T^? Phoenix Ed Marshall ^aunders UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 00022228876 & Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill http://archive.org/details/beautifuljoeautosaun Beautiful Joe AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY By MARSHALL SAUNDERS Author of " My Spanish Sailor," " Charles and His Lamb, " Daisy," etc WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY hezekiah butterworth Of Youth's Companion PHILADELPHIA THE JUDSON PRESS 1701 CHESTNUT STREET Entered, according to Act of Congress in the year 1893, by the AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington TO GEORGE THORNDIKE ANGELL PRESIDENT OF THE AMERICAN HUMANE EDUCATION SOCIETY THE MASSACHUSETTS SOCIETY FOR THE PREVENTION OF CRUELTY TO ANIMALS, AND THE PARENT AMERICAN BAND OF MERCY 19 MILK ST., BOSTON THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR PREFACE BEAUTIFUL JOE is a real dog, and -Beautiful Joe " is his real name He belonged during the first part of his life fc> a cruel master, who mutilated him in the mannev described in the story, He was rescued from him and is now Iwing *n a happy home with pleasant surroundings, and enjoys a wide local celebrity. The character of Laura is d.y.wd from life, and to the smallest detail is trutl folly depleted, Ths Morris family has its counterparts in reaJ Ilk, ar*a -nearly all of the incidents of the story are found**? re feet. — The Author, WfRODUCnON The wonderfully successful book, entitled "Black Beauty,' ' came like a living voice out *tf ihe animal kingdom. But it spake for the horse, and made other books necessary ; it led the way! After the ready welcome that it received, and the good it has accomplished and is doing, it fol- lowed naturally that some one should be inspired to write a book to interpret the life of a dog to the humane feeling of the world. Such a story we have in " Beautiful Joe. * ' The story speaks not for the dog alone, but for the whole animal kingdom. Through it we enter the animal world, and are made to see as animals see and to feel as animals feel. The sympathetic sight of the author, in this interpretation, is ethi. tally the strong feature of the book. Such books as this is one of the needs of our progressive system of education. The day-school the Sunday-school, and all libraries for the young' demand the influence that shall teach the reader how to live in sympathy with the animal world ■ how to understand the languages of the creatures that we have long been accustomed to call ■ 'dumb ' ' and the sign language of the lower orders of these f INTRODUCTION dependent beings. The church owes it to her mission to preach and to teach the enforcement of the "bird's nest commandment;" the principle recognized by Moses in the Hebrew world, and echoed by Cowper in English poetry, and Burns in the " Meadow Mouse," and by our own Long** fellow in songs of many keys. Kindness to the animal kingdom is the first, or a first principle in the growth of true philanthropy. Young Lincoln once waded across a half-frozen river to rescue a dog, and stopped in a walk with a statesman to put back a bird that had fallen out of its nest. Such a heart was trained to be a leader of men, and to be crucified for a cause- The conscience that runs to the call of an animal in distress is girding itself with power to do manly work in the world. The story of ' ' Beautiful Joe ' ' awakens an in- tense interest, and sustains it through a series of vivid incidents and episodes, each of which is a lesson. The story merits the widest circulation, and the universal reading and response accorded to " Black Beauty." To circulate it is to do good; to help the human heart as well as the creatures of quick feelings and simple language. When, as one of the committee to examine the manuscripts offered for prizes to the Humane Society, I read the story, I felt that the writer had a higher motive than to compete for a prize ; that the story was a stream of sympathy that flowed from the heart ; that it was genuine ; that it only needed a publisher who should be able to com- INTRODUCTION 9 jtiand a wide influence, to make its merits known, to give it a strong educational mission. I am pleased that the manuscript has found such a publisher, and am sure that the issue of the story will honor the Publication Society. In the devel- opment of the book, I believe that the humane cause has stood above any speculative thought or interest. The book comes because it is called for ; the times demand it. I think that the publishers have a right to ask for a little unselfish service on the part of the public in helping to give it a circu- lation commensurate with its opportunity, need, and influence. Hezekiah BUTTERWORTHo ( Of the committee of readers of the prize stories offered to the Humane Society.) Boston, Mass. CONTENTS CHAPTER SfcS3 L Only a Cur 13 II. The Cruel Milkman ........ 20 III. My Kind Deliverer and Miss Laura 25 IV. The Morris Boys Add to My Name . 3 a V. My New Home and a Selfish Lady 37 VI. The Fox Terrier Billy .....< 51 VII. Training a Puppy . . . 59 VIII. A Ruined Dog 64 IX. The Parrot Bella „....,..* 70 X. Billy's Training Continued . . . „ 7§ XI. Goldfish and Canaries ...... $6 ■ XII. Malta the Cat . . . 98 XIIL The Beginning of an Adventure . . 106 XIV. How We Caught the Burglar . . .118 XV. Our Journey to Riverdale g 28 XVI. Dingley Farm 142 XVII. Mr. Wood and his Horses ..... 150 11 12 CONTENTS Chapter tAGt XVIII. Mrs. Wood's Poultry ....... 159 XIX. A Band of Mercy 166 XX. Stories About Animals ....... 175 XXI. Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Harry . . .190 XXII. What Happened at the Tea Table . 199 XXIII. Trapping Wild Animals ...... 208 XXIV. The Rabbit and the Hen . . . . .218 XXV. A Happy Horse . 229 XXVIo The Box of Money . .... , . * . 240 XXVIL A Neglected Stable ........ 25 J XXVIII. The End of the Englishman .... 262 XXIX. A Talk About Sheep . . 271 XXX. A Jealous Ox ........... 285 XXXIc In the Cow Stable ........ 295 XXXII. Our Return Home ........ 303 XXXIII. Performing Animals 314 £XXIV. A Fire in Fairport ....... 326 XXXV. Billy and the Italian ...... 333 XXXVI. Dandy the Tramp e , 339 XXXVII. The End of My Stort ....,«'■ .351 Beautiful Joe chapter I ONLY A CUR SSSn name * 3 Beautiful Joe, and I am a fitful gl brown dog of medium size, I am not pnffriTi j ca n e( i Beautiful Joe because I am a beauty. Mr. Morris, the clergyman, in whose family I have lived for the last twelve years, says that he thinks I must be called Beautiful Joe for the same reason that his grandfather, down South, called a very ugly colored slave-lad Cupid, and his mother Venus. I do not know what he means by that, but when he says it, people always look at me and smile. I know that I am not beautiful, and I know that I am not a thoroughbred. I am only a cur. When my mistress went every year to register me and pay my tax, and the man in the office asked what breed I was, she said part fox-terrier and part bull-terrier ; but he always put me down a cur. I don't think she liked having him call me a cur ; still, I have heard her say that she pre- ferred curs, for they have more character than ?-4 BEAUTIFUL JOE well-bred dogs. Her father said that she liked ugly dogs for the same reason that a nobleman At the court of a certain king did — namely, that no one else would. I am an old dog now, and am writing, or rather getting a friend to write, the story of my life. "1 have seen my mistress laughing and cry= ing over a little book that she says is a story of a horse's life, and sometimes she puts the book down close to my nose to let me see the pictures, I love my dear mistress ; I can say no more than that ; I love her better than any one else ift the world ; and I think it will please her if I write the story of a dog' s life. She loves dumb animals, and it always grieves her to see them treated cruelly. I have heard her say that if all the boys and girls in the world were to rise up and say that there should be no more cruelty to animals, they could, put a stop to it. Perhaps it will help a little if I tell a story. I am fond of boys and girls, and though I have seen many cruel men and women, I have seen few cruel children. I think the more stories there are written about dumb animals, the better it ^yill be for us. Ip telling my story, I think I had better begi» at the first and come right on to the end. I wfis born in a stable on the outskirts of a small town m Maine called Fairport. The first thing I remen- ber was lying close to my mother and being ve:ty snug and warm. The next thing I remember was being always hungry. I had a number of brothers ONLY A CUft. I§ and sisters — six in all — and my mother nevei had enough milk for us. She was always half starved herself, so she could not feed us properly. I am very unwilling to say much about my early life, I have lived so long in a family where there is never a harsh word spoken, and where no one thinks of ill-treating anybody or anything, that it seems almost wrong even to think or speak of such a matter as hurting a poor dumb beast. The man that owned my mother was a milk- man. He kept one horse and three cows, and he had a shaky old cart that he used to put his milk cans in. I don't think there can be a worse man in the world than that milkman. It makes me shud- der now to think of him. His name was Jenkins, and I am glad to think that he is getting punished now for his cruelty to poor dumb animals and to human beings. If you think it is wrong that I am glad, you must remember that I am only a dog. \ The first notice that he took