent in a lonely wing of some great house, in company 
with most unaccountable rappings. He added that his 
accoimt of the phenomenon, the next morning at break- 
fast, was received by his host with evident satisfaction 
and the airy assurance that everj'body who slept in that 
wing heard the same rappings. 
I now turned to the younger man. He began by saying 
that of course it was all rot, "but," he added with a 
jolly British laugh, "if I have not seen a ghost, my dog 
has. It happened this way, you know: My people took 
a house down in Surrey one season, while our place was 
being done over. I had not heard a word about its being 
haunted, but I found out afterward there was a spot in the 
hall, just in front of the big fireplace, that no animal could 
be induced to cross. They say a murder was committed 
there, and a body hidden under the flags. Well, the first 
morning I ran downstairs, with my white bull-terrier Grip 
fit my heels and crossed the hall' to go out at the side 
door. Grip was not beside me, so I whistled to him and 
looked back to see where he was. There he stood in the 
middle of the hall, staring at one spot, his hair on end and 
trembling all over. He would not pay the slightest atten- 
tion to me, and seemed dazed. I caught him by the collar 
and tried to pull_ him along, but he putled back, "and fought 
me so that he slipped his collar, and making a wide circuit 
dashed out of the door, as if the devil was after him." 
"Did he ever cross the spot?" I asked. 
"Well, I don't think. he ever did,: but I was but a lad 
at the time, and too_ careless to pay much attention to such 
things — besides, it is all such awful rot, you know 1" 
_ I was about to agree with him, when a sudden recollec- 
tion flashed across my mind, and I held my peace. It is 
easy to laugh at other people's ghosts, but when one has 
crossed our own path, or even strayed across that of a 
near relative, they somehow appear less grotesque. This 
is what the experience of the Englishman's dog had 
brought back to my mind. 
A number of years before I had lived with my parents 
in Paris. Among, their friends was a young American 
widow of great beauty and some wealth. She. with her 
parents, had just come to Paris, and while they knew 
many of the members of the English and American 
colonies, they had but slight acquaintance among the 
natives. A conspicuous exception was the Count de C., a 
middle-aged Frenchman, the head of an ancient but im- 
poverished Breton house, of which he and a brother were 
the sole representatives. Both had been educated in Eng- 
land, where the younger had taken orders in the church 
and become incumbent of the English chapel in a Con- 
tinental town. 
The elder brother, being a cultivated and charming 
man, these qualities, together with his blood and title, 
made him an acceptable suitor for the widow's hand in the 
eyes of her parents. Whether the daughter shared her 
parents' views is left in doubt by the sequel, but at least 
she did not discourage the Count's attentions, which be- 
came more marked as the winter progressed. Toward 
spring the Americans accepted his urgent invitation to 
visit his ancestral chateau in Brittany." They found this 
to be a grim-looking pile, built of the native granite, and 
standing on a wild and storm-swept coast. 
Inside, however, it was comfortable enough, and a 
certain air of faded grandeur was not without its effect 
upon their American sttsceptibilities. A retinue of more 
or less ancient retainers had aired, warmed and made 
habitable the vast salons and bedrooms for their master 
and his guests, so that after a good dinner, washed down 
with the contents of a couple of cobwebbed bottles (for 
the Count was, among other things, a gourmet of deli- 
cate discernment), the house party gathered in the draw- 
ing room, where a roaring fire of driftwood cast a cheer- 
ful glow over ponderous furniture, dim tapestries and nu- 
merous portraits of departed de C.'s. Music whiled away 
the hours till bedtime, for the young American, among 
her charms, numbered that of a sweet voice, while the 
Count could warble his share of a duet in a very decent 
baritone. 
The Count's guests retired early, being tired from a 
long day's journey, and as they mounted the draughty 
stairs and threaded the echoing corridors in search of 
their rooms, the contrast between the cheerful apart- 
ment they had just left and the cheerless labyrinths of 
the upper floors of the house sent a chill to their hearts. 
