Of a lazy drone,
And a bed on a cushioned knee;
But in wild free ways
I will spend my days,
And at night on the roofs I'll be.
On a moonlight night'—
"'Don't listen to him, my dear,' said Mrs. Barebones, the consumptive cat; 'he's a wild, thoughtless creature, quite inexperienced in the ways of the world. Heed the counsels of one whose sands of life are almost run and who, before she goes to the land of cats, would fain warn a youthful friend and, if possible, avert her from her own sad fate. This racking cough (ugh! ugh!) and this distressing cat-arrh, (snuff! snuff!) with which you see me afflicted were brought on by the hardships and exposure incident to the life of a barn-cat: midnight rambles, my dear (ugh!), in frost and snow; days when not so much as a mouse's tail has passed my hungry jaws, and winter nights when my coat was too thin to keep out the cold. And all these sufferings, past and present, are in consequence of my being a barn-cat.'
"'Now, may the dogs get me, if I ever heard such a string of nonsense!' said Robber Grim. 'Don't believe a word she says. She's an old granny. She's got the fidgets. She wants a dose of catnip-tea. Don't believe Tom Skip-an'-jump, either. What does he know about war? He never was shot at. Look at me! I'm Robber Grim! I'm an old one, I am! I've got good blood in my veins. My great-grandfather was a catamount and his grandmother was a tiger-cat. I've been in a hundred battles. I've had one eye knocked out and an ear bit off. I left a piece of my tail in a trap. I've been scalded with hot water and peppered all over with shot. I'll teach you how to get a living without being a house-cat. I hate houses and the people who live in them, and I do them all the mischief I can. I eat up their chickens and I suck their eggs. I climb in at the pantry window and skim their milk. Once when the cook left the kitchen door open I snatched the beefsteak from the gridiron and made off with the family dinner. They hate me—they do. They've tried to kill me a dozen times; but I'm Robber Grim, ha! ha! and I've got nine lives!'
"At this instant there came a flash of lightning, followed by a peal of thunder that shook the barn to its foundations, and every cat fled in terror to its hole.
"The next morning Mrs. Tabitha Velvetpaw took a stroll round the garden and down the lane a little way, where the catnip grew. The ground was wet after the shower, and she was daintily picking her way along, very careful not to soil her beautiful feet, of which she was justly proud, when suddenly there glided from behind a tree and stood directly in her path a small yellow cat.
"'Oh, my paws and whiskers!' exclaimed Mrs. Tabitha, surprised out of her usual dignity.
"'If you please,' said Furry-Purry,—for it was she,—'I have made bold to come out and meet you to ask your advice. I am a poor little barn-cat, and I was contented with my lot till I saw you yesterday in your beautiful home; but now I feel that I was intended for a higher sphere. Tell me—oh, tell me, Mrs. Velvetpaw, how I may become a house-cat!'
"'Well, did I ever!' said Mrs. Velvetpaw. 'The idea!' and she moved a step or two away from poor Furry-Purry, her manner, as well as her words, expressing astonishment and disdain.
"'I know it seems presuming, Mrs. Velvetpaw, but'—
"'Presuming! I should say so. What is this generation of cats coming to, when a low creature reared in a barn—a paw-paw (pauper) cat, as I may say—dare lift her eyes to those so far above her?'
"'I have heard my mother say "a cat may look at a king,"' said Furry-Purry.
"'Go away, you low-born creature! How dare you quote your mother to me? Go away, this instant! I am ashamed to be seen talking with you! What if my friend Mrs. Silvercoat or Major Mouser should happen to pass! Begone, I say! scat!'
"'O Mrs. Tabitha,' said the poor little cat, 'don't send me away! I can't go back to that barn. Indeed, indeed, after spending this short time in your company, I can never endure to live with Tom Skip-an'-jump and Mrs. Barebones and that horrid Robber Grim. If you refuse to help me I will go straight to Growler's kennel. When he has worried me to death, won't you be sorry you drove me to such a fate? Dear, dear Mrs. Velvetpaw, your face is kinder than your words. Oh, pity the sorrows of a poor little cat!'
"Now, Mrs. Tabitha was not at heart an ill-natured puss; and when she saw Furry-Purry's imploring face, and listened to her eloquent appeal, she was moved with compassion.
"'Rather than see you go to the dogs,' said she, 'I will lend a paw to help you. But what can I do, you silly thing?'
"'Mrs. Velvetpaw, you have lived a long time in this neighborhood?'
"'And you know every body?'
"'If you mean in the first rank of society—yes. Your Barebones, and Hop-an'-jumps, and creatures of that vulgar herd, are quite out of my category.'
"'Perhaps you know of some house-cat dead or gone away?'
"'And if I do?'
"'You might put me in her place, you know.'
"'Yellow Cat,' said Mrs. Tabitha, severely.
"'If you please, my name is Furry-Purry.'
"'Well, Furry-Purry, then. Your presumption can only be pardoned in consideration of your ignorance of the usages of society. House-cats, you must know, hold their position in families by hereditary descent. My place, for instance, was my mother's and my grandmother's before me. We are prepared by birth and education for the position we occupy. Have you considered how utterly unfitted you are for the life to which you aspire? I am sorry to disappoint you, but I fear your hopes are vain. There is, indeed, a vacancy in the brick house opposite. Cæsar—a venerable cat—died last week. He was much admired for his gentlemanly and dignified deportment. "Who shall come after the king?"'
"'I, Mrs. Tabitha, I'—
"'You, indeed!' she interrupted, scornfully.
"'Oh, yes, if you will but condescend to give me instructions. I am quick to learn. The short time I have been so happy as to be in your company I have gained much knowledge. I am sure I can imitate the mew-sic of your voice. I know I can gently wave my tail, and touch my left whisker with my paw as you do. When I leave you I shall spend every moment till we meet again in practising your airs and graces, till I make them all my own. Dear friend,—if you will let me call you so,—help me to King Cæsar's place.'
"There was much that was flattering to Mrs. Velvetpaw in this speech.
"'Well,' said she, 'I will see what can be done. There, go home now, and the first thing to be done is to make yourself perfectly clean. Wash yourself twelve times in the day, from the end of your nose to the tip of your tail. Take particular pains with your paws. A cat of refinement is known by the delicacy and cleanliness of her feet. Farewell! After three days, meet me here again.'
"You can imagine how faithfully Furry-Purry followed these directions—how with her sharp tongue she smoothed and stroked every hair of her pretty coat, and washed her face again and again with her wet paws.
"'You are wretchedly thin!' Mrs. Tabitha said at their next meeting. 'That fault can only be remedied by a generous diet. You must look me full in the face when I talk to you. Really, you have no need to be ashamed of your eyes, for they are decidedly bright and handsome. When you walk, don't bend your legs till your body almost touches the ground. That gives you a wretchedly hang-cat appearance. Tread softly and daintily, but with dignity and grace of carriage. There must be other bad habits I have not mentioned.'
"'I am afraid I spit sometimes.'
"'Don't do that—it is considered vulgar. Don't bristle your tail. Don't show your claws except to mice. Keep such control over yourself as never to be surprised out of a dignified composure of manner.'