of me when I was £1 little puppy, just able to stagger about, was to give me a kick that sent me into a corner of the stable. He used to beat and starve my mother. I have seen him use his heavy whip to punish her till her body was covered with blood. When I got older I asked her why she did not run away. She said she did not wish to ; but I soon found out that the reason she did not run away, was because she loved Jenkins. Cruel and savage as he was, she yet loved him, and I believe she would have laid dov/n her life for him. 26 BEAUTIFUL JOE Now that I am old, I know that there are more men in the world like Jenkins. They are not crazy, they are not drunkards ; they simply seem to be possessed with a spirit of wickedness. There are well-to-do people, yes, and rich people, wh© will treat animals, and even little children, with such terrible cruelty, that one cannot even men- tion the things that they are guilty of. One reason for Jenkins' cruelty was his idleness. After he went his rounds in the morning with his milk cans, he had nothing to do till late in the afternoon but take care of his stable and yard. If he had kept them neat, and groomed his horse, and cleaned the cows, and dug up the garden, it would have taken up all his time ; but he never tidied the place at all, till his yard and stable got so littered up with things he threw down that he could not make his way about. His house and stable stood in the middle of a large field, and they were at some distance from the road. Passers-by could not see how untidy the place was. Occasionally, a man came to look at the premises, and see that they were in good order, but Jenkins always knew when to expect him, and had things cleaned up a little. I used to wish that some of the people that took milk from him would come and look at his cows. In the spring and summer he drove them out to pasture, but during the winter they stood all the time in the dirty, dark stable, where the chinks in the wall were so big that the snow swept through almost in drifts. The ground was always muddy ONLY A CUR 17 and wet ; there was only one small window on the north side, where the sun only shone in for a short time in the afternoon. They were very unhappy cows, but they stood patiently and never complained, though sometimes I know they must have nearly frozen in the bitter winds that blew through the stable on winter nights. They were lean and poor, and were never in good health. Besides being cold they were fed on very poor food. Jenkins used to come home nearly every after- noon with a great tub in the back of his cart that was full of what he called "peelings." It was* kitchen stuff that he asked the cooks at the differ- ent houses where he delivered milk, to save fo? him. They threw rotten vegetables, fruit parings, and scraps from the table into a tub, and gave them to him at the end of a few days. A sour, nasty mess it always was, and not fit to give any creature. Sometimes, when he had not many (f peelings," he would go to town and get a load of decayed vegetables, that grocers were glad to have him fake off their hands. This food, together with poor hay, made the cows give very poor milk, and Jenkins used to put some white powder in it, to give it " body," as he said. Once a very sad thing happened about the milk, that no one knew about but Jenkins and his wife She was a poor, unhappy creature, very frightened at her husband, and not daring to speak much *o 1 8 BEAUTIFUL JOE him. She was not a clean woman, and I never saw a worse-looking house than she kept. She used to do very queer things, that I know now no housekeeper should do. I have seen her catch up the broom to pound potatoes in the pot. She pounded with the handle, and the broom would fly up and down in the air, dropping dust into the pot where the potatoes were. Her pan of soft-mixed bread she often left uncovered in the kitchen, and sometimes the hens walked in and sat in it. The children used to play in mud puddles about the door. It was the youngest of them that sickened with some kind of fever early in the spring, before Jenkins began driving the cows out to pasture. The child was very ill, and Mrs. Jen- kins wanted to send for a doctor, but her husband would not let her. They made a bed in the kitchen, close to the stove, and Mrs. Jenkins nursed the child as best she could. She did all her work near by, and I saw her several times wiping the child's face with the cloth that she used for washing her milk pans. Nobody knew outside the family that the little girl was ill. Jenkins had such a bad name, that none of the neighbors would visit them. By-and- by the child got well, and a week or two later Jen- kins came home with quite a frightened face, and told his wife that the husband of one of his cus- tomers was very ill with typhoid fever. After a time the gentleman died, and the cook told Jenkins that the doctor wondered how he could ONLY A. CUR 19 have taken the fever, for there was not a case m. town. There was a widow left with three orphans, and they never knew that they had to blame a dirty, Careless milkman for taking a kind husband acd jfiher from them. «3 CHAPTER II ' THE CRUEL MILKMAN HAVE said that Jenkins spent most of his days in idleness. He had to start out very early in the morning, in order to supply his customers with milk for breakfast. Oh, how ugly he used to be, when he came into the stable on cold winter mornings, before the sun was up. He would hang his lantern on a hook, and get his milking stool, and if the cows did not step aside just to suit him, he would seize a broom or fork, and beat them cruelly. My mother and I slept on a heap of straw in the corner of the stable, and when she heard his step jn the morning she always roused me, so that we could run out-doors as soon as he opened the stable door. He always aimed a kick at us as we passed, but my mother taught me how to dodge him. After he finished milking, he took the pails of milk up to the house for Mrs. Jenkins to strain and put in the cans, and he came back and harnessed his horse to the cart. His horse was called Toby, and a poor, miserable, broken-down creature lie THE CRUEL MILKMAN 21 was. He was weak in the knees, and weak in the back, and weak all over, and Jenkins had to beat him all the time, to make him go. He had been a cab horse, and his mouth had been jerked, and twisted, and sawed at, till one would think there could be no feeling left in it ; still I have seen him wince and curl up his lip when Jenkins thrust in the frosty bit on a winter's morning. Poor old Toby ! I used to lie on my straw some- times and wonder he did not cry out with paim Cold and half starved he always was in the winter time, and often with raw sores on his body that Jenkins would try to hide by putting bits of cloth under the harness. But Toby never murmured, and he never tried to kick and bite, and he minded the least word from Jenkins, and if he swore at him, Toby would start back, or step up quickly, he was so anxious to please him,, After Jenkins put him in the cart, and took in the cans, he set out on his rounds. My mother, whose name was Jess, always went with him. I used to ask her why she followed such a brute ol a man, and she would hang her head, and say that sometimes she got a bone from the different houses they stopped at. But that was not the whole reason. She liked Jenkins so much, that she wanted to be with him. I had not her sweet and patient disposition, and I would not go with her. I watched her out of sight, and then ran up to the house to see if Mrs. Jenkins had any scraps for me. I nearly always got something, for she pitied me, and often gave S3 BEAUTIFUL JOE me a kind word or look with the bits of food than she threw to me. When Jenkins come home, I often coaxed mother to run about and see some of the neighbors' dogs with me. But she never would, and I would Bot leave her. So, from morning to night we had to sneak about, keeping out of Jenkins' way as much as we could, and yet trying to keep him in sight. He always sauntered about with a pipe in his mouth, and his hands in his pockets, growling first at his wife and children, and then at his dumb creatures, I have not told what became of ray brothers and sisters. One rainy day, when we were eight weeks old, Jenkins, followed by two or three of Ms ragged, dirty children, came into the stable and looked at us. Then he began to sweai because we were so ugly, and said if we had been good-looking, he might have sold some of us, Mother watched him anxiously, and fearing some danger to her puppies, ran and jumped io Ihe middle of us, and looked pleadingly up At him. * It only made him swear tne more. He took ©ne pup after another, and right there, before his children and my poor distracted mother, put an end to their lives. Some of them he seized by the legs and knocked against the stalls, till their brains were dashed out, others he killed with a fork. It was very terrible. My mother ran up and down the stable, screaming with pain, and I lay weak and trembling, and expecting every THE CRUEL MILKMAN 23 instant that my turn would come next. 1 don t know why he spared me. I was the only one left His children cried, and he sent them out of tht stable and went out himself. Mother picked up all the puppies and brought them to our nest in the straw and licked them, and tried to bring them back to life ; but it was of no use ; they were quite dead. We had them in our corner of the Stable for some days, till Jenkins discovered them, and swearing horribly at us, he took his stable fork and threw them out in the yard, and put some earth over them. My mother never seemed the same after this= She was weak and miserable, and though she was only four years old, she seemed like an old dog This was on account of the poor food she had been fed on. She could not run after Jenkins, and she lay on our heap of straw, only turning over with her nose the scraps of food 1 brought her to eat. One day she licked me gently, wagged her tail, and died. As I sat by her, feeling lonely and miserable^ Jenkins came into the stable. I could not bear to look at him. He had killed my mother. There she lay, a little, gaunt, scarred creature, starved and worried to death by him. Her mouth was half open, her eyes were staring. She would never again look kindly at me, or cur! up to me at night to keep me warm. Oh, how I hated her murderer ! But I sat quietly, even when he went up and turned her over with his foot to see if she was really dead, I think he was a little sorry, for 24 BEAUTIFUL JOE he turned scornfully toward me and said, * * She was worth two of you ; why didn't you go instead ? 