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fiction
Beat It finds
by E. J. Hitter. Jr.
Art by Denise Giraud
e was a small dog of no particular breed and no
'remarkable beauty. He was cold and he walked a
little lame from the weariness of his journey. His name
was Beat It.
At least, everyone called him that. But he knew it
was not a real name, for he had never belonged to any
one. And belonging, Beat It knew, was that proper state
of doghood that involved a master, a home, and a name.
Except for those few weeks in the Spring when he had
lived with his mother in the packing case where he was
born, he had been alone. Beat It missed his mother when
first she disappeared, and for days he searched the alleys
and streets, whimpering a little. But soon the problems
of eating and finding shelter, and dodging kicks and
speeding wheels and larger dogs, drove her from his
mind, until now she was forgotten.
And when it began to grow cold, Beat It became
strangely restless. Loneliness gripped his spirit. An urge
to move on, to seek he knew not what, was strong in
him. And then he heard about the Star.
Two children on a street corner talked about it first.
Much of what they said was unintelligible to Beat It, but
he understood that in a few days a wonderful trans
formation would occur that would make each man love
his neighbor more, and show a kindliness of spirit which
was concealed on other days throughout the year. There
would be singing, and friendliness, and great giving of
gifts. And a symbol of it all would be the Star.
Beat It was not sure whether the Star would shine to
let all living things know the day had come, or whether
the Star had gleamed long ago and was remembered
because it had once marked a slender moment of Earth's
great happiness. There was no one to tell him about the
arrival of the day. So Beat It knew he would have to find
the Star himself, or else the wonderful time would pass
without his knowing it had been.
But in the city, the buildings hid the sky; and on the
outskirts, and in the country, no star shone so brightly,
so warmly that Beat It could say in his heart, "That is
the one! It can be no other!"
So on he walked, along the open roads and across the
fields, through the towns dotting the way. He slept by
day and walked by night, searching the sky always for
the light which would tell him the Day had come.
Had it not been for the noises, he might have given up.
They whispered to him in the wind, "Go on and find the
Star. And on he went, footsore, bedraggled coat matted
with mud and burrs, his brown eyes on the night sky
and the urgent voices in his ears.
And then there was a cold night, the coldest he had
known. It was snowing and there were no stars over
head at aU. And exhaustion filled his limbs, cold blank
eted his thin white body.
Suddenly the urging voice that was in the wind
stopped. The gales still blew, but Beat It no longer heard
the words, Go on!" The new silence frightened him. He
felt alone and lost. The cold and weariness were more
than he could bear.
To his right, just off the road, a light filtered dimly
16 Family Weekly, December 7, I95
his star
feNL it ,
The boy's sobs broke off as he heard the bark of a dog.
through the snow. Limping toward it, Beat
It saw a small white house. Beside it
yawned the open door of an unpainted shed
into which he dragged himself and collapsed
in the corner out of the freezing, snow
swept night.
He fell asleep.
t was a strange sound that awakened
him in the pale dawn of a new day. A
little boy, filling a wood box from a stack of
jogs before him, was sobbing heartbreak
into the frosty air.
Always before, Beat It had fled from
humans. He knew the sharp pain of stones
nying from the hands of little boys. But
now he was not afraid. Curiosity, interest,
and a warm unknown emotion flooded his
small frame.
Beat It gathered his sore muscles and
stood up. He shook himself and barked.
The dark boyish head swiveled toward
the corner. The sobs broke off in a gasp.
Then, tentatively at first, the boy stretched
his hand and rested it on the bedraggled
white head.
It was the first time Beat It had ever felt
acaress. It was the first time he had ever
been touched with tenderness and love. His
tail wagged wildly; his pink tongue darted
oyer the grubby hand; his heart was filled
with a bursting ecstasy.
Beat It was suddenly gathered into two
young arms. Two swift feet dashed through
the snow and carried him into the house.
"Oh Mother! Mother!" he heard the boy
cry. "Santa did come he didn't forget me
after all! He brought me a dog a white
dog with funny ears and a long tail. Only
Santa made a mistake and left him in the
shed instead of the house!"
The tired face of the woman standing in
the kitchen was startled, dubious, then it
softened. The boy, Beat It thought, was
quick to note the relenting.
"I can keep him, Mother, can't I? He
won't eat much see how little he is? And
I'll clean him up and brush him every day,
and we'll have such good times together!
And he likes me, Mother truly he does.
I'll call him Merry, because it's such a
Merry Christmas."
"All he'll get will be scraps. Her tone
was grudging, but the look on her face was
a prayer of thanks for a little boy saved
from Christmas heartbreak.
"Looks awful tired to me," she said.
"Of course, Mother! It's a long way from
the North Pole, even in Santa's sled." .
Her worn, rough hand was gentle as it
touched the dog's bruised paws. "He must
have done most of the pulling. Well, he s
probably hungry. I'll see what I can find.'
She disappeared through the pantry door.
Beat It, who was now Merry, put his head
on the little boy's knee and gazed up in
adoration into the eyes in which he saw
the warm, bright brilliance of the Star.
Family Weekly, December 7, 1951
17
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