The young American was conscious of a little shiver down 
the backbone, due, in part, to cold, but more to nervous- 
ness; but she followed the old Breton woman who car- 
ried her candle, along an endless corridor to the room that 
had been allotted to her. Here she found her maid, her 
boxes and her pet dog, and these familiar adjuncts dis- 
pelled the last traces of her vague alarm. Drawing the 
heavy bolts that secured her door, she bade her maid light 
every candle in the sconces and proceeded to examine her 
lodging for the night. It was an enormous room. Chests 
of carved black oak decorated the four corners, and furni- 
ture of a rigid and medieval aspect was dotted sparsely in 
between. At the further end. some logs crackled in a 
monumental fireplace, and above it hung a portrait of a 
young woman dressed in the fashion of about twenty 
years back, The widow knew that the Count de C. was a 
widower, his. wife having died about fifteen years be- 
fore, and she felt sure that this must be her portrait, and 
Ithafe the room in wisjch she stootj had been that la^g 
own. An uneasy feeling of intrusion crept over her, as 
the eyes of the portrait followed her about, and her own 
explored the cavernous depths of the four-posted edifice 
that occupied the center of the room. The aspect of this 
bed was not reassuring, and she doubted if the former 
occupant of its grandeur could ever have slept very 
lightly under the gloomy catafalque of crimson brocade 
surmounted by the arms of the de C.'s in tarnished gilt. 
It was the very largest bed she had ever seen, and she 
wondered whether she could ever find herself again in the 
morning if she ventured into its unknown depths. The 
thought even crossed her mind of not going to bed at all, 
but sitting up in a chair all night, and the absurdity of her 
imagined self nodding in a stiff-becked chair of most un- 
compromising angles, while a vast feather bed yawned to 
receive her, made her laugh aloud. 
At the sound of her laugh her little Skye terrier, that 
had been moping in a corner, sprang upon her knees, 
pleading to be caressed. Why, there was Fido, her faith- 
ful little Fido ! He should sleep on the counterpane at her 
feet, and guard her from the approach of all the ghosts 
and spooks, and "loups-garous" in Brittany! Besides, 
was not Marie, her maid, to sleep in the adjoining room? 
What a little fool she was to give way to nerves ! So, with 
another laugh at her idle fears, and a good night curtsey 
to the portrait of the late Countess, she climbed into the 
grim four-poster, settled Fido at her feet, and bade Marie 
blow out the candles. The dying fire in the grate cast 
sheer shadows on the ceiling, so, to shut them out. she 
closed her eyes and was soon fast asleep. How long 
afterward it was she could not tell, that she was awakened 
by a low, unearthly wail. A startled glance about the 
room showed her that the fire was out, and all lay in 
darkness. The wail came again, and she ducked, her head 
under the bedclothes to shut out the horrid sound. Again 
and again it came, each time more blood-curdling, till 
something familiarly canine in its notes disclosed to her 
that the ghostly sounds emanated from her own, her faith- 
ful Fido. The maid, meanwhile, awakened by the mid- 
night solo, came hurriedly in, with a candle, and both 
women gazed helplessly at the melancholy little dog. The 
candle Tight brought him no comfort, for he jumped 
down off the bed, sat in the middle of the floor, and lifted 
his voice in renewed lamentation. His mistress, being 
resourceful little person in the presence of the actual, 
shook off her fears, gathered Fido in her arms and pro- 
ceeded to rub his stomach, while she ordered her maid 
to fetch hot water for compresses. 
"He has eaten too many bonbons, Marie, and he suffers 
a pain in his poor little stomach. I felt sure he would be 
made ill with petting, when he was brought down to 
dessert this evening I' 
But neither rubbing nor compresses, nor even unlimited 
caressing availed to restore Fido's peace of mind, although 
the paroxysms of his howls grew less frequent as the 
night wore on. 
Morning found his mistress and her maid still striving 
to soothe his pain, which appeared, however, to subside as 
breakfast time approached. 
Both women were tired out, and Fido's mistress would 
gladly have turned in for' a morning's nap, even on the 
scene of her late alarms. But courtesy to her host for- 
bade a late appearance at breakfast, and more than a 
laughing allusion to Fido's indisposition brought on, pre- 
sumably, by too many sweets. The day brought drives 
to points of interest in the neighborhood, another ex- 
quisite dinner, and an evening of renewed duets, dur- 
ing which the attentions and delicate flattery of her host 
chased from the fair widow's mind the anticipation of an- 
other night in the ill-omened bed of the deceased Countess. 