9 ' Still I kept quiet till he walked up to me and kicked at me. My heart was nearly broken, and I could stand no more. I flew at him and gave him a savage bite on the ankle. "Oho," he said, "so you are going to be a fighter, are you ? I'll fix you for that." His face was red and furious. He seized me by the back of the neck and carried me out to the yard where a log lay on the ground. "Bill," he called to one of his children, "bring me the hatchet." He laid my head on the log and pressed one hand on my struggling body. I was now a year old and a full-sized dog. There was a quick, dreadful pain, and he had cut off my ear, not in the way they cut puppies' ears, but close to my head, so close that he cut off some of the skin be- yond it. Then he cut of the other ear, and, turn- ing me swiftly round, cut off my tail close to my body, Then he let me go and stood looking at me as 1 rolled on the ground and yelped in agony. Ha was in such a passion that he did not think tL*J people passing by on the road might hear me- CHAPTER III MY KIND DELIVERER AND MISS LAURA HERE was a young man going by on 3 bicycle. He heard my screams, and springing off his bicycle, came hurrying up the path, and stood among us before Jenkins caught sight of him. In the midst of my pain, I heard him say fiercely, "What have you been doing to that dog ?" '♦I've been cuttin' his ears for fightin*, my young gentleman," said Jenkins. "There is no law to prevent that, is there?" 4 ' And there is no law to prevent my giving you a beating," said the young man angrily. In a itrice he had seized Jenkins by the throat and was pounding him with all his might Mrs. Jenkins came and stood at the house door crying, but making no effort to help her husband. "Bring me a towel," the young man cried to her, after he had stretched Jenkins, bruised and frightened, on the ground. She snatched off her apron and ran down with it, and the young man wrapped me in it, and taking me carefully in his arms, walked down the path to the gate. Theve 26 BEAUTIFUL JOB were some little boys standing there, watching Mm, their mouths wide open with astonishment. " Sonny," he said to the largest of them, " if you will come behind and carry this dog, I will give you a quarter. ' ' The boy took me, and we set out. I was all smothered up in a cloth, and moaning with pain, but still I looked out occasionally to see which way we were going. We took the road to the town and stopped in front of a house on Washington Street. The young man leaned his bicycle up against the house, took a quarter from his pocket and put it in the boy's hand, and lifting me gently in his arms, went up a lane leading to the back of the house. There was a small stable there. He went into it, put me down on the floor and uncovered my body. Some boys were playing about the stable., and I heard them say, in horrified tones, ' * Oh, Cousin Harry, what is the matter with that dog ? ' ' " Hush," he said. " Don't make a fuss. You, Jack, go down to the kitchen and ask Mary for a basin of warm water and a sponge, and don't let your mother or Laura hear you." A few minutes later, the young man had bathed my bleeding ears and tail, and had rubbed some- thing on them that was cool and pleasant, and had bandaged them firmly with strips of cotton. I felt much better and was able to look about me, I was in a small stable, that was evidently not used for a stable, but more for a play-room. There were various kinds of toys scattered about, and a MY KIND- DELIVERER AND MISS LAURA 2? swing and bar, such as boys love to twist about cn ; in two different corners. In a box against the wall was a guinea pig, looking at me in an in- terested way. This guinea pig' s name was Jeff, and he and I became good friends. A long-haired French rabbit was hopping about, and a tame white rat was perched on the shoulder of one of the boys, and kept his foothold there, no matter how suddenly the boy moved. There were so many boys, and the stable was so small, that I sup- pose he was afraid he would get stepped on if he went on the floor. He stared hard at me with his little, red eyes, and never even glanced at a queer- looking, gray cat that was watching me, too, from hsr bed in the back of the vacant horse stall. Out °w the sunny yard, some pigeons were pecking at grain, and a spaniel lay asleep in a corner. I had never seen anything like this before, and my wonder at it almost drove the pain away Mother and I always chased rats and birds, and once we killed a kitten. While I was puzzling over it, one of the boys cried out, ' ' Here is JLaura ! ' ' ' ' Take that rag out of the way, ' ■ said Mr. Harry , kicking aside the old apron I had been wrapped in, and that was stained with my blood. One of the boys stuffed it into a barrel, and then they all looked toward the house. A young girl, holding up one hand to shade her eyes from the sun, was coming up the walk that led from the house to the stable. I thought then Shat I never had seen such a beautiful girl, and I AS beautiful joe think so still. She was tall and slender, and had lovely brown eyes and brown hair, and a sweet gmile, and just to look at her was enough to make one love her. I stood in the stable door, staring at her with all my might. "Why, what a funny dog," she said, and stopped short to looked at me. Up to this, I had not thought what a queer-looking sight I must be. Now I twisted round my head, saw the white band- age on my tail, and knowing I was not a fit spec- tacle for a pretty young lady like that, I slunk into a corner. •* Poor doggie, have I hurt your feelings ?" she said, and with a sweet smile at the boys, she passed by them and came up to the guinea pig's box, be- hind which I had taken refuge. "What is the matter with your head, good dog?" she said, curiously, as she stooped over me. " He has a cold in it," said one of the boys with a laugh ; " so we put a nightcap on." She drew back, and turned very pale. " Cousin Harry, there are drops of blood on this cotton. Who has hurt this dog ? ' ' " Dear Laura," ana the young man coming up, laid his hand on her shoulder, ' ' he got hurt, and I have been bandaging him. ' ' "Who hurt him?" •« I had rather not tell you." ** But I wish to know." Her voice was as gentle as ever, but she spoke so decidedly that the young man was obliged to tell her everything. All the time he was speaking, she kept touching MY KIND DELIVERER AND MISS LAURA 2$ me gently with her fingerSc When he had fin- ished his account of rescuing me from Jenkins, she said, quietly s "You will have the man punished ? " "What is the use ? That won't stop him from being cruel." " It will pat a check on his cruelty," " I don't think it would do any good/' said the young man, doggedly- . " Cousin Harry ! " and the young girl stood up very straight and tall, her brown eyes flashing, and one hand pointing at me ;' • ' will you let that pass ? That animal has been wronged, it looks to you to right it. The coward who has maimed it for life should be punished, A child has a voice to tell its wrong — a poor, dumb creature must suffer in silence ; in bitter, bitter silence. And, ' ' eagerly, as the young man tried to inter- rupt her, "you are doing the man himself an injustice. If he is bad enough to ill-treat his dog, he will ill-treat his wife and children. If he is checked and punished now for his cruelty, he marf reform. And even if his wicked heart is not changed, he will be obliged to treat them with outward kindness, through fear of punishment, " The young man looked convinced, and almost as ashamed as if he had been the one to crop my ears. "What do you want me to do ? " he said, slowly, and looking sheepishly at the boys who were staring open-mouthed at him and the young girl. The girl pulled a little watch from her belt. " I 30 BEAUTIFUL JOE want you to report that man immediately, It is aow five o'clock, I will go down to the police station with you, if you like." "Very well, 15 * he said, his face brightening ^ad together thev x€ sdd to his sister, " Guess what I've got here,' "A bird," she said, -No," fie Arat' ? "No,' 5 "A mouse,' 8 "No— a pup/ s "Oh, Jack," she said, reprovingly; for she thought he was telling a story. $2 BEAUTIFUL JOE He opened his hands and there lay the tiniest morsel of a fox terrier puppy that I ever saw, H« was white t with black and tan markings^ Hit body was pure white, his tail black, with a dasb of tan ; his ears black, and his face evenly marked with black and tan. We could not tell the color &f his eyes, as they were not open. Later on, they turned out to be a pretty