"Just here, without the slightest warning, there rushed from the thicket near them a large fierce-looking dog. Up went Mrs. Velvetpaw's back in an arch. Every hair of her body stood on end. Sharp-pointed claws protruded from each velvet foot, and, hissing and spitting, she tumbled over Furry-Purry in her haste, and scrambled to the topmost branch of the pear-tree. The little cat followed, imitating her guide in every particular. As for the dog, which was in pursuit of game, he did not even look at them; and when he was out of sight they came down from the tree, Mrs. Tabitha descending with the dignified composure she had just recommended to her young friend. She made no allusion to her hurried ascent.
"'To-morrow night,' said she, 'as soon as it is dark, meet me in the backyard of the brick house.'
"Half glad and half frightened, Furry-Purry walked by her side the next evening, delighting in the soft green turf of the yard and the sweet-smelling shrubs against which she ventured to rub herself as they passed. Mrs. Tabitha led her round the house to a piazza draped with clustering vines.
"'Come here to-morrow,' said she. 'Walk boldly up the steps and seat yourself in full view of that window. Look your prettiest—behave your best. Assume a pensive expression of countenance, with your eyes uplifted—so. If you are driven away, go directly, but return. Be strong, be brave, be persevering. Now, my dear, I have done all I can for you, and I wish you good luck,'
"The next morning a little girl living in the brick house, whose name was Winnie Gay, looked out of the dining-room window.
"'Come quick, mamma!' she called; 'here's a cat on our piazza—a little yellow cat, and she's looking right up at me. May I open the door?'
"'No, indeed!' said Mrs. Gay; 'we want no strange cats here.'
"'But she looks hungry, mamma. She has just opened her mouth at me without making a bit of noise. Can't I give her a saucer of milk?'
"'Come away from the window, Winnie, and don't notice her. You will only encourage her to come again. There, pussy, run away home; we can't have you here.'
"'Now, mamma, you have frightened her. See how she keeps looking back. I'm afraid you've hurt her feelings. Dear little pussy! I wish I might call you back.'
"Furry-Purry was not discouraged at this her first unsuccessful attempt. The child's blue eyes beamed a welcome, and the lady's face was gentle and kind.
"'If I catch a mouse,' thought the cat, 'and bring it to them to show what I can do, perhaps I shall gain their favor.' Then she put away all the fine airs and graces Mrs. Velvetpaw had taught her, and became the sly, supple, watchful creature nature had made her. By a hole in the granary she crouched and waited with unwearied patience one, two, almost three, hours. Then she gave a sudden spring, there was one sharp little shriek from the victim, a snap of pussy's jaws, and her object was accomplished. She appeared again on the piazza, and, laying a dead mouse on the floor, crouched beside it in an attitude of perfect grace, and looked beseechingly in Mrs. Gay's face.
"'Well, you are a pretty creature!' that lady said, 'with your soft white paws and yellow coat,'
"'May I have her for my cat, mamma?' Winnie said. 'I thought I never should love another cat when dear old Cæsar died; but this little thing is such a beauty that I love her already. May I have her for mine?'
"But while Mrs. Gay hesitated, Furry-Purry, who could not hear what they said, and who, to tell the truth, was in a great hurry to eat her mouse, ran off with it to the barn. The next morning, however, she came again, and Mr. Gay, who was waiting for his breakfast, was called to the window.
"'My cat has come again, papa, with another mouse—a monstrous one, too.'
"'That isn't a mouse,' Mr. Gay said, looking at the plump, silver-gray creature Furry-Purry carefully deposited on the piazza-floor. 'Bless me! I believe it is that rascal of a mole that's gnawed my hyacinth and tulip bulbs. I offered the gardener's boy two dollars if he would catch the villain. To whom does that cat belong, Winnie? She's worth her weight in gold.'
"'I don't believe she belongs to anybody, papa; but I think she wants to belong to us, for she keeps coming and coming. May I have her for mine? I am sure mamma will say yes if you are willing.'
"'Why not?' said he. 'Run for a saucer of milk, and we will coax her in.'
"We who are acquainted with Furry-Purry's private history know how little coaxing was needed.
"As soon as the door was opened she walked in, and, laying the dead mole at Mr. Gay's feet, rubbed herself against his leg, purred gently, looked up into his face with her round bright eyes, and, in very expressive cat language, claimed him for her master. When he stooped to caress her, and praised and petted her for the good service she had rendered him, the happy creature rolled over and over on the soft carpet in an ecstasy of delight.
"Then Winnie clapped her hands for joy.
"'You are our own cat,' she said. 'You shall have sugar and cream to eat. You shall lie on Cæsar's silk cushion; and because you are yellow, and papa says you are worth your weight in gold, your name shall be Gold Elsie,'
"So Furry-Purry became a family cat.
"The first time she met Mrs. Velvetpaw after this change in her life, that excellent tabby looked at her with evident admiration.
"'How handsome you have grown!' said she; 'your eyes are topaz, your breast and paws are the softest velvet, your coat is spun gold. My dear, you are the belle of cats,'
"'Dear Mrs. Velvetpaw,' said Gold Elsie, 'my beauty and my prosperity I owe in large measure to you. But for your wise counsels I should still be a'—
"'Hush! don't speak the word. My dear, never again allude to your origin. It is a profound secret. You are received in the best society. Mrs. Silvercoat tells me it is reported that your master sought far and wide to find a worthy successor to King Cæsar, and that he esteems himself specially fortunate in that, after great labor and expense, he procured you. The ignorance you sometimes exhibit of the customs of genteel society is attributed to your foreign breeding.'
"'Mrs. Tabitha, I feel at times a strong desire to visit my old friends in the barn once more.'
"'Let me entreat you, my dear Miss Elsie, never again to think of it.'
"'But there is poor Mrs. Barebones almost gone with a consumption. I should like to show her some kindness.'
"'Her sufferings are ended. She has passed to the land of cats,'
"'Poor Mrs. Barebones! and Robber Grim? Do you happen to have heard any thing of him?'
"Silently Mrs. Tabitha beckoned her to follow, and, leading the way to the orchard, pointed to a sour-apple tree, where Gold Elsie beheld a ghastly sight. By a cord tied tightly about his neck, his jaws distended, his one eye starting from its socket, hung Robber Grim—stiff, motionless, dead.
"They hurried away, and presently Gold Elsie timidly inquired after her former playmate, Tom Skip-an'-jump.
"'Don't, my dear!' said Mrs. Velvetpaw; 'really, I can not submit to be farther catechized. If you are truly grateful to me, Elsie, for the service I have rendered you, and wish to do me credit in the high position to which I have raised you, you must, you certainly must, break every tie that binds you to your former life.'
"'I will, Mrs. Tabitha, I will,' said the little cat; and never again in Mrs. Velvetpaw's presence did she mention Tom Skip-an'-jump's name,"
"And didn't she ever see him again?" Nellie Dimock wanted to know. "I am sure there was no harm in Tom."
"Well, but you know she couldn't go with that set any more after she had got into good society," said Mollie Elliot.
"Mollie has caught Mrs. Velvetpaw's exact tone," said Florence Austin, at which all the girls laughed.
"Well, I don't care," Mollie answered; "she was a nice little cat, and deserved all her good fortune."
CHAPTER VI.
TOMMY TOMPKINS' YELLOW DOG.
