He sat outside with Den, both of them watching the smoke curling up from the roof and wafting away on the
breeze in silence. An hour passed; they moved back from the heat. The hut was now well ablaze. With a crash of
burning timber the roof collapsed inward. It was then that the old bellwether ram plodded up from wherever he had
been grazing. Ding! Clank! Ding! Clank! Ding!
Neb had not seen the bellwether since the previous morning. He thought the old ram had probably been killed in
the storm, maybe fallen over the cliff, or succumbed before the onslaught because of its great age. The boy smiled
sadly as the old creature approached him, its primitive iron bell clanking mournfully. A pang of realization suddenly
pierced him like a sword.
"It's the angel's message, the tolling bell!"
The dog turned its sorrowful brown eyes up to him. "I dreamed about the angel, too, but I never thought our
ram's bell would carry the message. What do we do now?"
Tears flowed unchecked from Neb's clouded blue eyes. He slowly picked up the old man's crooked staff,
watching the bellwether back away from the glowing embers of the shepherd's dwelling, its simple iron neckbell still
dinging and clanking hollowly. "We must follow the angel's command. It is time to go!"
Up the valley they went together, north to Punta Arenas and the plateau land of Patagonia, leaving behind Tierra
del Fuego, where great oceans meet at the bottom of the world.
Away o'er wild and watery wastes
Vanderdecken sails his ship,
restless phantom, cursed by heaven
to that doomed eternal trip.
While decades turn to centuries,
as down throughout the ages
a boy and dog, forever young,
tread history's vast pages.
Sharing times, both bad and good,
a friendship formed in smiles and tears,
guided by their angel's hand,
two innocents roam the years.
O'er hill and mountain, land and sea,
'cross desert dry and pasture green,
mystic countries, towns, and cities,
what strange sights those two have seen.
Gaining wisdom, wit, and knowledge,
in joy, and sorrow, peace, and war,
helping, caring, bringing comfort,
always traveling, learning more.
Is it not surprising, then,
each of them has changed his name,
Den is Ned, and Neb is Ben,
the two who from the Dutchman came?
Where are they now, our dog and boy,
where heaven commands they go,
beyond the echo of some far bell?
Read on and you shall know!
THE VILLAGE
11.
ENGLAND. 1896.
THE RAILWAY HAD FINALLY COME TO Chapelvale. Obadiah Smithers drew a turnip-shaped gold watch
from the pocket of his brocade waistcoat and consulted it. "Hmph! Eighteen minutes past two, a quarter hour late. I'd
liven 'em up if it were me running this railway, by thunder I would. Time's money, and I can't afford to waste either,
that's what I always say!"
The young lady sitting opposite him clung to the velvet strap as the train jerked noisily to a halt. She adjusted
her bonnet, agreeing with the older man.
"That's what my papa always says, too, sir." Obadiah plastered a few strands of hair into position on his red,
perspiring brow. Standing, he adjusted his black-tailed frock coat and donned a silk top hat.
"Sensible man, your father, 'twas him and I who persuaded the powers that be to install this branch line to
Chapelvale. Progress, y'know, this town needs t'be dragged into modern times, been a backwater too long. Can't stop
progress, m'dear."
Maud Bowe hated being referred to as "m'dear," or "young lady." However, she smiled sweetly at Mr. Smithers.
"Indeed, sir, progress and modernity go hand in hand."
But Obadiah was not paying much attention to her observation. He was struggling to get the door of the private
compartment open, without much success. Lowering the window, he bellowed officiously at a porter. "You there! Get
this confounded door open this instant!"
Both engine and leading carriages had overshot the platform by twenty feet or more. Recognizing Chapelvale's
most prominent citizen, the porter came running and snapped the door open with alacrity. Obadiah fumed as he
allowed himself and Maud to be helped down onto the sleepers and rough limestone pebble. "What's the matter with
you people, eh? Can't you stop the train in its correct position?"
Bridling at the unjust accusation, the porter complained. "Ain't my fault, sir, I don't drive the engine, y'know!"
Obadiah Smithers's face went brick red in its frame of muttonchop whiskers. He shook his silver-mounted
walking cane at the man and almost tripped over a sleeper. "Damn your impudence! Get along to the guard's van an'
pick up this young lady's luggage before the train goes an' it ends up who knows where. Go on, get along with you!"
A towheaded lad aged somewhere between thirteen and fourteen years, accompanied by a big, black Labrador
dog, emerged from the guard's van. Over one shoulder the boy toted a canvas bag with a drawcord neck. He dug into
his pocket and passed a silver sixpence to the guard, winking. "Thanks for the ride, Bill!"
The guard, a cheery-looking young man, grinned as he returned the wink and patted the dog's head. "Now, don't
go shoutin' to everyone that I let you 'n' Ned ride without a ticket. You'll get me in trouble, Ben. 'Bye, you two!"
The porter came scurrying up. "Baggage for the girl in the private compartment, you got it there, Bill?"
A lady's traveling valise and a fancy carpetbag were slung out onto the platform by the guard. "There y'are, two
pieces!"
Black smoke wreathed up from the engine into the hot blue summer sky. All along the platform train doors were
slamming shut. The dog Ned stood patiently at Ben's side as they took stock of their surroundings. A uniformed
station-master waved them away from the train with his folded flag as, whistle in mouth, he checked the length of the
platform. Hissing noises emanated from the engine as it dripped water on the track. Suddenly, it emitted a rushing
cloud of steam. Maud screamed shrilly, hobbling up onto the platform in her long, fashionably narrow skirt.
Shooshing steam enveloped Obadiah Smithers as he stamped onto the platform, roaring, "Engine driver, what's
your name, man? Near scalded us both t'death, you idiot. I'll report this to your superiors!"
His speech was drowned by a long blast from the train whistle combined with the noise of the stationmaster's
whistle and a grinding of wheels and gears. Chuffing noisily, the train rumbled away up the branch line. Whilst
Smithers harangued the stationmaster, a local carrier bore Maud's luggage to a horse-drawn cart outside the station
fence.
With the train's departure, Chapelvale resumed its customary calm. Ben communicated a thought to his black
Lab. "Come on, let's take a look at the village."
Ben was opening the white picket gate of the station when he found himself in competition to get out of the gate
with the impatient Smithers. "Out o' me way, silly young ass!"
Ben was trapped in the gateway by the man's bulk as he tried to push past, brandishing a silver-mounted stick
angrily and shouting, "Make way for your elders an' betters, or I'll . . ."
"Grrrrrrrr!"
Ned was beside Smithers's leg, the Labrador's hackles bristling as it bared its teeth. Obadiah Smithers froze in
his tracks. The dog took a step aside, allowing the man an escape route, but Smithers stepped back a pace, too,
allowing both boy and dog to pass through the gate. His confidence returned once he was clear of the pair, Obadiah