brown. His nose was pale pinkj and when he got older, it became jefr black, *«Why s Jack!" exclaimed Miss Laura f S8 hk syes aren't open ; why did you take him from hk mother ? ' ' "She's dead, 9 ' said Jack, "PoLoned — -left her pups to run about the yard for a little exercise., Some brute had thrown over a piece of poisoned meat, and she ate it. Four of the pups died= This is the only one left. Mr. Robinson says his man doesn't understand raising pups without their mothers, and as he is going away, he wants us to have it, for we always had such luck in nursing lick animals." Mr. Robinson I knew was a friend of the Mar* .ises, and a gentleman who was fond of fancy itock s and imported a great deal of it from Eng- land. If this puppy came from him, it was sure to be good one. Miss Laura took the tiny creature, and went upstairs very thoughtfully, I followed her fi and watched her get a little basket and line it with cot- ton wool. She put the puppy in it and looked a£ Mm. Though it was midsummer, and the Vms* THE FOX TERRIER BILL 1 * 55 seemed very warm to me, the little creature was shivering, and making a low murmuring noise. She pulled the wool all over him and put the win- dow down, and set his basket in the sun. Then she went to the kitchen and got som \ she gav® Mm some more milk, and I heard thv boys sa^ that for many nights she got up once or twice and feeated milk over a lamp for him. One night the milk got cold before he took it, and he swelled up and became so ill that Miss Laura bad to rouse iier mother and get some hot water to plunge him in. That made him well again, and no ons seemed! Id think it was a great deal of trouble to take for a creature that was nothing but a dog* He fully repaid them for all his care, for he tasrned out to be one of the prettiest and most !ov<= &ble dogs that I ever saw a They called him Billy , Mid the two events of his early life were the open- ing of his eyes and the swallowing of his musli© tag. The rag did not seem to hurt him ; but ft iss S-aura said that, as he had got so strong aru* so greedy, he must learn to eat like other dogs $4 BEAUTIFUL JOE He was very amusing when he was a piiOfc*y* He was full of tricks, and he crept about .n a mischievous way when one did not know L»sed to climb inside Miss Laura's Jersey sleeve i/p to hei shoulder when he was six weeks old. -line day, when the whole family was in the park?., Mr. Moi* ris suddenly flung aside his newspaper, i*nd began lumping up and down. Mrs. Morris was very much alarmed, and cried cut s Si My dear William what is the matter ? ' * ' There's a rat up my leg, 9 ' he said, shaking It violently, Just then little Billy fell out on the floor and lay on his back looking up at Mr. Morris with a surprised face. He had felt cold and thought it would be warm inside Mr, Morris 5 trouser's leg. Hoi/ever, Billy never did any real mischief, thanks to Miss Laura's training. She began £@ punish him just as soon as he began to tear an<3 irony things, The first thing he attacked was Mr. Moms' felt hat. The wind blew it down the hzM one day, and Billy came along and began to try it with his teeth. I dare say it felt good to tfcem, for a puppy is very like a baby and loves something to bite. Miss Laura found him, and he rolled his eyes at her quite innocently, not knowing that he was doing wrong. She took the hat away, and point ing from it to him, said, '• Bad Billy ! " Then she gave him two or three slaps with a bootlace. She aever struck a little dog with her hand or a stick. THE FOX TERRIER BILLY 5$ She said clubs were for big dogs and switches for ittle dogs, if one had to use them, The best way- was to scold them, for a good dog feels a severe scolding as much as a whipping. Billy was very much ashamed of himself. Nothing would induce him even to look at a hat again. But he thought it was no harm to worry other things. He attacked one thing after another, me rugs on the floor, curtains, anything flying or buttering, and Miss Laura patiently scolded him for each one, till at last it dawned upon him that he must not worry anything but a bone, Then ne got to be a very good dog. There was one thing that Miss Laura was very particular about, and that was to have him fed regularly . We both got three meals a day. We ^ere never allowed to go into the dining room, and while the family was at the table, we lay in the hall outside and watched what was going on, Dogs take a great interest in what any one gets to eat It was quite exciting to see the Morrises massing each other different dishes, and to smft% he nice, hot food, Billy often wished that he could get up on the table. He said that he would make things fly, When he was growing, he hardly ever got enough to eat„ I used to tell him ^hat he would kill himself if he could eat all he wanted to 3 As soon as meals were over f Billy and I scam- pered after Miss Laura to the kitchen, We each bad our own plate for food. Mary the cook often laughed at Miss Laura, because she would not $6 BEAUTIFUL JOE let her dogs "dish" together. Miss Laura said fthat if she did, the larger one would get more Shan his share, and the little one would starve. ; It was quite a sight to see Billy eat. He sp^ad his legs apart to steady himself, and gob- bled at his food like a duck. When he finished lie always looked up for more, and Miss Laura would shake her head and say°. "No, Billy; better longing than loathing. I believe thafc a great many little dogs are killed by over^ feeding," 1 often heard the Morrises speak of the foolisfe way in which some people stuffed their pets with food, and either kill them by it or keep them in continual ill health. A case occurred in our neighborhood while Billy was a puppy. Some people, called Dobson, who lived only a few doors from the Morrises, had a fine bay mare and a little colt called Sam. They were very proud of this colt, and Mr, Dobson had promised it to his soa James. One day Mr. Dobson asked Mr, Morrif to come in and see the colt, and I went, too. I watched Mr. Morris while he examined it. It was a pretty little creature, and I did not wonder that they thought so much of it= " When Mr. Morris went home his wife asked him what he thought of it. " I think," he said, "that it won't live long o 0S "Why, papa!" exclaimed Jack, who over^ heard the remark, " it is as fat as a seal/* " It would have a better chance for its life If k were lean and scrawny," said Mr. Moms, THE FOX TERRIER BILLY 57 "They are over-feeding it, and I told Mr. Dobsoa so ; but he wasn't inclined to believe me." Now, Mr. Morris had been brought up in the country, and knew a great deal about animals, so I was inclined to think he was right. And surs enough, in a few days, we heard that the colt wag dead, Poor James Dobson felt very badly, A nuni= ber of the. neighbors* boys went into see him, and there he stood gazing at the dead colt, and looking ms if he wanted to cry. Jack was there and I was at his heels, and though he said nothing for a time, I knew he was angry with the Dobsons fog sacrificing the colt's life. Presently he said, r,e You won't need to have that colt stuffed now lie's dead, Dobson." " What do you mean ? Why do you say that ? p 9 asked the boy, peevishly. " Because you stuffed him while he was alive/' said Jack, saucily. Then we had to run for all we were worth, fos 3 the Dobson boy was after us, and as he was a bsg fellow he would have whipped Jack soundly. I must not forget to say that Biliy was washed regularly— -once a week with nice-smelling soap, and once a month with strong-smelling, disagree- able, carbolic soap. He had his own towels and wash cloths, and after being rubbed and scrubbed, he was rolled in a blanket and put by the fire to dry. Miss Laura said that a little dog that has been petted and kept in the house, and has become tender, should never be washed and allowed to §o BEAUTIFUL JOE ran about with a wet coat, unless the weather w&* ^ery warm, for he would be sure to take colcL Jim and I were more hardy than Billy, and w« took our baths in the sea. E^ry few days th^ boys took us down to the shor* and we wenl lfi> iwimming with them. .40* CHAPTER Villi TRAINING A PUPPY ED, dear," said Miss Laura one day, ' 3 l wish you would train Billy to follow audi retrieve. He is four months old bow, and I shall soon want to take him out in the street.