UNIVAST
OF
THE LIBRARY








YOUNG JOE
AND OTHER BOYS
BY
J. T. TROWBRIDGE.
JLLUSTRATED.
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
10 MILK STREET NEXT " THE OLD SOUTH MEETING HOUSE"


COPYRIGHT,
1879,
By J. T. TROWBRIDGE.
All Rights Reserved.


81175
oy
CONTENTS.
YOUNG JOE.
PARIS
9
14
I. Wild Ducks,
II. Mr. BonwIG AT Bass Cove,
III. OFF TO THE ISLAND, .
IV. A COUPLE OF CRUSOES,
V. THE FATE OF THE CASTAWAYS,
22
36
50
SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO,
65
89
IIOW. EDGAR LEFT HOME, .
THE ONE-EYED HOSTLER'S STORY,
.
102
MY LOST POCKET-BOOK,
115
129
ANDY'S ADVENTURES, .
THE WOLF-HUNT, .
159
THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP, .
174
THE MISSING LETTERS. RICHARD BORDEN'S STORY, 190
THE DOMINIE'S WATCH,
215
BERT'S THANKSGIVING,
2+1
.
253
CARL ROBSON'S CHRISTMAS,
TOM CORTLAND'S GOLD WATCH,
THE WILD-CAT CLUB,
272
288
677469





YOUNG JOE.
I.
WILD DUCKS.
ON
NE day, a good many years ago, Young Joe
Scoville, of Bass Cove, went up to town to sell
some wild ducks he had shot.
Old Joe (that was his father) had said to him,
early in the season, “ When I see you come a-luggin'
home a couple o’ dozen ducks to oncet, then I'll let
you go and try your hand sellin' on 'em ;” and
Young Joe, having bagged that morning his two
dozen and upward, had now for the first time in his
life come alone to market.
And very proud was Young Joe, I assure you. He
drove smartly into the Square, and cried, “ Whoa !”
and “Here's yer nice fine ducks, gentlemen! walk
up, gentlemen !” and nodded respectfully to custom-
ers, and felt and acted very much like Old Joe, his
father.
9


10
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
He thouglit everybody appeared greatly pleased
with him. Some looked at bis freckled face, long
hair, and old coat that had been his father's (and
had seen I don't know how many Atlantic storms),
and smiled approvingly. Some appeared delighted
with his marmers so fresh and natural, you know.
Others regarded his little old one-horse wagon, and
queer little pony, — with his unkempt mane about
his face and eyes, which gave him a striking resem-
blance to Young Joe with his long hair, — as if they
had never seen anything so agreeable.
“What pleasant folks these city folks be!” thought
Young Joe.
“ Walk up, gentlemen, and take a look ! Don't
cost nothin' to take a look, whether ye buy or not !”
he called out. " How d'e do ?”
He said “How d'e do?" to about the handsomest,
best-dressed, and fattest man either he or anybody
else ever saw. He had a cane in his hand and a
cigar in his mouth, and was altogether a nice, plump,
shiny fellow, from his hat to his boots.
He did not say in reply, “ Pretty well, thank ye;
how are you?” as Joe, who had been taught good
manners at home, thought he ought to have done ;
but, with his hat tipped airily on one side of his
head, and his cigar sticking up jauntily out of one
corner of his mouth, he came along and looked
carelessly into the wagon.
“Hello !” said he, when he saw the ducks. He
took the cigar out of his mouth and said “Hel-lo!”


YOUNG JOE.
11
again, more emphatically than before, and looked
ap at Young Joe. “Where did you get these ?"
“ Shot'em ; where d'ye s'pose ?” said Young Joe,
proudly.
“You didn't shoot 'em ? - a boy like you !” said
the fat man.
Mabby I didn't,” replied Joe, indignantly ; " and
then, agin, malby I did; and it's a little more I did
than I didn't, this time, I guess !”
“ Bless my heart ! if I ain't surprised !”
Now the handsome and well-dressed plump gen-
tleman happened to be no other than Mr. Augustus
Bonwig, the confectioner, whose celebrated candy-
shop was well and favorably known to every good
boy and girl in town. He looked almost as if he had
been made of candy liimself — clear white and red,
and a great deal of it.
There was one thing he was remarkably good at,
but on which he did not pride himself at all, and that
his business. There was another thing he was
not so good at, but on which he naturally prided
himself a good deal (for that is the way with some
of us), and that was - gunning. He didn't care
whether you praised his sweetmeats or not; but if
you happened to say, Bonwig, people tell me
you are a fine shot,” that pleased Mr. Augustus
Bonwig.
It was this ambition of his which caused him to
regard Young Joe with sudden interest, and to ex-
claim again, very emphatically, after having examined
was


12
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
17
him and the lucks once more, “ Bless my heart now!
I am surprised !"
“Do- you — want-to-buy — them -- ducks ?"
demanded Young Joe, ungrammatically, but very
distinctly, beginning to distrust Mr. Bonwig. “If
you don't, you needn't feel obliged to handle 'em
any more, that's all.”
“No, I don't care to purchase; but I'll give some-
thing for a chance to shoot a few such birds," said
Mr. Bonwig - and blessed his heart again.
“Oh! that's it! Wal, you come down our way
some time, and I'll show ye a chance. Ye can shoot
as many black ducks and coots and old-wives as ye
can carry away on yer back. And I won't charge ye
nothin' for 't, neither. Takes gumption to git 'em,
though, sometimes !” said Joe.
“I guess if you can get 'em I can, fast enough !”
said the smiling Augustus. “Where do you live?”
66 Bass Cove. Ask for old Joe Scoville that's
my father. Stage-driver'll set ye down righit by
the door. Hope you'll bring a good gun.
got much of a gun, nor dad hain't, neither;- some-
times I take mine, and sometimes I take his'n, and
sometimes I take both; — flint-locks; miss fire half
the time; but we manage to make 'em do, seein'
we've got the hang o’ the ducks.'
This speech greatly encouraged Mr. Bonwig, who
thought that if such a green youth as Joe, with an
old flint-lock, could bag wild ducks at Bass Cove,
surely he, Augustus the sportsman, with his fine


YOUNG JOE.
13
double-barrelled fowling-piece and modern accoutre-
ments, must have great success there, and astonish
the natives at their own game.
He named an early
day for his visit, and already imagined himself shoot-
ing ducks by the dozen.
"'Arly in the mornin''s the best time for 'em,"
said Joe, who accordingly advised him to come down
the evening before, and stop overnight.
To this Mr. Bonwig agreed, and walked away in
fine spirits, with his hat on one side, swinging his
cane, and jauntily puffing his cigar. Then, having sold
his ducks for a good price, and bought a new fur cap
for winter wear, and a glass of very small beer for
immediate consumption, and a rattle for the baby,
and a paper of brown sugar for the family, all with
the duck-money, Young Joe turned about and drove
home, with a pretty good handful of small change
still jingling in his pocket.


14
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
II.
MR. BONWIG AT BASS COVE.
ONE evening, not long after, the stage-coach
rolled up to Old Joe's door at the Cove, and a stout
sporting gentleman got down over the wheel, from
the top, and jumped to the ground. It was Mr.
Augustus Bonwig, looking plumper than ever, in
his short hunting-jacket, and handsomer than ever,
to Young Joe's fancy, in his magnificent hunting-
boots (red-topped, trousers tucked into them), and
with the fine double-barrelled gun he carried.
"Oh, ain't that — !” exclaimed Joe, poising
the gun. He did not say what - no word in the
language seemed adequate to express the admira-
tion and delight with which he regarded the beauti.
ful fowling-piece. “And what boots them are for
wet walkin'! And hain't you got the splendidest
game-bag though! And what a huntin’-cap!. it
don't seem as though a man could miss a bird, that
wore such a cap as that! Come in,” said Joe, his
respect for Mr. Bonwig greatly increased, now that
he had seen him in such noble sporting rig. “Fa-
ther's to home. And I'll show you our guns
-old-
fashioned queen’s-arms, both on’em.”
“Bless my heart !” said Augustus, smiling. “Well
now, I am surprised !! You don't mean to say you
shoot ducks with those thitiys? Well, well, I am !”


YOUNG JOE.
15
“ My boy there,” said Old Joe, filling his pipe and
cocking his eye proudly at the youngster, “he'd
shoot ducks with 'most anything, I believe. He'd
bring 'em down with a hoe-handle, if he couldn't git
hold o' nothin' else. He's got a knack, sir; it's all in
havin' a knack."
And Old Joe, who had been standing with his back
to the fire, turned about and stooped to pick up a
small live coal with the tongs.
“ Then agin," — he pressed the coal into the bowl
of his pipe, and took a puff, “ ducks is” - puff,
puff — “puty plenty," — puff, - "and puty tame on
this here coast, about now.” And the old man, hav-
ing lighted his pipe, and replaced the tongs in tļie!
chimney-corner, stepped aside, to make room for
his wife.
Mrs. Joe swung out the old-fashioned crane, hung
the tea-kettle on one of the hooks, and swung it back
again over the fire. Then she greased the iron
spider, placed it on the coals, and made oth
pre-
parations for supper,
“ Sed down, sed down," said Old Joe ; and Mr.
Bonwig sat down. And the children crowded around
him, to admire his watch-chain and his red-topped
boots. And the amiable Augustus, who had come
prepared for such emergencies, pulled out of one
pocket one kind of candy, and another kind out of
another pocket, and still a third variety from a third
receptacle, and so on; for his hunting-suit seemed to
be literally lined with pockets, and all his pockets to


16
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
contain more or less of those celebrated sweetmeats
so well and so favorably known to the good boys
and girls in town. And Mr. Bonwig was pleased to
observe that human nature was the same every-
where; country boys and girls were like city boys
and girls, in one respect at least — all liked candy.
“Oh, ain't it good !” said Maggie.
“Prime ! I tell ye!” said Joe, who had his share,
of course.
“ Goodie, good !” said Molly.
“Goo, goo!” crowed the baby.
“Oh, my!" said Tottie.
And they all sucked and crunched, with cheeks
sticking out and eyes glistening, just like so many
children in town, for all the world. And Augustus
was happy, thinking just then, I imagine, of three or
four plump little darlings at home, of whom he was
very fond, and whom he never left for a single night,
if he could help it, unless it was to go on some such
glorious hunting frolic as this.
It was a poor man's kitchen. I don't think there
was a carpet or a table-napkin in the house; the
ceiling was low, the windows were small, the walls
smoky, and everything was as plain and old-fash-
ioned as could be. But Mr. Bonwig, nice gentlernan
as he was, appeared delighted. He prided himself
on his sportsman-like habits, and so the rougher he
found life down on the coast, the better. He ad-
mired the little smoky kitchen, he liked the fried
perch and cold wild duck for supper, and he was


YOUNG JOE.
17
charmed with the homely talk of gunning and fishing,
and storms and wrecks, which took up the evening,
and with the bed of wild-fowls' feathers on which he
passed the night.
The next morning Young Joe came to his bedside,
candle in hand, and awoke him, before dawn.
“ Hello!” said Mr. Bonwig, rubbing his eyes open.
“Hel-lo! I am surprised ! I was having such a
splendid time! I thought I was hunting ducks, and
I had got a whole flock in range of my two barrels,
and was waiting for a few more to light; but I was
just going to shoot, when you woke me. I wish I
had fired before !"
“Wal, you come with me, and mabby your dream 'll
come to pass,” said Young Joe, leaving him the
candle to dress by.
Mrs. Scoville was already cooking their breakfast;
“ for, like as not,” she said, “ they wouldn't be back
till noon, and they must have a bite of something to
start with."
Mr. Bonwig was sorry she had given herself so
much trouble ; but he afterwards, as we shall seo, had
good reason to be thankful that he had taken that
“ bite."
At daylight they set out, Mr. Bonwig with his fine,
stub-twist, two-barrelled fowling-piece, and Young
Joe with both the old queen's-arms, his own and his
father's.
Mr. Bonwig wished to know what the boy ex-
pected to do with two guns.
2


18
YOUNG JOE AND OTIER BOYS.
“ They may come handy; they 'most alluz does,"
said Joe.
“But I've my gun this time,” said Augustus;
" and I shall want you to carry the birds."
That was à somewhat startling suggestion ; but
Joe thought he would take both guns, nevertheless.
“ I ain't goin' to come in the way of your shootin';
but I'll jest take what you leave — though I don't
suppose that will be much," said he.
It was a cool autumn morning. The air was crisp
and exbilarating. The morning light was breaking,
through dim clouds, over land and sea. Joe led the
way over the short wet grass, and rocks and ledges,
of a rough hill back of the Cove. At last he pulled
the eager Augustus by the jacket, and said :
“ Be sly, now, clinbin' around them rocks yen-
der! There's a beach t'other side, and a little
stream o'water runnin' acrost it. Black ducks can't
git along, as some kinds can, with salt water alone;
they alluz have to go to fresh water to drink, and
we're apt to find 'em around Beach Brook here, 'fore
folks are stirrin'. 'Twas on this beach father shot
the twenty-five, to one shot, he told ye about last
night.”
“Was that a true story, Joe?” Augustus asked,
growing excited.
“ True as guns,” said Joe. “ Ye see, they all
gather in a huddle along by the brook, and you've
only to git in range of 'em, and let fly jest at the
right minute; sometimes there'll be à flock of a
-


YOUNG JOE.
19
see 'em?"
hundred, like as any way, and ye can't miss 'em all
if yo try.”
“I should think not !” said Mr. Bonwig, taking
long, noiseless strides in his hunting-boots, and hold-
ing bis gun in the approved fashion. “Only show
me such a chance !"
"I'll wait here in the hollow," said Joe.
66 You
crawl over the rocks, and look right down on the
beach before ye, and - By sixty! there's a flock
lightin' now !
• Bless my heart !” said Bonwig, in no little
trepidation.
He took the route Joe pointed out, and soon dis-
appeared behind the ledges. Then all was silence
for several minutes, while Joe waited to hear the
double report of the destructive fowling-piece, and
to see the frightened flock of ducks - or such as
were left of them after Mr. Bonwig's shot - fly up
again.
Bonwig in the mean time crept along behind a
pile of rocks Joe had described to him, and, looking
through an opening, saw a wonderful sight. Before
him spread the broad, smooth beach, washed by the
surf. There must have been a high wind off the
coast during the night, for the sea was roughi, and
long, heavy breakers came curling and plunging
magnificently along the shore. The morning clouds
were reddening over the agitated ocean, which faintly
reflected their tints.
But the sight whic!i most interested Mr. Augustus


20
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
Bonwig was the game that awaited lim. The brook,
which cut out afresh its channel across the beach as
often as the tide, which filled it with sand twice in
the twenty-four hours, recedeil, - the little brook,
from the rocks to the surf (it was now half tide), was
alive with ducks, and more were alighting.
Mr. Bonwig silently blessed his heart two or three
times -- and well he might, for it was beating with
very unsportsman-like rapidity at that exciting mo-
ment. His hands shook so that it was well that Joe,
if he was to retain his high respect for him as a
gunner, did not see them. In fact, Mr. Bonwig, who
fancied himself a sportsman because he had been
sometimes successful in firing at a mark, found this
a very different business.
He hardly knew whether he took aim or not. That
one barrel went off prematurely in the air is quite
certain. At the report, the like of which ducks
on that coast had made acquaintance with before,
and knew that it meant mischief, — the entire flock
of a hundred or more flew up at once, with a sudden
noise of wings which could be heard above the roar-
ing of the breakers. Then the other barrel went off.
Then Young Joe came running up in high glee, to
offer his congratulations and to help pick up the dead
birds. He looked, expecting to see the beach strewn
with them.
There wasn't a bird on the beach, dead or alive!
In atter amazement, Joe turned and looked at Mr.
Bunrig. That gentleman stood with his portly form


TCUXG JOE.
21
66
MY -
erect, his head thrown back, and his mouth and eyes
open, staring at the sky, into which his fine covey
of ducks were rapidly vanishing:
Well, well !” said he. Now, now! If I ain't
surprised ! Whoever saw anything happen like
that? BLESS
HEART!"
- Not a darned duck!” said Joe.
“Oh, I must have wounded some! I must have
wounded about twenty !” Augustus declared. He
looked critically at his gun; then he turned his gaze
once more at the sky; then he looked at Young Joe,
who was beginning to grin. “ I think my shot must
be too fine," said Mr. Bonwig.
Joe asked to see his lead.
66 'Tain't no finer in what I use. Feathers on a
loon's breast are so thick, them shot wouldn't go
through 'em ; have to fire at a loon's head when he's
facin' ye. But I don't see how ye could let fly
into a flock o’loons even without knocking over a
few."
“It's a very remarkable circumstance ! - very
singular ! — very surprising !” observed Mr. Bonwig,
wounded in his tenderest point, - his pride as in
sportsman, - and betraying a good deal of chagrin
and agitation. He was very much flushed. He took
off his cap and wiped his forehead. “Just let me
try that thing over again, that's all !"
“ Best way now will be to go off to the islan:),"
said Joe. “That's our dory. Just help me shove it
off, and we'll have some fun yet!”


22
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
III.
OFF TO THE ISLAND,
“Bless my heart!” said Mr. Bonwig, amazed at
the huge rollers that came tumbling in.
6. How are
we ever going to get a boat outside of them without
swamping her ?"
“ I'll show ye,” said Joe.
The dory was dragged down to the edge of the
surf. Then Joe put in the guns. Then he gave the
skiff another gentle shove, into a receding wave.
Then he told Mr. Bonwig to get aboard.
"I've a wife and children at home!” murmured
that affectionate husband and father.
“ If anything
should happen!”
“What in sixty ye think is goin' to happen ?”
cried Joe, impatiently.
“I am very heavy !” said Augustus.
“So much the better; you'll make splendid bal-
last," grinned Joe.
“You are going too ?”
Df course I am ; I hain't got no wife and children
not much !"
There was something in Joe that inspired confi-
dence, and Mr. Bonwig resolved to stand the risk.
He seated himself in the boat. Joe stood on the
beach, holding the bow, and waiting. The waves
were out.
27


YOUNG JOE.
23
“ You never can shove me off in the world !” said
Mr. Bonwig, painfully conscious of his own corpu-
lence.
“ You'll see,” said Joe. The next moment the
waves were in. A heavy swell lifted the dory, bal-
last and all. The ballast uttered a scream, and
made a motion as if to jump overboard. “Keep
yer seat. All right!” screamed Joe, pushing off.
As the next breaker lifted the stern, he gave another
shove, and jumped aboard. Before the third breaker
came, he had the oars in his hand, ready to meet it.
“ Well, well !” said Mr. Bonwig.
"I am sur-
prised !”
And well he might be; for, you see, this embark-
ing in the breakers is a business that calls for no
little skill and experience; you must take advantage
of them, and see that they don't get the advan-
tage of you. They have no mercy; and if they
strike your skiff sideways, over she goes in an in-
stant, and there she rolls to and fro in their foaming
jaws until they crunch her to pieces, unless some
strong hand at the right moment seizes and drags
her out.
Young Joe, first by skilfully pushing off, then
by prompt management of the oars, kept the dory
straight across the rollers, and soon had her safe
outside of them. Then he commenced rowing
strongly and steadily toward a rocky island, two or
three miles off, over the ends of which the sea was
dashing high and white.


24
YOUNG JOE AND OPIER BOYS.
Mr. Bonwig was seated in the stern, which he
freighted so heavily that the bow stuck up ludi-
crously liigh out of the water. He had now quite
recovered his equanimity.
“ Well ! I enjoy this!” said he, and lighted a ci-
gar. “ How easy this boat rows !”
" It does, to look on," said Joe.
“ I am surprised !”.said Mr. Bonwig. “I'd no
idea one of these little skiffs pulled so easy ?" and
he smoked complacently.
“How good that cigar tastes !” said Joe, with a
grin. “I had no idee cigars tasted so good !"
Young man,” replied Augustus, laughing, “I see
the force of your remark. Perhaps you think I
might offer to row. But I want to keep my nerves
steady for the ducks. I'll row coming back, and that
will be a good deal harder, for we shall have a load
of game, you know.”
"All right,” said Joe. “No, I thank ye,” — as
Bonwig offered him a cigar. “But if you happen
to have any more of that 'ere .. sweet stuff about
ye -
“Oh, to be sure !” and Augustus had the pleas-
ure of filling the young man's mouth with candy.
" What sort of ducks do we get at the island ?"
“ Coots and black ducks, mostly," said Joe, (and
I wish I could make the words sound as sweet on
paper as they did coming from his candied lips.)
“Black ducks go along the shore to feed when the
tide is low. They find all sorts of little live things


YOUNG JOE.
25
on the rocks and in the moss, and in them little
basins the tide leaves in holler places. They never
dive deep; they only jest tip up, like common ducks.
But some kinds will feed where the water is thirty
feet deep; they go to the bottom, and pick up all
sorts of insects and little critters. They pick young
mussels off the rocks, and swallow 'em whole, shell
and all, and grind 'em up in their gizzards."
“Do they catch fish?"
"No; loons ketch fish, but ducks and coots don't.
A loon has got short wings that help him swim
under water, — or fly under water, for that's what
it is. He'll go faster'n-some fishes. But he can't
walk; and he can't rise on the wing very well. He
has to flop along the water, against the wind, a little
while, 'fore he can rise. He can't rise goin' with
the wind, any more 'n a kite can; and sometimes,
when he lights in a small pond, he's pestered to git
out at all. I ketched one in Bemis's Pond last
spring. He was jest as well and spry as any loon
ye ever see, but there wasn't room for him to git
a good start, and no wind to help him; and he
couldn't run on the land, nor fly up from the land ;
and there wasn't any good chance to dive. A loon'l!
go down in deep water, and like as not ye won't see
anything more of him till by-'m-by he comes up a
quarter of a mile off, or mabby ye won't never see
him agin, — for he can swim with jest a little speck
of his body out of water, so that it takes a purty
sharp eye to git sight of him. But this loon in


26
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
Bemis's Pond couldn't come none o' them tricks,
and I jest stoned him till he couldn't dive, then I in
arter him, and ketched him. He was a fat feller, I
tell ye !”
“ That's a good loon story, I declare," observed
Mr. Bonwig:
“I can tell ye a better one than that,” said Joe.
“My father went a-fishin' off the end of that island
once, and as the fish wouldn't bite, and the sea was
calm, he jest put his lines out and laid down in the
bottom of the dory, and spread a tarpaulin over him,
and thought he'd go to sleep. That's a nice way to
sleep, — have yer boat at anchor, and it'll rock
ye like a cradle, only ye must be careful a storm
don't come up all of a suddent and rock ye over.
Ye can wind yer line around yer wrist, so’s't if a
cod does come and give it a yank, you'll wake up.
That's the way my father did. And he had a nice
long nap, when all at oncet -yank! suthin' had
holt. Off went the tarpaulin, and up he jumped,
and he thought he'd got a whopper, by the way it
run off with his line. But before he'd begun to pull,
the line slacked as if nothin' was on it; and the
next minute up come a loon close alongside the
boat, and looked at him, and my father looked at the
loon, and thought he noticed suthin' queer hangin'
out of his bill. Then the loon dove, and then my
father felt a whopper on his line agin, and he began
to pull, and, by sixty ! if he didn't pull up that loon
and bring him into the boat! He had dove I don't


28
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
Wal, a Coot is a silly bird -- jest like some folks,”
said Joe. “. Sometimes you may shoot one out of a
flock, and the rest will fly right up to you, or jest
stay right around, till you've killed 'em all.” Au-
gustus thought he would like to fall in with such a
flock. « There's some now !” said Joe. “ They're
goin' to the island. The sea runs so, we can't shoot
very well from the boat, and I guess we'd better land.”
Landing was easy under the lee of the island,
and the boat was hauled up on the beach. Then
Joe set out to guide his friend to the best point for
getting a shot.
“There !" said he, stopping suddenly near the
summit of a ledge, "ye can see 'ein down there,
about three rods from shore. Don't stir, for if they
see us we shall lose 'em."
“ But we must get nearer than this !” said Mr.
Bonwig, "for even my gun won't do execution at
this distance."
“ Don't you know?" Joe said. They're feedin'.
When you come acrost a flock of coots feedin' like
that, you'll notice they all dive together, and stay
under water as much as a minute; then they all
come up to breathe agin. Now, when they dive, do
as I do. There goes one down! there they all go.
Now !” cried Joe.
He clambered over the ledge as nimbly as a lad
could very well do, with an old “queen's arm" in
each hand, and ran down rapidly towards the shore,
off which the water-fowl were feeding.
He was


YOUNG JOE.
29
light of foot, and familiar with every rock. Not so
M:. Augustus Bonwig; he was very heavy of foot,
and unacquainted with the rocks.
" Bl-e-hess m-y-hy hea-ah-rt !” he exclaimed, jolt-
ing his voice terribly, as he followed Joe down the
steep, rough way.
“ Here! quick !" cried Joe, dropping behind
another ledge.
Poor Mr. Bonwig plunged like a porpoise, and
tumbled with a groan at the boy's side.
“ Flat! flat!" whispered Joe.
“ I can't make myself any flatter!” panted Augus-
tus, pressing his corpulence close to the ground.
" I've scraped off two buttons, and skinned my
shins, already."
“ You ain't quite so flat as a flapjack, be ye? ” said
Joe. 6 Never mind. We're all right." He peeped
cautiously over the ledge, cap in hand. “There
comes one of 'em up agin! There they all come!
Now look; be careful !" Bonwig put up his head.
“ Next time they go down we'll run for them big
rocks close by the shore; then we shall be near
enough."
" Is that the way you
do? Well, I am sur-
prised !” said Bonwig. “ As your father said, it
requires a knack.”
“ Thero they go!" cried Joe, and started to run.
Augustus started too, but stumbled on some stones
and fell. When with difficulty he had regained his
feet, Joe was safe in the shelter of the rocks, and
12


30
YOUNG JOE AND OTUIER BOYS.
the birds were coming to the surface again. It re-
quired no very fine eyesight to see Mr. Bonwig; he
was, in fact, quite a conspicuous object, clumsily
running down the craggy slope, with both arms
extended, — the better to preserve his balance, I
suppose, although they gave him the appearance or
a man making unwieldy and futile efforts to fly. The
coots saw him, and rose at once upon the wing.
"Bang!” “ Bang!" spoke Joe's old flint-locks
one after the other; for, liaving fired the first as the
flock started, he dropped that and levelled and fired
the second, almost before the last bird had cleared
the surface of the water.
“ Bang! bang!" answered Bonwig's smart two-
barrelled piece from the hillside; and the startled
Joe had the pleasure of hearing a shower of shot
rattle on the rocks all around him. The enthusiastic
sportsman, seeing the coots rise and Joe fire, and
thinking this his only chance at them, had let off
his barrels at a dozen rods, as he would very likely
have done at a quarter of a mile, so great was his
excitement on the occasion.
He came running down to the shore. 6 Hello!
hel-lo!" said he, "I've saved these! look there!"
And he pointed triumphantly at some birds which,
sure enough, had been left behind out of the flock.
“ By sixty !” grumbled Joe, “you come purty
nigh savin' me! Your shot peppered these rocks
- I could hear 'em scatter like peas !"


YOUNG JOE.
31
!
“Do you mean to say,” cried Bouwig, “that I
didn't kill these ducks?
“ All I mean to say is, they are the ones I fireri
at," said Joe, “and I seen 'em turn and drop 'fore
ever you
fired Your
gin
didn't
carry to the water
at all. I'll show ye."
Joe began to hunt,, and had soon picked up a
couple of shot of the size used by his friend Bon-
wig.
“ Bless my heart! Now I am surprised! The
wind must have blown them back!” said Augustus.
“ If that's the case," muttered Joe, “ I shall look
out how I git 'tween you and the wind another time!
By sixty! ye might have filled me as full of holes
as a nutmeg-grater! Aud I rather guess there's
nicer sounds in the world than to have two big
charges o'shot come rattlin' about yer ears that
fashion !” And he rubbed his ears, as if to make
sure that they were all right.
“ Well, well, well!” said the wondering Augustus,
picking up more shot. “I am
“I am - surprised ain't the
word ; I'm astonished! Well, well, well !”
“You wait here,” said Joe, “while I hurry and
pick up
them coots. There's an eddy of wind tak-
in' 'em right out to sea.”
He disappeared, and soon Mr. Bonwig saw him
paddling around the curve of the shore in his dory.
Having taken the coots out of the water, he brought
them to land, and showed them to the admiring
Augustus.
91


32
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
“Now which way," said the sportsman, filled with
fresh zeal,
for I am bound to have luck next time."
“We'll haul the dory up here, and go over on the
other side of the island, and see what we can fini
there," said Joe.
“ What a desolate place this is !” said Mr. Bon.
wig, as they crossed the bleak ledges. “All rocks
and stones; not a tree, not a bush even; only here
and there a little patch of grass!” He struck a
schoolboy's attitude on one of the topinost ledges,
and began to declaim:
"I am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea,
I'm lord of the
9
Plenty of fowls, but there don't seem to be any
brutes here," he commented, as he came down from
his elevation.
“ Guess ye learnt that to school, too, didn't ye?”
said Joe.
“ Young friend, I did,” said Augustus. And he
proceeded to apostrophize the salt water:
66. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll!
Ten thousand
Thunder and blazes ! who'd have thought that rock
was so slippery ?” he said, finding himself sudden-
ly and quite unexpectedly in a sitting posture.
“ Speaking of fleets, what are all those sails, Joe ?"


YOUNG JOE.
33
66 But
“ Fishermen. Sometimes for days you won't see
scarcely one; then there 'll come a mornin' with a
fair wind, like this, and they'll all put out of port
together.”
“ Hello! hello!" said Augustus. 6 Who ever ex-
pected to see a house on this island ? What little
building is that?"
" It's one of the Humane Society's houses; house
of refuge they call it. They have 'em scattered
along the coast where ships are most likely to be
wrecked, and there's no other shelter handy."
"Nobody lives in it, of course ?"
“I guess not, if they can help it,” said Joe.
more ’n one good ship has gone to pieces on this island.
I remember one that struck here eight years ago.
She struck in the night, and the next mornin' we
could see her, bows up, on the reef yender, where
the tide had left her; but the sea was so rough there
was no gittin' at her in boats, and the next night she
broke up, and the day after nary spar of her was to
be seen, 'cept the pieces of the wreck that begun
to come ashore to the mainland, along 'ith the dead
bodies. About half the crew was drownded; the
rest managed to git to the island, but there wan't
no house here then, and they 'most froze to death,
for it was winter, and awful cold. Since then this
little hut has been tucked in here among the rocks,
where the wind can't very well git at it, to blow it
away ; and come when ye will, summer or winter,
you'll always find straw in the bunks, and wood in
3


31
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER DOYS.
the box, and matche: in a tin case, and a barrel of
hard bread, and a cask of fresh water. Only the
wood and hard bread are apt to get used up purty
close, sometimes. You see, fellers that come off
here a-fishin' know about it, and so when they git
hungry, they pull ashore with their fish, and come
to the house to make a chowder. But I wouldn't,"
said Joe, assuming a bighly moral tone, “ without
there was a barrel chock full of crackers ! For,
s'pose a ship should be wrecked, and the crew and
passengers should git ashore here, wet and hungry
and cold, and should find the house, and the box
where the wood should be, and the barrel where
the crackers should be, and there shouldn't be
neitlier wood nor crackers, on account of some
plaguy fellers and their chowder! No, by sixty !"
said Joe. “I wouldn't be so mean !"
" It looks naked and gloomy enough in here ! ”
said Augustus, as they entered.
“ It wouldn't seem so bail, though, to wet and hun-
gry sailors, some wild night in Janewary, after
they'd been cast away," said Joe. “Jest imagine
'em crawlin' in bere out of the rain and cold, and
startin' up a good, nice fire in the chimbly, and set-
tin' down afore it, eatin' the crackers !”
" How are the provisions supplied ?”
"Oh, one of the Humane Society's boats comes
around here once in a while, and leaves things. I
don't believe but what it would be fun to live here,"
22


YOUNG JOE.
35
Joe added, romantically, “ like Robinson Crusoe and
his Man Friday.”
“ Suppose we try it ?" said Mr. Bonwig. “I'll be
Crusoe, and you may be t'other fellow.”
“And we'll shoot ducks for a livin'!” said Friday.
6. Come on, Mr. Crusoe !"
They left the hut, and went in pursuit of game,
little thinking that accident might soon compel them
to commence living the life that was so pleasant to
joke about, more in earnest than either dreamed of
doing now. But the story of how that came to pass
will have to be related in another chapter.
c


36
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
IV.
A COUPLE OF CRUSOES.
The sea was inspiring to Mr. Augustus Bonwig's
poetical feelings; and he began to declaim again,
as he and Joe descended the ledges on the seaward
side of the island.
“The breaking waves dashed high, on a stern
But here a chasm in the rocks occasioned a hiatus in
the verse.
“On the stern of a ship?” Joe asked.
No; 'on a stern and rock-bound coast,” said
Mr. Bonwig, as he stepped over the chasm.
But here, again, he was interrupted; this time by
Joe, who cautioned hiih against scaring the ducks
with his poetry.
“Now, look a here, Mister! You notice, we're
comin' to a sort of clift,” (Joe meant cliff.)
We
can crawl right to the edge on 't, and look right
down into a little inlet, where we'll be purty sure to
see suthin.”
“ Crawl, is it?" said the portly Mr. Bonwig, winc-
ing. “I'm not built for crawling. But no matter.
Go ahead. I'll sacrifice the rest of my buttons in a
good cause, if necessary."
Joe advanced to make an observation. He reached
the edge of the cliff; and presently looked back at
his companion with a laugh, and beckoned to him.


YOUNG JOE.
37
66
Augustus came up to him, scratching the rocks with
his remaining buttons, and looked over.
“Here's a splendid shot!” said Joe. "Two old-
wives close in shore !'
Bonwig saw with delight the pair of ducks, riding
on the swells that poured into the inlet, or tipping up
and plunging their bills down among the cool, dark
sea-moss, as the bright waves receded, leaving it half
exposed and glistening in the early sunlight.
Now,” said Joe, “ I'm goin' to let you have all
the chance this time. I shan't fire at all till you do.
Don't show yourself, nor make a noise, but take aim
right through this notch."
Bonwig obeyed; resting his ponderous stomach on
the ledge, and thrusting his gun over it, he cocked
both barrels, and took as deliberate aim as it was
possible for a highly nervous sportsman to do, under
the circumstances.
“Plenty of time," said Joe.
“I— know — it; but, bless my heart! how they
do bob
up
and down!"
The ducks were, in fact, constantly in motion,
tossing on the swells, or tipping up and darting their
bills hither and thither. Moreover, the light on the
water was very deceptive. One has to get used to
shooting at objects afloat, as Joe very justly observed
afterwards.
"I-I— rather think I'd better fire !” said Au.
gustus, in a trembling voice.


