The Hundred and One Dalmatians Modern Classic. Dodie Smith

are at Hell Hall, the ancestral home of the de Vils.’

      And he knew, though he kept this from Missis, that the SOS on the old bone meant ‘Save Our Skins’.

      PONGO HAD no difficulty in taking the right road out of London, for he and Mr Dearly had done much motoring in their bachelor days and often driven to Suffolk. Mile after mile the two dogs ran through the deserted streets, as the December night grew colder. At last London was left behind and, just before dawn, they reached a village in Epping Forest where they hoped to spend the day.

      They had decided they must always travel by night and rest during daylight. For they felt sure Mr Dearly would advertise their loss and the police would be on the look out for them. There was far less chance of their being seen and caught by night.

      They had barely entered the sleeping village when they heard a quiet bark. The next moment, a burly Golden Retriever was greeting them.

      ‘Pongo and Missis Pongo, I presume? All arrangements were made for you by Late Twilight Barking. Please follow me.’

      He led them to an old, gabled inn and then under an archway to a cobbled yard.

      ‘Please drink here, at my own bowl,’ he said. ‘Food awaits you in your sleeping quarters but water could not be arranged.’

      (For no dog can carry a full water-bowl.)

      Pongo and Missis had only had one drink since they left home, at an old drinking trough for horses, which had a lower trough for dogs. They now gulped thirstily and gratefully.

      ‘My pride as an innkeeper tempts me to offer you one of our best bedrooms,’ said the Golden Retriever. ‘They combine old world charm with all modern conveniences – and no charge for breakfast in bed. But it wouldn’t be wise.’

      ‘No, indeed,’ said Pongo. ‘We might be discovered.’

      ‘Exactly. We are putting you in the safest place any of us could think of. Naturally every dog in the village came to the meeting after the Late Barking – when we heard this village was to have the honour of receiving you. Step this way.’

      At the far end of the yard were some old stables, and in the last stable of all was a broken-down stage coach.

      ‘Just the right place for Dalmatians,’ said Pongo, smiling, ‘for our ancestors were trained to run behind coaches and carriages. Some people still call us Coach Dogs or Carriage Dogs.’

      ‘And your run from London has shown you are worthy of your ancestors,’ said the Golden Retriever. ‘When I was a pup we sometimes took this old coach out for the school picnic, but no one has bothered with it for years now. You should be quite safe, and some dogs will always be on guard. In case of sudden alarm, you can go out by the back door of the stable and escape across the fields.’

      There was a deep bed of straw on the floor of the coach and neatly laid out on the seat were two magnificent chops, half a dozen iced cakes and a box of peppermint creams.

      ‘From the butcher’s dog, the baker’s dog and the dog at the sweet-shop,’ said the Retriever. ‘I shall arrange your dinner. Will steak be satisfactory?’

      Pongo and Missis said it would indeed, and tried to thank him for everything, but he waved their thanks away, saying: ‘It’s a very great honour. We are planning a small plaque – to be concealed from human eyes, of course – saying: PONGO AND MISSIS SLEPT HERE.’

      Then he took them to the cobwebbed window and pointed out a smaller edition of himself, who was patrolling the inn courtyard.

      ‘My youngest lad, already on guard. He’s hoping to see you for a moment, when you’re rested, and ask for your paw-marks – to start his collection. A small guard of honour will see you out of the village, but I shan’t let them waste too much of your time. Goodnight – though it’s really good morning. Pleasant dreams.’

      As soon as he had gone, Pongo and Missis ate ravenously.

      ‘Though perhaps we should not eat too heavily before sleeping,’ said Pongo, so they left a couple of peppermint creams. (Missis, later, ate them in her sleep.) Then they settled down in the straw, close together, and got warmer and warmer.

      Missis said: ‘Do you feel sure our puppies will be well fed and well taken care of ?’

      ‘Quite sure. And they will be safe for a long time, because their spots are nowhere near big enough for a striking fur coat yet. Oh, Missis, how pleasant it is to be on our own like this!’

      Missis thumped her tail with joy – and with relief. For there had been moments when she had felt – not jealous, exactly, but just a bit wistful about Pongo’s affection for Perdita. She loved Perdita, was grateful to her and sorry for her; still – well, it was nice to have her own husband to herself, thought Missis. But she made herself say:

      ‘Poor Perdita! No husband, no puppies! We must never let her feel we want to be on our own.’

      ‘I do hope she can comfort the Dearlys,’ said Pongo.

      ‘She will wash them,’ said Missis – and fell asleep.

      How gloriously they slept! It was their first really deep sleep since the loss of the puppies. Even the Twilight Barking did not disturb them. It brought good news, which the Retriever told them when he woke them, as soon as it was dark. All was well with the pups, and Lucky sent a message that they were getting more food than they could eat. This gave Pongo and Missis a wonderful appetite for the steaks that were waiting for them.

      While they ate, they chatted to the Retriever and his wife and their family, who lived at various houses in the village. And the Retriever told Pongo how to reach the village where the next day was to be spent – this had been arranged by the Twilight Barking. The steaks were finished and a nice piece of cheese was going down well when the Corgi from the Post Office arrived with an evening paper in her mouth. Mr Dearly had put in his largest advertisement yet – with a photograph of Pongo and Missis (taken during the joint honeymoon).

      Pongo’s heart sank for he felt the route planned for them was no longer safe. It led through many villages, where even by night they might be noticed – unless they waited till all humans had gone to bed, which would waste too much time. He said: ‘We must travel across country.’

      ‘But you’ll get lost,’ said the Retriever’s wife.

      ‘Pongo never loses his way,’ said Missis, proudly.

      ‘And the moon will be nearly full,’ said the Retriever. ‘You should manage. But it will be hard to pick up food. I had arranged for it to await you in several villages.’

      Pongo said they had eaten so much that they could do without food until the morning, but he hated to think dogs might be waiting up for them during the night.

      ‘I will cancel it by the Nine o’clock Barking,’ said the Retriever.

      There was a snuffling at the back door of the stable. All the dogs of the village had arrived to see Pongo and Missis off.

      ‘We should start at once,’ said Pongo. ‘Where’s our young friend who wants paw-marks?’

      The Retriever’s youngest lad stepped forward shyly, carrying an old menu. Pongo and Missis put their pawtographs on the back of it for him, then thanked the Retriever and his family for all they had done.

      Outside, two rows of dogs were waiting to cheer. But no human ear could have heard the cheers, for every dog had now seen the photograph in the evening paper and knew an escape must be made in