* 1 "Very well, sister," said mischievous Ned; and catching up a stick, he said, ** Come out Into the garden, dogs." Though he was brandishing his stick very fiercely, I was not at all afraid of him ; and as for Billy, he loved Ned. The Morris garden was really not a garden but a large piece of ground with the grass worr bare in many places, a few trees scattered about, and some raspberry and currant bushes along the ftnce. A lady who knew that Mr. Morris had not a large salary, said one day when she was looking out of the dining-room window, "My dear Mrs. Morris, why don't you have this garden dug up ? You could raise your own vegetables. It would be so much cheaper than buying them." Mrs. Morris laughed in great amusement, 60 BEAUTIFUL JOE •' Think of the hens, and cats, and dogs, and rab* bits, and, above all, the boys that I have. What sort of a garden would there be, and do you think it would be fair to take their playground from them?" The lady said, ' ' No, she did not think it would be fair." | I am sure I don't know what the boys would have done without this strip of ground. Many a frolic and game they had there. In the present case, Ned walked around and around it, with his stick on his shoulder, Billy and I strolling after him. Presently Billy made a dash aside to get a bone. Ned turned around and said firmly, ' ' To heel!" Billy looked at him innocently, not knowing what he meant. ' ' To heel ! ' ' exclaimed Ned again. Billy thought he wanted to play, and putting his head on his paws, he began to bark. Ned laughed; still he kept saying " To heel ! " He would not say another word. He knew if he said •'Come here," or "Follow," or "Go behind," it would confuse Billy. Finally, as Ned kept saying the words over and over, and pointing to me, it seemed to dawn upon Billy that he wanted him to follow him. So he came beside me, and together we followed Ned around the garden, again and again. Ned often looked behind with a pleased face, and I felt so proud to think I was doing well ; but suddenly I got dreadfully confused when he turned around and said, " Hie out ! " TRAINING A PUPPY 6l The Morrises all used the same woras in train- ing their dogs, and I had heard Miss Laura say this, but I had forgotten what it meant. " Good Joe," said Ned, turning around and patting me, "you have forgotten. I wonder where Jim is? He would help us." He put his fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle,- and soon Jim came trotting up the lane from the street. He looked at us with his large, intelligent eyes, and wagged his tail slowly, as if to say, "Well, what do you want of me?" "Come and give me a hand at this training business, old Sobersides," said Ned, with a laugh. "It's too slow to do it alone. Now, young gentle- men, attention ! To heel !" He began to march around the garden again, and Jim and I followed closely at his heels, while little Billy, seeing that he could not get us to play with him, came lagging behind. Soon Ned turned around and said, " Hie out !" Old Jim sprang ahead, and ran off in front as if he was after something. Now I remembered what " hie out ' ' meant. We were to have a lovely race wherever we liked. Little Billy loved this. We ran and scampered hither and thither, and Ned watched us, laughing at our antics. After tea, he called us out in the garden again, and said he had something else to teach us. He turned up a tub on the wooden platform at the back door, and sat on it, and then called Jim to him. He took a small leather strap from his pocket It had a nice, strong smell. We all licked it, and 62 BEAUTIFUL JOE each dog wished to have it. « * No, Joe and Billy, ' said Ned, holding us both by our collars; "you wait a minute. Here, Jim." Jim watched him very earnestly, and Ned threw the strap half-way across the garden, and said, •• Fetch it." I Jim never moved till he heard the word*, "Fetch it." Then he ran swiftly, • brought the strap, and dropped it in Ned's hand. Ned sent him after it two or three times, then he said to Jim, " Lie down," and turned to me. " Here, Joe ; it is your turn." He threw the strap under the raspberry bushes, then looked at me and said, " Fetch it." I knew quite well what he meant, and ran joyfully after it. I soon found it by the strong smell, but the queerest thing happened when I got it in my mouth. I began to gnaw it and play with it, and when Ned called out, "Fetch it," I dropped it and ran toward him. I was not obstinate, but I was stupid. Ned pointed to the place where it was, and spread out his empty hands. That helped me, ana I ran quickly and got it. He made me get it for him several times. Sometimes I could not finj it, and sometimes I dropped it ; but he never stirred, Re sat still till I brought it to him. iiter a while he tried Billy, but it soon got dark, and we could not see, so he took Billy and went into the house. I stayed out with Jim for a while, and he asked me if I knew why Ned had thrown a strap for ur, instead of a bone or something hard. TRAINING A PUPPY t t>| Or course I did not know, so Jim told me it was on his account. He was a bird dog, and was never allowed to carry anything hard in his mouth, because it would make him hard-mouthed, and he would be apt to bite the birds when he was bring ing them back to any person who was shooting with him. He said that he had been so carefully trained that he could even carry three eggs at %. time in his mouth. I said to him, "Jim, how is it that you neves go out shooting ? I have always heard that yon were a dog for that t and yet you never leave home," He hung his head a little, and said he did noG wish to go, and then, for he was an honest dog, h^ .g aye me the true reason* CHAPTER VIII A RUINED DOG WAS a sporting dog, J! he said, bitterly,, e6 for the first three years of my life, I belonged to a man who keeps a livery stable here in Fairport, and he used to hire me out to shooting parties. "I was a favorite with all the gentlemen,, I was crazy with delight when I saw the guns brought out, and would jump up and bite at themu II loved to chase birds and rabbits, and even now when the pigeons come near me, I tremble all wer and have to turn away lest I should seize ;hem. I used often to be in the woods from morn® 5ng till night. I liked to have a hard search after a bird after it had been shot, and to be praised for bringing it out without biting or injuring it. " I never got lost, for T am one of those dogs that can always tell where human beings are. I did not smell them. I would be too far away for that, but if my master was standing in some place and I took a long round through the woods, I knew exactly where he was, and could make a short cu* back to him without returning in my tracks^ A RUiNED DOG 6$ " But I must tell you about my trouble. One Saturday afternoon a party of young men came to get me. They had a dog with them, a cocker spaniel called Bob, but they wanted another. For some reason or other, my master was very unwill- ing to have me go. However, he at last consented^ ind they put me in the back of the wagon witfo Bob and the lunch baskets, and we drove oft into the country. This Bob was a happy, merry -looking dog, and as we went along, he told me of the fine time we should have next day. The young men would shoot a little, then they would get out their baskets and have something to eat and drink, and would play cards and go to sleep under the trees, and we would be able to help ourselves to legs and wings of chickens, and anything we liked from the baskets. ' * I did not like this at all. I was used to work- ing hard through the week, and I liked to spend my Sundays quietly at home. However, I said nothing. I 1 ' That night we slept at a country hotel, and jrove the next morning to the banks of a small lake where the young men were told there would be plenty of wild ducks. They were in no hurry to begin their sport. They sat down in the sun on some flat rocks at the water's edge, and said they would have something to drink before setting to work. They got out some of the bottles from the wagon, and began to take long drinks from them. Then they got quarrelsome and mischiev- ous, and seemed to forget all about their shooting 66 BEAUTIFUL JOE One of them proposed to have some fun with the dogSo They tied us both to a tree, and throwing a stick in the water, told us to get it. Of course we struggled and tried to get free, and chafed oui necks with the rope. ' * After a time one of them began «.o swear at me, and say that he believed I was gun-shy. He staggered to the wagon and got out his fowling piece, and said he was going to try me. " He loaded it, went to a little distance, and was going to fire, when the young man who owned Bob said he wasn't going to have his dog's legs shot off, and coming up he unfastened him and took him away. You can imagine my feelings, as } stood there tied to the tree, with that stranger point- ing his gun directly at me. He fired close to me a number of times — over my head and under my body. The earth was cut up all around me. I was terribly frightened, and howled and begged to be freed, " The other young men, who were sitting laugh- ing at me, thought it such good fun that they got Iheir guns, too. I never wish to spend such a ter» rible hour again. I was sure they would kill me. I dare say they would have done so, for they were all quite drunk by this time, if something had not happened. " Poor Bob, who was almost as frightened as I was, and who lay shivering under the wagon, was killed by a shot by his own master, whose hand ^as the most unsteady of all. He gave one loud liovy3, kicked convulsively, then turned over on A RUINED DOG 6f bis side and lay quite stilL It sobered them alL They ran up to him, but he was quite dead. They sat for a while quite silent, then they threw the rest of the bottles into the lake, dug a shallow grave for Bob, and putting me in the wagon drove slowly back to town. They were not bad young men. I don't think they meant to hurt me, or to kill Bob. It was the nasty stuff in the bottles that took away their reason. 4 ■ I was never the same dog again. I was quite deaf in my right ear, and though I strove against it, I was so terribly afraid of even the sight of a gun that I would run and hide myself whenever one was shown to me. My master was very angry with those young men, and it seemed as if he could not bear the sight of me. One day he took me very kindly and brought me here, and asked Mr. Morris if he did not want a good-natured dog to play with the children. "I have a happy home here and I love the Morris boys; but I often wish that I could keep from putting my tail between my legs and running home every time I hear the sound of a gun.** " Never mind that, Jim,' 1 I said. "You should not fret over a thing for which you are not to blame. I am sure you must be glad for one reason that you have left your old lite.", "What is that?" he said. "On account of the birds. You know Miss Laura thinks it is wrong to kill the pretty creatures that fly about the woods.