"I have a letter to read to you this afternoon, girls," said Miss Ruth; "also the story of a yellow dog. The letter is from a friend of mine who spends her summers in a quiet village in Maine, in a fine old mansion overlooking green fields and a beautiful lake with hills sloping down to it on every side. Here is the letter she wrote me last June:—
"'We have come back again to our summer home—to the old house, the broad piazza, the high-backed chairs, and the blue china. The clump of cinnamon roses across the way is one mass of spicy bloom, and soon its fragrance will be mingled with that of new-mown hay. There is nothing new about the place but Don Quixote, the great handsome English mastiff. Do you know the mastiff—his lion-like shape, his smooth, fawn-colored coat, his black nose, and kind, intelligent eyes, their light-hazel contrasting with the black markings around them? If you do, you must pardon this description.
"'I am very fond of Don, and he of me. He belongs to our cousin, whose house is but one field removed from ours; but he is here much of the time. He evidently feels that both houses are under his protection, and passes his nights between the two. Often we hear his slow step as he paces the piazza round and round like a sentinel. He is only fifteen months old, and of course feels no older than a little dog, though he weighs one hundred and thirty pounds, and measures six feet from nose to tail.
"'He can't understand why he isn't a lap-dog, and does climb our laps after his fashion, putting up one hind leg and resting his weight upon it with great satisfaction. We have good fun with him out of doors, where his puppyhood quite gets the better of his dignity, and he runs in circles and fetches mad bounds of pure glee.
"'One day, lying in my hammock, with Don on the piazza at my feet, I put his charms and virtues together in verses, and I send them to you as the most succinct account I can give of my new pet. As I conned them over, repeating them half-aloud, at the frequent mention of his name Don raised his head with an intelligent and appreciative look. Here are the verses. I call them
DOG-GEREL.
Graceful and tall, with majestic mien,
Fawn-colored coat of the softest sheen,
The stateliest dog that the sun shines on,
Beautiful Don!
Chasing your tail at a game of tag,
Dancing a jig with a kitchen rag,
Rearing and tearing, and all for fun,
Frolicsome Don!
Looking your love with soft kind eyes,
Climbing our laps, quite forgetting your size;
With kissing and coaxing you never are done,
Affectionate Don!
Stalking all night piazza and yard,
Sleepless and watchful, our sentinel guard,
Squire of dames is the name you have won,
Chivalrous Don!
When the Bible is opened you climb to your place,
And listen with solemn, immovable face,
Nor frolic nor coax till the chapter is done,
Devotional Don!
Devotional, faithful, affectionate one,
If owning these virtues when only a pup,
What will you be when you are grown up?
Wonderful Don!'
"And now by way of contrast," said Miss Ruth as she folded the letter, "I have a story to tell you of a poor little forlorn, homely, insignificant dog, of low birth and no breeding, which was picked up on the street by a boy I know, and which made for himself friends and a good home by seizing the first opportunity that offered to do his duty and protect the property of those who had taken him in. I have no doubt that Don Quixote, intelligent, faithful, kind, with not a drop of plebeian blood in his noble body, will fulfill all the expectations of his friends, and we shall hear of many a brave and gallant deed of his performing; but when you have heard what Tommy Tompkins has to tell, I think you will say that not even Don Quixote could have done himself more credit under the circumstances than
TOMMY TOMPKINS' YELLOW DOG.
"Tommy shall tell the story as he told it to me:—
"'Yes, marm, he's my dog. His name's Grip. My father paid five dollars for that dog. You look as if you thought he wasn't worth it; but I wouldn't take twice the money for him, not if you was to pay it over this minute. I know he ain't a handsome dog. I don't think yellow is a pretty color for a dog, do you? and I wish he had a little more of a tail. Liz says he's cur-tailed (Liz thinks it's smart to make puns), but he'll look a great deal better when his ear gets well and his hair grows out and covers the bare spots—don't you think so? But father says, "Handsome is that handsome does," and nobody can say but that our dog did the handsome thing when he saved over two hundred dollars in money and all mother's silver spoons and lots of other things from being stolen—hey, Grip? We call him Grip 'cause he hung on to that fellow so till the policeman got in to take him.
"'What fellow? Why, the burglar, of course. Didn't you read about it in the newspaper? There was a long piece published about it the day after it happened, with headings in big letters: "The house No. 35 Wells Avenue, residence of Thomas Tompkins, the well-known dealer in hardware, cutlery, etc., was entered last night by burglars. Much valuable property saved through the courage and pluck of a small dog belonging to the family." They didn't get that part right, for he didn't belong to us then. You just wait, and I'll read the whole piece to you. I've got it somewhere in my pockets. You see, I cut it out of the paper to read to the boys at school.
"'You'd rather I told you about it? Well. Lie down, Grip! Be quiet! can't you? He don't mean any thing by sniffing round your ankles in that way; anyhow, he won't catch hold unless I tell him to; but you see, ever since that night he wants to go for every strange man or woman that comes near the place. Liz says "he's got burglars on the brain."
"'I guess I'll begin at the beginning and tell you how I came by him. One night after school I'd been down to the steamboat landing on an errand for father, and along on River Street there was a crowd of loafers round two dogs in a fight. This dog was one of 'em, and the other was a bulldog twice his size. The bulldog's master was looking on, without so much as trying to part 'em; but nobody was looking after the yellow dog: he didn't seem to have any master. Well, I want to see fair play in every thing. It makes me mad to see a fellow thrash a boy half his size, or a big dog chew up a little one. So I steps up and says to the bulldog's master, "Why don't you call off your dog?" but he only swore at me and told me to mind my own business.
"'Well, I know a trick or two about dogs, and I ran into a grocer's shop close by and got two cents' worth of snuff, and I let that bulldog have it all right in his face and eyes. Of course he had to let go to sneeze; and I grabbed the yellow dog and ran. It was great fun. I could hear that dog sneezing and coughing, and his master yelling to me, but I never once held up or looked behind me till I was half-way up Brooks Street.
"'Then I set the yellow dog down on the sidewalk and looked him over. My! he's a beauty now to what he was then, for he's clean and well-fed and respectable looking; but then he was nothing but skin and bone, and covered all over with mud and dirt, and one ear was torn and one eye swelled shut, and he limped when he walked, and—well, never mind, old Grip! you was all right inside, wasn't you?
"'Well, I never dreaded any thing more in all my life than taking that dog home. Mother hates dogs. She never would have one in the house, though I've always wanted a dog of my own. I knew Liz would call him a horrid little monster, and Fred would poke fun at me—and, oh, dear! I'd rather have gone to the dentist's or taken a Saturday-night scrub than go into that dining-room with Grip at my heels.
"'But it had to be done. They were all at supper, and mother took it just as I was afraid she would. If she only would have waited and let me tell how I came by the dog, I thought maybe she would have felt sorry for the poor thing; but she was in such a hurry to get his muddy feet off the dining-room carpet that she wouldn't listen to a single word I said, but kept saying, "Turn him out! turn him out!" till I found it was no use, and I was just going to do as she said when father looked up from his supper, and says he: "Let the boy tell his story, mother. Where did you get the dog, Tommy?" "'We were all surprised, for father hardly ever interfered with mother about us children—he's so taken up with business, you know, he hasn't any time left for the family. But I was glad enough to tell him how I came by the dog; and he laughed, and said he didn't see any objection to my keeping him over night. I might give him some supper and tie him up in the shed-chamber, and in the morning he'd have him taken round to Police-station C, where, if he wasn't claimed in four days, he'd be taken care of.
