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Updated: May 6, 2025
She could always get away from Aunt Bella by going down the dark walk between the yew hedge and the window of Mrs. Fisher's room, and through the stable-yard into the plantation. The cocks and hens had their black timber house there in the clearing, and Ponto, the Newfoundland, lived all by himself in his kennel under the little ragged fir trees.
The first thing our parlor said to any one was, that we were not people to be put out, that we were widespread, easy-going, and jolly folk. Even if Tom Brown brought in Ponto and his shooting-bag, there was nothing in that parlor to strike terror into man and dog; for it was written on the face of things that everybody there was to do just as he or she pleased.
I sauntered on, therefore, quite at ease Ponto taking charge of my gun until at length, just as I had begun to consider whether the numerous little glades that led hither and thither, were intended to be paths at all, I was conducted by one of them into an unquestionable carriage track. There could be no mistaking it.
She found Clarissa sitting in a natural arbour made by a group of old hawthorns and a wild plum-tree, and placed herself at once upon a footing of perfect friendliness and familiarity with the girl. Mr. Lovel was out a rare occurrence. He had gone for a stroll through the village with Ponto.
He was extremely absent-minded, and his wife liked to tell how he once killed a chicken for the family dinner and threw away the chicken and brought in the head. "My aunt was an ardent lover of animals, and abhorred cruelty to them in any form. She had a dog named Ponto, an ugly ill-tempered little black dog of no pedigree whatever, who ruled as king in that house.
But the dog has never changed; he feels and knows there is something dreadful in that man. One of these days, poor Ponto may turn out to be right. May I ask you something, sir?" "Of course!" "You won't think I am presuming on your kindness?" "You ought to know me better than that, Cristel!"
'My library's small, says Ponto, with the most amazing impudence, 'but well selected, my boy well selected. I have been reading the "History of England" all the morning. We had the fish, which, as the kind reader may remember, I had brought down in a delicate attention to Mrs.
There is no law against such houses, but there is a popular prejudice. José Carcunda was heard to say, after he had been guilty of drinking to excess when attired as Solomon, that his faithful dog Ponto refused to accompany him home on that occasion; “And as the creature stared at me,” said he, “I could see shame and sorrow mingling in his eyes.”
As I turned the corner of the gable, the mastiff bounded towards me in stern silence, but with the eye and the whole air of a tiger. I held him out my hand, however, in token of amity and I never yet knew the dog who was proof against such an appeal to his courtesy. He not only shut his mouth and wagged his tail, but absolutely offered me his paw-afterward extending his civilities to Ponto.
The society there was thoroughly Pickwickian; there were many old-fashioned figures, including the Mr. Jesse at whom the "Ponto" story was directed. We were gay enough. The old Star and Garter was flourishing. There were the Assembly Rooms at the Castle Inn, with "Almack's Balls"; barges coming down on Regatta days, when people danced on the deck and feasted in the cabin.
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