** "So it is,** he said, "unless one kills them a* 68 BEAUTIFUL JOE once, I have often felt angry with men for onJy half killing a bird. I hated to pick up the little, warm body, and see the bright eye looking so re» proachfully at me, and feel the nutter of life. We animals, or rather the most of us, kill mercifully. It is only fc human beings who butcher their prey„ and seem, some of them, to rejoice in their agony . I used to be eager to kill birds and rabbits, but I did not want to keep them before me long aftei they were dead. I often stop in the street and look up at fine ladies' bonnets, and wonder how they can wear little dead birds in such dreadful positions. Some of them have their heads twisted under their wings and over their shoulders, and looking toward their tails, and their eyes are so horrible that I wish I could take those ladies into the woods and let them see how easy and pretty a live bird is, and how unlike the stuffed creatures they wear. Have you ever had a good run in the woods, Joe?" "No, never," I said. " Some day I will take you, and now it is late and I must go to bed. Are you going to sleep in the kennel with me, or in the stable ?" "I think I will sleep with you, Jim. Dogs like company, you know, as well as human beings." I curled up in the straw beside him, and scon we were fast asleep. I have known a good many dogs, but I don't think I ever saw such a good one as Jim. He was gentle and kind, and so sensitive that a hard void hurt him more than a blow, tie was a grea* A RUINED DOG 6$ pet with Mrs. Morris, and as he had been so weB trained, he was able to make himself very useful to her When she went shopping, he often carried a parcel in his mouth for her He would neve? drop it nor leave it anywhere. One day, she drop ped her purse without knowing it, and Jim picked It up, and brought it home in his mouth. She did not notice him, for he always walked behind her, When she got to her own door, she missed the purse, and turning around saw it in Jim's moutfc. Another day, a lady gave Jack Morris a canary cage as a present for CarL He was bringing it home, when one of the little seed boxes fell out. Jim picked it up and carried it a long way, beicm $iick discovered it* CHAPTER IX THE PARROT BELLA OFTEN used to hear the Morrises speafc about vessels that ran between Fair- port and a place called the West Indies, carrying cargoes of lumber and fish, and bringing home molasses, spices, fruit, and other things. On one of these vessels, called the "Mary Jane," was a cabin boy, who was a friend of the Morris boys, and often brought them presents, One day, after I had been with the Morrises* for some months, this boy arrived at the house with a bunch of green bananas in one hand, and a parrot in the other. The boys were delighted with the parrot, and called their mother to see what a pretty bird she was. Mrs. Morris seemed very much touched by the boy's thoughtfulness in bringing a present such a long distance to her boys, and thanked him warmly. The cabin boy became very shy, and all he could say was, •■ Go way ! " over and over again, in a very awkward manner. Mrs. Morris smiled, and left him with the boys* THE PARROT BELLA 7 1 I think that she thought he would* be more com- fortable with them. Jack put me up on the table to look at the par- rot. The boy held her by a string tied around one of her legs. She was a gray parrot with a few #ed feathers in her tail, and she had bright eyeV and a very knowing air. ' ' The boy said he had been careful to buy a young one that could not speak, for he knew the Morris boys would not want one chattering foreign gibberish, nor yet one that would swear. He had kept her in his bunk in the ship, and had spent all his leisure time in teaching her to talk. Then he looked at her anxiously, and said, " Show off now, can't ye ?" I didn't know what he meant by all this, until afterward. I had never heard of such a thing; as birds talking. I stood on the table staring hard at her, and she stared hard at me. I was ^ust thinking that I would not like to have her iharp little beak fastened in my skin, when I leard some one say, "Beautiful Joe." The voice seemed to come from the room, but I knew all the voices there, and this was one I had never heard before, so I thought I must be mistaken, and it was some one in the hall. I struggled to get away from Jack to run and see who it was. But he held me fast, and laughed with all his might. I looked at the other boys and they were laughing, too. Presently, I heard again, "Beautiful Joe e Beautiful Joe." The sound was close by, and yet It did not come from the cabin boy, for he 72 BEAUTIFUL JOE was all doubled up laughing, his face as red as a beet. " It's the parrot, Joe ! " cried Ned. " Look at her, you gaby." I did look at her 8 and with hes head on one side, and the sauciest air in the world, she was saying : ' ' Beau-ti-ful Joe, Beau-ti- ful Joe!" I had never heard a bird talk before, and I felt so sheepish that I tried to get down and hide myself under the table. Then she began to laugh at me. "Ha, ha, ha, gcod dog — sic 'em, boy, Rats, rats ! Beau-ti-ful Joe, Beau-ti-ful Joe," she. cried, rattling off the words as fast as she coald. I never felt so queer before in my life, and the boys were just roaring with delight at my puzzled face. Then the parrot began calling for Jim : "Where's Jim, where' s good old Jim ? Poor old dog. Give him a bone." The boys brought Jim in the parlor, and when he heard her funny, little, cracked voice calling him, iie nearly went crazy : ' ' Jimmy, Jimmy, James Augustus ! ' * she said, which was Jim' s long name He made a dash out of the room, and the boys screamed so that Mr. Morris came down from his study to see what the noise meant. As soon as the parrot saw him, she would not utter another word. The boys told him though what she had been saying, and he seemed much amused to think that the cabin boy should have remembered so many sayings his boys made use of, and taught them to the parrot. "Clever Polly," hn it, and she had to write to Carl to ask him what &9 do. He told her to hang a muslin bag full at $iidphur over the swing, so that the bird would dost it down on her feathers. That cured the little thing, and when Carl came home, he found 1 quite well again. One day, just after he got iback, Mrs. Montague drove up to the house witb % canary cage carefully done up in a shawl. She said that a bad-tempered housemaid, in cleaning itee cage that morning, had gotten angry with the hkd and struck it, breaking its leg. She was vfjry much annoyed with the girl for her cruelty, «ery much to buy something for it. I am sure ymj won't be offended with an old friend for supplying *ou the means to get this something, Ada Montague. '"Just the thing for my stationary tank for ih* goldfish/ exclaimed Carl. st I've wanted it for & Song time ;— it isn't good to keep them in globes ; but how in the world did she find out ? I've neveg to2d any one." Mrs, Morris smiled, and said, "Barry mur hnve told her," as she took the money from C&rt 4e put away for hirm MrSc Montague got to be very fond of her new ?peto She took care of him herself, and I havt beard her tell MrSo Morris most wonderful stories about him— stories so wonderful that I should sa? they were not true If I did not how intelligent dumb creatures get to be under kmd treatment. She only kept him in his cage at night, an$ when she began looking for him at bedtime to ps$ ihim there, he always hid himselfo She would search a short time, and then sit down, and he always came out of his hiding -place, chirping in $ iaucy way to make her look at him She said that he seemed to take delight in teas= >ing her. Once when he was in the drawing-room with her, she was called away to speak to some •ane at the telephone. When she came back, she found that one of the servants had come into the room and left the door open leading Xo a veranda. BEAUTIFUL JOE The trees outside were full of yellow birds D &ie4 she was in despair, thinking that Barry had Howb out with them. She looked out, but could not sec Mm. Then s lest he had not left the roam, she got a chair and carried it about, standing on it to sxamine the walls, and see if Barry was hidde* among the pictures and bric-a-brac. But no Barry was there. She at last sank down, exhausted^ on & sofa. She heard a wicked,, little peep, and look- ing up, saw Barry sitting on one of the rounds of She chair that she had been carrying about to look for him He had been there all the time. She was so glad to see him v that she never though* of scolding him. He was never allowed to fly about the dining room during meals, and the table maid drove him wit before she set the table It always annoyed him, and he perched on the staircase, watching the door through the railings. If it was left open for an Instant, he flew in t One evening, before tea, he did this. There was a chocolate cake on the side- board, and he liked the look of it so much thafc he began to peck at it. Mrs* Montague happened to come in £ and drove him back to the halL While she was having tea that evening, with her husband and little boy, Barry flew into the room again. Mrs. Montague told Charlie to send him out, but her husband said, "Wait, he Is looking for something." He was on the sideboard, peering into every dish,, and trying to look under the covers. " H« k after the chocolate cake," exclaimed Mrs. Moa- GOLDFISH AND CANARIES 9T y? " Herer Charlie ' P«* this on the aafrcase for him. She