"'I knew well enough how they'd take care of him at Station C. They'd shoot him—that's what they do to stray dogs without any friends. But anyhow, I could keep him over night, for mother would think it was all right, now father had said so. So I took him to the shed-chamber and gave him a good supper,—how he did eat!—and I found an old mat for him to lie on, and got a basin of warm water and some soap, and washed him as clean as I could and rubbed him dry, and made him warm and comfortable: and he licking my hands and face and wagging his stump of a tail and thanking me for it as plain as though he could talk.
"'But oh, how he hated to be tied up! Fact is, he made such a fuss I stayed out there with him till past my bed-time; and when at last I had to go I left him howling and tugging at the string. Well, I went to sleep, and, after a while, I woke up, and that dog was at it still. I could hear him howl just as plain, though the shed-chamber was at the back of the house, ever so far from my room. I knew mother hadn't come upstairs, for the gas was burning in the halls, as she always turned it off the last thing; and I thought to myself: "If she hears the dog when she comes up, maybe she'll put him out, and I never shall see him again." And before I knew what I was about I was running through the hall and the trunk-room, and so out into the shed. It was pitch dark out there, but I found my way to Grip easy enough by the noise he made when he saw me; and it didn't take long to untie the string and catch him up and run back with him to my room. I knew he would be as still as a mouse in there with me. You were lonesome out there in the shed, weren't you, Grip?
"'What would mother say? Well, you see, I meant to keep awake till she came upstairs and tell her all about it; but I was so tired I dropped asleep in a minute, and the first thing I knew I was dreaming that I was running up Brooks Street with Grip in my arms, and the bull-dog close after us, and just as he was going to spring mother screamed, and somebody kept saying, "'St, boy! 'st, boy! stick to him, good dog! stick to him!" And then I woke up, and mother really was screaming, and 'twas Fred who was saying, "Stick to him! stick to him!" And the gas was lit in the hall, and there was a great noise and hubbub out there, and I rushed out, and there was a man on the floor and the yellow dog had him by the throat. Father stood in the door-way with his pistol cocked, and he said in a quiet kind of way (just as father always speaks when he means business): "If you stir you are a dead man!" But I should like to know how he could stir with that grip on his throat!
"'Then there came a banging and ringing at our front door, and Fred ran to open it, and in rushed our policeman—I mean the one that takes our street on his beat. He had heard the noise outside, you see, and, for a wonder, was on hand when he was wanted; and he just went for that fellow on the floor and clapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists as quick as you could turn your hand over; and when he got a look at him he says: "Oh, it's you, Bill Long, is it? We've been wanting you for some time at the lodge (that was his name for the police-station). Well, get up and come along!"
"'But I called the dog off.
"'We didn't one of us go to bed again that night. Father and Fred looked through the house, and father said it was the neatest piece of work in the burglary line he ever saw done—real professionals, they were. There was two of 'em. They'd taken plenty of time. The forks and the spoons and the two hundred dollars in money was all done up in neat packages, and they'd been through father's desk and the secretary drawers; and they'd had a lunch of cold chicken and mince-pie, and left the marks of their greasy hands on the best damask napkins Bridget had ironed that day and left to air by the kitchen range. And then, you see, while one stayed below to keep watch, the other went up to finish the job; and he would have finished it, too, and both would have got away with all the things if it hadn't have been for that dog. Look at him! will you? I believe he understands every word I say as well as you do.
"'Well, right at the door of father's room, Grip took him. How did he lay the fellow on his back? We suppose he was creeping into the room on his hands and knees,—they often do, father says,—and the dog made a rush at him in front and gripped him in the throat, and the weight of the dog threw him backward; and once down, Grip kept him there—see?
"'Next morning at breakfast father said: "Tommy, how came the dog in the upper hall last night? I told you to tie him up in the shed-chamber." Then I had to own up, and tell how I went late in the evening and brought him to my room because he howled so. I said I was real sorry, and father said he would try to forgive me, seeing it all turned out well, and if Grip hadn't been there we should have lost so much money. And says I: "Father, don't you mean to take him round to Station C this morning?" "No, I don't," says father. Then mother said she didn't know but she'd about as soon lose the silver as to keep such a dog as that in the house, and Fred said if I must have a dog, why didn't father get me a black-and-tan terrier—"or a lovely pug," says Liz; and between 'em they got me so stirred up I didn't know what to do. I said I didn't want a black-and-tan, and I'd throw a pug out of the window! And if nobody wanted to keep Grip, we'd go off together somewhere and earn our living, and I guessed the next time burglars got into the house and carried off all the money and things because we weren't there to stop 'em, they'd be sorry they 'd treated us so. Then I looked out of the window and winked hard to keep from crying. Wasn't I a silly?
"'For they were only teasing me, and every one of them wanted to keep Grip. Well, that's all. No, it isn't quite all either; for one morning a man came to the house and wanted to see father—horrid man with a red face and a squint in one eye. I remembered him right away. He was one of the crowd looking on at the dog-fight down in River Street. He said he'd lost a dog, a very valuable dog, and he'd heard we'd got him. Father asked what kind of a dog, and he said yellow, and went on describing our Grip exactly, till I couldn't hold in another minute for fear father would let him have the dog. So I got round behind father's chair and whispered: "Buy him, father! buy him!"
"'Fred called me a great goony, and said if I'd kept still father could have got the dog for half what he paid for him. Just because Fred is sixteen he thinks he knows every thing, and he's always lording it over me. He says I'll never make a business man—I ain't sharp enough. But I think five dollars is cheap enough for a dog that can tackle a burglar and scare off tramps and pedlars—don't you?'"
CHAPTER VII.
ONE DAY IN A MODEL CITY.
"I will tell you, to-day," said Miss Ruth, after the members of her Society were quietly settled at their work, "about a race of little people who lived thousands and thousands of years ago. When the great trees were growing, out of which the coal we use was made, this race inhabited the earth as they do now in great numbers. We know this because their bodies are found perfectly preserved in pieces of coal and amber. Amber, you know, is a kind of gum that drops from certain trees and hardens, becoming very transparent and of a pretty yellow color. It is supposed that the little creatures found imbedded in it came to their death in running up the trunks of these trees, their feet sticking in the soft gum, and drop by drop trickling down on them till they were fast imprisoned in a beautiful transparent tomb.
"I remember seeing once at a museum a small black ant preserved in amber, and he looked so natural and lifelike, so like the ants we see running about to-day, that it was hard to realize that he came to his death so long, so very long ago; in fact, before this earth of ours was ready for the creation of man. What strange sights those little bead-eyes of his must have seen!
"When our ancestors were rude barbarians, living in caves and in holes they dug in the ground, the little people dwelt in cities built with wonderful skill and ingenuity; and while our forefathers were leading a rude, selfish life,—herding together, it is true, but with no organized government or fixed principles of industry and good order, living each one for himself, the strong oppressing the weak,—the little folks were ruled by a strict civil and military code. They lived together as brethren, having all things in common—were temperate, cleanly, industrious, civilized.