38
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
“Seems to me, I would; I don't see what you're
waiting for," Joe replied.
Mr. Bonwig fired both barrels in quick succession.
The startled ducks rose quickly and quietly from the
water, as if to show a due respect for his salute; not
a feather of either being injured.
“Bless my heart !” said Mr. Bonwig.
“ You've had your chance; now it's my turn,"
said Joe.
He took aim with his old “queen's arm,” fired in-
stantly, and brought down a bird. Then he fired his
other gun, and the other duck whirled and fell into
the sea.
“Now, I am - I am surprised !” said Augustus.
“ It's all a knack, as your father said; and you have
got the knack! I am surprised !”
" I'll go down after 'em,” said Joe, “while you go
back and see if there ain't some more ducks over
t'other side, by this time. And haul the dory a
little further up on the beach,” he added, " for I'm
afraid the tide will git it; it's comin' in fast."
Bonwig went, and returned in a short time, saying
that he had left the dory safe, and that he had seen
no game.
“Where are your old-wives?” he asked. “Ilave
n't you been down after them yet?”
“No," said Joe; “ I'm watchin' them loons," point-
ing out to sea. “If you'll do jest what I tell ye, I
guess we can git 'em. Sure ye left the dory all
right?"


YOUNG JOE.
39
"Oh, yes! The tide won't reach it this hour. I
don't see your loons though,” said Augustus. • Yes,
I do! Half a mile off! How do you expect ever to
get them?"
me.
“ I'll git down on to that ledge that runs out into
the water, and hide. Then I'll holler like a loon, and
purty soon you'll see 'em steerin' right in toward
But if they come near enough to find out I ain't
a loon, they'll stop. So, soon as you see 'em comin',
you jest wave this 'ere hankercher on yer ramrod,
so 's to take their eye. I carry it 'most a purpose
for loons."
Joe pulled a flaming bandanna from his pocket,
and showed Mr. Bonwig how to manage it.
" Loons is birds,” he said, “ that has lots of curiosity
in their dispositions, and they'll 'most gener'lly alluz
come in nigh enough to see what a wavin’ red han-
kercher means, so's't a feller can git a shot at 'em.
Only,” said Joe, eying his friend's gun wistfully,
“it's hard carryin' two long, heavy guns down a
steep clift, like this here; and now, if you don't care
to go down and do the shootin' — for you'll be too
fur off
up
here --"
“Bless my heart !” said Augustus, looking over
the precipice, “I never could get down these rocks
alive, in the world ! I--I— must think of my wife
and children!"
“ Then if ye would jest lend me the loan of your
gun once," said Joe.
Why yes — certainly,” said Augustus.


40
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
“ Then you won't be shootin' me, ye know,” grinned
Joe.
Leaving his companion on the top of the cliff, he
dropped over the edge of it, and, taking advantago
of the loons diving, slipped down from crevice to
'crevice, and from shelf to shelf, until he had made
his way in safety to the bottom, and concealed him-
self on the point of rock he had mentioned. Then
he began to halloo like a loon, with his hands behind
his mouth to throw his voice out to sea - uttering a
wild, lonesome cry, which soon attracted the birds
attention. They ceased their diving, and presently
began to swim towards him.
Bonwig now waved the handkerchief on the cliff,
remaining himself unseen; and the loons, tacking
and turning occasionally, and rising and falling on
the swells, continued to approach the shore, even
after Joe had stopped calling.
Nearer and nearer they came, until Augustus grew
impatient.
“ Why don't he fire? Why don't the fellow fire ?",
he kept saying to himself.
But Joe knew what he was about. Aware of the
difficulty of penetrating the loons' breast-feathers
with bird-shot, he wished to get them as near as
possible, and close together, or their two heads in
range, in order to double his chances. At last, just
as one was darting by the otlier on the top of a wave,
he fired one of Bonwig's barrels. The nearest bird
immediately went over on his side, and began to flap


YOUNG JOE.
41
2
and turn on the water in a way that showed he
had got a fatal hurt. His mate was less severely
wounded. She tried to dive, but could not remain
beneath the surface, and a second shot dispatched
her.
Then Joe climbed back up the rock.
Why don't you get the old-wives ?” Augustus
called to him. They are tossing about in the cove
there."
“We must bring the dory around to pick up the
loons, anyhow,” said Joe, handing the gun over the
edge of the cliff, “and we can get the old-wives
then."
Why didn't you shoot sooner ?” Mr. Bonwig
asked.
“ Don't you see?” said Joe. " If I hadn't wounded
'em both at once, soon as I fired at one, t'other 'd
have dove quick as wink, and most likely I shouldn't
have got another shot at her. They're a terrible
quick bird! They'll dodge the flash of a gun, with-
out you're purty near 'em."
“Well, well ! you have got the knack, I declare!”
said Mr. Bonwig. “I don't know but I shall have
to give in to you, after all !”
“This is a splendid gun of yourn!” said Joe,
covetously. “If I could only have this with me
alluz, then I might do suthin'! But I must go for
the dory now. You stay here and watch the loons,
and purty soon you 'll see me come rowin' round the
island."
22


42
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
“ Now, why can't I shoot like that boy?” Bonwig
said to himself after Joe had gone. “In the city, he
was so green everybody laughed at him. But, bless
my heart ! if I don't find him my superior down here !
I'm afraid, if anybody deserves to be laughed at to-
day, he isn't the fellow, any way
!"
Mr. Augustus was beginning to be sick of duck-
shooting
Hearing a cry in the direction Joe had gone, Mr.
Bonwig arose and listened. Another cry, full of
anger and distress. Augustus started to find his
young friend, whom he presently saw hurrying back
to meet him.
“You critter, you !” shrieked Joe, forgetting all
deference due to his companion in the rage and per.
plexity of the moment; "you old fat fool, you !”
“Bless my heart !" said Augustus, aghast,“ what's
the matter?"
“Matter, you lazy lummox! don't you know no-
thin'?” And Joe turned back again with gestures
of fury and despair.
“Why! what on earth have I done?” cried Mr.
Bonwig, following him, more alarmed than angry.
“ The dory !” said Joe, chokingly.
Hey ? what's happened to the dory?” said Bon-
wig, turning pale. " I left it safe !"
" You didn't! You said you'd haul it up out of
reach of the tide, and you never touched it! Now
look a there !"
They had reached a commanding point of the


YOUNG JOE.
43
island, from which Augustus had the satisfaction of
seeing the little skiff afloat, and drifting quietly and
steadily out to sea.
“ Bless my — !” gasped the astounded candy-
maker. “ Can't ye swim and get it?”
“ Swim?" echoed Joe, with wrathful contempt.
• I'd like to see any man swim for that! The wind
has got into the north-west, and it's carryin' on her
away faster'n anybody can swim! Why didn't yo
haul her up, as I told ye?"
“I-— really — I couldn't see any necessity for
it !” said poor Mr. Bonwig. 6. The waves didn't
touch her."
“ But I told you the tide was comin' in! And
couldn't you see yourself that once in a while there
was a big swell, bigger 'n the rest ? 'Twas one o'
them that started her off, and then the wind took
her!"
“I am surprised !” said the pale Mr. Bonwig. "I
don't see how we are going to get off this island !
And I-I promised my wife — she'll certainly be
looking for me to-night. I must get back to-night!”
“ If you do, you'll have to swim.” And Joe sat
down sulkily on the ledge and watched the depart-
ing dory.
“ What!
you
don't mean
?
“You'll have enough of Robinson Crusoe 'fore you
get through! That dory cost my father fifteen dol-
lars !"
“It ain't possible we shall have to stay here,"


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
faltered Augustus, casting his eyes about him, and
feeling not a bit like spouting poetry just then," and
live on what we kill?”
“ A feller couldn't live very long on what you
kill! said Joe. “I don't care for sleepin' in the
hut, I'd jest as lief do that as not; and I can eat
fish and wild ducks and hard bread as long as the
next chap. But, by sixty ! that dory! Dad'll skin
me alive if I don't bring her back. See her
go
o! see
her go !” And Joe whipped his legs with his hands
despairingly. “ The coots are in her, too !” with a
fresh wail. “ And we can't get the loons without
her; and mabby we can't get the old-wives now.”
“ Then if no more ducks come around, what shall
we do ?” said Augustus, who was a man of excellent
appetite, never careless about his dinner.
“I guess you'll have a chance to grow a little
mite less pussy'n you be now,” said Joe, beginning
to see the humor of the situation, and to get the bet-
ter of his despair.
“ Can't we make a signal of distress ?”
“ You can try it, if you want to. But dad is
huskin' corn to-day; and even if he should see it,
he'd think it was for loons. Besides, there ain't
another dory to the Cove, since Old Wansey's got
stove up by the last gale; and dad couldn't come
off for us if he wanted to."
Then,”
,” said Augustus,
“ I don't see but that we
are in a fix !"
" Jes' so,” said Joe. “But now if you want to make


YOUNG JOE.
45
a signal, I'll show you. It must be on the highest
spot, where it can be seen from shore, as well as by
fishin'-boats outside."
The thought of something to be done put Joe into
a good humor,
“ Here's where you was monarch of all you sur-
veyed,” he said, with a grin, as they walked over the
ledges; adding, “I guess the deep and dark blue
ocean will roll on fast enough for you now, without
waitin' to be told ! Here's the place !”
" We never can make ourselves seen from this dis-
tance," said Bonwig, with a heavy heart.
6 We can try.”
“ But what can we make a signal of? A hand-
kerchief is nothing !"
“ Take my shirt, -- I can spare that better than I
can my coat, in this wind,” said Joe ; and he pro-
ceeded to divest himself of that useful but not in-
dispensable garment.
He thrust a gun-barrel into one of the sleeves at
the wrist, and thence through the shoulders of the
shirt into the other sleeve, which he tied into a knot
over the muzzle.
“Now, there's your banner !” said he, waving it
aloft.
“ Well, I declare !” said Augustus, "you've done
it! Long may it wave!” as Joe flourished the pale
ensign in the breeze. “Though there's a prospect
of its waving long enough, without wishing it par.
ticularly. But, as a signal of distress, it seems to me


46
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
there's something not quite right. Don't they usu-
ally have the union down?”
“ Shirts hain't got no union,” said Joe. And he
began to sing, “ 'Tis the star-spangled banner,” in a
cheerful and enlivening manner.
Being one of those brave-hearted lads whose spir-
its always rise in the presence of danger and diffi-
culty, and having recovered from the chagrin of
losing the dory, he was now in a merrier mood than
he had been at any time that morning.
“ It won't take long for this wind to whip a shirt
into ravelins !” said he. “ After it has flopped mine
all to pieces, then we'll take your'n. Then, when
that's gone, we'll run up our jackets, and then our
trouse's, for we're bound to keep the signal flyin'!”
Mr. Bonwig could not see the fun of the thing, but
kept a dismal countenance, thinking of his wife and
children.
“ You needn't be so anxious about suthin' to eat,"
remarked Joe. “ It'll take you a good while longer
to starve than it would most people. My uncle was
in a ship that was lost once, and was three weeks on
a raſt in the Pacific Ocean, with seven other men,
and he said three of the men died, and all the rest
come within one of it; only there was a fat man with
’em,- weighed about two hundred and fifty when
they took to the raft,- he stood it; he kept grow-
ing lighter an' lighter, and fresher and fresher; he
weighed about a hundred and was spry as a cricket
when a vessel finally picked 'em up. He had lived


YOUNG JOE.
47
all the while on his own fat - like a bear in
winter."
This pleasant anecdote did not seem to afford Mr.
Bonwig very much comfort. The idea of living on
his fat for any length of time was not cheering. He
had no doubt whatever of growing lighter an
lighter on that diet; but as for growing fresher and
fresher, that did not appear to him to be among the
probabilities. No, – Mr. Augustus Bonwig could
not indulge a hope of ever becoming spry as a
cricket, in that way.
- Your father must grow anxious about you
if
you don't come home, and he can find a dory some-
where,” said he.
My father never's anxious about me when I'm
off duck-shootin',” replied Joe. “ Once I got lost in
a fog, rowin' from Pippin P'int. I got turned about
somehow. I kept rowin' and rowin', but couldn't
find no land; and night come on, dark as Egypt -
and there I was !
No
suppe no north star, no com-
pass, no overcoat, — discouragin', I tell you ! I
rowed all night to keep warm, and in hopes of
touchin' land somewheres; - and it wasn't half so
comf’table as we'll find it in that house to-night,
burnin' the Humane Society's wood and eatin' the
Humane Society's crackers, and tellin' stories, - not
half! Wal, mornin' come, but the fog didn't lift,
and I didn't know where I was any more'n I did
before ; but I kept on rowin' and rowin', only when
I stopped to rest, which was purty often now,-I


48
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
was gittin' used up. No supper, and no breakfast !
The sea was calm; the fog was so heavy it seemed
to press it right down flat. I couldn't see more'n an
oar's length or two ahead of me. So the forenoon
wore on. By-m-by I give up, — no supper, no break-
fast, no dinner, — it was beginning to tell on me.
You've no idee how a feller'll shrink, without eatin'
or sleepin' for twenty-four hours! It seemed to
me I'd got dad's clo'es on. I'd hollered myself
hoarse; but in that fog, it was like a man's hollerin'
in his grave. You needn't look so sorry; why,” said
Joe, “ this here island, in fine weather, is paradise to
an open boat in a fog!”
“How did you finally get ashore ?” asked Au-
gustus.
“ Wind changed, and fog lifted all of a sudden,
jest afore sundown. And where do ye s'pose I was?
Almost within gunshot o' the Cove! I jest rowed
ashore, hauled up the dory, and walked into the
house. There sot dad, a-smokin', comfortable as
could be. • Where's yer ducks, boy?' says he the
fust thing. 'Didn't git none,' says 1. Why, where
ye been all this time?' says he ; ' and hain't got nary
duck!' Oh, paddlin' round in the fog,' says I. "Ain't
ye hungry?' says my mother, - she was gittin'
supper. • Wal, I be some hungry,' says I. And
supper did taste mighty good that night, I tell yel.”
Wasn't your family concerned about you ?” said
Mr. Bonwig.
• What was the use of bein' consarned? There


YOUNG JOE.
49
was no gale; and they knowed I'd come home agin
some time," said Joe. “I did come home, and I
brought the dory. Dad'll be dreadful worked, if I
don't bring it this time! Look! it's ʼmost out of
sight!”
“ That seems to be all you care about!”
“ Why shouldn't it be? We'll do well enough.
It won't be many days afore somebody'll be comin'
off here a-fishin', and see us."
Many days !” groaned Augustus.
“ I'm getting
hungry already!”
“ Wal,” said Joe,“ you keep the flag a-wavin', and
I'll
go and see what I can do for dinner."
1


50
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
V.
THE FATE OF THE CASTAWAYS.
BORROWING Mr. Bonwig's gun once more, Joe re-
turned to the spot where he had shot the “old-
wives.” They were still tossing on the surges in
the inlet below. He descended the cliff, took off his
clothes, plunged into the water, and brought out the
birds.
Then climbing to the top of the cliff again, he held
up the game, to the delight of Bonwig's hungry
eyes.
“ If you'll dress and cook them,” said Augustus,
“ I will keep the signal waving."
“I ought to ketch a few fish first,” said Joe, “ 'fore
the tide is up. You can't ketch nippers so well at
high water, for then they're feedin' on the barnacles
and things, on the rocks."
“ What's nippers ? ” said Augustus.
“ Cunners,” said Joe, amazed at such ignorance.
“Don't you know? What you had for supper last
night, and for breakfast agin this mornin'."
“Oh! salt-water perch! Of course, I know,”
said Mr. Bonwig, remembering how good they were.
" It would be fine if we could get a few to keep the
ducks company! But you've no pole nor line.”


YOUNG JOE.
51
“I alluz carry lines in my pocket,” said Joe, “and
I don't need a pole."
“ But you've no worms !”
“I can find bait enough. I'll look out for all that,
if you'll keep the star-spangled sheet a-wavin'.”
Joe laughed as he looked back and saw his portly
friend flourishing the white flag, as if for dear life.
“ That exercise will do him good," thought he. “The
trouble with that’air feller is, he's so lazy. He was
too lazy for to give the dory a little lift; and now
see where we be! And don't I remember how easy
that boat rowed !- to him a-settin' comf'r’ablo in
the stern."
He went down on the rocks by the water's edge,
laid down his gun, - or rather Mr. Bonwig's,- and
taking a ball of line from his pocket, proceeded to
unwind it. At the inside end be found a heavy
sinker, a corn-cob, and a hook sticking into it.
Putting the cob back into his pocket, to be used in
winding the line up again afterwards, he looked
about for bait. The rocks below high-water mark
were covered with barnacles as with a gray scum,
and dotted here and there with periwinkles (Joe
called them cockles) clinging to the ledge. Of these
he gathered a handful, and laid them down by his
gun. Then, having baited his hook from one of
them, he "threw in.” He stood on the brink of a
steep rock, and the heavy sinker carried the line
down in the deep water beside it, notwithstanding
the dashing waves.


52
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
All was quiet for a minute or two. Then he felt
a little jerk. He gave a little jerk in return, and
perceived that he had hooked something. He
hauled up the line hand-over-hand, and a fine large
cunner fell flopping on the ledge. He baited and
threw in again, and had many nips, (the cunner is
notorious for nipping at your bait, and getting it
without getting the hook; hence the term nipper,)
and now and then drew up a fish. In half an hour
he found he had caught a handsome string.
All this time he kept a keen look-out for game.
And now he saw a flock of black ducks come flying
low along the waves toward the island. They passed
so near to him that he might easily have brought
down a pair, but as they would have fallen into the
water, and as he had no dory to pick them up, he,
with admirable self-denial for so young a gunner,
stood, piece in hand, and saw them pass.
Arrived at the end of the island, instead of alight-
ing, they wheeled, and, rising, returned in a broad
circle over it.
Augustus had seen them coming, in the first
place, and dropped his signal, and himself beside
it, hoping for a shot. When they passed the island,
he was quite wild with excitement, and came very
near firing Joe's shirt at them. The distance at
which they flew, from where he lay, was probably
all that saved the shirt -- and the birds. Before they
returned, the sportsman had time to exchange the
“queen's arm,” which served as a flag-staff, for the


YOUNG JOE.
53
other, which had no sleeve tied over the end of it,
and to place himself in readiness.
“ If they'll only come again!” thought he. “I
believe there's something in the gun, after all.
Those are real duck guns! They're so heavy, I
believe I can hold one steadier than I can my little
light thing. By George ! there they come !"
They flew so directly over the summit of the
island, that Mr. Bonwig, afraid to get up and show
himself, rolled over on his back, pointed the
queen's arm up into the air, and fired.
The flock veered at sight of him, even before the
flash; and that was probably the reason why he did
not kill a great many. He thought at first he had
killed none.
But the rocks below had barely had
time to send back two sharp echoes of his shot (il
very singular phenomenon, if Augustus had only
stopped to consider it), when three ducks, one after
the other, dropped down headlong out of the flock,
and fell upon the island.
Bonwig ran down to them, with cries of exulta-
tion. At the same time Joe came crawling up over
the ledge, with Bonwig's gun in one hand, and the
string of fish in the other.
“See that? and that? and that ? ” cried Augus-
tus, holding up the ducks triumphantly.
" Who
said 'twouldn't take long to eat all I kill?”
Joe stood still, fish in one hand and gun in the
other, and grinned at him.
" See how fat they are ! I picked for the plump-


51
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
est, and then took aim. Waited till I got three in
range. Never was so cool about anything in my
life. If
If you have any more ducks to shoot, bring
'ein on.
What are you laughing at? I suppose
you'll say I didn't kill these, won't you?” said the
jubilant sportsman.
“ 'Twas your gun that killed them, fast enough,"
replied Joe, chuckling over the joke.
“Of course it was !” But Mr. Bonwig meant one
gun, while Joe meant another.
“ This is a regular
old-fashioned duck-shooter!” — holding up the old
queen's arm. “I can handle it a great deal better
than I can my piece. It has got so used to it, it
seems almost to aim itself.
It's nothing to shoot
ducks with this gun! Three at a shot! what will
my wife say to that? Bless my heart !” Andohe
praised the ducks again.
Joe laughed so that his knees began to give way
under him, and his body to double up, and his hands
to forget their cunning; he dropped the fish, le
dropped the gun, and finally dropped himself-
tumbling over and rolling on the rocks in convul-
sions of mirth.
“ Now what's the fun?” said Mr. Bonwig, an-
noyed.
“You've got the knack! you've got the knack !"
said Joe, winking away his tears.
“ What do you mean?” Augustus demanded,
sternly, for he suspected that he was the subject of
merriment.


YOUNG JOE.
55
“Did the birds drop the very minute you fired ?”
Why, no, not the instant; they were so aston-
ished; they had to take time to consider it; that
is, they were flying so fast, it was a second or two
before they could change their course and come
down."
“And didn't you hear any other gun?”
“Why, - my shot - echoed !” said Augustus.
“How many times ?”
“Twice; I do believe it was a sort of double
echo."
“That was the echo!” said Joe, holding up the
double-barrelled piece, and then immediately going
into convulsions again.
Augustus seized it. He remembered that it was
loaded when it last went into Joe's hands; and now,
nervously shoving down the ramrod, he found the
barrels empty. He still stoutly insisted, however,
that he had killed the ducks; but it was with a
flushed face and a greatly disturbed look.
“ If you did, you beat me with your knack !"
said Joe.
• How so?
Explain yourself. Do stop that
confounded giggling, and explain yourself !” said
Bonwig.
“I can't kill ducks without any shot in my gun;
and there wasn't any shot in the gun you fired!”
" That's a -- a -- likely story !" gasped poor Mr.
Bonwig.
"You see,” said Joe, “I was goin' to leave the old


56
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
guns
with you, and I was afraid you'd be shootin' at
me, as you did aforo ; so I didn't put any shot into
'em! Try t'other one, and see !"
Augustus drew the wad from the flag-staff, and
found only powder beneath it. He then sat down
dejectedly on the ledge, and remained thoughtful
for a long while. At last he said :
“Come, Joe, we've fooled about enough; it's time
to think of getting ashore.”
“It's nothing to shoot ducks with that gun!'--
three at a shot I'_' it aims itself !! Oh, ho ! ho !
ho!"
“Come!” said Augustus, sharply. “How about
dinner?"
“ You 'picked for the plumpest, and then took
aim!'" cried Joe. ". Waited till you got them in
range!' – never was so cool in your life!' Oh, ho!
I shall die!" And he rolled on the rocks again.
Mr. Bonwig had suddenly once more grown ex-
tremely anxious about their situation. He stretched
the shirt on the queen's arm again, and began to
wave it with great solemnity.
Joe then sat up, stopped laughing, took a knife
from his pocket, and then and there commenced
dressing the fish for dinner.
“ You've got a nice string there !” the hungry
Augustus at last remarked, regarding the process
wistfully.
Joe said it was a nice string. He made no fur-
ther allusion to Mr. Bonwig's remarkable sportsman.


YOUNG JOE.
57
ship (although he would now and then be taken with
a stitch in bis ribs, a cramp in his stomach, or spasms
in the muscles of his face, which he found it hard
to overcome); and from that moment the two were
good friends again.
“I must find a board somewhere; and I guess I
better be startin' the fire." And Joe carried his fish
and game down to the house of refuge, where he
could give occasional vent to his mirth, without
hurting his friend's feelings.
Leaving Mr. Bonwig to wave the signal and keep
a look-out, he made preparations for dinner. 6I
wouldn't burn up this wood to make chowders, as
the fellers do," thought he ; “ but aren't we sort of
shipwrecked ?" And he comforted his conscience
with the reflection that the Humane Society would
approve of what he was doing.
At last he called Mr. Bonwig to dinner. That
hungry gentleman made haste to prop up the
standard with stones, and obeyed the joyful sum-
mons.
Joe,” said he, catching the, savory odor of the
cooking as he entered the hut, “I am surprised !
Who would have thought you could get up such a
dinner?"
“ This bench is the table, these clam-shells are
the plates; use your pocket-knife, and your fingers
are the fork,” said Joe proudly. “ Now taste o' the
fish, and see how sweet they are, without salt nor
nothin' on 'em."


58
AND OTHER BOYS.
AND
YOUNG JOE “ Glorious ! ” cried Augustus. “But what's that
on the coals?”
“Pieces of your ducks a-brilin',” said Joe.
“Now look here, Joe!” remonstrated Augustus.
“ Did you re'lly think you shot 'em?” Joe asked.
“My imagination was excited; that's all I have
to say — my imagination was excited.” And now
Augustus himself had to laugh.
Joe had seated himself astride one end of the
bench, facing Mr. Bonwig; and Mr. Bonwig had
seated himself astride the other end, facing Joe;
and there they feasted ; - Joe turning occasionally
to take up a fish from the coals with a sharp stick,
or to turn the broiling morsels of wild duck.
“ Dinner 's a good invention,” said Augustus.
“ And I hain't nothin' petickler to say agin a fire-
arter a feller's been around an hour, in a cold north-
wester, without his shirt on," said Joe.
“ We shan't fare so badly, at this rate," observed
Mr. Bonwig, resignedly.
“ We shall fare well enough; all I think on now
is that plaguy dory,” replied Joe.
“I'll make that all right with your father, if we
ever get ashore again; so don't worry about the
dory.”
“By sixty! Will ye, though? That improves
my appetite! Guess I'll try a drumstick."
He took a duck's leg in his fingers, and put on his
cap. “ Finish yer dinner," said he," and I'll go out
and tend the signal.”


YOUNG JOE.
59
“ That's a good boy !” said Augustus, feeling
easier in his mind, for he had scarcely begun his
dinner yet, although he had eaten two perch to Joe's
one, and game in proportion.
In half an hour Joe came running back, and found
his amiable friend fast asleep on the straw ; that
rosy and plump gentleman having been unable to
resist the drowsiness which overcame him almost
before the conclusion of his repast. “I guess Joe
will look after the signal," was his comfortable re-
flection, as he stretched himself on the straw. “For
my part, I'm tired of standing on a bleak rock, in a
northwest wind, waving a shirt on an old gun-
barrel!" And he gave himself up to delicious
slumber.
Joe regarded him with disgust; but he did not
wake him. “ Lazy lummox! I'll come up with him,"
said he; and off he went again.
Another half hour elapsed, when Mr. Bonwig
awoke from a vivid dream of firing into a flock of
old queen's arms, that flew over his candy-shop in
town, and doing great damage to a number of inno-
cent persons who happened to be passing in the
street when the shattered barrels and butt-ends
came rattling down upon them.
6 Hello !” said he. “ Hello !” looking about him.
“I'd quite forgotten I was cast away! I wonder if
Joe has signalled anything yet.”
He went out, and found the signal gone. The gun


60
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
was lying on t!e rocks; but neither Joe, nor Joe's
shirt, was anywhere to be seen.
“ The rogue has found some means of getting off;
he has left me his old flint-lock, and deserted me!”
was Mr. Bonwig's first appalling thought.
He wandered about in great distress of mind for
some minutes, calling loudly on Joe. Finally the
report of a gun made answer. With gladdened
heart lie hastened in the direction of the sound, and
saw Joe on the beach where they had first landed,
picking up a brace of plover he had just shot.
“ Where's the signal ?” Augustus asked, mildly,
conscious of culpable neglect on his own part.
“I
thought you said you would keep that waving."
“ Didn't I ?” said Joe, “ for ever so long after I
left you! Then I went back and found you snoozin'.
So I made up my mind, if that was all you cared
for gittin' ashore, I wouldn't trouble myself any
longer.”
“But — Joseph!” Bonwig remonstrated, — “this
won't do! We must wave the signal."
“ Wave it then ! though I little 'druther ye
wouldn't ; it scares the game.”
6 What have you done with the shirt ?'
“Put it on, of course! I was cold, and I went to
huntin', to get warm."
“Oh, now, let's have it again!” said Augustus,
coaxingly.
“ Nary shirt !” replied Joe, obstinately.
yer own, - it's your turn this time."
66 Use


YOUNG JOE.
61
Bonwig coaxed, and made offers of inoney, and
various promises of future favors, all to no purpose.
Joe buttoned his coat all the more tightly, and de-
clared that he would not part with his shirt again,
alive.
Augustus looked all around for succor; he saw
sails in the distance, but not one near; and, after
some moments of sad hesitation, he began to unbut-
ton his hunting-jacket. The winds cut him.
" I'll give you a heap of candy, if you only will,
Joe !"
“ Who knows you'll ever see your candy-shop
agin?” said Joe.
Augustus unbuttoned two more buttons.
" I'll send down a trunkful by express!”
Still Joe would not yield. Bonwig unbuttoned
the last button. Joe began to roar with laughter
again. Augustus was actually taking off his shirt,
preparatory to sticking it
upon the gun-barrel, when
he evidently began to suspect mischief.
“ Now, what's the joke?”
“Come over here, and I'll show you! Bring
everything. We're going ashore now.”
Going ashore !” said the mystified Augustus.
Joe made no answer, but led him around to the
point from which the dory had gone adrift, and
showed it, hauled up there again as snugly as if
nothing unusual had happened to it.
“Well, now! I am surprised! Now — then -
bless my heart !” said the amazed Augustus.


62
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
97
“When you was asleep,” said Joe, “ I went in to
tell
you there was a sail-boat beatin' up towards
us, with a dory in tow, but you was snorin'. So I
got mad, and left ye. It was our dory. They had
picked her
up
at
sea,
and looked in the direction the
wind was blowin' from, and seen our signal with a
glass; and as they was out for fun, they jest beat up
here to us. They picked up the loons by the way;
and I give 'em the loons and two black ducks and
an old-wife, for bringin' her in; and first-rate, tip-top
chaps they was, too; and they wanted to pay me for
the ducks, but I wouldn't take no pay, of course!
And here the dory was tied, all the while you was
trying to have me to take off my shirt agin, and then
takin' off your own!”
Well, I am! I don't think I was ever quite so
agreeably surprised in my life !” said Mr. Bonwig.
“ I may get back to town yet to-night. How long
will it take to row ashore ?”
“Oh, not long,” said Joe,“ this boat rows so easy.”
“. Look here! I believe I was going to row back,"
said Bonwig. “You row till I finish this cigar."
When he had finished the cigar, they were within
balf a mile of the Cove.
“He thought he was goin' to do. wonders,” said
Joe afterwards, telling the story of their early sport-
ing days. “He took the oars, and give a tremenjous
pull, as if he was goin' to send us home with two
strokes; but jest as he was strainin’ with all his
might, they slipped out of the rullocks, and away he
66


YOUNG JOE.
63
in'.
went, over backwards, and heels over head into the
bottom of the boat, with his legs stridin' up over
the thwart, and his arms spread like a shag's wings,
and his head and shoulders in a puddle of water, in
the bottom of the dory. It must have hurt him
some ; but, for the life of me, I couldn't help laugh-
He got up, brushed the water off, and said he
was surprised! I let him try it over again, and we
began to make a track like a sea-serpent's, zigzag,
zigzag. But I let him work.
“ It surprises me,' says I,' to see how easy this
boat rows!'. He didn't say nothin', but turned red
as ever you see a biled lobster; and didn't he sweat
and blow! Then we came to the breakers. They
warn’t more'n half so high as they was in the mornin',
or I never should a' let him row on to 'em. But I
thought 'twould be fun, We went over the first one
slick enough. With the second one, the boat began
to skew; and the third one took us broadside. 'Twas
a wrecker, I tell you! And didn't it heave and twist
us! We came within one of choppin' over ! and you
never see a chap so scared ! He pulled first one
oar, then t'other; we turned completely around,
and was puttin' out to sea agin afore we knowed it!
“Bless my heart, Joe,' says he, take the oars !
Take 'em! I wouldn't row on to the breakers again
for a million dollars!'
“But I ought not to say a word agin Bonwig,"
adds Joe, laughing, whenever he tells the story to
his children, — for this adventure, as I said in the


64
YOUNG JOE AND OTHEF. BOYS.
beginning, happened years ago; he is no longer
Young Joe, he is Old Joe now. “ Ile was a first-
rate, tip-top feller, arter all. And his conduct to me
was right down handsome, when I took him over to
town in our wagon,
- for he was too late for the
stage. "Joe,' said he, jest afore we got to his house,
I believe, with your father, that shootin' ducks is a
knack; rowin' a dory in the breakers requires a
knack, too. I'm gettin' too old and clumsy to learn
to do either; and I believe I shan't try again. And
now, Joe, my boy,' says he, as I don't expect to use
my gun again, and as you seem to take such a fancy
to it, and as you have been so very kind to me, in
spite of your jokes, I've concluded,' says he, 'to
make you a present.' And what did the gay old chap
do but slip that beautiful double-shooter into my
hand ! Didn't the salt spray come into my eyes ? and
warn't I the proudest and happiest boy in thirteen
counties, at that moment? And haven't I kept that
rare old stub-twist shootin'-iron all these years, to
remember Bonwig by?”
Ard Joe takes down the piece from over the chim-
ney corner, and shows it again to his children.


66
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOXS.
66
One day he had been over to the city, and sold his
turkeys and chickens, when, as he was returning to
his boat with a basket of groceries, whistling and
thinking of the pleasant voyage home, he saw a
sight which made him turn aside into a dirty street
near the river.
Some boys were tormenting a dog. Amid their
shouts and laughter could be heard the poor creat-
. ure's yelps of pain and terror. Simon couldn't stand
that. He ran to the spot.
“What are you doing?” he cried, making his way
into the crowd of boys.
Having some fun,” said a ragged, grinning, dirty.
faced urchin, who was looking on.
“Fun! I should say so !” said Simon.
" Whose
dog is that?"
“Jeff Holand's,” replied the dirty-faced boy.
" Who is Jeff Holand ? Where is he?" Simon
demanded.
" That's him there, tyin' the tarred paper to the
dog's tail,” said the dirty-faced boy.
Simon stepped up to Jeff Holand.
“Is this your dog?” he asked.
“ Yes, it is !” the fellow answered, shortly. “What
’ave you got to say about it?”
“I say it's a mean thing you're doing!” Simon
exclaimed, keeping down his angry feelings as well
as he could. “What has the dog done to you to de-
serve such treatment ?"
“ Done?" laughed the fellow. "Ho hain't done



«імММ,
ming
MR. BONWIG STRIPS.
-
Page 61.