cut off a little scrap, and when Charfc took it to the hall, Barry flew after him. and ate >!t Up As for poor, little, lame Dick, Carl never sold him and he became a family pet. His cage hung- m the parlor, and from morning til! night his cheer- ful voice was heard, chirping and singing as if he tod not a trouble in the world. They took great care of him. He was never allowed to be too hot or too cold, Everybody gave him a cheerful word m passing his cage, and if his singing was too loud, they gave him a little mirror to look at him. se*f in. He loved this mirror, and ofon stood- aetore it for an horn at a tjm@. CHAPTER XH MALTA, THE CAT HE first time I had a good look at Ihi Morris cat* I thought she was the queer- est-looking animal I had ever seen. She was dark gray — -just the color of a mouse, He\ eyes were a yellowish green, and for the first few days I was at the Morrises' they looked very un* kindly at me. Then she got over her dislike and we became very good friends. She was a beautiful cat, and so gentle and affectionate that the whote family loved her= She was three years old, and she had come t<$ Fairport in a vessel with some sailors, who had gotten her in a far-away place. Her name wai Malta, and she was called a maltese cat. I have seen a great many cats, but I never saw one as kind as Malta. Once she had some little kittens and they all died* It almost broke her heart She cried and cried about the house till it made one feel sad to hear her. Then she ran away to the woods. She came back with a little squirrel in her mouth, and putting it in her basket, she nursed it like a MALTA, THE CAT 99 mother, till it grew old enough to run away from hen She was a very knowing cat, and always came when she was called. Miss Laura used to wear & little silver whistle that she blew when she wanted any of her pets. It was a shrill whistle, and we. could hear it a long way from home. I have seen her standing at the back door whistling for Malta, and the pretty creature's head would appear some- where—always high up, for she was a grea$ climber, and she would come running along the top of the fence, saying, 4< Meow, meovv, ,v in a, funny, short way. Miss Laura would pet her s or give her some- thing to eat, or walk around the garden carrying her on her shoulder, Malta was a most affection^ Me cat, and if Miss Laura would not let her lick Iher face s she licked her hair with her little, rough iongue Often Malta lay by the fire, licking my coat or little Billy's, to show her affection for us, Mary, the cook, was very fond of cats, and used to keep Malta in the kitchen as much as she could, but nothing would make her stay down there if there was any music going on upstairs. The Morris pets were all fond of music. As soon as Miss Laura sat down to the piano to sing or play, we came from all parts of the house* Malta cried ■to get upstairs,, Davy scampered through the hail, mnd Bella hurried after him. If I was outdoors I ran in the house, and Jim got on a box and lookei ; Hwowgh the window,, Davy's place was on Miss Laura's shoulder. IOO BEAUTIFUL JOE his pink nose run in the curls at the back of he? neck. I sat under the piano beside Malta and Bella, and we never stirred till the music was over ; then we went quietly away. Malta was a beautiful cat— there was no doubt about it. While I was with Jenkins I thought cats were vermin, like rats, and I chased them every chance I got, Mrs. Jenkins had a cat, a gaunt, long-legged, yellow creature, that ran whenever we looked at it, Malta had been so kindly treated that she never ran from any one, except from strange dogs. She knew they would be likely to hurt her, If they came upon her suddenly, she faced them, and sbfc was a pretty good fighter when she was put te it, 1 once saw her having a brush with a bag mastiff that lived a few blocks from us, and giving Mm a good fright- which just served him right I was shut up in the parlor Some one had closed the door, and I could not get out I was watching Malta from the window, as she daintily picked her way across the muddy street She wag such a soft, pretty, amiable4ooking cat. She didn't look that way, though, when the mastiff rushed out of the alleyway at hen She sprang back and glared at him like a little, fierce tiger. Her tail was enormous. Her eyes were like balls of fire, and she was spitting and ^3narling ! as if to say s " If you touch me, I'll tear you te pieces ! ' s The dog, big as he was, did not dare attack fcer. He walked around and around., like s | , MALTA, THE CAT JCI dumsy elephant, and she turned her smaM body m he turned his, and kept up a dreadful hissing and spitting* Suddenly I saw a Spitz dog hurrying down the street He was going to help the mas- tiff, and Malta would be badly hurt, I had barked and no one had come to let me out, so I sprang through the window, just then there was a change. Malta had see® the second dog, and she knew she must get rid of £he mastiff, With an agile bound she sprang ob Ms back, dug her sharp claws in, till he put his •Sail between his legs and ran up the street, howling wftb pain. She rode a little way, then sprang ©ff D mnd ran up the lane to the stable. I was very angry and wanted to fight som®« ihing, so I pitched into the Spitz dog. He was f snarly, cross-grained creature, no friend to Jim and me, and he would have been only too glad of a chance to help kill Malta, I gave him one of the worst beatings lie ever had- I don't suppose it was quite right for me to lo it, for Miss Laura says dogs should never fight ; &ut he had worried Malta before, and he had no business to do it. She belonged to our family, Jim and I never worried his cat, I had been longing to give him a shaking for some time, and now I felt for his throat through his thick hair, and dragged him all around the street, Then I let him go, and he was a civil dog ever afterward, Malta was very grateful^ and licked a little place where the Spitz bit me, I did not ge$ scolded for the broken window, Mary had see® 102 BEAUTIFUL JOE me from the kitchen window, ana told Mrs. Morris that I had gone to help Malta. Malta was a very wise cat. She knew quitof well that she must not. harm the parrot nor the canaries, and she never tried to catch them, even though she was left alone in the room with them.. I have seen her lying In the sun, blinking sleepily, and listening with great pleasure to Dick's singing. Miss Laura even taught her not to hun* the birds outside . For a long time she had tried to get it intt Malta's head that it was cruel to catch the little sparrows that came about the door, and just afteff J came, she succeeded in doing so. Malta was so fond of Miss Laura, that when- *ver she caught a bird, she came and laid it at hei ieeto M*ss Laura always picked up the little, dead ireature t pitied it and stroked it, and scolded Malta iill she crept into a corner. Then Miss Laura pu£ die bird on a limb of a tree, and Malta watched Saer attentively from her corner One day Miss Laura stood at the window, iooking out into the garden,, Malta was lying or. the platform, staring at the sparrows that were 'picking up crumbs from the ground. She trem- bled, and half rose every few minutes, as if to go after them.- Then she lay down again. She was trying very hard not to creep on them* Presently % neighbor's cat came stealing along the fence, keeping one eye on Malta and the other on the sparrows. Malta was so angry S She sprang up &nd chased her away, and then came back to the. MALTA, THE CAT IOg platform, where she lay down again and waited for the sparrows to come back. For a long time she stayed there, and never once tried to catch them. Miss Laura was so pleased. She went to the door, and said, softly, "Come here, Malta." The cat put up her tail, and, meowing gently, came into the house. Miss Laura took her up in her arms, and going down to the kitchen, asked Mary to give her a saucer of her very sweetest milk for the best cat in the United States of America. Malta got great praise for this, and I never knew of her catching a bird afterward. She was well fed in the house, and had no need to hurt such harmless creatures. She was very fond of her home, and never went far away, as Jim and I did. Once, when Willie was going to spend a few weeks with a little friend who lived fifty miles from Fairport, he took it into his head that Malta should go with him. His mother told him that cats did not like to go away from home ; but he said he would be good to her, and begged so hard to take her, that at last his mother consented. He had been a few days in this place, when he wrote home to say that Malta had run away. She had seemed very unhappy, and though he had kept her with him all the time, she had acted as if she wanted to get away. When the letter was read to Mr. Morris, he said, "Malta is on her way home. Cats have * 104 BEAUTIFUL JOE wonderful cleverness in finding their way to theix own dwelling. She will be very tired. Let us go out and meet her." Willie had gone to this place in a coach. Mr> Morris got a buggy and took Miss Laura and me with him, and we started out. We went slowly along the road. Every little while Miss Laura blew her whistle, and called, "Malta, Malta," and I barked as loudly as I could. Mr. Morris drove for several hours, then we stopped at a house, had dinner, and then set out again. We were going through a thick wood, where there was a pretty straight road, when I saw a small, dark creature away ahead, trotting toward us. It was Malta. I gave a joyful bark, but she did not know me, and plunged into the wood. I ran in after her, barking and yelping, and