"Well, there are plenty of their descendants living all about us to-day, and I want you to become better acquainted with them, for they are very wise and cunning in their ways. Whenever you cross a meadow, or even when you are walking on the public road, unless you take heed to your steps, the chances are that you set your foot more than once on a little heap of loose sand that we call an ant-hill. The next time you discover the accident—I am sure you will not do it on purpose—wait a few moments and see what will happen. What you have done is to block up the main entrance to an underground city, sending a quantity of loose earth down the avenue, which the inhabitants must at great labor remove.
"Let us hope none of the little people were at that instant either leaving or entering the city by that gate, for if so, they were either killed outright or badly hurt. Soon you will see one and another citizen pushing his way through the débris, running wildly and excitedly about, as though greatly frightened and distressed at the state of things. Then more carefully surveying the ruins, apparently consulting together as to what is best to be done, until, a plan of action having been devised and settled upon, if you wait long enough, you will see a band of workers in an orderly, systematic manner begin to repair the damage. All this happens every time you tread on an ant-hill. If a passing animal breaks down the embankment,—a horse or a cow,—of course the injury done is much greater. In such a case every worker in the city is put to hard labor till the streets are cleared, the houses rebuilt, and all traces of the disaster removed.
"I am sure you will be interested to know what goes on from morning till night in one of these ant-cities, and I have written out on purpose to read to you this afternoon an account of one day's proceedings. I call my paper
LIFE IN AN ANT-HILL; OR, ONE DAY IN A MODEL CITY.
"At sunrise the doors and gates were opened, and every body was awake and stirring, from the queen in her palace to the servants who brought in the meals and kept things tidy about the houses; and then, in accordance with a good old custom handed down from generation to generation, the first thing every body did on getting out of bed was to take a bath. Such a washing and scrubbing and sponging off and rubbing down as went on in every house, you can imagine. It made no difference what kind of work one was going about,—plastering, brick-laying, or digging of ditches,—like a sensible fellow, he went fresh and clean to it every day.
"Of course the queen-mother and the little princes and princesses, with a palace full of servants to wait on them, had all these offices of the toilet performed for them; but what do you think of common working folks going about from house to house to help each other wash up for the day? Fancy having a neighbor step in bright and early to wash your face and hands for you, or give you a sponge-bath, or a nice dry rub!
"After the wash came milking-time. Now, all the cows were pastured outside the city, and the servants who had the care of them hurried off as fast as they could, because the milk was needed for breakfast, especially for the babies. A beautiful road led to the milking-ground, broad and level, and so clean and well kept that not a stick or stone or rut or mud-hole was to be found in it from beginning to end. And this was true of all the streets and avenues, lanes and alleys, about the city.
"I don't know how they managed to keep them in such good condition—whether they appointed street commissioners or a committee on highways; but I wish those who have the care of the roads in Greenmeadow would take a lesson from them, so that two little girls I know needn't be kept from church so many Sundays in the spring because the mud is deep at the crossings.
"But I must tell you about the cows. There were a great many of them quietly feeding in their pleasant pasture, and they were of several different kinds. I don't know by what names their masters called them, but I do know these gentle creatures were to them just what the pretty Alderneys and Durhams are to us, and that they were treated with all the kindness and consideration the wise farmer gives to his domestic animals. There was one kind, a little white cow with queer crooked horns and quite blind. These they made pets of, not putting them out to pasture with the rest of the herd, but allowing them to walk the streets and go in and out of the houses at their pleasure, treating them much as we treat our cats and dogs.
"While the milking was going on, every cow was stroked and patted and gently caressed, and the good little creatures responded to this treatment by giving down their milk without a kick or a single toss of the horns. Such nice milk as it was—as sweet and as rich as honey! and the babies who fed on it got as fat as little pigs.
"By the time breakfast was over, the sun was well up, and all in the city went about the day's business. There was much building going on, for the place was densely populated and was growing rapidly. Great blocks were rising, story upon story, every part going on at the same time, with halls and galleries and closets and winding staircases, all connected and leading into each other, after a curious and wonderful fashion. Of course it took a great many workmen to construct these buildings—carpenters, masons, bricklayers, plasterers, besides architects and engineers; for the houses were all built on scientific principles, and there were under-ground passages to be built that required great skill and practical knowledge in their construction.
"The mortar and bricks were made outside the city gates, and all day gangs of workers journeyed back and forth to bring in supplies. They were hurrying, bustling, busy, but in good order and at perfect understanding with each other. If one stopped to exchange greetings with an acquaintance, to hear a bit of gossip perhaps, or to tell the latest news, he would pick up his load in a great hurry and start off at a round trot, as though he meant to make up for lost time. More than one overburdened worker was eased of a part of his load, some good-natured comrade adding it to his own. Thousands of bricks and as many loads of mortar were brought into the city by these industrious people every day, and their work was done quietly, thoroughly, and with wonderful quickness and precision.
"All this while there was plenty of indoor work going on; and the queen's body-guard, the babies' nurses, the attendants on the princes and princesses, the waiters and tenders, the sweepers and cleaners—all were as busy as you please. It was a pretty sight to see the nurses bring the babies out-of-doors for a sun-bath. The plump little things—some of them wrapped in mantles of white or yellow silk, others with only their skins to cover them—were laid down in soft spots on the grass, where they were watched with the tenderest care by their foster-mothers. If they were hungry, they had but to open their mouths and there was plenty of food ready for them. If so much as a breath of wind stirred the grass, or a little cloud obscured the sun, every nurse snatched a baby and scampered back with it to the nursery, lest it should take cold.
"At noon the queen, attended by her body-guard, made a royal progress through the city. She was of a portly presence, had pretty silky hair, and was dressed plainly in dark velvet. The little princesses wore ruffles and silk mantillas, of all the colors of the rainbow; but the queen-mother had far more important business to attend to than the adornment of her person, and in her self-devotion to her commonwealth had long ago, of her own free will, laid aside flounces and furbelows. What a good motherly body she was! and how devoted her subjects were to her! Every-where she went she was followed by an admiring crowd. No home was too humble for her to enter, and under each roof she was received with the liveliest demonstrations of loyalty and delight. The happy people thronged about her. They skipped, they danced, they embraced each other in their joy. At times it was hard to restrain them within proper bounds of respect to the royal person; but the guard well understood their duties. They watched her every step, shielding and protecting her with respectful devotion. They formed a barrier about her when she rested, offered her refreshment at her first symptom of weariness, and presently conducted her in regal state back to the palace, hastening her progress at the last, that she might be spared the sight of a sad little cavalcade just then approaching the gate.
"There had been an accident to the workers employed in excavating an under-ground road. A portion of the earth-works had caved in, and two unfortunates had been buried in the ruins. Their companions, after hours of arduous and indefatigable labor, had succeeded in recovering the bodies, and were bringing them home for burial; while a third victim—still living, but grievously crushed and wounded—was borne tenderly along, with frequent stoppages by the way as his weakness required. A crowd of sympathizing neighbors and friends went out to meet the wonderful procession. Strong, willing arms relieved the weary bearers of their burden, and the sufferer was conveyed to his home, where his poor body was cleansed, and a healing ointment of wonderful efficacy and power applied to his wounds. Meanwhile the corpses were decently disposed outside the gates, awaiting burial; graves were prepared in the cemetery, and at sunset the funeral took place.