68
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
“ To get rid of him, of course, if he's good for
nothing."
“But he is good for something, – to have fun
with.” And Jeff prepared to strike a match on the
curbstone.
Fortunately it broke. That saved Simon the trou-
ble of knocking it from his hand, for he was now
determined to save the dog at all hazards.
“Well, I'll buy him of you," he said, as Jeff was
reaching for another match.
“What'll ye give ?” Jeff asked.
“A shilling," Simon answered.
It was in the old days of York shilling pieces,
value twelve and a half cents. Simon took one from
his pocket, and made a tender of it to Jeff, who only
laughed at him.
“ I'll give two,” said Simon.
“ That will buy you
a good deal more and a good deal better fun than
you can torture out of this poor dog."
Say half a dollar and it's a bargain,” said Jeff.
“ He's a first-rate dog, he's a spaniel.”
He was about to strike another match.
Half-dollars were not plenty with Simon. He had
to work hard for his food and clothes (poor clothes
they were, too,) and one dollar a month. Two
weeks' wages it would take to rescue the spaniel,
and what should he do with him then?
Jeff struck the match.
" I'll give it!” cried Simon, thrusting his foot be-
tween the tarred paper and Jeff's hand.


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO.
69
“ All right!” said Jeff. “ Lemme see the color
of your half-dollar."
Simon showed the money, and the trade was con-
cluded.
“What's his name?” he asked, as he took hold
of the rope to lead the poor trembling spaniel
away.
“ Carlo; it's engraved on the collar here," said
Jeff. “But you can't have the collar; that's worth
more than the dog, - nor the rope,
neither."
“Keep your collar and rope, then," said Simon.
" I don't care.”
He took from his pocket some cord which he had
used for tying the legs of his chickens together, and
soon had one end fast to the dog's neck. The collar,
meanwhile, was unbuckled and pocketed by Jeff,
who then ran off to spend his half-dollar, while Simon
walked in the other direction with his dog.
Carlo went willingly, for he was a knowing animal,
and it had not taken long for him to learn that he
had fallen into the hands of a friend. His cringing
head was lifted, his drooping tail rose also with his
rising confidence, and by the time Simon reached
his boat, the happy and grateful creature was caper-
ing by his side.
Simon was delighted.
“He's a great deal better dog than I thought,” he
said, turning to admire him. “He's well fed, too. I
wonder how that scamp ever got to own him. Carlo!
Carlo !"


70
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
And Simon felt a thrill of joy when Carlo jumped
up and licked his hands.
“He's a splendid fellow !” he exclaimed. "I
wouldn't sell him for not for ten dollars ! But"
a wave of trouble rolled over his content, what
will old Mr. Wiggin say?"
He got the dog into the boat, hoisted sail, and
pushed off. Carlo was tied at first to the thwart,
but once well away from the shore, Simon released
him and took him into the stern. With one hand on
the tiller, and the other on the neck of the animal
at his side, he was happier than he had ever been
in his life. The poor, lonely, hard-worked boy had
now something to love.
“ A hundred dollars wouldn't buy him!” he ex-
claimed aloud, as he patted Carlo's head, and stroked
his soft, beautiful ears. “ I wouldn't part with him
for anything! How handsome he is! He's the
handsomest dog I ever saw !”
And in his new-born pride and affection he gave
Carlo a caress. Carlo in return whined wistfully and
fondly, and licked his new master's face.
The boy's heart was almost too full of happiness.
It overflowed into his eyes. That is the reason, I
suppose, why he didn't see a fast yacht coming right
down upon his port bow. It was, in fact, hidden by
his sail, yet our careful young boatman would have
seen it at any other time. He was a little too much
occupied with Carlo just then.
A shout from on board the yacht gave him warn-


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO.
ing. He quickly brought his boat to the wind, the
yacht at the same time veered from its course, and
passed close by his stern. In the confusion of the
moment he allowed his hat to be knocked off by the
flapping sail.
“What did you try to run across my bows for ? "
cried the helmsman of the yacht. “There, you've
lost your hat, and good enough for you !”
“What did you try to run across my bows for?”
Simon retorted. “Didn't you see I had the right
of way? Carlo ! "
The dog, who had been up and watching eagerly
for a moment, gave a spring. Simon resolved to
catch him, – too late.
too late. Had he seen somebody lie
knew on board the yacht ?
" I've lost him!” thought the boy, as Carlo
splashed into the water and went paddling away,
snuffing, with his nose in the air.
But, joyful surprise! Carlo was not going for the
yacht. He was swimming towards his new master's
old straw hat, afloat on the water.
“ That's a good dog you've got, any way!” cried
the captain of the yacht. " What will you take for
him?"
“ A thousand dollars !” Simon shouted back, in that
moment of joy feeling that he would not take a cent
less.
If he had learned to love his new friend before,
what shall we say of him after this prompt and faith-
ful service ?


72
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
The boat, brought to the wind, drifted back
towards the dog. The dog, with the hat in his
mouth, and dragging in the water in spite of him,
swam with difficulty towards the boat.
“ He would have tried to save that old hat if he
had drowned for it!” said Simon, as he reached out
and drew Carlo into the boat. " Good fellow ! No-
ble Carlo !"
And wet as the spaniel was, Simon gave him a
good hugging then and there.
He had, meanwhile, forgotten all about Mr. Wig-
gin. But quite too soon he had reason to remember
him.
He had hardly got his boat ashore, in the midst
of the geese and ducks, squawking and quacking in
the water before the poultry-yard, when the old man
came down to meet him.
“What ye got there, Simon ? ” was the first stern
question.
“A dog! the finest spaniel you ever saw !”
And Simon, with his eager praises, tried to fore-
stall the old man's prejudices.
“ Finest fiddlesticks !” exclaimed the old man.
“What ye going to do with him ?”
"I hope you'll let me keep him," said Simon.
Keep him! What do we want such a whelp as
that for, eating us out of house and home? A worth-
less
pup
" said the old man.
“ He won't eat much, and he'll be handy to send


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO.
73
into the water after the geese and ducks when we
want to drive them anywhere."
And Simon went on, earnestly setting forth the
advantages of possessing such a dog. But nothing
could convince the old man.
Carlo received a like welcome from Mrs. Wiggin;
and he would have been left to starve if Simon had
not saved a part of his own dinner for him, and gone
hungry himself, that the poor spaniel might be fed.
For two days Carlo was frowned upon, and Simon
was blamed and scolded for bringing him home.
Then, all at once, there was a change.
Mr.:Wiggin sat reading his newspaper after din-
ner. Suddenly, he gave a start and looked out
quickly at Simon, who was playing with the dog on
the doorstep.
“ Did that dog have a collar on when you found
him?"
“ Yes, sir; but the boy took it off," Simon answered.
Any name on it?"
“ Yes, the dog's name, Carlo. I didn't notice any-
thing else."
The old man coughed, puckered his lips, adjusted
his glasses, and returned to his newspaper. A min-
ute later, Simon saw him cutting something out of it
with the old lady's scissors.
Mr. Wiggin passed the slip to Mrs. Wiggin. She
looked at it, exclaimed, “ Why, massy sakes !” and
passed it back to Mr. Wiggin.
Mr. Wiggin placed it in his pocket-book, drew his


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
lips in again with a satisfied expression, and once
more looked out on Simon and his companion.
" Has that dog had a good dinner ?” he inquired.
“I gave him a little soinething," Simon confessed.
“ Well, give him some more,” said the old man.
“ Wife, see what you can pick up for him. If we
keep a dog, we must feed him. And if we feed
him,” he added after a pause, “ he ought to be our
dog. You won't object to give up your claim to him,
will ye, Simon?”
The boy hardly knew what to say, so great was
his astonishment.
“I believe you told us you gave half a dollar for
him," the old man went on, while Simon was think-
ing what answer to make. “ I don't mind paying ye
that. It's a better dog 'n I thought. We can make
him handy about the place."
And the close-fisted Wiggin actually offered Simon
the money!
"I'll think about it; I guess I won't take it now,"
replied the boy, wondering what had so changed
the old man's sentiments regarding the unwelcome
whelp.”
It must have been something in the newspaper.
Whatever it was, Mr. Wiggin had cut it out; and
yet Simon felt a keen curiosity to search the columns
from which the slip had been taken.
He did not have a chance until evening, for the
old man now told him that it was time for him to go
to work.


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO.
75
Mr. Wiggin was unusually cheerful that afternoon.
He had no longer a word to say of the boy's folly
in buying and bringing home a "worthless pup;
and at night Carlo was once more generously fed.
After supper, Simon took up
the
paper.
It was a
copy of the Sun. Among the columns of adver-
tisements was one headed “ Lost." It was from this
that the clipping had been made.
Simon noted the date of the paper, the page, the
column, and the position in the column of the cut.
" It's an advertisement for Carlo !” he said to him-
self, "probably offering a reward, or the old man
wouldn't act so."
Troubled and anxious, he glanced over the paper
here and there, appearing to read; then flung it
down, got up, and went out to look at Carlo in the
shed.
In a little while he came back and stood in the
door.
you
tie him ?” he asked.
“ Tie who? Oh, the dog ?” said Mr. Wiggin.
“ Hem! yes; I thought he'd better be tied."
“But you said there was no need of tying him;
you hoped he would run away,” Simon reminded
him.
His heart swelled, and his voice trembled as he
spoke, for he knew there was some sinister design
against him and Carlo.
“ That was at first. But I've made up my mind
to give him a trial. And — hem !” — the old man
66 Did


76
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
cleared his throat again, and crossed his legs in a
new position, — “ I'm going to town myself with the
poultry in the morning. I shall drive, and I thouglit
Id take the dog along, to see if he can be larnt to
guard a wagon."
Simon had always been afraid of the old man.
But now, pale and trembling though he was, he spoke
up boldly.
“ I'm not willing to let Carlo go,
unless I go with
him."
“Not willing?"
And the old man stared at him in grim astonish-
ment.
“No, sir !” said Simon, firmly.
" And why not, young man?"
“ Because if I do, I shall never see him again."
Why, can't you trust him with me? Won't I
take good care of him ?”
“ Not such care as I want to have taken of him,"
Simon answered, without flinching before the harsh
voice and cold gray eyes. “You don't like him.
You've hated him till to-day. But you've found
something in the paper about him, and now you want
to take him from me.”
“Suppose I want to get him for the owner; you'll
give him up to the owner, won't you ?" said the old
man.
“ Then that is what you mean to do l" Simon ex-
claimed, passionately.


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO.
77
The old man seemed to be aware that further con-
cealment was useless. He spoke out plainly.
“ Yes; and you may as well know it. The owner
has advertised for him, and I'm going to take him
back."
“There's a reward offered for him, I suppose,
said Simon, swallowing back a great lump that rose
in his throat.
Well, yes, a small one,” said the old man. “You
shall have your share on't. But I think I'm entitled
to my share, too, since I've harbored and fed the
dog."
“You've harbored and fed him!” said the boy,
indignantly. “You'd have kicked him away from
the door, if it hadn't been for me! You - "
But he checked himself. It was no use for him
to have words with the hard and obstinate old man,
and he knew it.
“Go to bed!” said Mr. Wiggin, sternly.
The boy's anger and grief burst forth in a gush
of tears. He obeyed, and went up-stairs to bed,
but not to sleep.
For a long time he lay in a fever of excitement,
thinking over his talk with the old man, and trying
to see a way out of his trouble.
Have you ever loved a dog that somebody threat-
ened to take away from you? Then, if that dog was
a new-found object of affection, and the only thing
you had in the world to love, you may know some-
thing how the boy felt about Carlo.


73
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
Simon Canford was an orphan. He had neither
brothers nor sisters, nor any near relatives who cared
for him. Since he was ten years old he had had to
work for his living, and for the past three years he
had been with Mr. Wiggin.
He was not bound by any papers, and he had no
guardian; but by his faithfulness and industry he
kept his place, and now earned liis twelve dollars a
year, besides his board and clothes. He had also
three months' schooling in the winter, or perhaps I
should say, three months divided between easy
studies in school and hard work at home.
Simon thought over all this as he lay in his bed
under the low garret roof. Bitter feelings rose up
in his heart against the poultry-raiser.
“ He has always been as mean to me as he could
be,” he said to himself. 6 When I found that horse.
shoe he claimed it, because he said I was his hired
boy, my time belonged to him, and it took some of
my time to pick up a horseshoe. He was to clothe
me,
and what clothes I have to wear! I'm ashamed
when I go to meeting or to school. He promised me
a new suit in the spring, but I didn't get it. If it
hadn't been for the pleasant trips across the river to
market, I'd have left him long ago."
Simon was thankful now that he had not left him,
for if he had, he might never have seen Carlo.
" And now he means to take even him
away
from
me! He shan't! Carlo is my dog; I bought him.
I don't want any reward, and old Wiggin shan't have


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO.
79
any. The idea of his claiming a reward for my dog,
that I found and brought home!”
IIe fully made up his mind what to do, and then
went to sleep.
The old man rose early the next morning, as was
his custom, and went to the stairway to call Simon.
Come, boy !” he cried; and thump! thump!
thump! went his fist on the wall. 6 Time to be
stirring; I want to get an airly start !"
He went to the barn, threw open the doors, and
backed out the wagon. Then, having fed the horse,
and done a few other chores, he returned to the
house to see how breakfast was getting on.
" Where's that lazy-bones?” he said, Simon not
having yet made his appearance.
“ Simon!” he
called again, at the foot of the stairs.
No answer.
The old man pounded on the wall.
“Do you want me to come up there and pull you
out of bed ?"
The boy made no sign that he desired any such
assistance. He made, in fact, no sign whatever.
" I hain't seen nor heard a word from him this
morning,” Mrs. Wiggin remarked; “ but I think he
must be out somewhere; I noticed that the dog
was untied.”
“ Dog untied!"
And the old man stalked to the shed. True enough,
Carlo was missing.
Back through the house tramped the old man, his


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO.
81
truded itself on his mind. Had he any right to the
dog?
True, he had bought him of Jeff Holanıl; but, now
he reflected, it did not seem to him very probable
that Jeff was his owner. In short, that so fine a
spaniel, clean and well-fed, and wearing so nice a
collar, should belong to a young scamp like Jeff, —
was it not incredible ?
“And now," Simon said to himself, “ somebody has
advertised for him. That can't be Jeff. It must be
his real owner, who thinks as much of him, maybe,
as I do."
The more he thought of it, the more he was
troubled. In vain he said to himself, as he did more
than once,“I don't care ! I've got him, and I'm going
to keep him. He's my dog now.” In a minute or
two the terrible spectre of the wrong he was doing
somebody would again start up before him.
" I'll go away off somewhere, and hire out in a
place where Carlo was never seen or heard of, and
where I can keep him for mine, and earn more, too,
than ever old Wiggin was willing to pay me."
This was his plan. But suddenly he stopped short
in the road. “I wish I could see that advertise.
ment,” he said. “Maybe it isn't for my Carlo, after
all. I should feel better if I knew that."
He had lately passed a little wayside fancy-store,
where he had seen some cheap magazines and news-
papers in the window. Perhaps he could find there
6


82
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
a copy of the Sun from which Mr. Wiggin made
the clipping
He turned back, and entered the door of the little
shop. He saw a copy of the Sun on the counter,
but it was that morning's issue.
“ Have you yesterday's Sun?" he asked of a
woman who stood waiting to serve him.
He was relieved to hear her answer, “No," so
fearful he was of finding what his conscience had
driven him to seek.
He turned away, but she called after him.
" I shouldn't wonder if I could get you a second-
hand copy, if you want one.”
“ If you please,” said Simon, feebly.
“ Mary,” cried the woman, to a small girl in the
rear of the shop, run in to Mrs. Bowen's and ask
her for her yesterday's Sun; I'll make it right withi
her, if she can spare it."
The girl ran off, and returned in a few minutes
with the paper.
Simon took it with a trembling
hand, paid one cent for it, and went out into the
open air, where he could breathe freely while search-
ing the columns for poor Carlo's fate.
He remembered just the place from which Mr.
Wiggin had cut the slip. He ran his eye down to
it, and there he read:
“STRAYED OR STOLEN. — On Tuesday, 6th inst., a
introd-sized spaniel of mixed breed, fine long hair,
rather curly, light-brown back and sides, more yel-
lowish on the legs, left fore-foot white, also white on


SIMON CANFORD AND NIIS DOG CARLO.
83
end of the tail. Had on when lost a neat collar with
name . Carlo'engraved on it, also · License No. 1941.
A reward of FIVE DOLLARS will be paid to any person
returning the said dog to Mrs. A. A. Watson, No. 96
Vestry Street."
Simon drew a long breath, crumpled up the paper,
and looked down despairingly at Carlo.
“ The old man was right,” he said. " And to think
he was going to play me such a trick for the paltry
reward of five dollars! I wouldn't give up Carlo for
five hundred dollars !"
Tears rushed to his eyes, which he winked away
as he walked.
6 It's too bad !” he said. “ Just as I had got a
dog for the first time, and he is growing attached to
me! Why can't I feel that he is mine? What do I
care for Mrs. A. A. Watson? Why didn't she keep
her dog when she had him ?”
He was walking fast, but not in the same direction
as at first. In spite of himself, in spite of his love
for Carlo and his desperate desire to keep him, he
was going back, not to the home he had left for-
ever, but towards the nearest ferry that would take
him across the river to New York city,
It was near noon of that day, when, tired and dis-
heartened, followed by the dog, Simon walked along
Vestry Street, looking at the numbers, and finally
stopped.
I said followed by the dog; but that is not the
right word. The dog would have bounded on before


84
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
him, if he had not been held by a cord which Simon
had slipped over his neck before taking him into the
city, and he now, with a glad bark and whine, leaped
upon the steps of No. 96.
No need for Simon to study the numbers so care-
fully; Carlo knew his old home.
The joy he showed on seeing it again made Simon
bitterly jealous.
“He doesn't care for me any more now," he mut-
tered, as he went slowly up the steps.
Just then the door opened, and, to his utter sur-
prise and bewilderment, a well-known voice ex-
claimed:
6 Here he is now !”
For a moment it seemed to the boy that he was
back at the poultry-farm once more. It was the
harsh voice of old Wiggin that spoke, and there stood
old Wiggin himself, looking grimly down upon him.
Was it a dream ?
No dreain at all, as Simon knew very well after he
had had a moment to think about it. The old man had
come to bring his report concerning the dog, and
perhaps secure his “share of the reward” in case
Carlo should be recovered.
Behind Mr. Wiggin appeared a little stooping old
lady, who thrust a little head in a little white
cap
out at the door.
“ Carlo! why, precious, darling Carlo!” she ex-
claimed.
And in an instant the dog was in her arms, licking


SIMON CANFORD AND IIIS DOG CARLO.
85
or per-
her hands and face, and wagging his tail,-
haps I should say, wagging himself all over, — while
she caressed him in the fondest manner.
Meanwhile Mr. Wiggin looked sternly at Simon.
“So this is what you run away from home for," he
said, “ to bring the dog and get the reward unbe-
known to me?"
“ No, sir," said Simon. “I haven't run away from
home in the first place; I've left your service, as I
had a right to do, – that's all. I would have given
you warning if I could, but you forced me to do as
I did."
Simon was no longer afraid of the old man. ΙΙο
went on speaking in a voice which trembled with
some nobler emotion than that of fear.
“And I didn't start to bring the dog, either.
didn't make up my mind to bring him till two or
three hours ago."
“What was ye going to do with him?"
“Keep him!” Simon stoutly declared. “I wanted
him; I didn't want any reward."
" Then I trust there won't be no trouble about
that,” said the old man. “ I'm willing you should
have half, but I rightfully claim the other half."
“ Take it all if you want it!” cried Simon with
quivering lips, and eyes filling with tears.
He turned to go; but the little stooping old lady
ran out on the steps, beckoning and calling.
“ Boy ! young man! come back! I want to speak
to you!”
a


86
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
Simon was scarcely able to control the passion of
grief which swelled in his leart as he obeyed.
"I must pay you something," she said. " I must
thank you, at any rate. Come in. Dou’t you want
to bid Carlo good-bye? This man says you were fond
of him."
Simon, standing in the entry, stifled a sob and
said:
No, I can't bid him good-bye. He doesn't care
for me now he has got home.”
“ And do you really care so much for him ? " said
the little old lady, rightly understanding his emotion.
“ I thought everything of him!” Simon replied.
“ You see, I thought he was mine. I bought him of
some boys who were tormenting him. There was
one by the name of Jeff Holand. He said he owned
him, and took
my
half-dollar."
Oh, that Jeff Holand !” said the old lady, indig.
nantly. “He's a boy I took to bring up, and did
everything I could for, and how he repaid me! To
think that at last he should actually sell my Carlo !
That was his last act of ingratitude. Thank Heaven,
I've sent him away, and he can play no more of his
pranks with me!"
She then made Simon tell the whole story of his
rescue of Carlo, his care of him, and his final deter-
mination to restore him to his mistress.
He spoke in a manly, honest way, and in tones
which betrayed his strong affection for the dog.
2


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO.
87
The woman listened with deep interest, and at last
turned to the old inan.
"Is he a truthful boy?" she asked.
“Oh, yes, I must say that for him," the old man
replied; “ though what he says of my not wanting to
keep the dog, - that's stretched a good deal.”
“ But he's an honest, good-hearted boy ?" she con-
tinued.
· Well, yes, I can't deny that,” the old man again
admitted ; " though his going off this morning the
way he did,— I don't consider that to his credit.”
" Yet you forgive him, and are willing to take him
back?"
Oh, sartin, sartin !” said the old man.
good faithful boy. I want him to come back.”
The old lady gave Simon a pleasant smile.
“And what do you say?" she asked.
" I'll never go back there in the world,” replied
Simon,-“never!” And he spoke as if he meant it.
“ Would you go back if I would let him have the
" He's a
dog ?"
“Oh,” said Simon, opening his eyes in astonish-
ment, “I don't know! I'd do almost anything, — I'd
go almost anywhere to have Carlo again!"
Well," said the old lady, “ since you think so
much of Carlo, and since this gentleman gives you
so high a recommendation, I've a proposal to make.
I want a good, honest, faithful boy to fill that Holand
boy's place. How would you like to come and live
with me?”


88
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
“Live - with — you?" Simon gasped out, more
astonished than ever.
“ With me and Carlo," she added, and her pleasant
smile became truly tender and motherly. “He shall
be your dog as well as mine. I am lonely, and I
want a son. I like you, Simon, not merely because
you were so kind to Carlo, and so true and honest as
to bring him bome to me when you loved him so,
but I like your looks. You shall go to school, and
then to college, or get into some kind of business,
if you prefer that. What do you say ?”
Well, what could the poor, homeless, hungry-
hearted boy say? What would you have said in his
place ?
The old man was quite thunderstruck at so unex-
pected a result of the interview. This, then, was
what the shrewd little old lady was driving at with
her questions all the while !
He was sorry to lose Simon, but the reward of
five dollars, the whole of which he was permitted to
carry away, partly consoled him.
The boy's astonishment changed quickly to joy,
and his joy settled slowly down into a most happy
thankfulness for his great good fortune.
He not only had Carlo again, — he had a com-
fortable home, and, best of all, he had a mother.
Do you, who have had a mother all your life, ap-
preciate and love her as Simon soon learned to ap-
preciate and love good Mrs. Watson, I wonder ?


HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME.
OUD screams in the wood-shed frightened every-
body in the house; and Mrs. Drew ran to see
what was the matter. She opened the door, and
there stood her son Edgar by the work-bench, look-
ing proud and fierce, with his fist doubled up; and
there sat his little cousin Walter on the floor, his
eyes shut tight and his mouth wide open, screaming
as loud as he could scream.
« Children! what is the matter ?” cried good Mrs.
Drew, hastening to see if Walter had had a finger
cut off, or an eye put out, or a leg broken, for she
was always afraid some such accident would happen
to those boys.
-struck — me!” screamed Walter.
“He shan't have my playthings !” said Edgar,
shaking his head, and looking prouder and fiercer
than ever; and with his foot he began to push them
under the work-bench. There was an express-wagon
with four wheels, and a cart with two wheels, and a
wheelbarrow with one wheel, a bow and arrow, a box
6. He
89


90
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
of blocks to make houses of, an india-rubber dog that
would bark, and a cat that would mew, when you
squeezed them, a jumping-jack, and I don't know
how many more things. Edgar had had most of the
toys a good while, and had played with them till
they no longer interested him, and they had long
lain in his tool-chest at the end of the work-bench,
neglected and forgotten, and of no use to anybody.
When his little cousin Walter came to live with him,
his mother said, “ There are those old playthings of
Edgar's; they are just what we want for Walter.”
Walter was of course delighted with them. But
Edgar, as soon as he found out that somebody else
wanted his playthings, thought that he wanted them,
and was unwilling to share them with Walter. If
his cousin wished to take the express-wagon, Edgar
said he was just going to take it, and Walter shouldn't
have it; then if Walter gave that up, and chose the
cart, Edgar declared he must have the cart, he
was just going to draw chips in it.
And so they
quarrelled, in spite of all Mrs. Drew could say to
make her son ashamed of his selfishness.
But to-day she thought the time had come to put
an end to these disputes about the playthings. So
she stooped and put one hand kindly on the weeping
Walter's head, and took Edgar's unwilling hand in
the other.
“ There, Walter, don't cry; you shall have the
playthings, for I said you might. Edgar, how can
you treat your little cousin so? Remember you are


HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME.
91
27
a great Boy, almost eleven years old, and he is only
five."
“ I don't care! I ain't going to have him coming
into this house, and getting all my things away
from me!”
“ Ilave you forgotten what you told me when his
poor mother died?
Said I, · Edgar, your little cousin
hasn't any mother now, and he won't have any home,
unless we let him come here : how would you like
to have him for your little brother?' You said you
would love him, and be very good to him.”
“ Yes !” muttered Edgar. “ I thought we'd play
horse, and he'd let me drive; but he wants to drive
half the time! The idea of his driving me! I ain't
going to stand any of that nonsense, now, come!”
"Look here, Edgar; do you know you are talking
to your mother?” said Mrs. Drew.
"I can't help that ! You always take his part
against me. I've stood it long enough. I shan't
stand it any longer."
Mrs. Drew looked at her boy in astonishment.
After a moment's pause she said, calmly, “ What will
you do about it?"
" I'll have Walter go away. If he stays in this
house, I won't !”
“ Very well. Walter is going to stay in this
house, and have kind treatment from everybody in
it. I have talked to you enough. Your father and
I have done all we could to make a good, generous,
happy boy of you; and now if you wislı to leave us,


92
YCUNG JE AND OTHER BOYS.
because you are too selfish to have your little cousin
here, and too ungrateful to remember how you came
by these very playthings, — why, you can go.
And
if you are resolved to be such a bad, rebellious boy,
the sooner you go the better.”'
“Well, I'll go, then !” said Edgar, snatching his
hand away, and walking, fierce and straight, up to
his little bedroom, to pack his things.
Mrs. Drew did not believe he would have the
courage to go, or perhaps she would not have said
what she did; but having said it, she determined to
wait and see what he would do. She went into the
sitting-room, and sat down to her work (she was
making Edgar a skating-cap), but left the door open,
so that she could see him as he passed through the
entry. She tried to appear calm, but she could not
help feeling very anxious all the while he was in his
room; and when at last he came down-stairs with his
best clothes on, and a little bundle under his arm,
her heart gave a great throb of love and grief,
and it was all she could do to keep from sobbing
outright.
Edgar, on his part, had not believed that his mother
would finally let him leave the house, any more than
she had believed that he would go; and he thought
it would be a great triumph to have her at the last
moment entreat him to stay. So he made a great
noise tramping through the entry, in order to attract
her attention. As he looked in, and saw her at work
on his skating-cap, his heart almost failed him; but


HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME.
93
he was too proud to stop then, and as she did not
speak, he stalked out of the door, thinking she would
call him back before he got past the gate.
“Edgar!” she said, rapping on the window; and
glad he was to turn back, although he did so very
sullenly.
“What !” said he, with a cross, impatient look.
“ You are not going away without bidding me
good-bye, are you?” said his mother, cheerfully, for
she had got the better of her emotions by this time.
“ I didn't know anybody wanted to say good-bye to
me," replied Edgar, gloomily, hugging his bundle.
Why not?” said his mother. “If it is best for
you to go, I am willing; but let us part friends.
And I must see what
you
have in
your
bundle."
“Oh, I haven't anything Walter will want; don't be
afraid !” said the envious Edgar, bitterly.
Mrs. Drew paid no attention to this remark, which
was intended to be very stinging, but quietly undid
the bundle.
“ What! nothing but a shirt and a night-shirt, a
pair of stockings and a handkerchief? Why, my
child, it will never do to go away from home with
so few things.”
“ These are enough,” said Edgar, stifling his re-
morse and grief. “You'll be glad to give the rest
to Walter."
“But you will have to go to work, if you leave
home, and you will want some every-day clothes."
The boy had not thought of that; and the prospect


9+
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
27
of living out somewhere in the service of strangers
was not very encouraging.
"I can't carry a big bundle," he said.
"Well, then we will send you what clothes you
want, if you will write to us, after you have found a
place,” said his mother, tying up the bundle again.
“I shall go to sea, and you will never hear from
me again !” said Edgar, fiercely. He thought that
would bring her to terms, but she appeared quite
unmoved.
“ Have you money enough for your journey ? "
“I have three dollars and a half.”
“ Where did you get so much ?”
“ It — it - it's some you gave me !” Edgar fal-
tered. Then, finding that he was beginning to soften,
he added, vindictively “I can leave it for Walter, if
you want me to !"
"No, my child; you will want more than that ;
and you know I have never taken anything from you
that you needed, to give it to Walter. It is n't be-
cause I don't love you, and wouldn't do everything
in the world for you, that I insist on your being kind
to your little cousin. After you have been away
from home a while, living among strangers, who will
not be to you what your father and mother and sis-
ters have been, then you
will wish
you
had been more
kind to that poor little homeless, motherless boy."
Mrs. Drew wiped away a tear as she put back the
boy's purse. How he longed then to throw his arms
about her neck, and ask her forgiveness, and promise


HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME.
95
never to be unkind to Walter again! But he was
too proul for that, and he was angry because she
seemed so willing to part with him.
" What shall I say to your father and sisters when
they come home and ask for Edgar ?"
" Anything you like; I suppose you'll make out
as bad a story as you can about me!”
“Oh, Edgar!” said his mother, reproachfully. Then,
showing the skating-cap, " What shall I do with
this? I have spent so many happy hours over it,
anticipating so much pleasure seeing you wear it
this winter; and there will be skating now in a few
weeks.”
“ I shan't want it; and I don't siippose I could
have it long if I did; you'd give it to Walter the
first time he teased for it,” muttered Edgar, turning
to go.
He knew how cruelly unjust this taunt was, and
he wanted her to reply to it But she only said,
“Well, Walter shall have the cap. He will be the
only boy we shall have to love and care for now.
But, Edgar, it is going to rain. There is no need
of your starting in bad weather. You can wait till
morning, if you like.”
“No, I'd rather go now !" And away he strode,
with a tragical air, so full of sorrow and anger and
remorse, that he could not say another word, nor look
back without bursting into tears.
Little Walter, now just beginning to comprehend
what the great trouble was, ran after him, and caught
12


96
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
him by the arm. “Don't go, Edgar!” he pleaded ;
“ don't go! Come back, and I won't ask for your
playthings any more !”
But Edgar shook him off rudely, and slammed the
gate, and so bade good-bye to his comfortable, happy
home, and went out into the great, lonely world.
It was going to rain, sure enough. The sky was
dark, and a few drops already began to sprinkle the
dust of the road. One fell on Edgar's hand and an-
other on his cheek. The earth had never looked so
dreary to him; he had never felt such cold ominous
raindrops before. “ She'll be certain to call me
again before I'm out of sight,” thought he; and oh,
how he hoped she would ! But she did not.
She saw him go up the long hill, carrying his little
bunule, farther and farther, dimmer and diminer,
under the darkening clouds, — her darling boy!
Would she ever see that little coat, those trudging
feet again ? Every moment she expected he would
relent and turn back. “ The rain will certainly send
him home !” thought she; and so she watched and
prayed till he was out of sight.
The rain set in, slow and chill, not like a shower,
but like a long, dismal storm. An hour passed, and
no disheartened. little boy with his bundle was seen
coming down the hill. Then it grew so dark and
rained so hard that his mother could not have seen
him even if he had come.
Edgar walked on very fast at first, without any
idea where he was going, crying bitterly, and mut-


HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME.
97
tering to himself, " I won't go back now ! I don't
care if I do get wet! I'll drown myself, then I
guess she'll feel bad! I'll go to sea, - I will! I'll
come home a rich man, and put up at the hotel, and
not go to see her; and I'll drive a fast horse past the
house, and make ail my old friends presents, and
boo-boo-hoo !” wept the wretched, angry boy, unable
to support his heart with these spiteful fancies.
Patter, patter went the rain, darker and darker
grew the way; and now the serious question forced
itself upon his mind, where was he to pass the night?
Why not go to the hotel now ? Because everybody
knew him in the village, and it would look so strange
for him to go there for lodgings, so near home.
" I'll go where nobody knows me, I'll crawl into a
barn somewhere, and sleep on the hay."
Lights began to appear in the farm-houses he
passed, their cheerful beams making the rain and
darkness seem all the more dismal to his lonely heart.
In one warmly lighted doorway a woman appeared
and called, " Come, my son, come to supper.” “ All
right, mother," answered a cheery boy's voice from
the door of a barn close by; “ I've got the chorès all
done now." And Edgar saw a lad about his own age
go into the house with a brimming pail of milk,
go in to light and warmth and supper; and the, com-
fort of a mother's presence, while he, houseless,
motherless, hungry, drenched, wandered on in the
darkness and rain.
- I'll go into the next barn I come to," thought he.


98
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
And there was one near by; but just as he was
gliding stealthily to the door, a man came out, and
seeing him, exclaimed grufily, “ What do you want
here? Clear out, you little beggar!”
Elgar was frightened, and ran away as fast as he
could. He walked about half a mile farther, then sat
down on a stone wall by the side of the road. Not a
person was passing, not a light was to be seen any.
where. Night had now fairly closed in, and it was
raining still. And there Edgar thought of the past
and of his dismal prospects.
“I wish Walter had never come to our house !
Making a row 'twixt me and mother! I was happy
as I could be before. I didn't use him very well, I
know. I'd got.through with the playthings, and he
might have had 'em. I don't blame him for wanting
to drive me once in a while. And I don't blame
mother for taking his part. I was mean and selfish.
I wish I was back there. Father's got home by this
time, and Jane and Ellen. They're eating supper
I shan't ever see any of mother's good toast
again! I wish I was dead !” And Edgar, jumping
from the wall, which tumbled down after him, walked
on again blindly and miserably.
In the mean while his father and sisters had como
home, and his mother had anxiously told them what
had happened.
“ Don't be frightened,” said Jane; “ he'll be glad
to come back again.”
“No, he won't," said Ellen," he's so stuffy."
now.


HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME.
99
"I wish," - Mrs. Drew, now greatly alarmed, ap.
pealed to her husband, —“I wish you would go
after him, and see if you can find hiin, or hear from
him. It don't seem to me that I can live through
the night unless I can know that he is safe.”'
But Mr. Drew said, “ The rogue! I'm of Jane's
opinion, he'll come home for
supper
and
a dry bed.
At all events, he will know enough to go in out of
the rain."
The family sat down to supper; but a sad supper
it was. All were anxious about Edgar, and as the
rain beat against the windows, they could not help
wondering if he was out in it.
After supper Mr. Drew said, “I believe I will go
out and see if I can track him.” So he lighted a
lantern, and took an umbrella, and went off in pur-
suit of the fugitive.
In an hour he came back without him.
“ Couldn't you find him ?” cried out the despair.
ing mother.
“ What! hasn't he come home yet? Ir pected to
find him here before me. It's an awful night!”
It was row getting very late. Mrs. Drew did not
dare to say what she felt; she could not stay in the
presence of the family; but she went up the stairs
to her boy's little bedroom, and entering where all
was dark, threw herself upon her knees by his bed,
and began to pray, in a voice convulsed with anguish,
for the welfare and safe return of her dear lost
child.


100
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
“ Mother!" sobbed out a well-known voice by her
side.
“ Edgar, you here!” she cried.
“ Yes, mother !” said the penitent, under the bed.
clothes.
In her joy she threw her arms abont him, and it
was a minute before she could control her feelings
sufficiently to ask, “How came you here? how did
you get in?"
“I was ashamed to have you see me, and I climbed
up the apple-tree on to the piazza, and got in at the
window, about half an hour ago. And, O mother, I
have been so unhappy - and I know I've been a bad
boy – I know I don't deserve it, but if you will for.
give me
Forgive him! Why, the happy mother had never
loved him so in all her life. She went and told his
father and sisters, and brought him up a plate of
toast she had kept warm for him, and stood by while
he ate it, sitting up in bed.
“I tell you, mother," said he, “I've found out
what home is, and you won't catch me leaving it
again in a hurry. I thought of it, sitting on that
stone wall in the rain, and I didn't go much farther
after that, you'd better believe; but I turned round
in a little while, and came as straight back as ever
I could. I crossed by Towner's Lane, and that's the
way,
I
suppose,
I missed father. Oh, what toast !
It's the best toast, and I've got the best father and
mother, and the best home and sisters, there are in


HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME.
101
this world! And see here, mother," — Edgar looked
up earnestly in her face, “ if I can't afford to be a
decent sort of boy in such a home as this, just send
me off again, that's all I”
Need I add that she has dever yet bad occasion to
send him off again?


THE
ONE-EYED HOSTLER'S STORY.
W
HAT amused us most at the Lake House last
summer was the performance of a bear in the
back yard.
He was fastened to a pole by a chain, which gave
him a range of a dozen or fifteen feet. It was not
very safe for visitors to come within that circle,
unless they were prepared for rough handling.
He had a way of suddenly catching you to his
bosom, and picking your pockets of peanuts and
candy — if you carried
any about you
in a manner
which took your breath away. He stood up to his
work on bis hind legs in a quite human fashion, and
used paw and tongue with amazing skill and vivacity.
He was friendly, and didn't mean any harm, but he
was a rude playfellow.
I shall never forget the ludicrous adventure of a
dandified New-Yorker, who came out into the yard to
feed Bruin with seed-cakes, and did not feed him
fast enough.
102


THE ONE-EYED HOSTLER'S STORY.
103
He had approached a trifle too near, when all at
once the bear whipped an arm about him, took liin
to his embrace, and “went through” his pockets in
a hurry. The terrified face of the struggling and
screaming fop, and the good-natured, business-like
expression of the fumbling and munching beast,
offered the funniest sort of contrast.
The one-eyed hostler, who was the bear's especial
guardian, lounged leisurely to the spot.
Keep still, and he won't hurt ye,” he said, turn-
ing his quid. “That's one of his tricks. Throw out
what you've got, and he'll leave ye.”
The dandy made haste to help Bruin to the last of
the seed-cakes, and escaped without injury, but in a
ridiculous plight, - his hat smashed, his necktie and
linen rumpled, and his watch dangling; but his fright
was the most laughable part of all.
The one-eyed hostler made a motion to the beast,
who immediately climbed the pole, and looked at us
from the cross-piece at the top.
“ À bear,” said the one-eyed hostler, turning his
quid again, " is the best-hearted, knowin'est critter
that goes on all-fours. I'm speakin' of our native
black bear, you understand. The brown bear ain't
half so respectable, and the grizzly is one of the ugli-
est brutes in creation. Come down here, Pomp.”
Pomp slipped down the pole and advanced towards
the one-eyed hostler, walking on his hind legs and
rattling his chain.


104
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
Playful as a kitten !” said the one-eyed hostler,
fondly. “I'll show ye.”
He took a wooden bar from a clothes-horse near
by, and made a lunge with it at Pomp's breast.
No pugilist or fencing-master could have parried a
blow more neatly. Then the one-eyed hostler began
to thrust and strike with the bar as if in downright
earnest.
“Rather savage play," I remarked. And a friend
by my side, who never misses a chance to make a
pun, added :
Yes, a decided act of bar-bear-ity.”
" Oh, he likes it !" said the one-eyed hostler. “Ye
can't hit him."
And indeed it was so. No matter how or where
the blow was aimed, a movement of Pomp's paw,
quick as a flash of lightning, knocked it aside, and
he stood good-humoredly waiting for more.
· Once in a while," said the one-eyed hostler, rest.
ing from the exercise and leaning on the bar, while
Pomp retired to his pole," there's a bear of this
species that's vicious and blood-thirsty. Generally,
you let them alone, and they'll let
you
alone. They
won't run from you maybe, but they won't go out
of their way to pick a quarrel. They don't swagger
round with a chip on their shoulder lookin' for some
fool to knock it off."
“ Will they eat you ?” some one inquired; for
there was a ring of spectators around the performers
by this time.



w
une
THE ONE-EYED HOSTLER'S STORY.
Page 103





THE ONE-EYED HOSTLER'S STORY.
105
“As likely as not, if they are sharp-set, and you
lay yourself out to be eaten; but it ain't their habit
to go for-human flesh. Roots, nuts, berries, bugs,
and any small game they can pick up, satisfies their
humble appetite, as a general thing.
“ But they're amazin' fond of honey, and there's no
end of stingin' they won't stand for the fun of robbin'
a bee-nest. They're omnivourous as a hog."
The spectators smiled, while some one remarked:
“ You mean omnivorous."
The .hostler winked his eye knowingly, and re-
plied :
“I mean omnivourous," with a still stronger accent
on the wrong syllable. “ I found the word in a book,
and it means eatin' or devourin' all sorts. That's
what a bear does. He likes everything, and a good
deal of it. He can't live on suckin' his paws all
winter, neither. That's a foolish notion."
“Do you mean to say a bear doesn't hibernate ?"
I asked.
“He hibernates, - yes, I believe that's what they
call it,” replied the one-eyed hostler. " He lies
curled up kind o' torpid sometimes in winter; but
what he really lives on then is his fat.
“ Fat is fuel, so ter speak. He lays it up in the
fall, and burns it out in the winter. He
cold-weather quarters plump, and comes out lean ;
but it's only in very cold weather that he keeps so
quiet. In mild, open winters he's out foragin' around,
and when there comes a warın spell in the toughest
goes into his


106
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
winter, you may see him. He likes to walk out and
see what's goin' on, anyhow.”
The one-eyed hostler leaned against the pole,
stroked Pomp's fur affectionately, and continued
somewhat in this style :
“ Bears are partic'larly fond of fat, juicy pigs, and
once give 'em a taste of human flesh, — why, I
shouldn't want my children to be playin' in the
woods within a good many miles of their den!
“ Which reminds me of Old Two Claws, as they
used to call him, a bear that plagued the folks over
in Ridgetown, where I was brought up, -wal, as
much as forty year ago.
"He got his name from the peculiar shape of his
foot, and he got that from trifling with a gun-trap.
You know what that is, loaded
gun
set in such a
way that a bear or any game that's curious about it,
must come up to it the way it p'ints; a bait is hung
before the muzzle, and a string runs from that to the
trigger.
“He was a cunning fellow, and he put out an in-
vestigatin' paw at the piece of pork before trying his
jaws on it; so instead of gettin' a bullet in the head,
he merely had a bit of his paw shot away. There
were but two claws left on that foot, as his bloody
tracks showed.
“He got off; but this experience seemed to have
soured his disposition. He owed a spite to the
settlement.
One night a great row was heard in my uncle's
a


108
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
she was there once before, so she preferred to leave
it in the woods rather than expose it to the coarse
jokes of the boys. The little thing was used to such
treatment. Whether carried or hung up, pappoosey
never cried.
“ The squaws traded off their truck, and bought,
with other luxuries of civilization, a gallon of whis-
key. They drank out of the jug, and then looked at
more goods. Then they drank again, and from being
shy and silent, as at first, they giggled and chatted
like a couple of silly white girls. They spent a good
deal more time and money at Gorman’s than they
would if it hadn't been for the whiskey, but finally
they started to go back tlırough the woods.
“They went chattering and giggling to the tree
where the pappoose had been left. Then suddenly
their noise stopped. There was no pappoose there !
“ This discovery sobered them. They thought at
first the fellows around the store had played them a
trick by taking it away; but by-and-by the Red-
Sky-of-the-Morning set up a shriek.
“ She had found the board not far off, but no pap-
poose strapped to it, only something that told the
story of what had happened.
“ There were bear-tracks around the spot. One
of the prints showed only two claws.
“The Red-Sky-of-the-Morning went back to the
camp with the news; the other squaw followed with
the jug.
“When the Water-Snake-with-the-Long-Tail heard


THE ONE-EYED HOSTLER'S STORY.
109
that his pappoose had been eaten by a bear, he felt,
I suppose, very much as any white father would have
felt under the circumstances. He vowed vengeance
against Old Two Claws, but consoled himself with a
drink of the fire-water before starting on the hunt.
“ The braves with him followed his example. It
wasn't in Indian nature to start until they had
emptied the jug, so it happened that Old Two Claws
got off again. Tipsy braves can't follow a trail worth
a cent.
“Not very long after that a woman in a neighbor-
ing settlement heard her children scream one day in
the woods near the house. She rushed out, and saw
a bear actually lugging off her youngest.
"She was a sickly, feeble sort of a woman, but such
a sight was enough to give her the strength and
courage of a man.
She ran and caught up an axe.
Luckily she had a big dog. They two went at the
bear.
“ The old fellow had no notion of losing his dinner
just for a woman and a mongrel cur. But she struck
him a tremendous blow on the back; at the same
time the pup got him by the leg. He dropped the
young one to defend himself.
She caught it up
and
ran, leaving the two beasts to have it out together.
“ The bear made short work with the cur; but in-
stead of following the woman and child, he skulked
off into the woods.
“ The settlers got together for a grand hunt; but
Old Two Claws — for the tracks showed that he was


110
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
66
the scoundrel — escaped into the mountains, and
iived to make more trouble another day.
“ The child ? Oh, the child was scarcely nuru! it
had got squeezed and scratched a little in the final
tussle; that was all.
“As to the bear, he was next heard of in our
settlement."
The hostler hesitated, winked his one eye with an
odd expression, put a fresh quid into his cheek, and
finally resumed:-
" A brother-in-law of my uncle, a man of the name
of Rush, was one day chopping in the woods about
half a mile from his house, when his wife went out to
carry him his luncheon.
She left two children at home, a boy about five
years old, and a baby just big enough to toddle
around.
“The boy had often been told that if he strayed
into the woods with his brother, a bear might carry
them off, and she charged him again that forenoon
not to go away from the house; but he was an enter-
prising little fellow, and when the sun shone so pleas-
ant, and the woods looked so inviting, he wasn't one
to be afraid of bears.
“ The woman stopped to see her husband fall a big
beech he was cutting, and then went back to the
House ; but just before she got there, she saw the
oldest boy coming out of the woods on the other side.
He was alone. He was white as a sheet, and so
frightened at first that he couldn't speak.


THE ONE-EYED HOSTLER'S STORY.
111
"Johnny,' says she, catching hold of him, 'what
is the matter?'
“. A bear!' he gasped out at last.
“Where is your little brother ?' was her next
question.
“* I don't know,' said he, too much frightened to
know anything just then.
". Where did you leave him?' says she.
“ Then he seemed to have gotten his wits to-
gether a little. A bear took him !' said he.
“ You can guess what sort of an agony the mother
was in.
“50 Johnny, tell me true! Think! Where was it?'
". In the woods,' he said. · Bear come along –
I run.'
“She caught him up and hurried with him into
the woods. She begged him to show her where he
was with his little brother when the bear came along.
He pointed out two or three places. In one of them
the earth was soft. There were fresh tracks cross-
ing it, bear tracks. There was no doubt about it.
" It was a terrible situation for a poor woman.
Whether to follow the bear and try to recover her
child, or go at once for her husband, or alarm the
neighbors, what to do with Johnny meanwhile, — all
that would have been hard enough for her to decide,
even if she had had her wits about her.
“She hardly knew what she did, but just followed
her instinct, and ran with Johnny in her arms, or
dragging him after her, to where her husband was
chopping;


112
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
66
Well,” continued the one-eyed hostler, “1
needn't try to describe what followed. They went
back to the house, and Rush took his rifle and started
on the track of the bear, vowing that he would not
come back without either the child or the bear's
hide.
“ The news went like wildfire through the settle-
ment. In an hour half a dozen men with their dogs
were on the track with Rush. It was so much
trouble for him to follow the trail that they soon
overtook him with the help of the dogs.
“ But in spite of them the bear got into the moun-
tains. Two of the dogs came up with him, and one,
the only one that could follow a scent, had his back
broken by a stroke of his paw. After that it was
almost impossible to track him, and one after another
the hunters gave up and returned home.
“At last Rush was left alone ; but nothing could
induce him to turn back. He shot some small game
in the mountains, which he cooked for his supper,
slept on the ground, and started on the trail again in
the morning.
"Along in the forenoon he came in sight of the
bear as he was crossing a stream. He had a good
shot at him as he was climbing the bank on the other
side.
“ The bear kept on, but it was easier tracking him
after that by his blood.
“ That evening a hunter, haggard, his clothes all
in tatters, found his way to a backwoodsman's hut


114
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
about him, and I suppose really imagined that the
bear had got himn.
“ But the baby had crawled into a snug place
under the side of the rain-trougl, and there he was
fast asleep all the while. When he woke up two or
three hours after, and the mother heard him cry,
her husband was far away on the hunt.
“ True — this story I've told you ?" added the
one-eyed hostler, as some one questioned him.
« Every word of it."
“But your name is Rush, isn't it?” I said.
The one eye twinkled humorously.
“My name is Rush. My uncle's brother-in-law
was my own father."
" And you?" exclaimed a bystander.
"I," said the one-eyed hostler, "am the very man
who wasn't eaten by the bear when he was a baby.”


MY LOST POCKET-BOOK.
MY
That was my
Y name is Edney Philip Clement Edney,
father's name before me. Twen.
ty odd years ago he did a small but comfortable dry.
goods business in Utica. But in the panic of '57
he met with severe losses; and he had hardly
weathered the financial storm when he was taken
down with a disease from which he never recovered.
In his last illness he was deeply concerned for the
future of his family. I was the eldest son, and he
frequently expressed the hope to my mother and to
me that in some way we should be able to find Har.
ringford.
Thomas Harringford was a generous-hearted but
rather unprincipled young man who had been in my
father's employ several years
before.
He had got into bad company, and was guilty of
some irregularity, as the modern genteel phrase is,
having helped himself to my father's cash to the
amount of several hundred dollars, before his dis-
115


116
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
honesty -- I mean lis irregularity — was discovered.
Ile was penitent, and confessed everything, but it
was impossible for liim to make restitution.
He had been a favorite of both my father and
mother, and they could not bear to have him sent to
prison. So, on his promising to reform, lead an
honest life in future, and ropay my father when he
was able the sums he had stolen, - I mean misap-
propriated, he was let ofi.
He went to parts where he was unknown, and
only vague rumors concerning him had reached us
since. One of these rumors was that he had been
seen in Buffalo and Detroit, and that he was doing a
prosperous business.
On settling up my father's estate, my mother found
that she and her little family were left in straitened
circumstances. Then we remembered what he had
said about Harringford. I wrote to him letters
directed to Buffalo and Detroit, but failed to receive
At last we were so much in need that I
said:
Mother, if you can spare the money for me to
make the journey, I believe I can find him, and get
at least a part-payment of what he owes us."
It was a long time before she would listen to this
proposal. She could ill afford the expense. Though
we held Harringford's note to my father, it was out-
lawed, and she had not much faith in my being able
to get any money of him, even if he could be found
in one of the two cities named.
answers.
66


MY LOST POCKET-BOOK.
117
At last, however, thinking the journey might do
me some good at any rate, she consented to it, and
in July I set out.
I went first to Buffalo, where I began with the
post-office and directory, but without being able
to find the man I was searching for. I proceeded
to Detroit. No luck there either. I returned to
Buffalo, stopping at Cleveland by the way, and final-
ly gave up the search, concluding that Harringford
must have gone elsewhere, and that the world was
too large a haystack for me to hunt in for such a
needle.
But my mother had told me to be sure to visit
Niagara before my return; so one afternoon I went
down by a late train to the Falls, which I saw by
moonlight for the first time.
I was of course too poor to go to a first-class
hotel, but put up at one both small and obscure.
The next morning was fine. I was in good spirits,
in spite of the failure of my undertaking, for I had
youth and health. I passed the day at the Falls,
but, for economy's sake, I felt that I ought to leave
on the night train for Utica. So I prepared to take
leave of the great cataract.
“But I am going to drink out of it first, any way,"
I said to a young man whose acquaintance I had
made that afternoon.
The American shore of the river was not fenced
in from the public in those days, as I found it when
I was there a year ago. We stood at the very brink,


118
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
near the edge of the fall. The wild, tumbling rapids
shot past us, seemed to pause
an instant on the verge,
broke into curves of marvellous green water, then
crumbled into masses of foam, and fell thundering
into the abyss.
With that view before me, boy-like, I got down
on my hands and knees for my drink. My lips
touched the swift water. I had my drink, and was
about to rise, when something dropped out of the
inner breast-pocket of my coat, and shot away from
my reach and sank from sight before I could put out
my hand. In my astonishment, I was near making a
leap after it, but the sight of the steaming gulf be-
low brought me to my senses.
“ Gone !” I exclaimed, Alinging up my hands in
despair. “Did you see it?”
“See what?” said my companion.
My pocket-book !" I replied, full of consternation.
It dropped from my coat-pocket into the water.
I came within one of going after it!”
He had seen nothing. I explained how it hap-
pened. I had always carried my pocket-book in that
way, and never dropped it before. But in stooping
far forward to bring my lips to the water, I had
emptied my pocket, and lost in an instant all my
money, together with that poor outlawed note of
Harringford's among other more or less valuable
papers.
My chance acquaintance expressed his sympathy
in well-sounding words, but all at once he appeared


MY LOST POCKET-BOOK.
119
to have grown cold towards me. Perhaps he ex-
pected I should want to borrow money of him, for
money I should certainly need in getting away from
the Falls. I still had my hotel bill to pay, and I
could not very well travel by rail for nothing.
We had already exchanged cards, and I had ascer-
tained that his name was Eastmore,
that he was a
reporter, or something of the sort, for a Buffalo pa-
per. I thought a young man of his experience
ought to be able to give me good advice, if nothing
else, and I begged him to tell me what to do.
“ Have you any friend in town that you can call
on for assistance ?” he asked.
“Not one,” I said; and added, without thinking
how he would take it, “ You are the only acquaint-
ance I have here except the hotel folks.”
He laughed and looked embarrassed.
“ That's bad !” he said. “I would be glad to lend
you a little money, if I had any to spare, but I
haven't. Perhaps the hotel folks will help you, if
you can convince them of the truth of your story.”
A horrible suspicion flashed across my mind. I
might pass for an impostor !
" The truth of it!" I exclaimed. “Why, I had
my pocket-book right here, with twenty dollars in
it! And what motive could I have —" In my be-
wilderment I could not finish my question.
“ Of course you had your pocket-book,” he an-
swered with a smile; "and mind, I don't say you
have any motive for making a false pretension. But


120
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
the world is full of impostors, who are always in-
venting excuses for borrowing money or for omitting
to pay their bills. Hotel-keepers have to deal with
such characters pretty often, and we can't blame
them for being a trifle suspicious of men who have
lost their pocket-books."
He must have been impressed by the horrified
look I gave him, for he immediately went on:
“ Of course, I am as much convinced that
you
lost
your pocket-book in the way you say, as if I had
seen it go over the falls. But even if I had seen it,
I never saw the money in it, - though don't under-
stand me to say that I have any doubt of that either.
I am only stating the case as it might look to other
people, if you didn't carry such an honest face about
with you."
“ Thank you for so much !” I said, bitterly ; for
now I perceived by something in his look and tone,
which he could not hide, that in his own mind my
story stood sadly in need of confirmation.
I couldn't blame him, however. Impostors are
in the majority smooth-tongued people in want of
assistance; and the worst of their sin is that they
throw discredit upon honest people who have been
really unfortunate. I was destined to find that out
to my sorrow.
I felt that the first thing to be done was to make
my case known to my landlord, and I went back to
the house. I told him, in as cool and business-like


MY LOST POCKET-BOOK.
121
a way as I could, what had happened, and asked him
to trust me for the amount of my bill.
Eastmore went with me, and I hoped he would
say something to corroborate my story ; but he was
very cautious. He stood at my elbow, a little be-
hind, and I suspect there was something in his face
which did not help my cause.
The landlord, a short, stocky, red-visaged, wall-
eyed Irishman, glanced over his shoulder with the
one good eye he had, and seemed to receive intelli-
gence to my disadvantage.
I turned quickly. I don't think Eastmore had
made a signal, but he had not concealed his incre-
dulity. I found then that I might better have gone
alone to the landlord.
" I don't know anything about your losing your
pocket-book," said the Irishman, after hearing me
out. “ If you have no money, you must get some.
My business is to keep a hotel, and I can't furnish
guests with board and lodging for the fine stories
they may tell."
The words stung me, but I managed to reply
calmly :
“I don't ask you to do any such thing. I shall
pay you every cent I owe you. But I have lost my
money, and can't very well afford to stay here until
I receive more."
Then it occurred to me that that was just what he
would like to have me do. He could hold my valise


122
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
for security, and my bill would be increasing; -o [
added :
“I shall be obliged to leave your house, any way.
If you will let me take my valise, I think I may get
passed over the railroad; and I promise to send you
the two dollars I owe you as soon as I reach Utica."
He smiled.
6. What time is it?” he asked.
I took out my
watch and told him. “ That's a good-looking tur-
nip,” he said. “Leave that, and you may take your
baggage."
The watch had been my father's. I wouldn't have
trusted it in his hands on any account.
“No, thank you!" I said, and put it back into my
pocket.
He saw that I distrusted him, and became abusive.
" You're a swindler!” he cried. “I've heard of
you before. How many pocket-books have you lost
this week? I've a cat here that could eat them all,
and lick her chaps for more. Ah!" he shook his
fist at me angrily, “ I'm the wrong man for you
to
try your little confidence game on. If you come into
my house again without the money,” he shouted
after me as I was turning my back on him indig-
nantly," I'll have you arrested ! I'll have you in the
lock-up!"
I think I never was so angry in my life ; but what
is the use of arguing with a wild beast? I held my
tongue, and walked out of his miserable hotel with-
out my baggage. I had been poorly accommodated


124
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
the next morning, for the expected letter from home.
It did not come. But I got an interesting bit of
news instead.
I took up at the breakfast-table a newspaper which
a gentleman had laid down, and read with feelings
which you can perhaps imagine, this item, under the
heading of -
" SPRAY FROM THE FALLS.
“Don't drink out of the Cataract! That is what Philip Clem-
ent Edney attempted to do on Tuesday, in the presence of our
reporter, and thus parted with a large and well-stuffed pocket-
book, which took that occasion to leap out of his breast-pocket
and dart over the American Fall like a fish. Philip Clement Ed-
ney was hugely disgusted; so likewise was the landlord of the
Eagle House, when he found that the said P. C. E. had nothing
but fair promises wherewith to settle his bill. Unfortunately our
reporter could not swear to the wallet and its contents; and in
this age of dead-beats and confidence-men, P. C. E. naturally fell
under some suspicion.
“If an impostor, — which our reporter did not believe, he is
a very young and a very good-looking specimen. If an honest
person, as he appears, – we can only say that it was an expen-
sive drink, and refer the prudent reader to the MORAL of our story,
which, to insure its being read, we have placed at the beginning,
and here repeat at the end, — Don't drink out of the Cataract !”
Hot and cold streaks shot over me as I read this
smart paragraph. I burned to get hold of East-
more's sagacious nose, and be rude to it. My name
- the name which the reporter had given in full
was on the hotel register, and already, no doubt, I
was an object of suspicion by the clerk. I arose
hastily and left the dining-hall.
I went to cool my heat under the cliff below the


MY LOST POCKET-COOK.
125
me;
а
F:l's, and did not return to the hotel until noon.
Agrin I asked the clerk for letters. There were
none for but there was something else
card.
“ H. F. MARSTON was the name I read on it; and
I was informed that Mr. Marston had inquired for
me.
“I don't know him," I said. “Who is he?”
By way of reply the clerk struck a bell, called a
messenger, and sent him off to see if Mr. Marston
was in his room, and to tell him that “ Mr. Edney"
had returned. Then he said to me:
“ You are the young man who left a watch with
me, I believe. Do you wish for it?
“I shall wish for it," I said, “ when I have money
to pay my bill, which I am expecting by every
mail."
“ Then it wasn't simply for safe-keeping that you
handed it to me?” he said.
“ Not altogether," I replied. “I had no baggage ;
and to avoid unpleasant explanations, and perhaps
still more unpleasant suspicions, I thought I would
place that security in your hands."
He smiled as he took the watch from the safe and
handed it back to me.
“I don't require the security. I believe you are
honest, Mr. Edney. The paragraph in this morn-
ing's paper has excited interest, and one or two
persons have asked about you. Mr. Marston wished
particularly to see you.
Walk
up
stairs."


MY LOST POCKET-BOOK.
127
He had not heard of my father's death. When I
told him, and described the straitened circumstances
of our family, he appeared greatly astonished and
conscience-stricken.
“Why haven't you sent for me?” he asked.
“ My father, in his last moments, begged us to let
you know our circumstances, and I have gone through
three cities in search of you,” I replied. “But no
Thomas Harringford — "
He stopped me again. “Of course not,” he said.
“ There is no such man now, and never has been,
since I left Utica and began a new life under a new
name. I have been much to blame that I have never
repaid your father. Do you know the amount of the
debt?"
• The face of the note was seven hundred and
forty dollars," I answered.
“ But that, I am sorry
to say, went over the Falls in my pocket-book.
But I have a letter to you from my mother, which
I have left in my valise at the Eagle House.”
" Go and get it,” he said.
"I can't," I replied, “ for I have no money to pay
my bill there."
He at once opened his pocket-book. “Take that
and get your valise."
He put a twenty-dollar bank-note into my hand.
In half an hour I had redeemed my baggage, told
the landlord of the Eagle House in plain language
what I thought of his conduct, and returned to Har-
ringford's room or rather Marston's — with my
mother's letter.
91


128
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
In reading it he had to hide his face. Tears were
still in his eyes, though he was smiling again. Then
he turned to me.
“ That was a lucky paragraph in this morning's
paper,” he said ; " and a lucky accident which de-
tained
you here. In
your
absence I have computed
the present value of that note at compound interest;
and now it gives me the greatest satisfaction to repay
your family in a time of need. I have deducted the
twenty dollars I just handed you; and here is the
balance."
He put a paper into my hands. I couldn't believe
my eyes. It was a check for twenty-three hundred
and ninety dollars.
I did not wait for my mother's letter, but took the
next train for home.
I found my letter there waiting for her. She was
away, and it had not been forwarded. She soon re-
turned, and I had the joy of putting Harringford's
check into her hands. We felt some anxiety lest it
shouldn't prove good for the large sum of money
it called for; but it did; and it proved also to be the
turning-point in our fortunes.
In my delight at the happy termination of my ad-
venture, I forgave everybody who had wronged me.
I forgave the wall-eyed landlord. I even forgave
Eastmore.
I have visited Niagara Falls more than once
since; but I never again felt any desire to drink
out of the cataract.


ANDY’S
ADVENTURES;
OR,
THE WORLD BEWITCHED.
А
NDY’S folks had gone to town, and left him at
home to take care of the house, watch the
garden, and amuse himself.
Andy bad a new bow and arrow, and he thought
it would be great sport to have nothing to do all
the afternoon but to shoot at the robins and wood.
peckers.
So, as soon as the wagon was out of sight, and the
gate shut, he ran into the orchard, and began the
fun. He kept near enough to the house to see if
anybody came to the door, and near enough to the
garden to see if the pigs got into it; and whenever
he saw a bird, he sent an arrow after it. But the
robins soon found out what he wanted, and flew away
when they saw him coming. Their beautiful red
breasts would have been capital marks, if they had
only waited for him to get a good shot. The wrens
were not afraid, but they were so small he could not
liit them. And the swallows kept Aying about so,
9
129


130
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
twittering and darting here and there, that he knew
he would have to practise a long time before he
could take them on the wing. The yellow-birds and
blue-birds were so shy that he could hardly see one
in sight of the house. So there was no game left
but the woodpeckers.
But woodpeckers are cunning fellows. They
run up the trees, and stick in their bills, and hop
about, and fly from one tree to another so fast, that
it takes a pretty smart boy to hit one. They were
tame enough, and would sometimes let Andy come
quite near; they would stop pecking a moment, and
hold up their red heads to take a good look at him
then they would begin to drum again in the merriest
way, making little holes in the old peach-trees, which
began to look like wooden soldiers that had gone
through the wars and been shot in hundreds of places.
But the instant Andy drew the bowstring and took
aim, they knew well enough what it meant; and it
was provoking to see them dodge around on the bark
and get out of sight just in time to let the arrow
whiz by them. Then they would go to pecking and
drumming again so near, that he wished a dozen
times that he had some kind of an arrow that would
shoot around a tree and hit on the other side.
At length Andy grew tired of this fun; and he
had lost his arrow so many times in the
the grass, and
had to hunt for it, that he got vexed, and thought
it would be much better sport to go and shoot a
chicken.


ANDY'S ADVENTURES.
131
mer.
Now he did not mean to kill a chicken, and he did
not really think he would be able to hit one. But
often we do things more easily when we are not try-
ing very hard, than when we are too anxious. So it
happened with Andy. He tried his luck on the
speckled top-knot, which everybody considered the
handsomest chick that had been hatched that sum-
He drew his bow, let go the string, and the
speckled top-knot keeled over. He ran up to it,
very proud, at first, of his good shot, but frightened
enough when he found that the chicken only just
kicked a little, and then lay quite still.
Andy turned it over, and tried to stand it
upon
its
legs, and thought what he should tell his parents.
“ I'll say a hawk flew down and killed it! But I
shot at the hawk, and he let it drop, just as he was
flying away with it."
This was the story he made up, as he took poor
top-knot and laid it down by the well-curb.
He was still wishing to shoot something that was
alive, and, seeing the cat creep along on the fence
watching for a mouse, he concluded to try his luck
with her. So he drew up, aimed and fired. Puss
was so intent on watching the mouse that she paid
no attention at all to the arrow, which struck the
rail a little behind her, and glanced off towards the
house. Andy heard a sound like shivered glass, and,
running up, saw to his dismay that he had broken a
window.
Now he had been told never to shoot his arrow to-


ANDY'S ADVENTURES.
133
water, he called it his ocean, and launched the “Sea-
bird.” With a pair of bellows he made wind, and
with a dipper he made waves; and by placing a
kettle bottom upwards in the middle of the sink he
made an island; and the good ship pitched and
tossed, and rolled in a very exciting manner. At
length he resolved to have a shipwreck. This he
managed, not by putting the ship on a rock, but by
putting a rock on the ship. He used for the pur-
pose the stone Joe Beals did not throw through the
pantry window, and the “ Sea-bird” went down, with
all her crew on board. He then opened the holes in
the sink, and the tide, going out, left the vessel on
her beam-ends, stranded.
It would have been well for Andy if he had been
contented with such innocent pastimes, without doing
mischief to the cat, or chickens, or pigs, or trying to
shoot the pretty birds that fly about the orchards,
singing so sweetly, and eating the worms that de-
stroy the trees.
But nothing satisfied him; and to have some better
fun than any yet, he determined to stand in the door
and scream“ Fire !” He could not imagine greater
sport than to see the neighbors come running to put
out the fire, and then laugh at them for being duped.
He did not consider that they would have to leave
their work, and run a long distance, till they were
quite out of breath; or that his laughter would be a
very mean and foolish return for the good will they
would show in hastening to save his father's house ;


134
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
or that, in case the house should really take fire soine
day, and he should call for help, people might think
it another silly trick, and stay away.
He stood in the door, filled his lungs with a long
breath, opened his mouth as wide as he could, and
screamed, “ Fire ! fire ! fire !"
Three times. He thought it so funny, that he had
to stop and laugh. Then he took another breath, and
screamed again, louder than before,—“Fire! fire!
fire ! fire ! fire !"
Five times; and he heard the echoes away off
among the hills; and, looking across the lot, he saw
old Mother Quirk hobbling on her crutch.
Old Mother Quirk was just about the queerest
woman in the world. She had a nose as crooked as
a horn, and almost as long. It crooked down to meet
her chin, and her chin crooked up to meet her nose.
And some people said she could hold the end of a
thread between them, when she wished to twist a
cord with both hands, although I doubt it. Her
face was so full of wrinkles, that the smallest spot
you could think of had at least twenty in it. Her
eyes were as black as charcoal, and as bright as
diamonds. She was very old; and her back was
bent like a bow; and her hair was perfectly white,
and as long and fine as the finest kind of flax; and
she was so lame that she could never walk without
her crutch.
She was a good woman though, people said, and
knew almost everything. She could tell when it


ANDY'S ADVENTURES.
137
our friends and neighbors tell us? What if my crutch
should lie, and, when I lean on it, break and let me
fall?"
“ I think it would be fun!” said Andy.
“And what if the ground you stand on should not
be the ground it appears to be, but a great pit, and
should let you fall into it when you think you are
walking on the grass ? Suppose that everything was
a lie, that nothing was what it pretends to be, that
the whole world should trick and cheat us?” cried
the old woman, raising her voice.
“ I should like to see the sport !” said Andy, gig.
gling again.
“Should you ?” almost shrieked the old woman
with a terrible look.
“ Yes !” And Andy grinned at a safe distance.
“ Then try it !” exclaimed Mother Quirk.
And holding her crutch under her shoulder, she
brought her hands together with a loud slap. Al-
though Andy was at least three yards off, it seemed
to him exactly as if she had boxed his ear.
almost knocked down, and his head hummed like a
bee-hive; but he could not, to save his life, tell
which ear had been boxed, nor which he ought to
rub. For a minute he kept whirling around, as dizzy
as a top. Then a voice cried, “Catch that rabbit !"
In an instant Andy stopped turning, and saw sit-
ting on the grass right before him the most beautiful
white rabbit, with the softest fur and the longest
ears that ever were.
He was


138
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
“O Bunny !” cried Andy, delighted; and he
stepped forward to smooth the lovely creature with
his hand.
He had scarcely touched it, when it gave a little
hop, and sat down again, just out of his reach.
“ Bunny, Bunny! poor Bun!” cried Andy, coax-
ingly, creeping after it, as eager to catch it as ever
a cat was to put her paw on a mouse. " I won't hurt
you! Poor, poor Bunny!”
But the rabbit watched him with its mild, timid
eyes, and gave two leaps, as light as a feather and
as noiseless, and sat down again by the garden fence.
Andy crept up, still coaxing, and promising not to
hurt it; and when he had got quite near, he spread
out both hands, gave a spring like a cat, and caught
a whole bandful of grass right where the pretty
creature had sat that very instant; but it was gone,
and, looking over the fence, he saw it hopping away
across the garden, from cabbage to cabbage, from
hill to hill of the potatoes, in the airiest and most
graceful manner, but not half as fast as a boy could
So Andy resolved to chase it ; and getting
over the fence, he hurried across the garden, and
came up to it just as it was perched for a moment
like a bird on the top of a slender weed, which did
not bend in the least beneath its weight. Andy
grasped eagerly with both hands, and caught the
weed between them; but away went the rabbit over
the next fence, and across a large sunny pasture,
waking wonderful leaps, so long and light and high
run.