Bedtime came, however, and the old Breton serving 
woman and her candlestick. A vague oppression weighed 
on the spirits of the little widow as she contemplated 
another night with only Fido's unstable support. But she 
felt little apprehension of disturbance on his part, as he 
had passed the day in rigid fasting, only relieved by a 
saucer full of warm milk, and, her own eyes being heavy 
with lack of sleep, she trusted that she, the maid and the 
dog would sleep like tops till morning. 
She reckoned without Fido. At the stroke of 12 that 
faithful animal sat up on his haunches and emitted a 
howl that caused his mistress to leap from her bed, and 
the maid to rush to the rescue. This time it was no 
plaintive wailing, but howls and yells that rent the welkin 
and froze the marrow in the bones of his two trembling 
auditors. Bonbons could not account for it, for he had 
not had one all day. No, it was not on his stomach, but 
on his mind, that the trouble lay. Fear is catching, and 
the panic that evidently oppressed the dog's soul infected 
thetwowomen. They drew close together, and peered into 
the shadowy corners of the room. The little widow 
glanced furtively at the portrait over the mantle shelf, and 
it seemed to her excited imagination that a sinister smile 
played about the lips of the late Countess de C. 
The weird howls of the dog continued at intervals 
through all the hours of darkness, till at dawn he fell, ex- 
hausted, into an uneasy sleep. At breakfast the haggard 
looks of his guest aroused the Count's attention, but, 
fearing to hurt his feelings by a true account of the 
events of the night, she pleaded a headache, which would 
serve to account for her languor and lack of response to 
his efforts to amuse her. For the thought of another 
night to pass under his roof weighed upon her like a 
nightmare. 
When evening came she played and sang with desperate 
persistence, although her head ached in all sincerity, and 
even proposed a rubber at whist (a game she abhorred) 
that might postpone as long as possible the dreaded bed- 
time hour. 
It came at last, as all things must, and with a heart 
like lead, the poor little woman retired to her room. 
Had pride permitted, she would have begged to be given 
another, but that would have necessitated an explanation 
from which she shrank. She had thought, though, of a 
way to mitigate the coming ordeal. Her maid should 
share her bed. Fear had broken down the barriers of 
caste, and besides, the dreadful bed was so wide, that 
from opposite sides their outstretched arms could scarcely 
meet and touch finger tips. 
Faithful to his trust, as the hour of midnight struck. 
Fido sat_ up and howled. He howled with but slight 
intermission, until dawn streaked the east. Mistress and 
maid clung to each other, all considerations thrown to 
the winds but the craving for human companionship, al- 
ternately laughing and crying as the absurdity or Jbe hor- 
ror of the situation forced itself upon their minds. 
At dawn the American arose and told her maid to pack 
her boxes, as nothing could induce her to spend another 
night under the Count's roof. 
The caprice of a pretty woman who longs for her dear 
Pans served as well as it might to cloak her evident 
desire to get away, and her parents, who were beginning 
to tire of drives to owl and bat haunted ruins, and even 
the Count himself, who, perhaps, felt the strain of sepa- 
ration from the boulevards, opposed no obstacles to the 
gratification of her whim. 
Back again in Paris the Count continued his assiduities, 
and Fido might have howled in vain had not the noise of 
his lamentations, confided by the pretty widow to a 
bosom friend, reached, through her, the ears of the whole 
American colony. 
There was at that time a little club, or rendezvous, in 
the office or reading rooms of Galignani's Messenger (if 
I remember rightly) frequented chiefly by English and 
Americans, who met to hear and discuss the latest news 
from home, as well as the latest gossip from anywhere. 
It happened^ that my father dropped in one day, as a fel- 
low habitue was finishing an amusing account of the 
Count's ill-starred hospitality. My father, feeling some 
annoyance that his friend's affairs should be so discussed, 
growled out his mind and subsided behind his Messenger. 
A Frenchman whom he had noticed glancing at him over 
the top of his paper now approached, introduced him- 
self and said that, as my father seemed to be a friend 
of the American family in question, he, as a lover of fair 
play, invited him to direct the attention of the lady's father 
or other male relative to the records of the Court of 
Assizes held at a certain town in Brittany on a certain 
date fifteen years back, where they would doubtless find 
something to interest them. He then saluted my father, 
turned on his heel and walked out. 