"But the day was not to end with this sad ceremony; for at twilight a sentinel ran in with the glad news that two well-beloved citizens, sent on an embassy to a distant country, and who had remained so long away that they had been given up for dead, were returning: in fact, were at that moment coming up the avenue to the gate. Then was there great rejoicing, the whole city turning out to welcome them; and the poor travelers, footsore and weary, and ready but now to lie down and die by the road-side, so spent were they by the perils and hardships they had undergone, suddenly found themselves within sight of home, surrounded by friends, companions, brothers, who embraced them rapturously, praising them for their fortitude and bravery, pitying their present weakness, caressing, cheering, comforting them. So they were brought in triumph back to their beloved city, where a banquet was prepared in honor of their return.
"So general and engrossing was the interest felt in this event, that a public calamity had well-nigh followed. The attendants on the princes and princesses (usually most vigilant and faithful), in the excitement of the occasion, forgot their charge, and the young folks instantly seized the opportunity to rush out of the city by a side gate; and when they were discovered were half-way across the meadow, and making for the wood beyond. In this wood (very dark and dreary) great danger, possibly death, would have overtaken them; but the silly things, impatient of the wholesome restraint in which, by order of the government, they were held till they should arrive at years of discretion, thought only of gaining their freedom, and were pushing on at a great pace, frisking and frolicking together as they went. They were, however, seen in time to avert the catastrophe, speedily brought back to duty, and given decidedly, though respectfully, to understand that, though scions of a royal race, they were still to consider themselves under tutors and governors.
"Then all was quiet. The gates were closed, the good little people laid themselves down to sleep, the sentinels began their watch, and night settled down upon the peaceful city. Presently the moon rose, lighting its single shapely dome, the deserted road lately trod-den by so many busy feet, and the dewy meadow where the cattle were resting.
"And now I wish we might say goodnight to the simple, kindly people whose occupations we have followed for a day, leaving them in the assurance that many such days were to follow, and that they were long to enjoy the peace and prosperity they so richly deserved. How pleasant to think of them building their houses, tending their flocks, taking care of the little ones, waiting upon their good queen, in the practice of all those virtues that make a community happy and prosperous! But, alas! this very day the chieftains of a neighboring tribe had met and planned an assault upon this quiet city that was to result in great loss of property and life, and of that which to them was far more precious than either.
"There was not the shadow of an excuse for the invasion. The hill people—a fierce, brave tribe, trained under a military government, and accustomed to fighting from their youth—had no quarrel with the citizens of the plain, who had no mind to fight with their neighbors or to interfere with any one's rights. But the hill people were slave-holders, and, whenever their establishments wanted replenishing, they sent out an army to attack some neighboring city; and if they gained the victory (as they were pretty sure to do, for they were a fierce, brave race), they would rush into every house in the city and carry off all the babies they could find, to be brought up as slaves.
"And this is what they had planned to do to the pretty city lying asleep in the moonlight on a July evening.
"They started about noon—a large body of infantry, making a fine show; for they wore polished armor as black as jet, that shone in the sun, and every one of them carried a murderous weapon. The advance guard was made up of the biggest and bravest, while the veterans, and the young soldiers who lacked experience, brought up the rear.
"They had a long wearisome march across a rocky plain and up a steep hill. Then there was a river to cross, and on the other side a stretch of desert land, where the hot sun beat upon their heads, and where it must have been hard to keep up the rapid pace at which they marched. But they pressed on, and woe to him who stumbled and fell! for not a soldier was allowed to stop an instant to help his fallen comrade. The whole army swept on and over him, and there was no straggling from the close ranks or resting for one instant till the day's journey was accomplished.
"The last stage of the journey was through a dreary wood. Here they were exposed to many unseen dangers. Beasts of prey sprang out upon and devoured them. A big bird swooped down and carried aloft some poor wretch whose fate it was to fill the hungry maw of a baby bird. And many an unfortunate, getting entangled in a soft gray curtain of silk that hung across the path, struggled vainly to extricate himself, till the hairy monster which had woven the snare crept out of his den and cracked his bones and sucked the last drop of his blood.
"It was night when, weary and dusty, the army reached the borders of the wood. But they forgot both their fatigue and their losses by the way when they saw before them in the middle of a green meadow, its dome glittering in the light of the setting sun, the pretty, prosperous city they had braved all these dangers to rob.
"They rested that night, but were on the march soon after sunrise. A few rushed forward to surprise the sentinels on guard, while the main body of the army advanced more slowly, in solid phalanx, their brave coats-of-mail catching the early rays of the sun.
"Meanwhile the peaceful inhabitants, all unconscious of coming disaster, pursued their usual occupations—waiting on the queen-mother, milking the kine, building houses, cleaning the streets. Then came the alarm: 'The foe is at the gate!' and you should have seen of what brave stuff the little folks were made; how each one left his occupation or dropped his implement of labor, and from palace, hall, and hut, ran out to defend the beloved city. Only the queen's body-guard remained and a few of the nurses left in charge of the babies.
"And it was wonderful to mark how their courage gave them strength. Their assailants were of a taller, stronger race than they; but the little folks had the advantage in numbers, were quiet and light in their movements, and possessed a double portion of the bravery good patriots feel in the defence of the commonwealth.
"They threw themselves face to face and limb to limb upon their assailants. With their living bodies they raised a wall across the track of the army, and, as they came once and again, and yet again, they drove them back. Hundreds were slain at every onslaught, but hundreds instantly filled their places. There were plenty of single combats. One would throw himself upon his antagonist and cling there till he was cut in pieces and fell to the ground, and another and another would spring to take his place to meet the same fate. Dozens fought together—heads, legs, and bodies intertwining in an indistinguishable mass, each held in a savage grip that only loosened in death. A dozen devoted themselves to certain death for the chance of killing a single antagonist. Surely such desperate bravery, such generous heroism, deserved to gain a victory!
"But there was a sudden rush, a break in the ranks, and, lo! the little people were running back to the city,—back in all haste,—if, by any possibility, they might save from the victor's clutch the treasures they prized most. But what availed their efforts? The enemy was close behind them, forcing their way through the main entrance and the side gates, till the whole army was pouring into the devoted city.
"Can you imagine the scene that followed? The queen-mother and the young princes and princesses were left undisturbed in their apartments, but into every other house in the city, the rude soldiers rushed, searching for the poor babies. Many of them their nurses had hidden away, hoping that in the confusion their hiding-places would not be discovered; but the cunning fellows—old hands some of them at the business—seemed to know just where to look. Hundreds and hundreds of little ones were captured that day. The faithful attendants clasped and clung to them, suffering themselves to be torn in pieces before giving them up, but the sacrifice was in vain.
"The moon shone down that night upon a ghastly scene. The dead and dying strewed the ground, and the avenues leading to the city were choked with the slain. Hundreds of homes were made desolate, that only the night before were full of peaceful content.
"Meanwhile, the conquering army, laden with spoils, after another difficult and toilsome journey had reached their home. The captive babies were consigned to the care of slaves, procured long ago in a similar way, and who, apparently contented and happy, for they knew no other life, devoted all their energies to the service of their captors.
"Well, it is an old story. Ever since the world began the strong have oppressed the weak,—and ants or men, for greed or gold, will do their neighbors wrong."