ANDY'S ADVENTURES.
139
that sometimes it seemed to sail in the air on
wings.
Andy ran after it, wild with excitement. Now it
slipped through his fingers just as he pounced upon
it, and tumbled headlong into a bunch of thistles.
Now it floated in the air quite above his head, while
he reached up and jumped, and ran on tiptoe after
it, until he hit his foot against a stone, which he was
looking too high to see, and nearly broke his shin
in falling. Then it skipped along close upon the
ground, stopping when he stopped, and seeming to
invite him to come and catch it, but darting away
again the moment he thought he had it fairly in his
hands.
At last it squatted down against a stump, in a
large, hilly field full of stumps and stones and
ploughed ground, where Andy had never been before.
Almost crying, he was so vexed and tired and far
from home, he came up to the stump. Bunny did
not stir, but only winked a little, and pricked up its
pretty ears.
" Now I'll have you!” And Andy sprang upon
it, catching it with both hands. “I've got you !
I've got you! I've got you !” he cried, in high glee.
“Now, my pretty, naughty — ho!” said Andy, with
the greatest amazement.
For, lo! on opening his hands, he found that the
thing he had given such a chase, and caught at last,
was nothing but a little ball of thistle-down, which
had been blown before him by the wind!


110
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
There he held it, and rubbed his eyes as he looked
at it, and wondered; then he began to remember
what Mother Quirk had said to him ; and he would
have given a good deal just then to have been back
again at the well, as he was before the angry old
woman boxed his ear. He was afraid she had be-
witched him.
He looked at the thistle-down again and again,
and turned it over, and picked it to pieces a little,
then brushed it off from his hand, when, () wonder-
ful! it immediately changed to a dove, and flew into
the sky! But he found that he had pulled out some
of its feathers, and still held one beautiful long white
quill in his fingers.
Now he was sorry he had not kept it. And
he would have got up and run after it again; but
just then, happening to look where he had thrown
the feathers down by the stump, he saw one of the
strangest sights in the world.
A little bit of a fellow, not so large as the end of
his thumb, opened a little bit of a door in the side
of the stump, walked out, and looked around as if he
had heard a noise about his house, and wished to see
what had happened.
“ Tom Thumb !” exclaimed Andy, in the greatest
surprise and delight.
He had lately read the history of that famous little
dwarf; and he had often thought he would give all
his playthings just to make his acquaintance.


ANDY'S ADVENTURES.
111
« Tom Thumb! Tom Thumb! how do you do ?”
he said.
But as Tom walked about, and paid no attention
to him, he thought perhaps he had not addressed
lim respectfully enough. So he said, “I beg your
pardon, Mr. Thumb! I hope you are pretty well.
Mr. Thumb."
At that the little gentleman took off his lat, and
made the politest little bow imaginable.
My name is Andy. I have read about you.
Come, let's be friends."
Mr. Thumb made some reply, but in such a very
small voice that Andy could not understand a word.
“ Speak again, Mr. Thumb, if you please.”
And Andy put his head down to liear. But Tom
appeared to be afraid; and, opening the little door
again, he stepped back into the stump.
“Hello! come out again !” cried Andy. “Won't
you? Then I'll find you !”
And with the dove's quill he forced the door of
Tom Thumb's house, and penetrated the entry. At
that he heard a confused murmuring and muttering
and shouting; and, pulling away the feather, he saw
rush out after it a dozen little fellows, all as angry
as they could be.
“Excuse me, gentlemen !” said Andy, as soon as
he had recovered from his astonishment. “I didn't
mean any harm. Did I hurt anybody?”
They did not answer, but kept running to and fro,
and talking among themselves, and darting in and


142
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
out of the door, as if to see what damage had been
done.
Andy watched them with the greatest interest.
They were all dressed in the gayest style, and very
much alike. They had on black velvet caps, striped
with gold, and with long plumes that waved over
their heads. They wore the handsomest little tunics,
of stuff as much finer than silk as silk is finer than
the bark of a tree. They had on beautiful bright
yellow scarfs, and their tunics were bordered with
fringes of the richest orange-color, and their trou-
sers were all of dark velvet and cloth of gold. They
dangled the neatest little swords at their sides, in
golden scabbards; and three or four of them clapped
their hands furiously on the hilts; and one, seeing
the feather which Andy pushed at them, drew out
the finest little black steel blade, not near so large
as a needle, threw himself into a noble fencing atti-
tude, and made an impetuous lunge, thrusting and
brandishing his weapon in the bravest manner.
Andy laughed gleefully, but stopped laughing, to
wonder, when he saw another of the little warriors
shake out the folds of a marvellous little cloak that
covered his back, and, spreading it on the air, sail
aloft with all his flashing colors, sword and plumes.
He came straight to Andy's ear, and said something
in a voice of thunder, and even made a cut or two
at the boy's hair ; then darted away out of sight.
By this time the little doorway in the stump was
crowded with these strange little people. Some


ANDY'S ADVENTURES.
143
hurried to and fro, muttering and shaking their
cloaks, some sailed aloft, and others passed in and
ont of the door, — all very much excited. Andy
also noted several new-comers, who seemed quite
surprised, on arriving, to find the little community
in such confusion. The most of them brought some
kind of plunder, — tiny bags of gold, armfuls of a
minute kind of yellow-ripe grain, silks and satins of
the fine quality mentioned, - which they hastened
to hide away in their dwelling.
But what astonished Andy most of anything was
the appearance of a wonderful little lady, who
walked out among the warriors like a queen. She
was extremely small-waisted, although otherwise
very portly. She wore hoops of the most extraor-
dinary extension, which made her appear three or
four times as large as the largest of her subjects.
She walked with a hanghty air, fanning herself with
a little gossamer fan, while her servants went back-
wards before her, spreading down the cunningest
little carpets for her to tread upon. She was mag-
nificently attired; her dress, of the costliest mate-
rials, the most gorgeous pattern, and the widest
dimensions, was covered all over with the most
splendid little fringes and flounces which it is pos-
sible to conceive. Her countenance, although very
beautiful, was angry, and full of scorn, and she
appeared scolding violently, as she strode to and fro
on the royal carpets.
Andy was almost beside himself with delight and


144
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
amazement, as he watched these proceedings. At
length he said, “ These are not Tom Thumb's peo-
ple, but a nation of fairies ! O what a lucky boy I
am!"
For it is not every boy, you know, that has the
good fortune to discover these rare little people.
They are in fact so seldom seen, that it is now gen-
erally believed that no such beings exist except in
story-books. Andy had read about them with a
great deal of interest; and although he had never
been quite convinced that what was said of them
was really true, he could now no longer have a doubt
on the subject. He had not only discovered the
home of the fairies, but he had seen the fairy queen.
And as Andy was a selfish boy, who wished to
possess every strange or pretty thing he saw, he
felt an ardent desire to seize and carry away the
beautiful and scornful little being, who walked up
and down on the carpets, scolding, and fanning her-
self with the gossamer fan.
“I will put her under a tumbler," he said, " and
keep her there until I can have a glass cage made
for her. And I will make all the little fairy people
come and be my servants, as they will have to if I
carry off their queen. And I will show her to every-
body who comes. And everybody will wonder so!
O, what a lucky boy I ain!”
So saying, he formed his plan for capturing her
Majesty. Being anxious to take her alive, and carry
her off without doing her any personal harm, he


ANDY'S ADVENTURES.
115
resolved to put her into his hat and tie his handker-
chief over it. Having got everything in readiness,
he stooped down very carefully, and extended his
hand. Nobody seemed to be frightened ; and the
next moment the fairy queen was fast between his
thumb and finger.
“ Ha, ha!” cried Andy; "the first time trying !
Hurrah !" And he lifted her up to put her into his
hat.
But instantly the tiny creature began to struggle
with all her might, and rustle her silks, and — queen
as she was — scratch and bite in the sharpest man-
ner.
And at the same time the bravest little war-
riors flew to the rescue, shrewdly darting at Andy's
face, as if they knew where to strike ; and suddenly,
while he was laughing at their rage,
he
got a thrust
in his forehead, and another in his neck, and a third
under his sleeve, where a courageous little soldier
had rushed in and resolutely driven in his rapier up
to the hilt! Andy, who had no idea such little
weapons could hurt so, was terrified, and began to
scream with pain. And now, strange to see! the
fairies were no longer fairies, but a nest of bumble.
bees; it was the queen-bee he held in his fingers;
and two of them had left their stings sticking in his
wounds!
Andy dropped the queen-bee, left his hat and
handkerchief by the stump, and began to run, scream-
ing and brushing away the bees, that still followed
him, buzzing in his hair, and stinging him where
10


146
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
they could. He did not stop until he had run half
across the fallow, and the last of the angry swarm
that pursued him had ceased buzzing about his ears.
“Oh! oh! oh!” he sobbed, with grief and disap-
pointment, and the pain of the stings. “I didn't
know they were bumble-bees! And I've lost my hat!
And I don't know where I am ! Oh! oh! oh!” And
he sat down on a stone and cried.
“ Whoa! hush, haw !” said a loud voice.
And looking up through his tears, he saw an old
farmer coming, with a long whip in his hand, driving
a yoke of oxen. Andy stopped weeping to ask
where he was, and the way home.
“ About a peck and a half a day," replied the
farmer.
Andy did not know what to make of this answer.
So he said again, “ Can you tell me where my father
and mother live ?"
“ One in one stall, and the other in the other.
Hush, haw !" cried the farmer.
"I've got lost, and I wish you'd help me,” said Andy.
“ Star and Stripe," replied the farmer.
“ How far is it to my father's ?” the poor boy then
asked.
“Well, about ninety dollars, with the yoke," said
the farmer. “ Whoa, back!”
At this Andy felt so vexed, and weary, and be.
wildered, that he could not help sobbing aloud.
• What !” said the farmer, angrily ; " making fun
of me?" And he drew up his whip to strike.


ANDY'S ADVENTURES.
147
“Oh, I wasn't making fun!” said Andy, frightened.
“You stopped me, and asked how much corn I
feed my oxen; and I told you. Then where I feed
them ; and I told you that. Then their names; and
I said, Star and Stripe. Then what I would sell
them for; and I gave a civil answer.
And now
you're laughing at me!” said the farmer, raising his
whip again.
Then Andy perceived that, whenever he said any.
thing, he seemed to say something else, and that his
weeping appeared to be laughter, and that, if he
stayed there a moment longer, he would surely get
a whippivg. So he started to run, with the owner
of the oxen shouting at his heels.
“ There ! take that for being saucy to an old man!”
cried the farmer, fetching him a couple of sharp cuts
across the back.
Then he returned to his oxen and
drove them away; while Andy got off from the fal-
low as soon as he could, weeping as if his heart
would break.
Seeing not far off a beautiful field of clover, the
boy thought he would go and lie down in it, and
rest.
He had never seen such clover in his life. It was
all in bloom with blue and red and white flowers,
which seemed to glow and sparkle like stars among
the green leaves. How it waved and rippled and
flashed in the sunshine, when the wind blew! Andy
almost forgot his grief; and surely he had quite for-
gotten that nothing was now any longer what it


148
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
appeared, when he waded knee-deep through the
delicious clover, and laid himself down in it. No
sooner had he done so than he saw that what he had
mistaken for a field was a large pond, and he had
plunged into it all over like a duck.
Strangling and gasping for breath, and drenched
from head to foot, Andy scrambled out of the water
as fast as he could. His hair was wet; and little
streams ran into his eyes and down his cheeks. His
ears rang with the water that had got into them.
He was so frightened that he hardly knew what had
happened. And in this condition he sat down on
the shore to let his clothes drip, and to empty the
water out of his shoes.
Having thought it all over, Andy resolved to make
a new start, and not be deceived by anything again.
Finding his coat very wet, he concluded to wring it
out, and hang it somewhere to dry. He saw a log
and a large wood-pile near by; and he was going
boldly to spread his coat on them in a good sunny
place, when he happened to think that these also
might be cheats, and that it would be wise to test
them before going too near.
He took up a pebble, and threw it. He hit the
end of the log, which immediately changed into a
head with a hat on it; and the log jumped up, and
strode fiercely towards him, on two as good legs as
ever he saw.
“What are you stoning me for?” cried the log,
with a terrible look.


ANDY'S ADVENTURES.
149
“Oh, Mr. Log! I didn't mean to! I didn't know it
would hurt you !” said Andy, clasping his hands.
“I'll teach you to throw stones and call names !”
growled the log, - no, not the log, but the teamster,
whom Andy had mistaken for a log as he lay on the
roadside by his wagon. And he gave two or threo
extra stripes to the boy's trousers with his long whip-
lash. “I didn't mean to! I didn't know it would
hurt you !” he said, mockingly, as he went back to
his team; while Andy rubbed his legs and shrieked.
Now, when wagon and driver were gone, and the
lad saw that there was neither log nor wood-pile
anywhere by the road, he became more and more
alarmed about himself. Everything was a lie, then;
and, the best he could do, he could not help being
deceived and injured. Bitterly he regretted using
old Mother Quirk so ill ; and he said to himself that
he would never tell another lie in his life, if he could
now only get safely home, and find things what they
appeared to be.
Being very tired, he looked about for a stick to
walk with. He thought, too, something of the kind
would be useful to feel with, and test the truth of
things. Soon he saw a very pretty stick lying in the
It was not quite straight; but it had as hand-
some little wavy curves as if it had been carved. It
was beautifully tapered ; and as he came quite near
it, he saw that it was painted with the most wonder-
ful colors, -- glossy black, bright green spots, and
silver rings. It appeared to be a cane, which prob-
sun.


150
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
ably some very rich man had lost. Its carved handle
was of gold, set round with precious stones, in the
midst of which were two very bright, glittering
diamonds.
“ Such a cane is worth picking up!” said Andy,
highly pleased. “I hope the owner won't come to
claim it.” And he stooped down to take hold of the
stick. But he had scarcely touched it, when it be-
gan to move and squirm, and coil up under his hand.
IIe sprang back just in time to save his parents the
grief of a funeral ; for what he had mistaken for a
cane was a living serpent of the most venomous kind;
and it raised its angry crest, darted out its forked
tongue, and struck at him with its hooked fangs,
making his blood curdle and his flesh creep, as he ran
screaming away.
Andy reached a wall — or what seemed a wall —
and scrambled upon it, putting one leg over it, and
looking back; when the stones began to swell and
swell under him, and the whole wall rose up with such
a tremendous lurch, that he was nearly thrown head
foremost to the ground. And he now perceived that,
instead of climbing a wall, he had mounted a horse
that lay dozing in the field. Before he could get off,
the horse began to walk away. In vain Andy cried
“Whoa!” and gently pulled his mane. The horse
seemed to understand 6 Whoa!" to mean
along !” and he began to trot. Pulling his mane
had the effect of pricking him with a goad; and
he began to prapce.
Then Andy gently patted
66 Go


152
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
In a little while a young lad, considerably resem-
bling Andy, might have been seen sitting on the
grass of a field, rubbing bis shoulder, with a jarred
and joyless expression of countenance, which seemed
hesitating between fright and tears, - between numb-
ness and deadness of despair, and a returning sense
of pain and grief. He saw a gay-looking horse frisk-
ing and kicking up along by the fence; felt in vain
for his hat, but found a shock of wild hair instead ;
saw his torn trousers, wet not with water only, but
also with blood from his scratched legs; arose slowly
and sufferingly to his feet; looked imploringly about
him, and began to snivel.
Not knowing what to do, he sat down again, and
wept miserably, until he heard a sound of wheels,
and a voice say, “Get up, Jerry !”
“ That's our wagon — and father and mother !”
exclaimed Andy, in great joy, springing up as quickly
as his sore limbs would permit him.
“ Father !
father!” and he ran towards the road.
The vehicle rattled on. His father either did not
hear or did not heed him. He could not make his
mother look up, scream as loud as he would. Jerry
trotted soberly on, as before. Only Brin, the dog,
pricked up his ears, gave a surly bark, leaped the
fence, and approached him shyly, bristling and
growling:
“ Brin! Brin! here, Brin!” said Andy, alarmed at
the dog's extraordinary behavior.
“Gr-r-r-r!” said Brin, with a snarl and a snap.


154
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
sand by the bridge of liis nose, when an old woman
came hobbling that way on a crutch.
“What's this?” said she. Her back was curved
like a bow; but she beut it still more, stooping over
to look at Andy.
The boy raised his head, brushed the adhering
dirt from his nose, lifted his eyes, and recognized
good old Mother Quirk. But he could not speak.
“I declare !” said she, "one would think it was
Andy Mountford, if anybody ever saw Andy Mount-
ford in such a plight as this !”
That encouraged the wretched boy to open his
mouth, spit out the dirt that obstructed his speech,
and in grievous accents pour forth the story of
his woes.
“ But how do I know this is true ?" said Mother
Quirk, putting up a pinch of snuff under her hooked
nose.
“ It is true, every word; as true as I am Åndy!”
wept the boy.
“ But how do I know you are Andy ? Folks and
things lie so, in this world !” said Mother Quirk.
“But never mind; I suppose it is fine sport; and if
it is really you, Andy, I suppose I may as well leave
you to enjoy it!”
She adjusted her crutch, and was hobbling away,
when Andy, on his knees, called after her, making
the most solemn promises of truthfulness in the
future, if she would help him home.
How do I know what to believo?" said the old


ANDY'S ADVENTURES.
155
a lie -
woman, piercing him with her black, sparkling eyes.
“ You may be a reptile. I've known more than one
that pretended to be human, and honest, and grate-
ful, turn out a reptile at last. Everything is so de-
ceitful, we never know what to depend upon."
She was passing on again; but Andy ran after her,
and caught her gown, still pleading and weeping.
“Bless my heart! Is it really Andy?” said she,
leaning on her crutch. “I've a good mind to trust
you, and try you once !”
· Do, do! good Mother Quirk!”
“Well, come along; my house is close by; and
there comes my black cat to meet me!”
Andy was overjoyed, and clung to her as if he was
afraid she too would turn out a delusion
and work him some new mischief.
They passed a field, in which the old woman picked
up a hat, which she placed on his head, and a hard-
kerchief, which she told him to put into his pocket.
“ If you are Andy, they belong to you,” she said,
with a shrewd look out of her coal-black eyes.
They reached her cottage, where she washed him,
combed his hair, took a few stitches in his clothes,
and stroked his hurts with hands dipped in some
exquisitely soothing ointment. Then they set out
to return to his father's house.
She accompanied him as far as the well, where she
gave him a sudden box on the ear, which set him
whirling The next he knew, he was getting up
from the grass, like one awaking from a dream. Ho


156
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
t'ought he had a glimpse of a crutch and a dark
green gown vanishing behind the wood-shed, but
could not be certain. He looked in vain upon liis
person for any evidence of rents and bruises, bec-
stings, or drenching. He was as good as new, to all
appearance ; and one who did not know the subtle
power of old Mother Quirk would have said that he
had merely fallen asleep on the door-yard turf, and
had a dream.
“Andy!” cried a voice.
That was a reality, if anything was. His folks
had returned, and it was his father calling him.
" Andy! come and open the gate !”
He hastened to swing the old gate around on its
hinges, while Brin ran up eagerly to caress him and
leap upon his legs, and Jerry walked slowly through,
drawing the family one-horse wagon.
“Have you been a good boy, Andy?” asked his
mother, dismounting at the horse-block.
“Yes, ma'am. I mean," he added, fearing that
was an untruth, _“I don't know,- I guess not
very
!"
“ What! you haven't been doing any mischief,
have you ?” cried his father.
Andy remembered the stories he had made up
about the hawk killing the chicken, and the Beals
boy throwing a stone through the pantry window.
But he also remembered his terrible adventure in
a world of lies, - mishaps and horrors which were
somehow dreadfully real to him, whether he had


158
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
him to confess! And it was the hardest thing for
his parents to forgive.
“ Poor old Mrs. Quirk, with her lame leg !” his
mother reproachfully said. “How could you, Andy ?”
"I didn't think, - I didn't know how bad it was!"
he replied.
" What did she say to you? What did the poor
woman do ?”
“She scolded me, and boxed my ears, and made
me crazy,
I
guess, - for such awful things have
happened to me! I never can tell what I have been
through — or dreamed I went through — till she
brought me back!
But I've made up my mind I
never will tell another lie, or act a lie again, if you
will forgive me this once!”
“I forgive you! we forgive you! my dear, dear
boy!” exclaimed Mrs. Mountford, folding him in her
arms, while Mr. Mountford smiled upon him, well
pleased, and stroked his hair.


160
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
1
I'm in my own door-yard, too, and I'll thrash ycu if
you interfere !"
Cy was about seventeen. He had been brought
up on the prairies, and had been accustomed to
trapping and hunting ever since he was ten years of
age. He was no coward, and yet he did not like to
quarrel.
Tied to the dog's neck was a cord about ten feet
long. This Jed held with one hand, while he wielded
a whip with the other. He was trying to teach the
poor frightened dog to come to him.
“ Come here ! come here now !” he would yell,
jerking the rope and plying the lash, while the ter-
rified, cringing,'shivering brute hung back, until he
was dragged, panting, to his master's feet.
“That's no way to teach a dog anything !" cried
Cyrus, with hot indignation. “You should coax
him, not scare him to death.”
“ Will you stand out of the way?” Jed demanded,
angrily.
66 What for?"
“So I can swing my whip.”
“No, I won't.”
“ Then I shall hit you !”
Cy stood his ground resolutely. “You'd better
not,” he said.
“ I'm not afraid of any of the Hayward tribe !”
exclaimed Jed; and he struck at Cy's legs.
In an instant Cyrus snatched the whip from liis
hand and flung it half across the yard.


162
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
Soon Cyrus found his rabbit-traps mysteriously
destroyed. He set them in other places, and they
were destroyed again. Then his own dog lay dead
one morning in the road before the house, evidently
poisoned. He did not know who committed these
cowardly acts, but he could not help thinking
of Jed.
The death of his dog caused Cyrus great grief
and indignation, and the look on Jed's face the next
time they met, convinced him that his suspicion was
not misplaced.
“ I didn't think you such a sneak!” he exclaimed,
angrily. “ If you've a grudge against me, why don't
you step up and settle your account man-fashion ?
I wouldn't go prowling round breaking a fellow's
traps, and killing dogs that are honester and better
than you are !”
“ You want me to take it out of your skin, do ye?”
growled Jed.
“ I think it would be a good deal more manly in
you, if you've anything to take out,” replied Cyrus.
61 But what's the use of all this nonsense ? You
were abusing your pup when I stopped you, and
you know it. You should have thanked me; but
instead, because I took the part of your dog, you
must go and murder mine. That shows what sort
of fellow you are."
" Have I said I killed your dog?” Jed called after
Cy, as he was walking away.
“ Said you killed my dog? A fellow who'll do so


THE WOLF-HUNT.
163
mean a thing isn't man enough to own it.” And he
went his way without more words.
“ Wants me to take it out of his skin, does he ?"
snarled Jed Parkinson to himself, more furious than
ever under Cy's scornful rebukes. “Well, only let
me see the chance !"
The chance was not long in coming.
Prairie wolves were plenty in those days, and they
did great damage to the farmers' flocks. There was
unlimited pasturage for sheep, but they required
constant watching, and must be carefully penned
every night. The walls of the folds were built of
logs and poles, and usually had an inward slope,
which made it easy for the wolves to leap over into
the enclosure, but impossible for them to get out.
A wolf after he has thus reached his prey, it is
said, will, before attacking it, make sure of his own
means of escape ; and so sometimes one wolf, and
often several wolves together, would be found in the
morning shut up with the frightened sheep, more
frightened than they, when the farmer or farmer's
boy appeared with the deadly gun.
Numbers were killed in this and other ways; but
to more quickly rid the country of the pest, the set-
tlers used to unite in a grand wolf-hunt once a year.
After the first light snowfall in November, one of
those great hunts was to come off.
Early in the inorning, according to a plan agreed
upon, every able-bodied man and boy in the settle-
ment, or cluster of settlements, turned out, mounted


164
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
or afoot, with their dogs and guns. They formed a
ring many miles in extent, beating the groves and
thickets, and driving the wolves towards a common
centre, where a great slaughter was pretty sure to
take place.
The focus of the hunt this year was to be Morton's
Grove, a piece of oak woods about three miles from
the homes of Jed and Cy.
The morning's sport was fine, and many a wolf
was shot, or taken down by the dogs, during the
drive.
The wolf of the prairies is inferior in size, strength,
and fierceness, to the great gaunt gray wolves of
other parts of the country, or of the Old World.
He has not
“ Their long gallop, which can tire
The hound's deep hate and hunter's fire.”
It was easy enough for a hunter, mounted on a
not over-fresh horse, to ride up beside a jaded wolf
that had been driven in from some distant point, and
bring him down with a shot.
Jed Parkinson was on foot, and towards the close
of the day he posted himself in an oak tree in Mor.
ton's Grove to watch for wolves.
He had had pretty good luck, and now, while ho
was watching, something far more exciting than the
sight of a wolf attracted his attention.
A white horse with his rider was coming over a
little hillock in the woods, not more than twenty


THE WOLF-HUNT.
165
rods away. Jed knew the horse, and guessed who
was the rider.
It was Cyrus Hayward. He was slowly approach-
ing the tree in which Jed was perched. A clump
of undergrowth intervened, in which horse and rider
were hidden for a few moments. That gave Jed a
chance to reflect.
“Proud because he's got a horse to ride, and I
haven't!" was his first envious thought.
“I'd like to give his horse a shot," was his next
thought. “I could do it, and pretend I was shoot-
ing at a wolf."
But if he should kill or maim the horse, his father
might have to pay for the animal. Jed did not fancy
that. Besides, in shooting at the horse, he might
hit the rider.
He liked the idea of that well enough, and sud-
deply all his pent-up hate seemed to burst into a
raging fire within him.
“Wants me to take it out of his skin, does he ?
I will. I'll shoot just as he is coming out of the
underbrush. My father won't have him to pay for,
and I can claim that it was an accident; I was shoot-
ing at a wolf.”
Something like this -- not in so many words, but
in a wild torrent of feeling — rushed through Jared
Parkinson's heart and brain.
“I shall never have another so good a chance; I'll
pay him now !” And he took aim at the bushes,


166
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
which were already rustling, before the white borse
reappeared.
It was a moment of terrible excitement. The great
artery throbbed in the boy's neck as if it would
burst; the woods and the sky turned almost a dull
red color before his eyes, and his hands shook so that
he could hardly hold his gun.
He could not get his aim; but there came horse
and rider, and he must fire before they were well
out of the brush, or people would not believe in the
accident.
His fowling-piece was loaded with large slugs.
The range was short. Cyrus was now not more
than six rods off; his form could be plainly seen
amidst the opening boughs, bare as they were, ex-
cept for clusters of dry red leaves fluttering here
and there.
Jed's shaking hands held the gun, — his trembling
finger jerked the trigger.
But at that moment his foot slipped from a limb
on which he was standing. In his excitement he
had forgotten to keep his hold on the tree secure.
As the report of the gun rang through the woods,
and the heavy slugs clipped the twigs over Cy's
head, a dark object tumbled out of the tree, crashed
from branch to branch, and with a dull thud struck
the ground.
Cyrus was a good deal more startled at sight of
the plunging object than by the whistling slugs and
the cutting of the twigs above him. He was not


THE WOLF-HUNT.
167
hurt, and he had no idea that he had been shot at.
It was not in his frank and generous nature to
believe anything so bad even of Jed. He spurred
to the spot, and found a boy lying quite still beside
his gun under the tree.
" Jed Parkinson !” he exclaimed.
killed ?"
66 Are you
No reply.
Cy stooped and lifted him up a little. Then Jed
gave a groan.
“How did it happen ? Where are you hurt ?”
cried Cyrus, forgetting instantly that he ever had
any quarrel with the injured lad who had taken the
fearful plunge from the tree. "Is it your back?"
Jed, rolling up his eyes, seemed to recognize his
enemy, gave another groan and a convulsive shud-
der, and swooned.
Cy shouted for help, and after a while a horseman
came galloping to the spot.
" What is it? A wolf?” he cried, as he reined up
towards the oak.
“No, a boy; Jed Parkinson,” Cyrus replied. “He
fell out of the tree. · His gun went off at the same
time. He has got a bad hurt.”
“I should think so," said the man. “ Give him a
taste of this."
He took a flask from his pocket, and poured some
of its contents into Jed's lips. Jed choked, stirred,
and once more opened his eyes.
“ There, he's all right,” said the man. “ Get him


170
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
boughs were placed, forming a bed for the disabled
boy. The guns were strapped to the saddle.
“Now carry the front end,” said Cy; “ I'll take
the rear, and lead my horse."
John was a good-natured fellow; he could not
refuse the urgent request. They took up the litter,
with Jed stretched upon it, and began the toilsome
journey home.
“I don't see why you should do this for me,” Jed
said to Cyrus, once when the bearers had set down
the litter and stopped to rest.
“Why shouldn't I?” said Cy.
“ After - our — trouble," faltered Jed.
“ You don't think I've laid up any ill-will on that
account, do you?” cried Cyrus, generously.
“I don't know; some fellows would,” Jed con-
fessed.
“Even if I had,” said Cyrus, “I should have for-
gotten it all the minute I saw you lying there under
the tree. If I took a dog's part when I saw him
abused, why shouldn't I stand by a boy when I see
him suffering ?”
“ It isn't every fellow that would,” replied Jed.
There was a strange look in the eyes he turned
up at Cyrus from the litter in the November twi-
light. He had never understood that nature before;
he was beginning to see it now, and to have a
deep, remorseful troubled feeling towards his late
enemy
The litter was taken up again, and carried with


THE WOLF-HUNT.
171
labor and difficulty through wood and swale in the
increasing gloom.
At length they struck a prairie road, and a quarter
of a mile further on they came to a house.
There Cyrus obtained a wagon, in which he made
a good bed of hay, on which Jed was carefully laid.
Then, having seen him on his way home, he mounted
his horse again, and rode in the other direction for a
doctor.
Ile reached Jed's home almost as soon as Jed him-
self did, borne on the slowly-moving wagon. The
doctor arrived soon after. Then, when there was
nothing more that he could do, Cyrus bade the suf-
ferer good-bye and left him.
Jed's back was not broken, but he had met with
injuries which confined him a long time to his bed.
It was six weeks before he was able to sit up and to
walk about a little. In the meanwhile, Cyrus visited
him nearly every day, carried him books to read,
and amused him with stories and games.
During one of these visits, Jed, who had been
gazing long and wistfully at Cyrus while he was
reading, gave a deep sigh. Cyrus, looking quickly
at him from his book, saw that his eyes were blurred
with tears.
“ What's the matter ?” he asked, pleasantly.
“ Don't read any more just now,” Jed replied, in
a stified voice; “ there's something I want to tell you.
I must tell you !”
And he began to sob.


172
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
6. () yes,
12
“ What is it, Jed ?” Cy asked, soothingly.
" Don't
be afraid ; speak out."
“ I ain't afraid, — I'm ashamed,” said Jed, choking
back his sobs. “I've tried to keep from telling you,
but I shall die if I don't speak. It was me - you
knew it was me that broke your traps.”
I knew it; but I don't care for that now,'
said Cy.
" And I – I pisoned your dog," Jed confessed,
with a look of anguish.
“ But I've forgiven that,” Cyrus replied. “I know
you are sorry. You wouldn't do such a thing again,
I'm sure, so say no more about it."
“ All that is nothing to what I was going to do!”
Jed groaned, and turned his face away for a minute.
“ You can't forgive that.”
“Of course I can't unless I know what it is,” said
Cy, wondering what would come next.
" That's it; I want you to forgive me, and so I-
I must tell you !” Jed said again, turning his ago-
nized, guilty face once more towards his friend.
“I wasn't shooting at a wolf when I tumbled from
the tree ; I was going to shoot at — you !”
Cyrus looked at him in utter astonishment, but
without speaking a word. Jed ground his teeth in
an agony of remorse.
After a while Cy answered:
“I'm sorry you told me; but may be it is better
that you should have it off your mind. Don't tell
anybody else, though, and we will forget it.”