My father was, at first, inclined to regard the mys- 
terious warning as an effort at wit of a practical joker 
carrying the ghostly tale to a logical conclusion, but the 
longer he thought the odder the warning, and the French- 
man's manner of giving it appeared. The whole haunting 
business began to haunt him, and to lay the ghost he laid 
the matter before the American widow's father. The 
latter was impressed, and asked my father to accompany 
him to the town mentioned by the Frenchman. There 
they looked up the records at the date indicated, and found 
that in the year 18 — , fifteen years before, the Count de C. 
had been indicted and tried for the murder of his wife 
through the administration of slow poison at his chateau 
in Brittany. The trial had ended in an acquittal. Further 
research showed that while every step in the accusation 
had been proved against him, almost beyond doubt, his 
acquittal had been effected through the pressure of his 
family's influence in that part of Brittany, at the cost of 
the greater part of his fortune. The pretty widow soon 
after found a more congenial mate, in a plain, untitled 
fellow countryman, while Fido lived and flourished to a 
green old age in the sunshine of their gratitude and 
affection. M. M. 
Casey^s Wildcats 
BY FRANCIS MOONAN. I 
Thrice the brindled cat hath mewed. 
— S hakespeare. 
It was Christmas Eve. Jake Kiimmelwasser sat in his 
favorite chair reading the paper, while Wirt Zaender sat 
over against him, chewing tobacco and immersed in 
thought, apparently, as usual. Jake's dog. Sausage (a 
dachshund imported from the Vaterland, and named by 
Tim Mulcahy), was cuddled up at his master's feet, the 
cat (between whom and Sausage a truce had long been 
declared) was cuddled up at the feet of Wirt, and the 
Canary slept with its head under its wing. The kettle sang 
on the stove. 
Inside in the kitchen Mrs. Kiimmelwasser bustled 
about, preparing the supper, beefsteak and onions, no 
less, in honor of the day. On ordinary occasions "scrap- 
ple" or "panne haase" would have constituted the even- 
ing meal, and right thankful the boarders were for that, 
being usually hungry as wolves in winter. 
As the odor of the beefsteak and onions (than which to 
the great mass of humanity there is nothing half so ex- 
citing to the nerv^es of appetite) began to float through 
the kitchen door, tears of joyous expectancy actually rose 
to Wirt's eyes, then he ground his teeth and pressed his 
hands together, as if trying to control himself. Jake 
showed his emotion by merely breathing more deeply and 
making occasional little gurgling noises in his throat. 
But where was Tim Mulcahy? If echo did not answer 
Where ? something akin to echo seemed to answer, Here ! 
In fact, Tim was fast asleep on the settle bed, snoring 
blissfully after a laborious day cleaning his gun and 
smoking his pipe. 
"Donner und blitzen! how dot man schnores," said 
Jake, putting down his paper and removing his spectacles. 
"Tim — Tim, do you vant to sour der milk? Vake up, 
man — vake up !" 
For all answer to this appeal Tim emitted a snort that 
would have done credit to an untamed mustang. "I 
vunder if he schnored like dot when he mit der bear 
schlept?" continued Jake, recalling a story in which Tim 
averred that one bitter night he lay alongside of a bear 
on the mountains. 
Wirt paid no attention. He seemed to be wholly ab- 
sorbed in the subject of the beefsteak and onions. Pres- 
ently the odor of these became so strong that even the 
sleeper was affected by it. He ceased snoring, smacked his 
lips several times and then threw up his hands with a 
yawn, accompanied by the exclamation : "Yow-yow-yow- 
augh I" Sniffing the air he continued : "What's this I 
smell? Beefsteak and onions! Am I awake, or do I 
still dhrame?" 
xA.s if by answer to this question, Mrs. Kiimmelwasser 
threw wide the kitchen door, which had been ajar, and 
exclaimed in a shrill voice: "Soo-per!" 
With one bound Tim was off the settle bed and at the 
kitchen door, but quick as he was Wirt was quicker, and 
led the procession to the supper table. This was spread 
at one end of the kitchen and presented a sight well cal- 
culated to arouse the enthusiasm of Wirt and Tim. 
At the head of the table sat an immense dish filled 
with beefsteak "smothered" in onions. At the foot sat 
another immensf 4ish fiUe4 with "smoking murphies 