"Well," said Mollie, as Miss Ruth laid down the last sheet of her manuscript, "if you hadn't told us beforehand that it was ants you were going to read about I should certainly have thought they were people. Don't they act for all the world just like folks? and who would ever think such little creatures could be so wise!"
"What I want to know," said Susie, "is, If the ant-cities are underground, how can any one see what goes on in them?"
"That is easily managed," Miss Ruth answered.
"A nest is taken up with a quantity of the earth that surrounds it, then it is cut down from the top—as you would halve a loaf of bread—and the divided parts are placed in glass cases made purposely to receive them. Of course, the little people are greatly disturbed for a time, and no wonder; but they soon grow accustomed to the new surroundings and go on with their every-day employments as if nothing had happened. The sides of the case make a fine firm wall for their city; they are furnished with plenty of food and building material, and soon they can be seen busy at work clearing their streets, building houses, feeding the babies, and quite contented and happy in their glass city. If, after months of separation, an ant from one half of the divided nest should be put into the other he would be recognized at once and welcomed with joy; but if a stranger were introduced he would be attacked and probably killed."
"We had a great time with the ants at our house last summer," said Eliza Jones: "little mites of red things, you know, and they would get into the cake-chest and the sugar-bucket, and bothered ma so she had to keep all the sweet things on a table with its legs in basins of water. They couldn't get over that, you see."
"Why not?" Mollie asked. "Can't they swim?"
"Ours couldn't; lots of them fell in the water and were drowned."
"Ants are usually quite helpless in the water," Miss Ruth said, "though a French writer who has made the little folks a study, tells a story of six soldier ants who rescued their companions from drowning. He put his sugar-basin in a vessel of water, and several adventurous ants climbed to the ceiling and dropped into it. Four missed their aim and fell outside the bowl in the water. Their companions tried in vain to rescue them, then went away and presently returned accompanied by six grenadiers, stout fellows, who immediately swam to their relief, seized them with their pincers and brought them to land. Three were apparently dead, but the faithful fellows licked and rubbed them quite dry, rolling them over and over, stretching themselves on them, and in a truly skillful and scientific manner sought to bring back life to their benumbed bodies. Under this treatment three came to life, while one only partly restored was carefully borne away. 'I have seen it' is Du Pont de Nervours's comment on what he thinks may be considered a marvelous story, though it seems no more wonderful to me than many well-attested facts in the lives of the little people."
"It's all wonderful," Susie said. "It seems as though they must think and reason and plan just as we do. Don't you think so, Auntie?"
"Indeed I do, Susie. One who has long studied their ways ranks them next to man in the scale of intelligence, and says the brain of an ant—no larger perhaps than a fine grain of sand—must be the most wonderful particle of matter in the world."
"But they can't talk, Auntie?"
"I am not so sure of that. Their voices may be too fine and high-pitched for our great ears to hear. I fancy there is a deal of conversation carried on in the grass and the bushes and the trees, that we know nothing about."
"How funny! What did you mean, Auntie, when you said the queen laid off all her flounces and furbelows."
"I was rather fancifully describing her wings, dear, which she takes off herself when she enters the nest, having no further use for them. There are three kinds of ants in every nest: perfect males and females, and the workers. There are many different races of ants, from the great white ant of Africa—a terror to the natives, though in some respects his good friend—down to the little red-and-yellow meadow ants so common among us. The ants I have told you about, the Rufians and the Fuscans, are natives of America, and are found in New England. The big black ant so common here, sometimes called the jet ant, is a carpenter and a wood-carver. His great jaws bore through the hardest wood, and his pretty galleries and winding staircases penetrate through the beams and rafters of many an old mansion. Not long ago I accidentally killed a carpenter ant, and in a few minutes a comrade appeared who slowly, and apparently with great labor and fatigue, bore away the body. I felt as though I were looking on at a funeral.
"I wish I had time to tell you about the agricultural ant of Texas, and the umbrella ants of Florida, who cut bits of leaf from the orange-trees and march home with them in procession, holding each leaf in an upright position. Fancy how odd they must look! But we have talked long enough for this time about the little people, and I am sure you all agree with King Solomon that they are 'exceeding wise.'"
"I never will step on an ant-hill again if I can possibly help it," said Susie. "It's too bad to make those hard-working folks so much trouble.
"And I mean to put my ear close down to the ground," said Nellie Dimock, "and listen and listen, so as to hear the ants talk to each other."
CHAPTER VIII.
THE STORY OF OLD STAR.
"Say, Sam!" said Roy Tyler, as the two boys were driving old Brindle home from pasture the next evening, "don't you wish she'd tell us some stories about horses? I'm tired of hearing about cats and ants."
"Well, I don't know," Sammy answered; "'twas funny about old Robber Grim. There's just such an old cat round our barn, catchin' chickens and suckin' eggs. I've fired more rocks at that feller—hit him once in the hind leg an' he went off limpin'."
"Well, I want a horse story, and I know she'd just as soon tell one as not, if somebody would only ask her. Those girls will be wantin' another cat story if we don't start something else. Girls always do like cats," said Roy, a little scornfully. "Say, Sam, you ask her, will you?"
"Why don't you ask her yourself?"
"Oh, I don't know. I tried to yesterday, but somehow I couldn't get it out."
"Well, I'll tell you what I will do," said good-natured Sammy. "You come round to-night after I get my chores done up, and we'll go together and have it over with."
"All right; I'll come," said Roy.
They found Miss Ruth alone, for it was Thursday night and the minister's family were at the prayer-meeting. The September evening was chilly, and she was sitting before an open fire.
"You do the talking," Roy whispered at the door, and accordingly Sammy, after fidgeting in his seat a little, opened the subject.
"Roy wants me to ask you," he began, and then stopped at a punch in the side from Roy's knuckles, and began again: "Me and Roy would like—if it wouldn't be too much trouble, and you'd just as soon as not—to have you tell us a horse story next time." Then in a loud whisper aside to Roy: "You did ask me! You know you did."
"Well, you needn't put it all on me, if I did," Roy answered, in the same tone.
Miss Ruth appeared not to notice this by-play.
"A horse story," she said pleasantly; "yes, why not?"
"You see," Sammy continued, "we like to hear about cats well enough, and that ant battle was first-rate—I'd like to have seen it, I know; but Roy, he says the girls might be writin' notes askin' you to tell more cat stories and—and—well"—
"Yes, I see," she said; "too much of a good thing. Well, I will tell no more cat stories, and it shall be all horse next Wednesday. Will that suit you, Sammy? And Roy, do you like horses very much?"
"Yes, 'm," said Roy, bashfully.
"He says," said Sammy, rather enjoying the office of spokesman, "when he grows up he means to have a fast trotter. I'd like to own a good horse myself," continued Sam.
"I know a boy about your age," said Miss Ruth, "whose father gave him, for a birthday present, a Canadian pony; a funny looking little beast, not much larger than a big dog, but strong enough to carry double Herbert's weight."
"Like the Shetland ponies at the show?"
"Yes; but larger, and not so costly. He is a thick-set, shaggy fellow, always looking as if he were not half-groomed, with his coat all rough and tumbled, his legs covered with thick hair, his mane hanging on both sides of his neck, and his forelock always getting into his bright little eyes."
"What color?" said Roy.