THE WOLF-HUNT.
173
“I don't want to forget it !” Jed exclaimed.
“ I'm so glad I tumbled ! Now I'm going to live
to show you that I never can be again such a boy
as I was ben!”
He did live, and he kept his word. From that
time Cyrus Hayward had no better friend than
Jared Parkinson, and the town no truer or manlier
boy,


O and people who knew him doubted whether he
THE
FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP.
A STORY OF A JUNK-SHOP.
LD Jasper Kemp had the name of being a miser,
loved anything but his junk-shop and his small gains,
until his brother Caleb, who was a cobbler, and died
a poor man, left a little Caleb on his hands.
Little Caleb was then twelve years old. · Uncle
Jasper groaned dreadfully over him at first, and
vowed that the expense of keeping a boy like that
“ would be his ruin."
Why," said he, standing and cracking his finger-
joints, with his features all in a snarl, -as his way
was when anything disturbed his peace of mind or
bis pocket, —"a boy like that will eat as much as a
man! Much as a man, by the Great Dictionary !”
That was his favorite oath. Being a very igno-
rant person, he had a sort of superstitious regard for,
174


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP.
175
learning, and used to swear by the book which he
supposed contained it all.
" And what's sich a boy worth in the shop? I've
tried 'em! I've tried 'em ! I don't never want to
try another !” And Uncle Jasper cracked his joints
till it would have made you nervous to hear him.
He tried little Caleb, nevertheless, and little Caleb
proved so good a boy to eat crusts, and so trusty a
boy to do errands and attend in the shop, thật Uncle
Jasper not only changed his mind about the ruinous
cost of keeping him, but became sincerely attached
to him in a little while.
Another thing pleased the old miser mightily.
Caleb liked to read. Uncle Jasper, who traded a
little in almost everything, - old bottles, old rags,
and broken metals of all kinds, — also did a small
Business in second-hand books. He had two or three
** barrels of these, which Caleb dived into and over-
hauled, until sometimes not much more than his legs
could be seen sticking out of a barrel.
The boy found plenty of books full of old-fashioned
s's which looked like f's, printed in so dull a style
that he could not read them. But now and then,
to his great joy, he fished up a “Life of Peter the
Great," or a “ Robinson Crusoe," which he devoured
with an eagerness which delighted the old man.
" That boy will be a scholard! He'll be a doctor
or a minister, by the Great Dictionary !” exclaimed
Uncle Jasper. And he liked to watch from his junk.
shop of an evening young Caleb in the back room,


178
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
was thus engaged in the back room two or three
evenings later, when somebody entering the shop
attracted his attention.
It was a tall, stooping, haggard-looking man, in a
seedy black cloak. From under the cloak he took a
bag, and from the bag he removed volume after vol-
ume of books, all without covers, and laid them on
old Jasper's little black counter, until there was a
pile of about two dozen.
The two men talked together in low voices. The
stranger seemed pleading for a larger price than
Uncle Jasper was willing to give, while Uncle Jasper
stood, with his miserly old features in a dreadful
snarl, cracking his fingers and growling.
At last a price seemed to be agreed upon; the old
man counted out a small sum of money, which the
stranger clutched eagerly, and then, thrusting the
empty bag under his cloak, hurried out, leaving
the pile of books.
Then the old man went lugging his prize into the
back room, crying out, gleefully:
“ More larnin' fer ye, Caleb ! Piles of knowledge !
piles of knowledge! It's expensive, but I thought
of you, Caleb. Now pitch in; cram your knowledge-
box. I'll make a scholard of you if I live, by the
Great Dictionary !"
“But, Uncle Jasper," said Caleb, confused between
his delight at receiving such treasures, and his mis-
givings at finding the marks of Rosinshield's owner.
ship in these volumes also," I'm afraid something ain't


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP.
179
right. Who is that man? How did he come by
these books?"
6. That's more'n I can tell. And it's none of our
business," said the old man. "He sells the books, I
buys the books, you reads the books; what's the use
of goin' further and axin' questions about what don't
consarn us?"
“ But it does concern us if he gets the books dis-
honestly,” cried Caleb. “And I'm afraid he does ;
they are all such nice books, all but the covers;
and — see, uncle, all have this name in them! Now
if he is Mr. Rosinshield, or if he has a right to sell
Mr. Rosinshield's books, why has he tried to scratch
out the name in so many places ?"
Uncle Jasper snarled his features and cracked his
joints with a piteous expression.
“ Never you mind, young man,” he said.
" Stow
in the larnin', but leave alone sich questions as them
'air. It don't do fer a man in my business to know
too much about some things. If I keep ign'rant, then
I keeps out of trouble. Now don't, don't, Caleb, no
He has promised to bring some po’try next
time, which he says is jest the thing to fill the chinks
in your mind. Then he's got some nice friction to
top off with. I don't know what friction is, but I
told him I thought you'd like some, if it was cheap.
Would, wouldn't ye ?”
“ He means fiction,” said Caleb ; adding, “O yes,
uncle, I want to read everything! I know how kind
more.


180
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
you mean to be, but don't, I beg, buy any more of
his stolen books — for I'm sure they're stolen."
“ 'Sh, Caleb !” whispered the old man, turning
pale. “ Don't speak that word. You'll get me into
diffikilty. I didn't think you was goin' to turn out
sich an ongrateful boy, Caleb.” And the old man
wbivingly retreated to the front shop.
Still Caleb was greatly troubled about the books,
and when, a few mornings afterwards, he chanced
to meet in the street a tall, stooping, haggard-faced
man, in a seedy black cloak, he turned, looked at him
twice very anxiously, and then followed him.
The man took him a long walk, and finally mounted
the steps of a fine large house in a fashionable part
of the town. Caleb was several rods away, but he
kept the house in sight, and walked slowly past it,
shortly after the man had been admitted by a ser-
vant. The boy felt a shock of something very much
like fear when he saw the name of Rosinshield on a
handsomely engraved silver plate over the door-
bell.
The man, he was sure, could not be the owner of
the house, nor would the owner of a house like that
be apt to sell off his library of fine books stripped of
their covers.
Caleb knew that he must do something
to warn him of the theft, and that was what made
him afraid.
He took all day and all the following night to think
of it; then, early the next forenoon, mounted the steps
and rang the bell of Mr. Rosinshield's house.


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP.
181
“ Is Mr. Rosinshield at home?” he asked, timidly,
of the servant who opened the door to him.
" Mr. Rosinshield is sick. He cannot see any-
body," was the reply.
“It is something very important. I wish to see
him about something which concerns him very much,"
Caleb insisted.
“It's no use. Leave your errand and your address
with
me, and we will send for you when he can see
you," said the servant.
Then Caleb took a folded slip of paper from his
pocket.
“ Please show him that,” said he; "I will wait
here."
The servant disappeared, and, returning in a little
while, threw open the door.
“ Walk in; he will see you,” he said, and led
Caleb through an elegant hall, up a broad staircase,
and into a richly-curtained chamber, where a pale
young man was lying in bed.
The young man looked sharply at Caleb, then at a
piece of paper which he held in his thin white fingers.
It was a fly-leaf, on which was stamped the Rosin-
shield coat-of-arms.
“Where did you get this ?" said he, as Caleb stood,
cap in hand, by the bedside.
“I should like to tell you, for it is something you
ought to know,” replied Caleb.
" But I want you to
promise me one favor.”'
“Oh, yes," said the young man, observing that the


182
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
boy was poorly clad. " You want a reward. Every.
body wants a reward. Very well, you shall bave it,
if your information is worth anything. This looks
like a leaf from one of my books, and I'm curious to
know how you came by it."
He listened to Caleb's story with a look of sur-
prise, which gradually changed to one of pain and
anger.
“ Books from my shelves, probably, every one !”
he exclaimed. “ But the person you describe is a
poor man I employ to come and read to me, who is
indebted to me for a thousand favors, and who can't
be guilty of such base ingratitude, I am sure. Touch
that bell for me. Press down on the knob.''
Caleb pressed the knob, and the sound of the bell
brought a servant.
“ Has Mr. Walburgh come ?” Mr. Rosinshield
asked.
“ Not yet, sir.”
“ When he arrives, ask him to remain below, and
come and tell me. My dressing-robe!”
“ You will not venture to get up, sir !” exclaimed
the servant.
· My Turkish trousers and slippers !” said Mr.
Rosinshield.
Hastily putting on the loose articles he called for,
he dismissed the servant, and took Caleb into the
adjoining room. It was a superbly furnished library,
with alcoves of carved bookcases on the sides, busts
of great men in the corners, and reading-chairs and


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP.
183
writing-tables at the ends, lighted by great win.
dows.
The sick man took from one of the desks a manu-
script catalogue, turned the leaves rapidly, found the
title, “ Míexico, Conquest of. W. H. Prescott," with
the numbers indicating its place in the library, and
went eagerly to one of the cases. Everything ap-
peared in order. Not a book was missing.
“ Quick !” he cried impatiently to Caleb; " those
steps ! Set them here! Mount !” Caleb climbed
the steps.
“ Second shelf from the top. Seventh
book from the left hand."
“ History of the Conquest of Mexico. Volume First,"
said Caleb, reading the title on the back of the
Turkey morocco binding.'
“Yes, that's it. Hand it down!" cried the sick man.
But when Caleb went to take down the volume, it
pinched up in his fingers, some wads of paper which
had been stuffed into it fell out, and only the empty
cover dangled in his hands. Rosinshield uttered a
cry of wrath and dismay.
“ The other two volumes !” he said to Caleb.
They were found in the same condition, as were
also several other books which Caleb had named as
being in his uncle's possession.
Satisfied at last, the owner made him put the
covers all back in their places, while he sank down
exhausted in a chair.
“ You spoke of reading these books," he then said
to the boy. “Are you fond of reading ?"


134
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
many have
“Oh, very!” replied Caleb. “There's nothing I
like so well.”
“How many of my books do you say you have ?"
" About fifty."
“ How
you
read ? "
“I am reading the first one now."
“ Then what have you come to me for? If I re-
claim my books, as I certainly shall, you will lose the
reading of them. Have you thought of that ?"
Caleb smiled. “Oh, yes. I love the books; but
since they don't belong to me, what else could I do?"
“I remember," said Mr. Rosinshield, -"you ex-
pect a reward. What is it?":
“My uncle" - stammered Caleb.
" He's a villain !” exclaimed the sick man ; "a
receiver of stolen goods, and I'll have him punished.”
“Oh, sir, forgive him ! ” Caleb pleaded. “ That's
the favor I was going to ask. He didn't know the
books were stolen, that is, he had no positive knowl-
edge of it — although he suspected it. And, please
consider, he did it all for me, to make me happy
and contented. Oh, you wouldn't have him get into
trouble on that account!'
This earnest and tearful appeal touched Mr.
Rosinshield.
“Well, suppose I let him off. What other reward
do you want?"
“ No other reward, sir.”
“ What, no money?"
“ No, sir. I hadn't thought of such a thing."
22
72
77


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP.
185
seen.
Just then the servant came to say that Mr. Wal-
burgh was below.
“ Send him up," said Mr. Rosinshield. “ Boy, slip
into that alcove, where you can see without being
If he is not the man you have described, come
out and speak to me. If he is, keep quiet till I call
you."
Caleb was hardly concealed when the reader en-
tered. Although he was without his cloak, and
Caleb caught only a glimpse of his side face before
his back was turned, he recognized the tall, stooping
form and worn features of the man who had sold the
coverless books.
Mr. Walburgh expressed some concern at seeing
the sick man in his library.
“I am feeling stronger this morning,” Mr. Rosin-
shield replied. “We will proceed at once with our
reading. I think I will try a little of Hallam's His.
tory. Please hand me the second volume, and I
will point out the passage.”
As this was one of the missing books, Caleb list-
ened with anxious interest to hear what Mr. Walburgh
would say.
“I fear,” said the reader, after some hesitation,
" that · Hallam's' is too heavy for an invalid like you.
Let me recommend something more entertaining.”
“ Very well. Say · Prescott's Mexico.' That splen-
did description of the Battle of the Temple of the
Sun."
There was an embarrassing pause, and Mr. Wal-


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP.
187
family? The clothes to make you look more respec-
table ? You have no sick child, Mr. Walburgh!”
No," the miserable man confessed, bowing his
whole body in the most abject manner over his bent
knees, and his shaking hands pressed together before
him,-
" I have no child now; she is dead, -- dead
from my neglect. My wife has left me, for worse
cause. I am a wretch; Mr. Rosinshield ! The money
you have given me I have gambled away, or spent
for drink. The clothes you have given me I have
pawned for the same purpose. Then, when I couldn't
ask you for more, or get money in any other way, I
tore out the bodies of your books for that purpose.
But, as you say, I am not a sane man. I have fallen
into vice; that has been my ruin. Forgive me and
pity me, Mr. Rosinshield ! "
The poor creature uttered these last words with
a sob.
“I can forgive you and pity you,” replied the in-
valid, with stern sorrow, “ but I cannot trust you.
Go now. Come again when I have thought over
your case, - say to-morrow at this hour. But first
tell me where you have sold the books."
“The second-hand booksellers wouldu't have them,
so I sold them at Kemp's junk-shop.”
"Nowhere else?"
" Nowhere else."
“ Very well, Mr. Walburgh; you can go.”
After the reader was gone, Mr. Rosinshield called
Caleb from his alcove.


188
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
very well.
“ Are you a good reader?" he asked.
“ I don't know," replied Caleb,“ but I understand
what I read."
“Let me hear you read this paragraph in Thack-
eray's “Newcomes.' "
Caleb was taken too much by surprise to read
But the sick man said, " That will do,
considering the circumstances. A little instruction,
which I can give you, will make you a good reader.
Now, how would you like the situation?”
“What situation ?” said Caleb, staring with be-
wilderment.
“ To come and read to me two or three hours a
day, at a salary of eight dollars a week.”
“ Eight - dollars — a week!” exclaimed Caleb,
who had never thought of earning so much money.
“From what you say, and from what I can see,”
continued Mr. Rosinshield, “I know that you are an
honest boy. Your uncle's shop is no place for you.
Come and live with me. Quit him altogether.”
“Oh, I couldn't do that, after he has been so kind
to me!” said Caleb.
Well, well! Perhaps I can arrange it with him.
You will come and read to me, any way; he will
consent to that for the pay and the other advantages
you will get. Now go and tell him to bring me those
books."
Trembling with joy and fear, Caleb ran back to
the junk-shop. Old Jasper cracked his knuckles
frightfully at first, when the boy told his story, but


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP.
189
afterwards loaded the books on a barrow, and trun-
dled them up to Mr. Rosinshield's house.
Ile returned in an hour, well satisfied, having got
back the money he had paid Walburgh for the books,
and made an arrangement by which Mr. Rosinshield
was to take Caleb as a reader, and have charge of
bis education.
Caleb was almost beside himself with happiness.
He entered upon his new duties the next day. In a
week he was living in Mr. Rosinshield's house, and
a far more comfortable career was opened to him
than he could ever have enjoyed with his narrow-
minded uncle in the old junk-shop.
The gambler never showed his face again in the
house of the man he had wronged; and Mr. Rosin-
shield, still anxious to do him good, inquired for him
in vain.
As for Caleb, he is now as fine a "scholard" as
even his unscrupulous old uncle could desire.


THE MISSING LETTERS.
191
young fellows had invited me to ride. He looked at
me sternly.
“ Young man,” said he, “ don't let a thing of this
sort happen again as long as you are in my office.
Fortunately no great harm has been done in this
case, but as a matter of principle and good habits,
I wish now, once for all, to impress it upon you, that
if you mean to succeed, or if you mean to remain
with me, stick to business, stick to business, STICK TO
BUSINESS! That's all, Richard."
He was leaving the office, but when he got to the
door he turned back. “ One word more,” he said.
“ I like you, Richard, and what I say is for your
good. You have talents and address, and are capa-
ble of study and hard work; but you are inclined
to be indolent, and to let your love of ease and social
pleasure interfere with your duties. That won't do.
There is a time for recreation ; but business is busi-
ness. That's the first lesson for a young
man of
your
habits to learn and live up to."
“ I will try to learn it, sir," I answered, frankly and
earnestly; for I knew my fault, and was really grate
ful to him for his kindness and good counsel.
And I did apply myself after that as I had never
done before. He was kinder than ever, and, boy that
I was, he treated me with a great deal of confidence.
He had at this time an important case coming to
trial, – that of Gage versus Flamworth. Gage had
furnished a friend of his, named Ireland, with large
sums of money, to help him develop an improved


TIIE MISSING LETTERS.
193
Ireland to his wife, in which he makes frequent
allusion to his contract with Gage. But you see
what a condition they are in, — badly written in the
first place, and some of them worn almost to tatters
since the poor woman must have carried them around
with her until she died; they turned up yesterday
in an attic. I am afraid the other side has got a
clue to our discovery, but it is too late to help them,
Besides the evidence as to the contract, the letters
are full of pathetic passages in which Ireland speaks
of his eternal obligations to Gage."
“ Which will have a tremendous effect on a jury!”
I exclaimed, full of enthusiasm over the discovery.
“I trust they will have their due influence," he
said, with a smile. “Now, Richard, you see what is
needed, — a clean copy of all of them. The poor,
tattered, pathetic scrawls will do to hand round
among the jurymen, but we must have an attested
copy to handle and read. You are as quick at such
work as anybody I know, and I think you can have
it done by midnight.”
“ If not,” I replied eagerly, “ I can work till morn-
ing."
“Very well. I put the letters into your hands.
As people will be coming in here for an hour or two
yet, perhaps you had better take them home and
copy them in the privacy of your own room. Re-
member that the utmost care and secrecy are re-
quired. Keep them safe, make the best copy you
can, and bring them to me at my house the first
13


191
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
thing in the morning,
at
seven o'cloik.
Can
you?”
“At seven o'clock it shall be,” I said, promptly,
delighted with my commission.
He then gave me some further instructions with
regard to the copying, and, with the letters in my
pocket, I hurried home to my boarding-house.
It was then five o'clock. I set to work in great
glee. The handwriting was not hard to decipher,
and I made rapid progress. At supper-time I had
some toast and a cup of chocolate brought up to me;
I nibbled and sipped, and scarcely lost a minute from
my task. I had lighted my lamp; the night was
before me.
The letters were very interesting; they showed
the enthusiastic inventor struggling against poverty
and difficulty of all kinds, sometimes driven almost
to despair, but full of faith in his ideas, of affection
for his wife, and of gratitude to his friend.
That friend was Gage. The contract was implied
in every allusion to the money advanced by him,
and all their transactions were honorable to botlı.
I saw what an influence over the sympathies of a
jury these letters would give a powerful pleader
like Peakerton, and I felt that Gage's cause was won.
My love of justice made me glad of it, and my boyish
vanity made me proud of my share in the work.
At nine o'clock I found that I had copied more
thun two-thirds of all the letters. I felt tired, and
got up and walked about my room. After a little


THE MISSING LETTERS.
195
rest, one more sitting, I said to myself, would take
me safely through my task before the clock struck
twelve.
Somebody knocked at my door. I packed the
letters together before opening it, and then let in
Bill Kneeland and Sylvester Robbins. Kneeland
was a fellow-boarder, and Robbins was a brother
law-student. They were both older than I, and I
was flattered by the friendship they professed for
me.
“What are you up to at this time of night ?" said
Robbins, seeing my copy and the pile of old letters
on my table.
“ Look here, Syl,” said I, laughing,“ don't you
ask
any questions. It's a singular case. I'll tell
you
all
about it some time.”
As he glanced with curiosity towards the table,
where my copy lay in the full glare of the lamp-
light, I placed the paper in a drawer, and put the
package of letters back into their wrapper.
The fellows sat down and lighted their cigars, as
if prepared for a long call. At length Kneelaud pro-
posed to walk. I felt the need of air and exercise,
and thought this would be a good way to get rid of
them. So I consented, left my copy in the drawer,
slipped the package of letters again into my pocket,
and went out, locking my door behind me.
After we had been a little while in the street, Robe
bins proposed to pay “ that bet.”
66 What bet?" I asked.


196
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
"Oh," said he," I bet a bottle of champagne with
Bill that Juliet Vane wouldn't go to the ball with
him. Lost, of course. Come with us, Dick, and see
the bet paid."
Kneeland seconded the invitation.
"Can't, boys, possibly," I said. “I've got to go
back home and work till twelve o'clock."
“ You'll do your work all the easier,” said Rob-
bins. “ Come, we won't keep you more than lialf an
hour."
66
The mention of champagne had inflamed my thirst.
I had been at work four hours at a stretch. Had I
not earned a little refreshment? and would I not, as
he said, get through my work all the better for it?
Well, go ahead, boys,” I replied; “I'll take just
one glass with you, any way."
We entered a saloon. With the popping of the
cork and the sparkling of the glasses, my spirits
Another acquaintance had joined us, and a
game of euchre was proposed. At first I objected.
But the cards were produced and shuffled.
“ Well, one game,” I said, thinking that if I finished
my copying by one o'clock, or later, it would be just
rose.
as well.
After one game, we must have another. Then the
rubber. Then another bottle of champagne, and
more card-playing to see who should pay for that.
I felt all the time that I ought not to be there, but
reflected that I had still eight or nine hours to do
work in that would take less than two. I might


THE MISSING LETTERS.
197
finish my copying and have yet some time for sleep,
if I got home by midnight.
I suppose I must have got home about that time,
but I was in no condition for work. Everything
whirled with me. There was then but one thing to
do, – sleep first, and work afterwards. I tumbled
upon my bed in my clothes, and forgot everything.
The next thing I was aware of was a strong smell
of lamp-smoke in the room. I started up. I had left
the lamp burning, but it had gone out, leaving a
foul wick and darkness. As I had supposed there
was oil enough in it to last all night, you may well
believe that I was frightened at the waste of time.
In fact, daylight was glimmering through the slats
of my window-blinds.
I threw them open. It was not yet light enough
to see distinctly anything in my room.
I struck a
match and held it to the face of my watch. It was
twenty minutes past four o'clock.
My wits seemed benumbed, and I had to rub my
brows a moment before I could fully realize the
situation. The papers were to be delivered to
Judge Peakerton at seven. It would take me fifteen
minutes to reach his house. Less than two hours
and a half to finish the copying in, if I began it at
once. But my wits brightened and my courage rose
as I reflected.
“ All right!” I said. “I can do it. I've had my
sleep, and wakened just in time. Now for a lamp !”
I found one without much delay, and placed it,


198
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.'
lighted, on my table. Then — the letters. I remem-
bered taking them with me, and feeling the package
in my pocket from time to time as I was playing
cards. I felt again. It was gone.
It must have fallen out on the bed while I was
asleep. I ran to look. I held the light. I searched
bedclothes and floor. I nearly upset the lamp in my
trepidation. No package! I felt again in my pock-
ets, and turned them inside out in my terror and
despair.
Then I hurried back to the table. Had I not
taken the letters from my pocket on reaching home ?
I could not distinctly remember, but it seemed to
me that I had. I ransacked books and newspapers,
all the time with such fear and sickness of heart as
no words can express.
I felt that I was ruined, and deserved to be.
More than that : in losing the letters, I had prob.
ably lost a cause for Peakerton and his client, who
deserved something very different. For a moment
I was half resolved to kill myself to avoid a difficulty
I bad not the courage to face.
Where could I have lost the letters? There was
no means of knowing. Perhaps at the saloon; per-
haps in stumbling along the street.
Or -
a terrible
suspicion flashed across my mind - perhaps they had
been stolen !
Yes, I saw it all, or thought I did. It was one of
Ridgefield's tricks. Robbins was at the bottom of
it. He had been employed to rob me of the letters,


THE MISSING LETTERS.
199
and had got Kneeland to help him. I was confirmed
in this suspicion by another discovery. My copy of
a portion of the letters, which I had placed in the
drawer, was also missing.
Kneeland, as I have said, was a fellow-boarder.
It was not many seconds before I was pounding at
his door with a lamp in my hand, and fury in my
heart.
6 Who's there?" demanded a voice within.
“I! Richard Borden!” I answered. " Let me in
this instant!"
Bill complied, and when he saw me with the light,
standing before him, pale and haggard, stammering
with fear and rage, and heard enough to understand
what I had lost and what I suspected, he showed
such honest sympathy and unaffected astonishment
that I was forced to believe that he, at least, was in-
nocent of the theft.
And,” said he,“ I don't believe Robbins had any-
thing to do with it. He helped me take you to your
room, and we left it together. I was with him all
the time, and I didn't see him touch any papers.”
"Somebody has touched them !” I exclaimed.
Somebody, too, who was with me in my room,
or else there were two robbers, one who picked my
pocket, and another who rifled my drawer when I
was out.”
“ Look again. I'll go and help you look,” said
Bill.
He did. We searched every nook and corner


200
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
my table, the bed, the floor, every part of the room.
The papers were certainly gone.
I put on my hat.
" Where now?” Bill asked,
“I am going back over the ground we travelled
last night to the saloon where we drank and played.
Then I am going to find Robbins. If I am satisfied
that he robbed me, he shall restore the papers, or
I added a threat which seemed to make Bill feel
uneasy.
“I'll go with you," he said, “ though I'd give a
thousand dollars to tumble back into bed and sleep
off my headache ! ”
Burning with impatience, I waited for him to dress;
and we hurried off together.
It was in the gray of the morning. The streets
were deserted, and there was a chill and desolation
about them which struck to my heart.
The echoes of our footsteps on the empty side-
walks seemed to mock me. I had no hope of recov-
ering the papers; and I told Bill so, expecting that
he would say something to encourage me.
“ There isn't a chance of it," he replied, pausing
on a street-corner. 66 What's the use of this wild-
goose chase ? Let's go back and go to bed!”
“ I'm going to find Robbins, any way !" I said, des-
perately. “And I'm bound to look for the papers,
even if there is no chance of finding them.”
There was nothing else to do, and in my torment
of mind I could not have kept still. The search,


THE MISSING LETTERS.
201
->
hopeless as it was, furnished me with occupation; I
felt as if I should have gone wild without it. So we
kept on.
It was now light enough to see distinctly any white
object on the sidewalk or in the gutters, and we
passed over the ground rapidly.
We reached the saloon without having made any
discoveries. There was a dim light burning within,
but it was some time before we succeeded in rousing
up the barkeeper.
At last he appeared in his shirt-sleeves and dis-
ordered hair, and we told him our errand. He ad-
mitted us, and we searched. No package was to be
found, and he could give us no information.
The fellow's unconcern was exasperating. He
took no interest in the affair; he yawned, waiting
for us to clear out. While I was on fire with anxiety,
all he cared for was to get back to his bed.
Robbins lodged in a private house. Nobody seemed
to be stirring in it when we reached the door and
rang.
“ This is absurd, calling on Syl before six in the
morning," said Kneeland, as we waited on the steps.
He grinned dismally. Again and again we rang.
I thought the bell would never be answered. The
morning was raw and chill, and now a fine drizzling
rain began to fall. Bill shivered and declared him.
self sick of the business.
you were half as sick as I am, then you might
talk,” I said, and gave the bell another furious pull.
“ If


202
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
At last the man of the house, very much unbut-
toned and uncombed, came to the door, and regarded
us with no little indignation when I asked for Rob-
bins.
“ Yes, he is in, I suppose,” he said ; " but he don't
receive callers at this time of day."
" He will receive us," I replied, " for we come on
very important business."
Still he seemed inclined to shut the door in our
faces; but he was a little man, and in spite of him
I pressed in, followed by Kneeland. Very unwill-
ingly he showed us up a flight of stairs, and knocked
at a door.
There was no response. In my impatience I
knocked after him, a good deal more effectively.
There was an ill-natured growl within, a delay of a
minute or two, which seemed to me half an hour,
and Robbins, in trousers and dressing gown, opened
the door to us.
“Why, fellows," said he, staring at us by the
bleak daylight that struggled through the curtains
of his room," is it the end of the world ?"
“It's the end of the world to me," I replied, " un-
less you can help me."
“What's the row with you, Dick? Sit down, fel.
lows. Bill, what is it? I never saw such a face on
a human being !" Robbins added, glancing from me
to Kneeland, and back again at me, with a show of
astonishment which was very well acted indeed, if
it wasn't real.


204
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
the man who had an interest in getting possession
of the papers I had lost.
My mind was made up. Kneeland was innocent
of the whole affair ; Robbins was the guilty one, and
he had made use of Kneeland in carrying out his
plans.
I took time to consider what I should say, and then
replied:
“I don't mean to be unjust to anybody, but here
are the facts of the case. I was engaged in copying
papers when you and Bill came for me last evening.
Long as I have known you, often as I have seen you,
Syl Robbins, you never came for me before."
“No, that's a fact,” he admitted; "and I shouldn't
have gone to your room last evening, but I happened
to be with Bill, and somehow your name was men-
tioned
" Who mentioned it first?” I demanded.
Bill bad already told me; and now, after some
little hesitation, Syl said:
“I don't remember; I rather think I remarked :
Dick Borden has a room here in this house, hasn't
he?' He said: “Yes, on this very floor. Would
you like to see him ?' Of course I said I would;
for haven't you and I always been good friends ?”
I didn't much like the smile with which he ap-
pealed to me as he said this. I did not smile in
return.
“Well,” I went on," you came,
found me at work,
saw what kind of papers I had in hand, and got me
6


THE MISSING LETTERS.
205
in my drawer.
to go out with you. I took some of the papers in
my pocket, and left one
a copy
You know what sort of a time we had, and the con-
dition I went home in at midnight. You and Bill
took me to my room.”
“Of course," said Syl. “You wouldn't have us
desert a chum in your situation, would you? That's
not our style, is it, Bill?”
"I fell asleep," I continued, “and when I woke
at twenty minutes past four this morning, the pack-
age was gone from my pocket, and the copy from
my drawer.”
“Well, well!” said Syl, with a gleam of his sharp
little eyes, “ you are making out a pretty strong
case! I think, as a lawyer, I could work it up, and
prove myself, as a man, guilty of the robbery. You
might have lost the package from your pocket; but
then, there was the copy taken from your room! That
might have been stolen in your absence; but then,
there's the lost package !"
" It's no laughing matter," I said to him, with a
look which must have been black enough if it ex.
pressed what was in my heart.
" That's so !” he exclaimed ; "and, to be serious,
it's preposterous, Dick! I knew nothing about your
papers. I know nothing about them now. I won't
deny but that I had a chance to steal them, but Bill
must have seen me if I did; and Bill — look at him
there. Is that the face of a rogue ? I never did
any business for Ridgefield, and I wouldn't do busi-


THE MISSING LETTERS.
207
like you needn't be long out of a place. Let Peaker-
ton slide, and go in for your chances somewhere
else. Don't you say so, Bill?”
Kneeland shook his head.
" It will be hard for him to get in with another
man like Peakerton,” he replied.
“Well, I suppose so. Then I'll tell
Then I'll tell you what
you'd better do. Go to him boldly with a made up
story. Tell him your room was broken into, - - not
while you were off on a spree, of course, but after
you had fallen asleep over your work. You were
awakened by a noise, lamp suddenly extinguished,
violent scuffle with an unknown antagonist, who tore
himself from your hands, knocked you down, and
fled with the papers. You can give yourself a little
knock, and show a torn and bioodied shirt-front, in
corroboration. Ain't that his cue, Bill ?"
Syl's small bright eyes sparkled with lively cun-
ning as he proposed this. I turned to Bill, who was
more grave, but who answered like the bad friend
and false counsellor he was.
Really, I don't see but what he will have to lie
to get out of the scrape.”
I listened with astonishment to these base sugges-
tions. Such, then, were the friends I had cherished,
for the sake of whose society I had neglected my
trust, and risked disgrace and ruin !
I started up, and retorted with indignation :
“ Because I have been a fool, would you have me
be a coward and a rascal ?"