"Dark brown; not handsome, but so affectionate and intelligent that you would love him dearly. He is as frolicsome as a kitten, and I laughed and laughed again to see him racing round the yard, hardly able to see for the shag of hair tumbling over his eyes, playing queer tricks and making uncouth gambols, more like a big puppy than a small horse. To be sure he has a will of his own, and has more than once—just for fun—thrown his young master over his head; but he always stands stock still till the boy is on his back again, and as Herbert says: 'It is only a little way to fall from his back to the ground.'"
"How fast will he go?" Roy asked.
"Fast enough for a boy to ride. From five to seven miles an hour, perhaps, and keep it up all day, if need be, for the Canadian horses have great strength and endurance. The last time I saw Herbert he told me a pretty story about Elf King."
"Is that his name?"
"Yes; isn't it a pretty name? Elf for fairy, you know, and King for the head of the fairies. But perhaps I am keeping you, boys. Is there any thing you ought to be doing at home?"
"No, no!" both answered together, and Sammy answered that he did up all his chores before he came away.
"Very well; then I will tell you about Elf King's visit to the blacksmith."
"Instead of next Wednesday?"
"Oh, dear, no! I have a long story for next Wednesday. This is very short, and doesn't count; is just a little private entertainment thrown in on our own account."
Roy, who had all this time sat uncomfortably on the edge of his chair, settled back, and Sammy made use of his favorite expression:—
"All right!"
"When Elf King came into Herbert's possession he had never been shod; but very soon he was taken to the village blacksmith and four funny little shoes fitted to his feet, which, when he was accustomed to, he liked very much.
"One day the blacksmith saw the pony trotting up to his shop without a halter. He supposed the little thing had strayed from home, and drove him off, and when he refused to go, threw stones at him to make him run away. But in a few moments back he came again. When the blacksmith went out a second time to drive him off he noticed his feet and saw that one shoe was missing. So he made a shoe, the pony standing by, quietly waiting. When the new shoe was fitted Elf King pawed two or three times to see if it felt comfortable, gave a pleased little neigh, as much as to say, 'Yes, that's all right; thank you!' and started for home on a brisk trot.
"Think how surprised and pleased Herbert was when he went to the stable to ride Elf King to the blacksmith's, to find that the sharp little pony had taken the business into his own hands."
"I tell you," said Roy, "that's a horse worth having. What do you suppose that boy would take for him?"
"More money than you could raise in a hurry," said Sammy. "Miss Ruth, if you had a horse now that jibbed, would you lick him?"
"That jibbed," she repeated doubtfully.
"Why, yes; stopped in the road, you know; wouldn't go."
"Oh, yes; now I understand. No, indeed, Sammy! If I had a horse that—jibbed, I should be very patient with him and try to cure him of the bad habit by kindness. I should know that beating would make him worse."
"Well, that's what I think, and the other day pa and I were huskin' corn in the barn, and there was a horse jibbed on our hill, and the driver got down and licked him with the butt end of his whip, and kicked him with his great cowhide boots, and I asked pa if I might take out a measure of oats and see if I couldn't coax that horse to take his load up the hill—you see pa owned a jibber once and I knew how he used to manage him. And pa said I might, only I'd better look out or the fellow would use me as he was usin' the horse. But I wasn't afraid, for he was half-drunk, and I knew I could clip it faster'n he could.
"Well, sir, I went out there and I stood around a while, and says I, 'What'll you bet I can't get your horse to the top of the hill?' And he said he wouldn't bet a red cent. 'Well,' says I,'will you let me try just for fun?' and he said, 'Yes, I might try all day if I wanted to.' And I got him to stand one side, where the horse couldn't see him, and I went up to the horse's head and stroked his nose and gave him a handful of oats, just a little taste, you know, and when he was kind of calmed down I went a ways ahead holdin' out the measure of oats, and if that horse didn't follow me up that hill just as quiet as an old sheep, and the man he stood by and looked streaked, I tell you!"
Sammy told his story with considerable animation and some forcible gestures.
"That was well done," said Miss Ruth, "and I hope the cruel fellow profited by the lesson you gave him. I don't think I'm naturally vindictive, but when I see a man beating a horse I find myself wishing I was strong enough to snatch the whip from him and lay it well about his own shoulders. But come, boys, the fire is down to coals—just right for popping corn. Sammy, you know the way to the kitchen. Ask Lovina for the corn-popper and a dish, and, Roy, you'll find a paper bag full of corn in the cupboard yonder. Quick, now, and we'll have the dish piled by the time Susie and Mollie are back from meeting."
"Haven't we had a gay old time," said Roy, on the way home, "and ain't you glad I put you up to coming, Sam Ray?" And Sammy admitted that he was.
"Now, girls and boys," said Miss Ruth, on the next Wednesday afternoon, "I am going to take you on a long journey,—in fancy, I mean,—over the hills and plains and valleys, to the country of the Far West, with its rolling prairies and big fields of wheat and corn. You shall be set down in a green meadow, with a stream running through it, shallow and clear at this time of year, but a little later, when the September rains have filled it, rushing along full of deep, muddy water.
"Under a big oak in about the middle of the pasture you will find an old horse feeding. He is fat and sleepy looking, and has a kind face, and a white spot on his forehead. This is Old Star, Farmer Horton's family-horse. You may pat his neck and stroke his nose and feed him a cookie or a bit of gingerbread,—I am afraid the old fellow hasn't teeth enough left to chew an apple,—and then you may sit near him on the grass, and while I read aloud to you, fancy that he is talking, and, if you have plenty of imagination, you will get
THE STORY OF OLD STAR, TOLD BY HIMSELF.
"I hope nobody thinks I am turned out in this pasture because I am too old to work. Horses pass here every day drawing heavy loads, older by half a dozen years than I am, poor broken-down hacks too, most of them, while I—well, if it wasn't for a little stiffness in the joints and a giving out of wind, now and then, I can't see but what I'm as well able to travel as I ever was.
"The fact is, I never was put to hard work. There were always horses enough besides me on the place to do the farm work and the teaming—Tom and Jerry and the colt, you know; not Filly's colt: he died, poor thing, before he was a year old, of that disease with a long name that carried off so many horses all over the country: but a great shambling big-boned beast old master swapped a yoke of steers for, over to Skipton Mills. We called him Goliath, he was so tall: strong as an elephant, too: a powerful hand at a horse-rake and mowing-machine. Well, well, how time flies, to be sure! He's been dead and gone these five years, and Tom and Jerry, they were used up long ago—there's a deal of hard work to be done on a farm of this size, I can tell you; and as to Filly, she came to a sad end, for she got mired down in the low pasture, and had to be hauled out with ropes, poor critter, and died of the wet and the cold.
"Well, as I was saying, I never was put to hard work. I was born and raised on the place, and I do suppose—though I say it, who shouldn't—that I was an uncommon fine—looking colt, dark chestnut in color, and not a white hair on me except this spot in my forehead that gave me my name. When I was three months old, master made a present of me to his oldest boy on his sixteenth birthday, and every half-hour Master Fred could spare from his work, he used to spend in dressing down and feeding me and teaching me cunning tricks. I could take an apple or a lump of sugar from his pocket, walk down the slope behind the barn on two legs, with my forefeet on his shoulders, and shake hands, old master used to say, 'just like a Christian.'