208
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
My suspicions of Robbins were fully confirmed,
and I now more than half believed Bill to have been
in league with him. Why not, since they were so
ready to counsel me to base conduct? It is safe to
conclude that those who would have us act falsely
are capable of acting falsely themselves.
I left them in anger and disgust; but their words
had quite another effect on me from what might have
been expected. They roused my manhood. I was
revolted by the dishonorable proposal, and stung into
forming a different resolution.
It would not do to leave Judge Peakerton in igno-
rance of what had occurred. The least I could do
after losing the papers was to give him warning of
the fact. I would go to him, confess everything,
denounce myself, and accuse my false friends.
It was now past six o'clock. I hurried home to
make final search and inquiry, and get at some solu-
tion of the mystery, if possible, before meeting the
judge.
I could learn nothing, except that a gentleman had
called for me at about ten o'clock the evening be-
fore, when I was out. He had gone away, however,
without leaving his name.
“ Did he
go
to
my room I asked.
“I went with him to your room, and tried the
door,” said the housekeeper, “but it was locked.”
And you saw him go out of the house ?"
“ Yes; and nobody could have got in after that
without a latch-key. The servants were all abed.”
?
ܙܙ


210
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
have been welcome if it could have relieved me of
that terrible necessity and saved me from disgrace.
When I reached the house, I walked by, fearing
to enter; I wished to put off until the last moment
the ordeal I was to go through. As I hesitated, sick,
faint, undecided, I saw a man coming from the oppo-
site direction.
It was Fenholm, Peakerton's youngest partner.
The sight of him added to my misery. He was go-
ing to the house ; he would witness my humiliation.
But I reflected that he was a kind-hearted fellow; he
had always treated me well; and the next moment,
in my desperation, I resolved to tell him all.
I went on to meet him. He saw by my looks that
some calamity had occurred, and his friendly ques-
tions helped me to make the confession. There, in
the rainy street, in the early morning, standing under
his umbrella, I told in a few words the story.
He regarded me with grave concern.
“ Do you know,” said he,“ how long we have been
trying to get on the track of those letters of Ireland
to his wife, the time and money they have cost, and
their importance in the case just at this time?”
I knew all that only too well.
“ And Peakerton,” ne added, " is the most business-
like and punctual man in the world himself; one who
has a right to be exacting of others."
" Yes," I said, " and I have no expectation that he
will ever forgive me. After what he has said to me
about my follies, - after all his kindness to me,- I


THE MISSING LETTERS.
211
don't deserve to be forgiven. But if you will tell
him, and save me from that, let me go, and never
see hiin again, that's all I ask.”
“ That I can't do,” he said. “ You must see him,
but I will go with you, and make things as easy
for
you as I can."
We found Peakerton waiting in his library. He
was always an early bird, and when he had a case in
court, he would often be up at five in the morning,
preparing for it.
I did not dare look him in the face or speak. I
waited, like the culprit I was, for Fenholm to speak
for me.
There was a cheery fire in the grate, and Fenholm
sat down before it. But I hung back, and kept in
shadow ; I did not feel that I had a right even to the
comfort of a hearth.
Everything right?” said Peakerton, turning in
his chair and taking a package which Fenholm pro-
duced from his pocket.
“I believe so," Fenholm said. 66 There are the
originals. Here is the copy."
He opened a paper while Peakerton undid the
package.
I was astounded. I thought I must be in a dream.
The package contained the stolen letters; the other
paper was the purloined copy.
I started forward, and stood staring like an idiot.
Luckily, the judge did not observe me. I could only


212
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
tremble, and gasp, and flush, and turn pale, and wait
for explanations.
Fenholm went on:
"As you requested, I walked round to Richard's
boarding-place last evening, to see if he needed
help. I found he did. He had copied only about
two-thirds of the letters; it was getting late; he
was tired; so I took them all home and finished the
copy. Now we will go through them and see if it
is correct."
" Thank you, boys !” Peakerton said, with great
satisfaction. “Sit up to the fire here, Richard, and
get warm. It's a dreary day, but we'll make it a
cheery one for our client.”
He gave me a look how different from what I
had expected! He was overflowing with geniality.
But he noticed my
face.
“ Are you well, Richard ?” he asked, kindly.
“Oh, yes, very well !" I stammered.
little blue with with
“I know," he said. “ Up late, and up early; an
east wind, and you've had no breakfast. But busi-
ness before everything, you know. We don't often
have a case like this. Now, Richard, take the copy
and read it aloud, while Fenholm looks over the let-
ters, and I listen for points with a pen in my hand.
Wait a moment, though ; let me tell the cook to hurry
up breakfast, and put on two extra plates.”
It was an immense relief to me when he stepped
out of the room for a minute. I was trembling from
“ Only a


214
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
He gained it, of course, thanks to those miss-
ing letters. And of course my suspicions of Rob-
bins and Kneeland were unfounded. But I claim
that I had good reason to suspect them, and if
they grew cool towards me in consequence, I was
not extremely sorry. The loss of such society
was my gain.
a
es
Alice
mi


THE DOMINIE'S WATCH.
Iorget Alfred Everett to go a-fishing.
T was Saturday afternoon, and Rust Aiken came
to get Alfred Ever
“I can't go very well,” said Alfred, regretfully,
looking at the polo on Rust's shoulder, and the box
of bait in his hand. "I wish I could ! "
" Why can't you?” said Rust.
" Oh, the dominie 's away, and I've got to stay at
home and look after things."
By the dominie Alfred meant old Mr. Whately, the
minister.
“ He would let you go, I know,” Rust insisted.
Come, Alf! get your fishpole. I've dug bait
enough for both. What is there for you to look
after ? The housekeeper's at home, isn't she ?"
" Yes," said Alfred. “But he expects me to hoe
the garden this afternoon. He'll look black if he
comes home and finds the weeds all growing!”
Mr. Whately was a kind old man, but he was
rather strict in his discipline of the orphan, to whom
215


218
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
He was gone
« Take the dominie's watch ! You're
crazy,
Rust!”
Alfred looked horrified at the mere idea of such
a thing
It was a valuable gold watch, which had been pre-
sented to the minister by his friends in the parish; and
he prized it not only for its own sake, but for theirs.
“You had it at noon," Rust urged.
“Yes; it was left at the jeweller's to be cleaned;
and the dominie wanted me to get it, so that he
could have it to-morrow.
off for the
day when I brought it home, so I hung it up in the
case over his mantelpiece."
" Let's see !” said Rust.
Alfred, who was now dressed for the fishing, re-
luctantly consented, and they entered the minister's
study.
“Splendid, ain't it?” said Rust, taking the watch
out of its case and looking at it. “And it's just
the thing for us this afternoon.
afraid of?”
Nothing — only if anything should happen to
it!” said Alfred.
“ How can anything happen to it?” Rust per-
sisted. “ It's just as safe in your pocket as it is in
the dominio's. Why not?"
“ lle carries it in his waistband pocket; I haven't
any,” said Alfred.
“But you've a watch-pocket in your vest there!”
cried Rust, triumphantly. “ That's superb!”
What are you


220
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
said Alfred. “ Now let's go to fishing as soon as we
cau, for two hours and a half is little time enough.”
The lake lay in a hollow of the wooded hills, with
a central depth said to extend as far beneath its sur-
face as the highest peak rose above. It would have
been a beautifully clear sheet of water, had the bot-
tom been of clear sand or gravel. But decaying
leaves and fallen trunks around the shores had for
ages contributed to form a muddy sediment, into
which a fishing-pole could in some places be thrust
down half its length.
The primeval forest still rose, mossy and shaggy
and damp, from the western side. This was the best
place for fishing, and there from the broad backs of
two logs extending out into the water, the boys be-
gan their sport.
Yellow perch were the principal fish to be caught;
and they began to bite at Rust's hook almost as soon
as he threw it in. But Alfred had no luck.
“Get out farther on your log," cried Rust. “You
Go clear to the end of it."
Alfred followed this advice, but still he got no
bites. Perch after perch came flapping and plashing
out of the water, at the end of Rust's line, while
not one relieved the monotony of Alfred's patient
waiting
But all at once he had a bite. He pulled; the fish
pulled; the pole bent; the tense line cut the water.
Rust heard his outcry, and saw the struggle.
Gently! gently !” he shouted. " Don't break
can.


THE DOMINIE'S WATCH.
221
your pole! It's a bass - and a whopper! There
ho goes! Now don't lose him!”
It was the biggest fish Alfred had ever hoisted. He
was greatly excited. Once he had him completely
out of the water, when the yielding of the pole let
him plash back again,
The hook and line still held, and he should have
waited to tire the fish out; but in his agitation he
gave another sharp jerk. The pole bent nearly
double. The line slipped from the end, and dropped
into the water. Away went the fish.
Alfred gave a cry of dismay, but a moment later he
saw the line, dragged by the bass, running over a
sunken limb a little below the surface. By throwing
himself down upon the log and thrusting in his
hand, he might reach it. There was no time to think
of anything else.
Down he went on his knees, and in wert his hand,
when suddenly, like a streak of yellow light, some-
thing shot out of his bosom, and with a splash dis-
appeared in the lake.
• What was that?” said Rust.
Alfred, as he stooped, rested one hand on the log.
He now drew the other up quickly out of the water,
and clapped it to his breast.
“The watch !" he gasped out in a faint voice,
raising himself on his knees. “ Oh, the watch !”
In his bent position it had slipped out of his
pocket, and watch and chain and seal had gone to
the bottom.


222
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
The fish was forgotten in an instant. Rust left his
log, and came around to his friend's assistance.
Again and again Alfred felt his pockets and then
looked down into the water, straining his eyes to
catch a golden glimmer below ; but the sunshine on
the rippling surface prevented his seeing anything
so far down. The water, where the watch made its
plunge, was about six feet deep.
“ It was all your fault !” said Alfred, in wild de-
spair. “You made me bring it, when I told you I
didn't want to !"
“ But I never thought you were going to stand on
your head and spill things out of your pockets that
way !” Rust replied. “We can get it again, so don't
bo a baby about it.”
“The watch his friends gave him," said Alfred.
“I'd rather have fallen in myself and got drowned.
It has gone down in the mud twenty feet deep."
While he ran on in this way, Rust put his face close
to the water, shaded his eyes, and searched the dark
depths. In a little while he declared that he could
* see something."
Then Alfred looked again. By this time the sur-
face had become still.
" I see it! I see it !” he exclaimed. " But how
can we get it?”
" I am going to dive for it,” said Rust. "I got
you into the scrape, and I am going to help you out."
Rust was a better swimmer than Alfred, but diving
was not his strong point.


THE DOMINIE'S WATCII.
223
“I don't believe you can,” said Alfred, doubtfully.
Wait! Who is that coming through the woods?”
* Lott Hammond and Dick Thorne," said Rust.
“Oh, good !” said Alfred. “Lott is the best diver
in town. I've seen him throw a pebble into the mill-
pond where it is fifteen feet deep, and go down and
get it."
:
Rust laughed gleefully.
“ We are in luck! Lott can get it if he will try;
but he's a queer fellow. Let me speak to him.”
Lott was, in fact, one of the most athletic, lazy,
adroit, sagacious, foolish young chaps in the whole
county. There seemed to be nothing in the range
of a rural youth's powers which he did not know or
could not do, but he had a strange aversion to any-
thing useful; so at twenty years of age, instead of
being one of the rising young men of the village,
Lott remained a loafer.
Rust explained to him the situation, and asked him
to dive for the watch.
“ The dominie's ?” said Lott, with a chuckle.
" That's a good joke !"
Alfred did not think it a good joke at all, but his
need of Lott's assistance kept him from saying so.
Lott came out on the log, looked down in the wa-
ter, and saw the faint glimmer of gold at the bottom.
“ Easy enough to get that,” he said.
Will you ?” Alfred asked, with hopeful entreaty.
“I've been walking; I'm too warm to go into tho
water," replied Lott.


224
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
“ You can come right out again; it won't hurt
you,” said Rust. “ Alf and I will pay you."
* We'll give you a dollar if you'll get it!” cried
Alfred, eagerly.
But Lott shook his head. Although he had prob-
ably not had a dollar in his pocket for six months, he
could not be induced to risk his health by taking a
single plunge. The more the boys pleaded the more
stubborn he became, and finally he walked off with
his friend, laughing at the funny thing that had hap-
pened to the dominie's watch.
“ He was never careful of his health before," said
Alfred, bitterly. "If it had been a sixpence, and
he could have had it to get a glass of beer with,
he'd have gone in soon enough.”
“ Now I am going in myself,” said Rust, begin-
ning to undress.
“ I'm sorry we said anything to
him, for he and Dick will tell of it all over town."
He got his eye on the glimmer of light at the bot-
tom, and dived from the log. Alfred waited with the
utmost anxiety to see him come up again. In a few
seconds Rust returned to the surface with something
grasped in his right hand.
It was nothing but mud.
Once more Alfred was in despair. The bottom had
been so stirred up that it would take a long time for
the water to settle and become clear. Perhaps even
then the watch would be buried from sight.
“I tried to keep my eyes open,” said Rust,“ but


TIIE DOMINIE'S WATCH.
225
as soon as I struck the water I couldn't see a thing.
I'm sure I felt it, and I thought I had it.”
“ We can't get it now, any way,” said Alfred.
“ See how muddy the water is.”
“ That don't make any difference,” Rust replied.
“ If I can't see, I can feel. I'm going to dive again,
and keep diving till I get it.”
Again and again he plunged, and brought up noth-
ing but mud and rotten sticks.
- At length this became so common a thing with
him that he had ceased to expect anything else. He
would come to the surface and let the mud slip out
of his fingers almost before he got his dripping eyes
open.
“ It's no use," said Alfred. The watch is down
in the mud now where nobody can find it. Don't
try any more."
“ What sort of a story shall we tell the dominie?”
said Rust, now quite discouraged, as he sat on the
log to rest.
I don't know. I'd rather die than meet him!”
said poor Alfred, ruefully.
“ Tell him you carried home the watch from the
village, and as he was gone, you were afraid to leave
it in the house, so you kept it in your pocket, just
where the jeweller put it.”
“ No, no, I can't lie to him !” said Alfred. “I shall
have to tell him the truth if I tell him anything. Oh,
Rust, you've got me into an awful scrape !"
Well, don't I know it? and ain't I trying to get
ܙܙ
66
15


226
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
you out of it? I've been diving for you, and now
I'm inventing lies for you, — doing the very best I
can, ain't I ?"
“ Lying won't help it, any way,” said Alfred.
"Well, then, I'll dive again."
And once more this time with a fully recovered
breath - Rust made a journey to the bottom.
He came to the surface, opened his fingers to let
the mud out,
and
Oh, the watch !” shrieked Alfred.
Something yellow and bright as gold had, in fact,
slipped out with the mud and gone again to the
bottom.
It happened curiously enough. When Rust came
up from his first plunge, and thought he had the
watch, he did not have it. So now, when he came
up from his last, and thought he did not have it, he
had it, and it was lost again before he could wink
the water out of his eyes.
“ Are you sure you saw it ?” he asked Alfred.
“Oh, I know it !” Alfred exclaimed. “ Why didn't
you hold on to it?"
Rust was hugely chagrined. He was for diving
again immediately, but Alfred said:
“ No; it is out of the mud noiv, and
you might
bury it again. Wait till the water settles.”
Rust was obliged to admit that this was good ad-
vice, and after arguing sone time against it, he put
on his clothes.
But with so much at stake, it was distressing to



THE DOMINIE'S WATCH. - Page 219.





THE DOMINIE'S WATCH.
227
wait there for the water slowly to become clear once
inore. Quite useless, too, it seemed, for after all their
anxious watching, even when the lake had grown
tranquil and clear, they strained their eyes in vain
looking down into the dim depths.
No watch was to be seen.
Still the boys remained on the log, unwilling to
give up and go away.
“ What time do you suppose it is ?" Rust inquired.
" I don't know," muttered Alfred, despairingly.
“We brought the watch ; now what good does it
do us?”
“ Of course it doesn't do us any good, in the mud
down there!” said Rust.
“That garden won't get hoed !” again Alfred mut-
tered. “It must be five o'clock already."
“Who cares for the garden, if we can only get the
watch !” said Rust, taking another long look down
into the water.
“Get it!” Alfred exclaimed, with bitter irony.
“ The shadow of those trees will be here in a few
minutes; that will darken the water so we can't
see anything."
Slowly the cool shade of the mossy woods was
creeping towards them. The deeper shades of night
would soon be coming on. It was a dismal prospect
to the two boys. Suddenly Rust exclaimed:
" I've an idea !"
“What is it?” Alfred asked, with a faint renewal
of hope.


228
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
“Uncle Soper's scoop-net! It has got a handle
ten feet long. We can reach down with it, and
scoop up that watch without half trying."
“Yes!” cried Alfred, catching eagerly at the idea.
“Why didn't we think of the scoop-net ? We can
dip up any quantity of mud, and sift and wash it, till
we find the watch."
“Let's go for it !” said Rust, already on his feet.
“But it won't do for us both to go away,” Alfred
objected.
“Why not?"
6 I'm afraid of Lott Hammond. He wouldn't dive
and get the watch for us; and I know the reason.
After we give it up, he means to come back and get
it for himself.”
“I don't believe that,” said Rust.
“ But if you're
afraid, I'll stay, while you go for the net.”
“I won't be gone long!” cried Alfred ; and off he
ran in high hope.
He
was,
however, gone
much longer than he ex:
pected. When he reached Uncle Soper's house, the
old man was absent, and the women folks knew
nothing about the net.
Then Alfred remembered that Sam Crookes had
But he lived a mile away. The boy was in
great perplexity for a minute; then off he started
to find Sam Crookes..
Sam was at home. But the net was in much the
same condition as everything else about him. Ilo
was a shiftless fellow; and it was provoking to see
one.


THE DOMINIE'S WATCH.
229
him hitch up his trousers, turn his quid, and scratch
his rough red head, before he answered the boy's
question.
“ That 'air net," said he at last. “ Lemme see !
Either the net part got tore out, or the hoop got lost,
or the handle broke. or all three or else I lent it
to somebody. Oh, I remember! it's tucked up
over the woodshed there now; but ’tain't good for
nothing."
After a good deal of delay, which proved a severe
trial to the boy's patience, Sam brought down the
ruins of the ancient net; for only ruins were left of
it, and they were past repair.
“Uncle Soper has got a first-rate net; why don't
you borrow his'n?” said Sam.
Alfred told how he had tried to, and failed.
“ Wa’n’t to home? Of course, he wa’n’t to home,
now I think on't,” said Sam. “Uncle Soper's down
to the mill; or he was,
half an hour ago.”
Then Alfred started off on a chase after Uncle
Soper. At last he tracked him to a grocery in the
village.
“ My net ?” said the old man, who was uncle to
everybody. “Lott Hammond has got it; I lent it
to him a month ago.”
Alfred was sorry to hear that. He had already lost
so much time that he could not well afford to lose
more by hunting up Lott. He explained the situation
to the old man, who readily offered to go with him.
“I guess we can find the net, and get the watch


230
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
with it,” said Uncle Soper. “I'd heard about your
losing it.”
How kind he seemed! How the poor boy's hopes
clung to him, as they walked along !
But the old man was rheumatic, and it seemed to
the impatient Alfred that he trudged at a snail's pace.
Evening was approaching. The shadows of the
forest must have stretched far out over the lake by
that time; and the boy was afraid Rust would get
tired of waiting for him, and go away.
As he walked with the old man through the vil-
lage, he had to run the gauntlet of questions from a
score of people. Boys ran after him; men stopped :-
and turned ; and shopkeepers stood in their doors to
hear what he had to say on the exciting topic. For
Lott Hammond and Dick Thorne had reported the
news of his misfortune, and it had spread over half
the town by this time.
“ Did yo find the watch?” “How did ye lose it?”
Why didn't
ye
dive for it?” " Where's the domi.
nio ?” " Was it his best watch: the one the parish
gave him?"
Heated with running, still more flushied with ex-
citement, anxious; angry, ashamed, Alfred had to face
these people and answer their terrible inquiries. He
was glad enough when he was once more out of the
village, with nobody to talk to him but the slow.
jogging old man.
Lott Hammond was not at home. But the pet was
found, to Alfred's great joy. And now, feeling certain


232
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
"No watch !” Alfred was the first to exclaim, as
they sifted out the mud and threw out the sticks on
the other side of the log.
“ Try again,” said Uncle Soper, still confident.
And having washed the net, he made another dip.
Still no watch.
A third and a fourth time the net was thrust down,
moved along the bottom, and hauled up with its-un-
satisfactory contents.
“ Yer big fish must have swallowed yer watch,”
at last the old man suggested, “I've heard of such
things."
“ That can't be,” said Alfred; “ for he was hooked
when I lost it."
“Wal, if he didn't, then it's my opinion some other
fish has got it; for I'll bet a dollar there ain't no
watch anywheres in the mud I've been sarchin' with
the net." And the old man added, turning to walk
back on the log: “I'm agoin' to cut him open, any
way.”
Alfred had not much hope of seeing the watch pro-
duced by this process, and he was not disappointed.
The bass was tried for the theft, and found not
guilty.
Then, after a few more attempts with the net,
Uncle Soper exclaimed:
“No use! You may keep on tryin' if you want
tew, but I've got through, and I'm agoin' hum.”
Alfred made a few feeble and hopeless efforts to
recover the lost treasure; but it was now growing


THE DOMINIE'S WATCH.
233
dark, and at length, in utter despair of heart, he
consented to go with the old man.
“ What'll ye dew with the fish?” Uncle Soper
inquired.
“I don't care for any fish," said the poor boy, with
a sob. “ You may have him, if you want him.”
“ Of course I want him, if you
don't.”
And, cutting a hooked stick, the old man strung
the bass upon it, carrying him away in triumph. He,
for one, was pretty well satisfied with the result of
the adventure. “Though 'tis a mighty pity 'bout
that watch !” he said, sympathizingly, as he trudged
back from the lake with the broken-hearted boy.
Alfred carried the net, and soon he parted company
with Uncle Soper, declaring that he would return in
the morning and find the watch, if he had to scoop
out half the mud in the pond.
Wal, if ye dew that, and ketch and cut open all
the big fish, ye may find it,” replied the old man;
“ but it's a big job you've got afore ye.”
Alfred hastened to find Rust, and learned that he
had brought home his string of perch an hour before,
but had gone off again.
Alfred walked miserably on to the dominie's house,
but he did not have the courage to go in. He stood
by the door, sick at heart and irresolute.
“ What shall I do ?” he said, desperately, to him-
self. “How can I stay and face him?"
While he was reflecting, or trying to reflect, the
sound of wheels startled him. A wagon was coming
97


THE DOMINIE'S WATCH.
235
“I've no reason,
“Why, what's the matter, Alfred ?”
“I haven't — worked — in the garden," Alfred
confessed, chokingly.
“ You've left those weeds another week ?" said the
dominie, sternly. “I trust you have some good rea-
son for it, Alfred.
"No, sir," said Alfred, struggling to keep up.
-only a bad one.
Oh, sir!"
And out came the whole story, amid bursting sobs
and tears.
The old gentleman, who had begun his supper,
dropped his knife with a look of consternation.
“You've lost my watch, and can't find it !” he
exclaimed, with more anger than the boy had ever
seen him betray before. “What business had you
with my watch ?”
“I had no business with it," Alfred humbly ad-
mitted. “I ought not to have taken it. I've tried
my best to find it, and I'm going to try again. · I
hope I can get it."
“No, you don't hope anything of the sort,” said
the dominie. “I see by your looks that you've no
idea it can be found. The watch
my
friends
gave
me! Oh, Alfred, what shall I -"
He checked himself. His features were contracted
with pain, and there was a long inward struggle,
more terrible than words to
poor
Alfred.
“ You will send me away, of course,” said the boy.
“ I deserve it. I have repaid your kindness in a bad,
ungrateful way; but say you forgive me, and I will


236
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
22
go off somewhere and work till I have paid for that
watch, or bought a new one, if it takes all my life !"
The struggle in the good man's breast was over by
this time.
“Alfred,” he said, with kindly emotion, “come
here."
But at that moment Rust Aiken burst into the
room.
“Alf, come out,” he whispered, drawing back at
sight of the minister. “It's all right!”
“ What's all right?” Alfred wonderingly inquired.
“ The watch !” said Rust, with joyfully gleaming
eyes.
“ The watch,” Alfred exclaimed, springing wildly
towards him.
“ Yes. I've been hunting everywhere for you.
I've been here once before."
“ Have you indeed got my watch ?" Mr. Whately
demanded, making Rust come into the room.
“Yes, sir, -- no, sir, - I mean," Rust stammered
in his excitement. “I'll tell you about it.”
" Tell me, then, and be brief,” said the dominie.
“ Alf left me to stand guard while he went for the
net," began Rust, "and I thought he never would
come back; but," turning to Alfred," if you'll believe
it, the shadow of the trees we were afraid of had just
the opposite effect from what we expected. The
glimmer was gone from the surface; the little float-
ing particles down in the water no longer had the
sun to light them up, and I could see


THE DOMINIE'S WATCH.
239
Whately continued, putting his arm affectionately
around Alfred. “ And I forgive that, too. Yes, and
I am thankful that you did not try to shirk the re-
sponsibility for your conduct by any falsehood or
evasion."
Rust looked down. The dominie proceeded, still
caressing Alfred with his hand.
“And now let this be a lesson to you both, not
to postpone your duties for self-gratification, but to
attend cheerfully and faithfully to your duties first;
and don't take liberties with other people's property.
Borrowing in that reckless way is often a sure and
straight road to ruin. Even this little thing might
have proved your ruin, Alfred. Let us be thankful
it is no worse."
“ I am thankful,” said Alfred, looking up. “I be-
lieve I was never so happy in my life.”
“ There's ancther thing for you to be proud of,"
said Rust. “You've got the biggest bass over there
at the lake that was ever caught out of it. He was
so heavy I wouldn't lug him away.”
"I gave him to Unclo Soper," said Alfred.
" But
how did you get him ?”
“Why, you see,” said Rust,“ when I grabbed the
watch, I just threw the pole off, and the end went
down into the water. Then, after I had been crazy
over my luck for a minute or two, I thought of my
handkerchief; but when I took up the pole, I found
the look in the end had caught something down by
the tops of the fullen tree. It was your line; and
22


240
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
when I got hold of that, I found your big fish at the
other end of it."
“ If that wasn't luck !” exclaimed Alfred. “Well,
I'm glad Uncle Soper has got pay for his trouble;
but, as he said, our best fish is the goldfish. Oh, to
think how we scooped up mud there to find it, and
you had it all the time !"
“ Well, boys," said Mr. Whately, smiling be-
nignly, "you have had rather a lucky day, after
all; and I think neither of you will ever forget your
adventure with the dominie's watch."


22
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
It was possible, however, that he was considering
whether he could afford himself the indulgence of
a morning paper (seeing it was Thanksgiving day);
so, at least, Bert thought, and accosted bim accord.
ingly.
“Buy a paper, sir? All about the fire in East
Boston, and arrest of safe-burglars in Springfield.
Only two cents.”
The little old man looked at the boy with keen
gray eyes which seemed to light up the pinched and
skinny face, and answered in a shrill voice that
whistled through white front teeth:
“You ought to come down in your price this time
of day. You can't expect to sell a morning paper
at twelve o'clock for full price."
“ Well, give me a cert, then," said Bert.
6. That's
less 'n cost; but never mind ; I'm bound to sell out,
anyhow."
“ You look cold," said the old man.
“ Cold !” replied Bert; “ I'm froze. And I want
my dinner. And I'm going to have a big dinner,
too, seeing it's Thanksgiving day.”
" Ah ! lucky for you, my boy!" said the old man.
" You've a home to go to, and friends too, I
nope?"
“ No, sir; nary home, and nary friend, — only my
mother," — Bert hesitated, and grew serious; then
suddenly changed his tone, " and Hop Houghton.
I told him to meet me here, and we'd have a first-
rate Thanksgiving dinner together; for it's no fun


BERT'S THANKSGIVING.
243
to be eatiu' alone Thanksgiving day! It sets a
feller thinking of everything, if he ever had a home
and then hain't got a home any more."
“ It's more lonesome not to eat at all," said the old
man, his gray eyes twinkling. “ And what can a
boy like you have to think of? Here, I guess I can
find one cent for you - though there's nothing in
the paper, I know.”
The old man spoke with some feeling, his fingers
trembled, and somehow he dropped two cents in-
stead of one into Bert's hand.
" Here! You've made a mistake!” cried Bert.
“ A bargain 's a bargain. You've given me a cont
too much.”
No, I didn't. I never give anybody a cent too
much."
But, see here!" And Bert showed the two
cents, offering to return one.
“No matter," said the old man; “it will be so
much less for my dinner, that's all."
Bert had instinctively pocketed the pennies, when,
on a moment's reflection, his sympathies were ex-
cited.
“Poor old man !” he thought; "he's seen better
days, I guess. Perhaps he's no home. A boy like
me can stand it, but I guess it must be hard for him.
He meant to give me the odd cent all the while ;
and I don't believe he has had a decent dinner for
many a day.”
All this, which I have been obliged to write out


BERT'S THANKSGIVING.
245
To make him feel quite comfortable in his mind
on that point, Bert hastened to say :
“I mean rowdies, and such. Poor people, if they
behave themselves, are just as respectable to me as
rich folks. I ain't the least mite aristocratic."
Ah, indeed !” And the old man smiled again,
and seemed to look relieved. “I'm very glad to
hear it.”
He placed his hat on the floor, and took a seat op-
posite Bert at a little table, which they had all to
themselves.
Bert offered him the bill of fare.
“No, I must ask you to choose for me ; but noth.
ing very extravagant, you know. I'm used to plain
fare."
“So am I. But I'm going to have a good dinner
for once in my life, and so shall you !" cried Bert,
generously. “ What do you say to chicken-soup,
and then . wind up with a thumping big piece of
squash pie? How's that for a Thanksgiving
dinner?"
“Sumptuous !” said the old man, appearing to
glow with the warmth of the room and the prospect
of a good dinner. “ But won't it cost you too
much ?"
“ Too much ? No, sir ! ” laughed Bert. “Chick-
en-soup, fifteen cents; pie - they give tremendous
pieces here; thick, I tell you! — ten cents. That's
twenty-five cents; half a dollar for two. Of course,
I don't do this way every day in the year.
But
22


246
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
mother's glad to have me, once in a while. Here,
waiter!” And Bert gave his princely order as if it
were no very great thing for a liberal young fellow
like him, after all.
" Where is your mother ? Why don't you dine
with her ?” the little man asked.
Bert's face grew sober in a moment.
“ That's the question : why don't I? I'll tell you
why I don't. I've got the best mother in the world.
What I'm trying to do is to make a home for her, so
we can live together, and eat our Thanksgiving din-
ners together some time. Some boys want one
thing, some another. There's one goes in for good
times; another 's in such a hurry to get rich he don't
care much how he docs it; but what I want most
of anything is to be with my mother and my two
sisters again, and I ain't ashamed to say so.”
Bert's eyes grew very tender, and he went on,
while his companion across the table watched him
with a very gentle, searching look.
“ I haven't been with her now for two years;
hardly at all since father died. When his business was
settled up, - he kept a little grocery store on Hano-
ver Street, - it was found he hadn't left us anything.
We had lived pretty well up to that time, and I and
my two sisters had been to school; but then mother
had to do something, and her friends got her places
to go out nursing, and she's a nurse now. Every-
body likes her, and she has enough to do. W
couldn't be with her, of course. She got us boarded


BERT'S THANKSGIVING.
247
at a good place, but I saw how hard it was going to
be for her to support us, so I said, " I'm a boy; 1 can
do something for myself. You just pay their board,
and keep 'em to school, and I'll go to work, and
maybe help you a little, besides taking care of my-
self.'"
“What could you do ?” said the little old man.
“ That's it. I was only 'leven years old, and what
could I? What I should have liked would have been
some nice place, where I could do light work, and
stand a chance of learning a good business. But
beggars mustn't be choosers. I couldn't find such a
place; and I wasn't going to be loafing about the
streets, so I went to selling newspapers. I've sold
newspapers ever since, and I shall be twelve years
old next month."
“ You like it?" said the old man.
“I like to get my own living," replied Bert,
proudly. “But what I want is to learn some trade,
or regular business, and settle down, and make a
home for But there's no use talking about that.
Make the best of things, that's my motto. Don't
this soup smell good ? And don't it taste good, too?
They haven't put so much chicken in yours as they
have in mine. If you don't mind my having tasted
it, we'll change."
The old man declined this liberal offer, took Bert's
advice to help himself freely to bread, which“ didn't
cost anything,” and ate his soup with prodigious
relish, as it seemed to Bert, who grew more and


BERT'S THANKSGIVING.
249
help you to such a place as you want, for I know
several business-men. Now don't fail."
And Mr. Crooker wrote his address with a little
stub of a pencil on a corner of the newspaper which
had led to their acquaintance, tore it off carefully,
and
gave
it to Bert.
Thereupon the latter took a card from his pocket,
not a very clean one, I must say (I am speaking
of the card, though the remark will apply equally
well to the pocket), — and handed it across the table
to his new friend.
“ Herbert Hampton, Dealer in Newspapers," the old
man read, with his sharp gray eyes, which glanced
up funnily at Bert, seeming to say, “Isn't this rather
aristocratic for a twelve-year-old newsboy ?”
Bert blushed, and explained. up
for me by
a printer's boy I know. I'd done some favors for
him, and so he made me a few cards. Handy to have
sometimes, you know."
“Well, Herbert,” said the little old man, “ I'm
glad to have made your acquaintance. The pie was
excellent; not any more,
thank
you;
and I hope
you'll come and see me. You'll find me in very hum.
ble quarters; but you are not aristocratic, you say.
Now, won't you let me pay for my dinner? I believe
I have money enough. Let me see."
Bert would not hear of such a thing, but walked
up to the desk and settled the bill, with the air of a
person who did not regard a trifling expense.
When he looked round again, the little old man
was gone.
Got


250
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
“ Never mind, I'll go and see him the first chance
I have," said Bert, as he looked at the pencilled
strip of newspaper margin again before putting it
into his pocket.
He then went round to his miserable quarters, in
the top of a cheap lodging-house, where he made
himself ready, by means 'of soap and water and a
broken comb, to walk five miles into the suburbs,
and get a sight, if only for five minutes, of his
mother.
On the following Monday, Bert, having a leisure
hour, went to call on his new acquaintance in Dev-
onshire Street.
Having climbed the two flights, he found the door
of the back room at the right ajar, and looking in, saw
Mr. Crooker at a desk, in the act of receiving a roll
of money from a well-dressed visitor.
Bert entered unnoticed and waited till the money
was counted and a receipt signed. Then, as the
visitor departed, old Mr. Crooker looked round and
saw Bert. He offered him a chair, then turned to
lock up the money in a safe.
“So this is your place of business ?" said Bert,
glancing about the plain office-room. 66 What do
you do here?"
" I buy real estate sometimes sell - rent - and
so forth.”
“ Who for?" asked Bert.
" For myself," said little old Mr. Crooker, with a
smile.


BERT'S THANKSGIVING.
251
Bert stared, perfectly aghast at the situation.
This, then, was the man whom he had invited to
dinner, and treated so patronizingly the preceding
Thursday !
“I- I thought — you was a poor man.”
“I am a poor man,” said Mr. Crooker, locking his
safe. “ Money don't make a man rich. I've money
enough. I own houses in the city. They give me
something to think of, and so keep me alive. I had
truer riches once, but I lost them long ago.”
From the way the old man's voice trembled, and
eyes glistened, Bert thought he must have meant by
these riches friends he had lost — wife and children,
perhaps.
" To think of me inviting you to dinner!” he cried,
abashed and ashamed.
" It was odd.” And Mr. Crooker showed his white
front teeth with a smile. “ But it may turn out to
have been a lucky circumstance for both of us.
like you; I believe in you; and I've an offer to make
I want a trusty, bright boy in this office, -
somebody I can bring up to my business, and leave
it with, as I get too old to attend to it myself. What
do you say?”
What could Bert say ?
Again that afternoon he walked - or rather ran-
to his mother; and after consulting with her, joy-
fully accepted Mr. Crooker's offer.
Interviews between his mother and his employer
soon followed, resulting in something for which at
I
to you.


252
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
first the boy had not dared to hope. The lonely,
childless old man, who owned so many houses, want-
ed a home; and one of these houses he offered to
Mrs. Hampton, with ample support for herself and her
children, if she would also make it a home for him.
Of course this proposition was accepted; and Bert
soon had the satisfaction of seeing the great ambi-
tion of his youth accomplished. Ho had employment
which promised to become a profitable business (as
indeed it did in a few years, he and the old man
proved so useful to each other); and, more than that,
he was united once more with his mother and sisters
in a happy home, where he has since had a good
many Thanksgiving dinners.


CARL ROBSON'S CHRISTMAS.
T had been fully agreed that Carl Robson was to
go
to
school that winter, when Aunt Robson's consump-
tive cough suddenly unsettled everything.
“ She must go south,” said the doctor; and Uncle
Robson, who had business connections in Havana,
resolved at once that he would accompany her
thither.
“But the girls !” said poor Mrs. Robson, whose
head was usually set in a whirl by her husband's
swift way of deciding things.
« Take them with us."
" And the servants ? "
“ Take Molly, too. You have been wanting to get
rid of the cook; now is your
chance."
“ And the house — with all our nice things in it?”
“Shut it up, or get somebody to come and sleep
in it."
"I shall be worried to death about the house,"
72
253


054
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
said Aunt Robson, despairingly. “And Carl, who
was to board with us!-- what shall we do with him ?
It will be such a disappointment to the poor boy !”
"I have it !" cried Uncle Robson. " Carl shall come
to sleep in the house, and take care of the things."
" Alone!”
Why not? He's a plucky fellow, he won't mind.
He can make his own bed, and get his meals at a
restaurant. I'll write to him."
The migration of the family was a source of great
disappointment to Carl, as his aunt had predicted.
But he had much of his uncle's decisive turn of mind,
and he consented at once to the new arrangement.
And so it happened that he found himself alone in
the great house that winter. As he was a poor boy,
with an education and a living to get, he had, fortu-
nately, no very fastidious views of life; and what
would have been a hardship to many, he accepted
with thankfulness, even with glee.
Carl was then sixteen years old, healthy and hardy,
and full of hope. Had he been without an object in
life, he would have been lonesome and homesick
enough in the large, empty house, where, I fear, but
few of his spare hours would have been spent. But,
fired with a noble ambition, he found a pleasure in
the quiet life he lived there, a satisfaction even in
getting his own frugal breakfasts, and baking his own
corn-bread and potatoes.
Now Carl had never in his life had anything so
much like an adventure as this; but he was destined


CARL ROBSON'S CHRISTMAS.
257
intervening roof, which was lower by a few feet than
the roofs each side of it.
Such proved to have been the case. Carl was still
watching, when a head, in a close-fitting cap, was
thrust up over the edge of the very roof where he
was, and within fifteen feet of his scuttle. A pair of
shoulders followed; then, after a brief pause, the
entire figure hopped up on the roof, as soft and light
as an ape, and sat there in the moonlight.
Now Carl was no coward, as the event proved.
And yet it must be owned that the mystery of the
thing vividly impressed his imagination, and made
the roots of his hair thrill and stir for a few seconds.
Then reason came to his aid.
“No Santa Claus that," he said to himself. “Some-
body who has no business on this roof. Most proba-
bly a burglar. Looks like a young fellow, a boy. He
mustn't see me.”
Carl stepped noiselessly back, closed the door of
the room in which his lamp was burning, then cau-
tiously put his eyes up over the edge of the scuttle-
frame once more.
The mysterious visitor had left his perch, and was
moving along, hitch by hitch, in a half sitting, half
reclining posture, towards the skylight.
Again the boy's blood curdled. But his resolu-
tion of mind did not waver for a moment. He
crouched under the slope of the roof below the scut-
tle, to wait.
In a little while, without the slightest noise. a face
17



CARL Robson's CHRISTMAS. – Page 259.





CARL ROBSON'S CHRISTMAS.
259
Carl still held the legs in the air, dragging their
owner after bim towards the room in which his lamp
was left. But before he could throw open the door one
foot had kicked itself free, and was beginning to play a
lively tattoo upon his arms and chest. Had the burg-
lar worn boots he would have made a bad job for his
captor. But he had entered the house with nothing
but stockings and soft rubber shoes on his feet, and
the rubbers were lost off in the beginning of the
struggle.
The freed foot was good, however, to aid in the
rescue of its mate, and it gave Carl no leisure for
opening the door. Suddenly he changed bis tactics,
let go the foot as it was escaping him, and flung him-
self headlong upon the prostrate burglar.
What happened afterwards he hardly knew, until
he found himself rolling with his antagonist down
the attic stairs.
Both were slightly stunned by the tumble. The
burglar was the first to recover breath and strength.
Flinging Carl off, he scrambled to his feet. Carl was
up almost as soon as he ; but he was on the lower
landing, while the burglar was one or two steps
above.
Back up the stairway the latter leaped, seized the
first thing he could lay hold of, which happened to
be a chair, hurled it down upon Carl, and made a
spring at the window.
He was half out, when he once more felt the in-
exorable grip on his legs. Carl had somehow dodged


260
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
the chair; and all the fury of fight roused in him, he
reached the upper landing in time to give his antago-
nist another and more damaging fall.
Hugging the captured legs with all his remaining
strength, he went staggering back against the door,
which he this time succeeded in throwing open.
When the burglar, whose head had struck the
floor as he fell, fully regained his senses, he found
himself lying on his back across the threshold of a
lighted chamber, and his captor sitting heavily across
his body, holding him down by the arms.
Up to this time neither had cried out; not a word
had been uttered. Then the burglar spoke :
“I think I may as well give up."
"I should say it was about time," Carl answered.
There was a pause, during which both breathed
fast and hard after their violent exertions, and looked
steadily at each other.
Carl had judged rightly; his burglar was a youth
not more than a year older than himself; taller, per-
haps, but less stoutly built. Not a bad-looking youth,
either, though his hair was tumbled and his face
streaked with blood. He had lost both cap and
shoes in the struggle, and his shirt-front was torn
and bloody.
“ Well,” he said at length, “what are you going
to do about it?"
In spite of the smears of blood and shortened breath,
something in the face and voice seemed familiar to
Car).


262
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
But prom-
"Did you know I lived in this house?”
“No; I don't even remember your name.”'
“I remember yours - Wharton, isn't it? After
you left, there were a good many inquiries as to what
had become of Wharton. I didn't expect to meet
you again in this way.”
There was genuine pity in Carl's tones, and
Wharton was touched. His lips twitched, but he
said nothing
" Wharton, I am sorry for you. Get up and wash
yourself; then we'll talk this thing over.
ise that you won't try to get away.”
Wharton promised readily, and Carl let him up.
The shoes were found and put on, and Carl, carrying
the lamp, sent his captive before him down the stairs
to his owní room.
Here water and towels were used
by both, for Carl found to his surprise that he was
almost as bloody and quite as tumbled as his antago-
nist; then, combed and brushed, they sat down and
once more looked at each other.
“ Ain't there anybody else in the house ?” Whar-
ton inquired.
" Not just now. I live here all alone, take care of
my own room, and get my own breakfast and supper."
"Ain't you lonesome as the dogs ?"
“No; I'm happy as a prince. I have something
to do. My studies interest me, and I make the
housework a recreation."
“ You are a different fellow from me,” said Whar.
ton, looking gloomily about the room.


CARL ROBSON'S CHRISTMAS.
263
I am
2
“I suppose so. Now, tell me of yourself. I want
to know how you ever came to do so strange, so
wild a thing."
“ I'm naturally wild — the most reckless fellow
ever you saw.
I'd give anything if I was like you.
Do you suppose
à scamp because I want
to be ?"
“ Not wholly. I don't suppose anybody ever is so.
How does it happen? I remember your father
coming to school to inquire about you; he seemed
a decent sort of man."
“My father is a good mau enough, but he has
never treated me right. Neither he nor my mother
ever had any authority over me when I was little.
I didn't want to go to school, and they didn't make
me go, as they ought to have done. They tried to
hire and coax me to go, and when I wouldn't they
made all sorts of excuses for me, until I really thought
I was a rare boy — an exceptional character too
delicate either to work or study. That's the way I
was brought up. Then when they found out their
mistake, it was too late. I was so ignorant for a boy
of my age, that I was ashamed to go to the public
school and be in the classes where I belonged; so at
last I was sent to the private school where you saw
You know how it was there. I couldn't get
along and keep up with even the lowest class.
too backward in everything. I had never learned
to apply myself. I got mad, and left - ran away."
" Ran away from home?"
me.
I was


261
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
I
“ Yes -- for I had to, then, if I left school. My
father has turned right round, lately, and I can't
blame him much," muttered Wharton. “He is tired
of getting me out of scrapes. For, you see, when I
wasn't doing one thing I was doing another, learn-
ing deviltry if not arithmetic. He told me if I left
that school he would have nothing more to do with
me, and he has kept his word. That put me in a hard
place, especially as one of my chums had been sent
to the house of correction, and two of them to the
reform school. That's why I happen to be out alone
to-night.
was hard
up.
I didn't dare to take any.
thing in the house where I board, for I should have
been the first one suspected. It was so easy getting
out of my attic window, I thought I could get into
some other in the block and find a pocket-book or
some table-silver. I'm telling you the honest truth
this time."
Carl was deeply interested in this story.
“ Wharton," said he, earnestly, "you're naturally a
bright boy, and not a very bad one, I hope; and,
see here, Wharton! you ought to do something
better for yourself - you are worthy of something
better, I am sure."
The kindly emotion with which he spoke, and
which brought tears to his eyes and a tremor to his
voice, produced a singular effect on Wharton, who
burst out with a strain of profanity, brushed his
sleeve across his eyes, and cursed his luck.
" What can I do?” he asked.


266
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
morrow
take me in hand, I'd promise — 1'd promise any.
thing, I'd do anything."
He spoke with so much feeling that Carl, thrilling
with sympathy, grasped his hand.
" I'll do all I can for you. But, remember, you
will have the most to do for yourself. I'll see your
father shall I?"
“ Yes; but don't tell him how I came into this
house."
Nobody shall know that as long as you let me
put faith in you. Now go, and come and see me to-
or rather to-day - at about noon.”
And, after exchanging promises and pledges with
his strange visitor, Carl let him out of the house by
the front door.
The young student was for a long time too much
excited to sleep; and, although he could have lain
as he pleased that Christmas morning,
thoughts of young Wharton, in whom he took a deep
interest, roused him early. By nine o'clock, his
breakfast eaten and his housework done, he was on
his way to the elder Wharton's residence.
He was shown into a pleasant sitting-room, where
a boy of nine, and two pretty girls of twelve and
fourteen, were still making merry over their Christ-
mas presents. The mother sat by, smiling with
a sad face. The father, a short, stout man, with a
broad, red-whiskered face, presently came in, and
looked inquiringly at his visitor.
Carl opened his business at once.
as late


CARL ROBSON'S CHRISTMAS.
267
your son."
22
“I have come to speak with you
about
Mrs. Wharton gave a start, and an appealing look
at her husband. His broad face was visibly agitated
as he glanced from Carl to the children.
“Girls," he said, " you may take James out of the
room." He closed the door after them, and ap-
proached Carl, drawing a long breath of anxiety.
“You mean my son Elwood ?”
“Yes, sir," replied Carl, though he had never
heard the son's first name before; at school he was
simply called Wharton. “I have seen him, and
talked with him."
“Are you one of his crew?" demanded the father,
speaking sternly, with an effort at self-control.
“I go to the school where he went. I had no
other acquaintance with him - until -- he called on
me."
“How did he happen to call on you, if you had so
little acquaintance with him?"
Carl looked the suspicious father calmly in the
face, and answered in words which told, yet concealed
the truth.
“ He fell in with me accidentally — and I asked
him to my room, where we had a talk. I think that
your son is changed. He makes solemn, and I be-
lieve sincere, pledges for future good behavior.”
" He has made promises enough — too many
promises — in the past. He would neither go to
school nor learn
any kind of business, though I've
got him places, and given him the best chance ever


268
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
a boy had. Now, how can I believe — how can I
trust him?"
“Remember," sobbed out Mrs. Wharton, standing
by his side, bowed, with clasped hands," he is our
own son !"
The emotion the father betrayed, spite of his
efforts to conceal 'it, was not all anger; and Carl
was encouraged to follow up the wife's appeal with
a strong petition in the erring son's behalf.
“ There's just one thing," suddenly exclaimed the
father, walking the room with violent strides, and
then standing with clinched, raised hand before Carl.
“ Will he go back to Professor Brown's school ?”
“I think, if you knew just how he is situated there,
you would not ask that."
“ I do know. It's his own fault. I ask just that.
Will he
go
back?"
“ Yes, in a little while, I am sure, he will. But he
really needs a little private assistance in his studies
first. Let him come to me; I'll teach him, and re-
you
faithfully how he is getting on. A month
will tell the story. You needn't even take him home
in the meanwhile; but just pay his board where he
is — that can't be much - and give a word of en-
couragement for me to take back to him."
“And how much pay do you expect for your
trouble?” Mr. Wharton asked — insultingly, Carl
thought.
But he excused the suspicion of a father who had
never learned to put faith in his son, or his son's
friends, and answered coolly :
port to


CARL ROBSON'S CHRISTMAS.
269
>
No
pay
whatever. I am interested in your son,
and will gladly do this for him out of pure good-will.
If I succeed in bringing him to serious views of life,
I shall be more than paid for everything."
The broad face worked convulsively, and Carl no-
ticed two or three swift tears course down, and hide
themselves in the thicket of the red whiskers.
Mrs. Wharton clung to her husband's arm, and
pleaded, in broken tones, the boy's cause.
“ He was my favorite child," said Mr. Wharton,
with another strong effort at self-control.
16 There
was nothing I wouldn't do for hiin nothing I didn't
do.” He choked, and went on: “And do you think,
this Christmas time, when our other children are
around us and happy, do you suppose
But here he quite broke down.
“I know he has been in your mind,” said Carl.
"And you may be sure you are in his. He knows
what kind parents and what a pleasant home he has
lost — lost by his own folly. All I ask for him is,
that you will give lıim a chance to regain them by
good behavior.”
Then Mrs. Wharton spoke up:
"If this young man, a stranger almost to our son,
is willing to try him, ought we not to be willing?"
“Well, I will try him once more," exclaimed Mr.
Wharton, seizing Carl's hand. “I believe you are
an honest fellow. Make my son an honest fellow,
like you, and you'll place us all under eternal obli.
gations.”


CARL ROBSON'S CHRISTMAS.
271
But Elwood was not born to be a student. He
fancied an active life on board a steamboat or on a
railroad, and, at Carl's recommendation, he was per-
mitted to follow his bent. He is now a trusted,
efficient agent of one of the largest express compa-
nies in the United States. His position is not high,
but he is happy in it, and all his prosperity he refers
and dates back to Carl Robson and that memorable
Christmas.
As for Carl, he is now a successful physician in
his native village, and the support and comfort of
his widowed mother.


TOM CORTLAND'S GOLD
WATCH.
H
ALLOO, Tom! You don't say ! Gold watch ? *
Tom nodded as he returned the treasure to
his pocket.
“Real gold ? ” said the boys.
“ Real gold,” replied Tom, coolly. “ Hunter's case,
full jewelled, stem-winder. Anything else you want
to know ?"
" Let's look at it!" • Pass it round!" Oh,
what a beauty !" clamored the boys, as Tom dis-
played the wonder.
“ But isn't it a rather extravagant thing for a
young man like you to carry ?” said James Aiken,
the oldest and gravest among them.
“ Maybe 'tis," Tom answered, dryly; " but I don't
object to it. Wouldn't
you like to set your old town
clock by it, and have the correct time out here in the
rural districts for once? I'll accommodate ye, to a
second.”
Tom had run out for a holiday visit to his native
272


TOM CORTLAND'S GOLD WATCH.
273
village, and he took a boyish pleasure in thus mys-
tifying his old schoolmates. But there was nothing
vain or stuck-up about Tom Cortland, and having
shown them how the stem-winder worked - winding
up their curiosity at the same time to the highest
pitch - he went on to answer the important ques.
tion, “How did you come by it?”
Now I don't suppose I shall be able to give Tom's
exact words. But his manner of telling the story
which, I may as well say at the start, is not one of
my own making up — was something like this:
“How did I come by it? Well, that is an in-
teresting point, when you see a valuable timepiece
in the pocket of a poor boy you've kept track of all
your lives. You know I hadn't any money when I
went up to town two years ago and got a place in
old Peter Wagstaff's trunk shop. I hardly got wages
enough the first year to pay my board.
" I've earned more this year. At the same time
I've sent home regularly a dollar a week to my
mother.
“ Now I couldn't very well have bought that watch
out of my wages, could I? And it isn't a borrowed
one; for there you see my name engraved in the
case; and I'm not a thief or a swindler, not if I
know myself, - and I rather think I do in that re-
spect.
“ What's curious about it, for a long time it had
been my ambition to own just such a watch as this,
particularly after Rudolphe Rupey made his appear-
18


274
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
I was
ance at our boarding-house. He was got up to kill :
short black curls all over his head, stylish dress, four
or five clean shirts a week (though I found out after
wards he didn't pay his washerwoman), stunning
breastpin, diamond ring, and gold watch and chain.
" He took the shine from the rest of us, young
Rupey did, and made me wish I was a clerk in a
jewelry store, as he was,
instead of a miserable
trunkmaker's apprentice The girls wouldn't so
much as look at one of a rest of us when he was
around.
"O my!' said I, 'ij I could only haul out a gold
hunter's case when try ask the time, and give it to
the half-second, as he pretends to !' You see,
a trifle foolish. I post a little more now; so do the
girls.
“I was wise enragh to stick to my business though,
and day after day you might have seen me hammer-
ing at the old thanks, - the new trunks, I mean; but
they were old to me; there was a wonderful same-
ness about them.
Well, one day a man came into the store with an
order for something besides trunks. I pricked up
my ears, and found he was an 'Henglishman,' who
dropped bis ' hatches; and then picked 'em up and
’ooked 'em on to the 'mads of the wrong words. I
saw that he was a tail, well-built, well-dressed man,
but with a scrt of cbeap look about him under all his
good cloches and politeness.
Yoo bir what I mean. There are some men


TOM CORTLAND'S GOLD WATCHI.
275
who can't be gentlemen, if they try. Wash them
up, brush them up, dress them up, put on the shine
and the perfume, -- goodness, what a whiff when he
pulled out his handkerchief !- and still there'll be
something coarse about them. The refinement shows
that it's only varnish ; it isn't in the grain. I de-
clared that Rudolphe was very much that kind of
character; but the girls only laughed at me, and said
I was jealous.
“The Englishman had a singular order. It was
for three boxes, and he had the exact descriptions
of them all marked and written out.
"They must be heighteen-hinch boxes, you see,'
said he, houtside measure; ten hinches deep; stout
'inges, hiron bands, hinch and a 'alf wide; then these
brass corner-caps he took out the trimmings
from his pocket-'on hevery corner; then these
'asps and stout little padlocks, and these 'andles on
the hends. Heverything must be made exact, or I
don't want the goods.'
“Mr. Wagstaff, a bald-headed, little old man, al-
most all forehead, spectacles, and apron, winked
and blinked as he looked at the figures, and finally
said he thought he could make the boxes.
“'Ow soon?' says the Englishman. “I must ’ave
'em in four days, or they'l be of no use.'
"" I might get the boxes made in that time,' says
the old man, “but if they're to be painted, how about
that?'
“O yes !' says the Englishman; “the painting is


276
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
6
very himportant. They're to be painted black — not
a shiny black, but a dull, dead black, hall but the
brass corner-caps, 'andles, and padlocks. Hany kind
of 'alf-hinch 'ard wood will hanswer.'
66" And the insides - how are the insides to be fin-
ished?' said Mr. Wagstaff.
6. The hinsides?' said the Englishman, as if he
hadn't considered that part of his boxes before,
which I thought singular, since he was so particular
about them. 'Oh, just as comes 'andy!' says he.
Rough or plain — I don't care 'ow.'
"Well,' says Mr. Wagstaff, I think I can fill the
order in every particular except the painting; they
will want two good coats, and I won't promise paint
will be hard in four days from now. Besides, to-
day is Wednesday – Thursday, Friday, Saturday,
Sunday,' says he, counting the days on his fin-
gers.
"Can't ye have 'em ready for delivery Sunday
hafternoon ?' said the Englishman.
" You should have seen old Mr. Wagstaff stare! If
the chap had asked him to take hold of the straps of
his boots and jump over tie moon, he couldn't have
'been more astonished. I forgot to tell
I forgot to tell you he's a
deacon. In a matter of life and death, I don't know
but he might be induced to open his shop and do
business on Sunday; but nothing short of that would
bring him to it.
" It was finally agreed that the boxes should be
ready for delivery Monday morning, and the old


TOM CORTLAND'S GOLD WATCH.
277
man figured out the cost. He thought they could
be made for twenty dollars.
" Hall right,' says the Englishman: 'I'll be in
during the week and see 'ew you're getting on
with 'em. By the way,' said he, can't ye manage
to ’ave 'em kept out of sight? You see, this is a
patent thing I'm hinventing, and it's himportant no-
body should get 'old of the hidea.'
“ Mr. Wagstaff agreed to have the work done pri-
vately in the back room. At that the fellow gave
him a resounding slap on the shoulder, and cried out:
“ • Hold boy, you're a brick! Now come round
the corner with me and wet your wristle, won't yo?'
“ I had to laugh then. I don't believe the deacon
took a good breath, or winked his eyes, or shut his
mouth, for half a minute ; but there he just stood
and gasped.
"Oh, you don't drink!' said the fellow. Well,
no offence. And the Englishman went away.
" " That man 's a rogue,' said I, . and bis patent is
just a patent swindle, I'll bet a million dollars!'
“* Thomas,' said the old man,' don't make foolish
and extravagant remarks of that kind ; and don't be
so quick to judge people.'
" So I held my tongue about the rascal after that,
though I didn't change my mind.
“He came every day to see how the boxes were
getting along, and when they were about ready for
painting, he brought in a sheet of paper with some
curious drawings on it.


282
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
in the safe in the express-car, and he don't see 'em
again till he gets to Chicago. The express agent
receipts for 'em, and then the company is liable.'
“While Rupey was talking, I put this and that
together, and it came over me like a flash that I must
hurry to the station and tell Mr. Rinkton, for he
had already rattled away in the hack, that there was
a design – I felt sure of it, though of course I
couldn't explain it — to rob him of those boxes of
jewelry.
“. Going to dinner?' said Rupey. Wait a min-
ute, and I'll walk along with you.'
“I can't wait,' I said ; I've an errand to do, and
I've stopped too long already.'
“ As soon as I was out of his sight I began to run.
It was then twelve o'clock. The Western express
train starts at half-past. It was a mile to the depot.
I think I never made a mile in less time in
my
life.
I got to the station all out of breath. I looked
through the passenger rooms, at the ticket office, at
the crowd going to the cars, but no Rinkto!. I tried
to get through the passenger gate, but the guard
stopped me. I had no ticket, and had to turn back.
Then I ran round to the freight-gate. I was in luck.
There stood Mr. Rinkton, evidently waiting to speak
to the express-agent, and there, resting on a hand-
truck beside him with other packages, were his three
black
cases, set one on top of the other.
“ Now we're curious made-up creatures, and tho
man that can understand and explain all his own


284
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
between two men close by. They were shouting,
and bad each other by the throat, and there was a
mob rushing towards them. By the time a police-
man reached the spot, the row was over, and the
two men were gone.
“ Then I looked again at my Englishıman. There
he stood, with his bundle covered with burlap beside
him on the truck. Only I noticed that, while it had
been at the left hand of Mr. Rinkton's boxes before,
now it was at the right hand. It seemed as if, in
starting forward to look at the men fighting, he had
jostled against Mr. Rinkton, and he was now asking
his pardon. Then, as if tired of waiting there for
the express-agent, he took up his bundle covered
with burlap, and started to walk towards the bag-
gage-room.
“ It came to me all at once what he had done.
I
rushed up to Mr. Rinkton. I suppose I acted like an
idiot. He looked as if he thought so, any way.
«« That man has robbed you !' I said.
«« Robbed me? of what?' he asked, quite delib-
erately feeling his pockets.'
“Of your cases of jewelry!' I said.
"Ilere are my cases, if you mean these,' he said.
"" He has changed them,' I said. "He took yours;
he left these.'
“Impossible !' said he, looking at the boxes.
"You're crazy, my lad.
I haven't had my eye off
these cases for an instant.'
“Yes, you have,' I said, when the fight took


THE WILD-CAT CLUB.
TWhitaker's old barn.
THE Wild Cats had their place of meeting in
Whitaker's old barn.
To begin with, I must tell you that the Wild Cats
were not cats at all, either wild or tame, but a
“club" --so they called themselves- of village boys.
They were wild enough, that's certain.
What village? No matter. More than one vil-
lage in New England has its Wild Cat Club. So
much the worse for the village !
They were a band of young miscreants, let me tell
you. If a melon-patch was robbed in the neighbor-
hood, the theft was at once charged, and justly, upon
the Wild Cats.
If a couple of signs changed places in the night,
and rough old Job Pollard appeared next morning
as a “ Milliner," and little Miss Jane Stetson as a
dealer in “ Wood and Ccal,” everybody laughed, ex-
cept, possibly, Job and Jane, and exclaimed, know-
ingly, “ The Wild Cats!"
288


THE WILD-CAT CLUB.
289
If a school-house was broken into, and a wad of
newspapers stuffed into the stove-pipe, causing clouds
of suffocating smoke in the room the next day, and
a great mystery as to the cause, — why, the Wild
Cats!
You might have guessed their guilt by the heroism
with which those members of the club who were pres.
ent bore up under the affliction, laughing at that wbich
made everybody else cry. Isn't it strange that the
fun of making other people suffer should carry a boy
gayly through things which would be so hard to
bear if they were not looked upon as jokes ?
The club met, as I have said, in Whitaker's old
barn, and one Saturday afternoon an exciting debate
took place there.
Old Job, whose wood and coal office had once
been converted into a milliner's shop in the way we
have mentioned, was frequently a victim of Wild-Cat
jokes.
He was a little, shrivelled, bent old man, with a
rheumatic back, and a thin, squeaky voice, and a soul
so small, as the boys said, that it would have found
more room in a pea-pod than a flounder in Lake On-
tario.
Because he was so mean, they thought it right to
show him no mercy. It never occurred to them, I
suppose, that there was any meanness in their own
mischief-making. A new raid upon him was now
proposed: his grape-vines were to be rifled.
" He's got the splendidest lot of Concords ! ” said
19


290
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
Hi Hicks, one of the most active of the Wild Cats, a
tall, lank lad of seventeen. “He's too mean ever to
give one away, or even to eat one himself.”
“He has been letting 'em hang on the vines to get
just ripe enough, and he has hired old Canning, who
don't like grapes, to pick 'em for market next Mon-
day; but we'll have our share first,” said Luff Red-
mond.
"And won't it be fun," cried Slote Waters, “to
have him wake up in the morning and find not a
cluster worth picking left on his vines ?”
“ Jolly!” some one replied; and then all the boys
laughed.
All but one.
Tbat was Herbert Amsden, com.
monly called “ Herb.” Every Wild Cat had to have
his nickname. “ Hi” for Hiram, and “ Herb " for
Herbert, were natural enouglı; but why Amos Red-
mond should be dubbed “Luff," and John Waters
Shote," does not so plainly appear.
Herbert looked serious.
• The old man bas bushels of grapes,” he said.
“ What can we do with 'em all ?”
“Oh, eat what we want,” Hi replied, “ hide a quan-
tity, and then
grapes are worth two dollars a
bushel, Luff says.'
“ Yes,” spoke up Luff; " and we might sell enough
to keep the club in whiskey and tobacco for a month."
“How are you going to get the grapes to market?"
Herb inquired.
Oh, Shote will see to that!” replied Luff; while


THE WILD-CAT CLUB.
291
Shote grinned and nodded. 6 Ile kuows a man in
the city who will buy grapes, if they are cheap
enough, and ask no questions."
“ But see here!" exclaimed Herbert.
"Well, what is it?" said Hi, as he sat on the side
of the old mow and whittled the beam with his knife.
Herb hesitated. He was not so unscrupulous a
boy as some of the rest. If ever he joined them in
their mischief, it was solely for the love of fun; and
if in the pursuit of fun he helped to injure others, it
was froin a habit of thoughtlessness. I don't state
this as a very good excuse for him. Thoughtlessness
itself may be criminal, and we know that it is a source
of many wrongs and vices.
But what was now proposed made Herbert stop to
think. After a while he said:
“I've been with you a good many times, and I be-
lieve I've always shown myself a true Wild Cat."
“ Boss !” “ Bully!” cried the boys, approvingly.
There was one great trouble with this club, and it
was one which makes all such connections so danger-
If you are a Wild Cat, you must show yourself
a “true Wild Cat.” That is to say, you must be as
reckless a mischief-maker as you pretend to be, and
keep your scruples of conscience to yourself, if
you
Ous.
have any
It is always a belp to feel that we have a reputa-
tion for good behavior to maintain.
It is always a curse to believe that we have our
credit for reckless “ good fellowship” to keep up.


THE WILD-CAT CLUB.
293
ning force, and it was followed by the uncomfortable
reflection that stealing was stealing, any way.
Herb's mind was sadly confused on the subject,
and he was not prepared to speak all his thoughts.
The raid upon the old man's grapes was finally
agreed upon, in spite of his feeble objections, and
the Wild Cats separated, to meet again, with baskets
and everything prepared for the robbery, at ten
o'clock that night.
Herbert went home miserably melancholy. The
talk with the boys had given him something to think
of which neither work nor play could drive out of
his mind. The more he reflected, the more his con-
science became enlightened, and the more he was
astonished at some things he had permitted himself
to do in his character as a Wild Cat.
At first he tried to pluck up resolution to go and
join the boys at ten o'clock, as if nothing had been
said. But no; he couldn't do that.
Then he said to himself, “ I'll stay away, and lot
them do as they please ; it's none of my business.”
But something within him would not permit that,
either. It was his business. The Wild Cats were
his most intimate companions; they were merely go-
ing to do what he had helped them do more than
once, or something not very different; and was he
not in some way responsible ?
If they were about to commit a crime, and he knew
of it, and took no measures to hinder them, could be
sit down with folded hands and say, "I am innocent"!


TIIE WILD-CAT CLUB.
295
factured out of cotton cloth, strips of which he pinned
to the hat, leaving some short ones to dangle, while
he fastened the longer ones under his chin.
This part of his disguise would hardly bear inspec-
tion ; but he was getting himself up for a moonlight
performance, and did not expect to be looked at very
closely.
For the rest, he was a capital mimic, and he re-
lied
upon
his
powers in that way to carry him safely
through the adventure.
The disguise prepared, it was carefully put aside,
and Herbert went out to walk in the street.
He met Shote Waters, who gave a little Wild-Cat
cry, and said:
" Remember ten o'clock."
Yes," replied Ilerbert, languidly.
" You'll be there ?" said Shote.
“No-yes- I don' know," said IIerbert. "I don't
believe in what you're going to do. I told you that,
and I didn't promise to help."
"Oh, now, don't back out, Ierb !"
" I don't back out, for I haven't gone in; but you
needn't be surprised if I don't go to-night.
“ But it's just what we've been up to lots of times
before," Shote insisted.
“ That may be ; for I guess we've been up to a good
many things we ought to be ashamed of," said Her-
bert. “I've been thinking 'em over a little."
“ Pshaw !” Shote exclaimed. 66 If ye stop to think
things over, there's never no fun at all. I'm going;


TIIE WILD-CAT CLUB.
297
before them, and placed himself there in ambush
among some barberry-bushes to watch their opera-
tions.
“I never thought he would flunk out in this style."
said Shote Waters.
“ I d'n' know," Hi answered ; “ Herb was always
a little soft. Come to right-down genuyne pluck, he
hain't got it.”
“I'll show you, Hi Hicks, whether I have or not !”
muttered Herbert, in the shadow.
“ That's so, Hi," Shote rejoined; “ he's a kind of
coward."
Oh, am I ?” thought Herbert, grasping his stick
tightly.
“I say, boys," whispered Luff, “ let's agree not to
give him any grapes."
No, nor any whiskey or cigars we buy with 'em,
either,” replied Shote.
Herbert trembled with shame and anger. Were
these his familiar companions ? Were whiskey and
cigars so necessary to them that they must steal in
order to procure them? Had it indeed come to this?
What would his good old grandfather, who trusteu
him and loved him so, - what would he think, if
he knew?
" I'll give you a lesson, young fellows !” he said to
himself, as they presently got down from the wall
with their baskets, and began to rustle the vines.
The full dark clusters looked luscious in the
moonlight, and they were just beginning to fall
66


300
YOUNG JOE AND OTIIER BOYS.
6. I left
I bet ye,
one
my
basket,”
” said Luff;
" that's the most I
care about."
Herb told on us,” some sug-
gested.
And a sharp discussion of that point ensued; dur-
ing which Herbert heard some remarks about himself
that made his ears tingle. On the whole, however,
the Wild Cats were inclined to acquit him of that
treachery.
He waited until they had all left the barn; then
he, too, crawled out, found the captured basket, ran
home with it, climbed the apple-tree to the roof of
the shed, and got in at the window.
“ It's the last time I ever leave the house or get
back into it in any such foolish or dishonest way as
this !” he vowed to himself as he hurriedly threw
off his clothes and went to bed.
And he kept that vow. His Wild-Cat days were
over.
Not long after, he met Hi and Shote in the street.
They accosted him in a friendly way, and Hi said :
“Why didn't you come with us Saturday night?”
"I thought I wouldn't,” Herbert answered, sober-
ly; “had something else to do. Did you have a
good time?"
Oh, boss!” said Shote.
“ Tip-top !" said Hi.
“Get any grapes ?” IIerbert inquired.
"A few,-
- not very many,” said Hi.
" What was the matter ? Sour?"
66


302
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS.
On the paper was written, in a cramped and trem.
bling hand, this notice :
“Here is your basket, boys, and I hope you will make a better
use on't another time than to go hookin' an old man's grapes. I
forgive ye, if ye'll behave yerselfs in futur'. But I know every
one of you, and don't let me hear any more of your pranks if you
know what is good for yerselfs.
A FRIEND.”
99
This affair broke up the Wild Cat Club. In time
most of the members, following the example of Her-
bert, became industrious and sober.
He was of too honest a nature to keep the others
long deceived as to his conduct in the affair. But
when at last he confessed that he was the old man
who had met them in the vineyard, and “given them
more than they wanted,” they were ready not only
to forgive him, but even to thank him for the timely
lesson they had learned.


J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS
THE
TOBY TRAFFORD SERIES
HANDSOMELY ILLUSTRATED
Per volume
$1.25
The Fortunes of Toby Trafford
Father Brighthopes
Woodie Thorpe's Pilgrimage
And other Stories
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attribute the grace and power of naturalness. Woodie
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follow with attention. The book does not preach, but conveys
some salutary lessons.
There is many and many a volume written for boys, but
they are not all alike beneficial; therefore the standard writers,
to which class belongs Mr. Trowbridge, may undisputably
claim a kingdom whose reigning motto is manliness.
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS BOSTON









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