Miss Laura blew her whistle as loudly as she could. Soon there was a little gray head peeping at us from the bushes, and Malta bounded out, gave me a look of surprise and then leaped into $ie buggy on Miss Laura's lap. What a happy cat she was ! She purred with delight, and licked Miss Laura's gloves over and over again. Then she ate the food they had brought, and went sound asleep. She was very thin, and for several days after getting home she slept the most of the time. Malta did not like dogs, but she was very good to cats. One day, when there was no one about and the garden was very quiet, I saw her go steal- ing into the stable, and come out again, followed MALTA, THE CAT K>§ by a sore-eyed, starved-looking cat, that had been deserted by some people that lived in the next street. She led this cat up to her catnip bed, and watched her kindly, while she rolled and rubbed herself in it. Then Malta had a roll in it herself c and they both went back to the stable. Catnip is a favorite plant with cats, and Miss Laura always kept some of it growing for Malta* For a long time this sick cat had a home in the stable. Malta carried her food every day, and after a time Miss Laura found out about her £ and did what she could to make her well. In time she got to be a strong, sturdy-looking cat, and Miss Laura got a home for her with an invalid lady. It was nothing new for the Morrises to feed deserted cats. Some summers, Mrs. Morris said that she had a dozen to take care of. Careless and cruel people would go away for the summer, shutting up their houses, and making no provision for the poor cats that had been allowed to sit snugly by the fire all winter. At last, Mrs. Morris got into the habit of putting a little notice in the Fairport paper, asking people who were going away for the summer to provide for their cats d»r- their absence, CHAPTER XIII THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE HE first winter I was at the Morrises', I had an adventure. It was a week before Christmas, and we were having cold, frosty weather. Not much snow had fallen, but there was plenty of skating, and the boys were off every day with their skates on a little lake near Fairport. Jim and I often went with them, and we had great fun scampering over the ice after them, and slipping at every step. On this Saturday night we had just gotten Ifaome. It was quite dark outside, and there was a cold wind blowing, so when we came in the front door, and saw the red light from the big hall stove and the blazing fire in the parlor they looked very cheerful. I was quite sorry for Jim that he had to go out to his kennel. However, he said he didn't mind. The boys got a plate of nice, warm meat for him and a bowl of milk, and carried them out, and afterward he went to sleep. Jim's kennel was a very snug one. Being a spaniel, he was not a 106 THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE IO? very large dog, but his kennel was as roomy as if he was a great Dane. He told me that Mr. Morris and the boys made it, and he liked it very much, because it was large enough for him to get up in the night and stretch himself, when he got tired of lying in one position. It was raised a little from the ground, and it had a thick layer of straw over the floor. Above was a broad shelf, wide enough for him to lie on, and covered with an old catskin sleigh robe. Jim always slept here in cold weather, because it was farther away from the ground. To return to this December evening. I can remember yet how hungry I was. I could scarcely lie still till Miss Laura finished her tea. Mrs. Morris, knowing that her boys would be very hun- gry, had Mary broil some beefsteak and roast some potatoes for them ; and didn't they smell good ! They ate all the steak and potatoes. It didn't matter to me, for I wouldn't have gotten any if they had been left. Mrs. Morris could not afford ;o give to the dogs good meat that she had gotten for her children, so she used to get the butcher to send her liver, and bones, and tough meat, and Mary cooked them, and made soup and broth, and mixed porridge with them for us. We never got meat three times a day. Miss Laura said it was all very well to feed hunting dogs on meat, but dogs that are kept about a house get ill if they are fed too well. So we had meat only once a day, and bread and milk, porridge s or dog biscuits, for our other meals. TO*? BEAUTIFUL JOE I made a dreadful noise when I was eating. Ever since Jenkins cut my ears off, I had had trouble in breathing. The flaps had kept the wind and dust from the inside of my ears. Now that they were gone my head was stuffed up all the time. The cold weather made me worse, and sometimes I had such trouble to get my breath that it seemed as if I v/ould choke. If I had opened my mouth, and breathed through it, as I have seen some people doing, I would have been more comfortable, but dogs always like to breathe through their noses. " You have taken more cold, ' ' said Miss Laura, this night, as she put my plate of food on the floor for me. ' ' Finish your meat, and then come and sit by the fire with me. What ! do you want more ?' ' I gave a little bark, so she filled my plate for the second time. Miss Laura never allowed any one to meddle with us when we were eating. One day she found Willie teasing me by snatching at a bone that I was gnawing. ' ' Willie, ' ' she said, " what would you do if you were just sitting down "co the table feeling very hungry, and just as you began to eat your meat and potatoes, I would come along and snatch the plate from you ? ' ' "I don't know what I'd do," he said, laugh- ingly ; "but I'd want to wallop you." "Well," she said, "I'm afraid that Joe will ' wariop ' you some day if you worry him about his food, for even a gentle dog will sometimes snap at any one who disturbs him at his meals ; so you had better not try his patience too far." THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE I09 Willie never teased me after that, and I was very glad, for two or three times I had been tempted to snarl at him. After I finished my tea, I followed Miss Laura upstairs. She took up a book and sat down in a low chair, and I lay down on the hearth rug beside her. "Do you know, Joe," she said with a smile, "why you scratch with your paws when you lie down, as if to make yourself a hollow bed, and turn around a great many times before you lie down ? ' ' Of course I did not know, so I only stared at her. "Years and years ago," she went on, gaz- ing down at me, "there weren't any dogs living in people's houses, as you are, Joe. They were all wild creatures running about the woods. They always scratched among the leaves to make a com- fortable bed for themselves, and the habit has come down to you, Joe, for you are descended from them." This sounded very interesting, and I think she was going to tell me some more about my wild forefathers, but just then the rest of the family came in. I always thought that this was the snuggest time of the day — when the family all sat around the fire —Mrs. Morris sewing, the boys reading or study- ing, and Mr. Morris with his head buried in a news- paper, and Billy and I on the floor at their feet. This evening I was feeling very drowsy, and had almost dropped asleep, when Ned gave nae a I»C BEAUTIFUL JOE push with his foot. He was a great tease, and he delighted in getting me to make a simpleton of myself. I tried to keep my eyes on the fire, but I could not, and just had to turn and look at him. He was holding his book up between himself and his mother, and was opening his mouth as wide as he could and throwing back his head, pretend- ing to howl. For the life of me I could not help giving a Loud howl. Mrs. Morris looked up and said, " Bad Joe, keep still." The boys were all laughing behind their books, for they knew what Ned was doing. Presently he started off again, and I was just beginning another howl that might have made Mrs. Morris send me out of the room, when the door opened, and a young girl called Bessie Drury came in. She had a cap on and a shawl thrown over her shoulders, and she had just run across the street from her father's house. "Oh, Mrs. Morris," she said, " will you let Laura come over and stay with me to-night ? Mamma has just gotten a tele- gram from Bangor, saying that her aunt, Mrs. Cole, is very ill, and she wants to see her, and papa is going to take her there by to-night' s train, and she as afraid I will be lonely if I don't have Laura." ' ' Can you not come and spend the night here ?" said Mrs. Morris. ' * No, thank you ; I think mamma would rather have me stay in our house." "Very well/' said Mrs. Morris, " I think Laura would like to go." THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE 3S& "Yes, indeed," said Miss Laura, smiling athes friend. ' • I will come over in half an hour. "Thank you, so much,'' said Miss Bessie. And she hurried away. After she left, Mr. Morris looked up from his paper. "There will be some one in the house besides those two girls ? ' ' "Oh, yes," said Mrs. Morris; "Mrs. Drury has her old nurse, who has been with her for twenty years, and there are two maids besides,, and Donald, the coachman, who sleeps over the stable. So they are well protected." • ' Very good, ' ' said Mr. Morris. And he went back to his paper. Of course dumb animals do not understand all that they hear spoken of ; but I think human beings would be astonished if they knew how much we can gather from their looks and voices. I knew that Mr. Morris did not quite like the idea of having his daughter go to the Drury' s when the master and mistress of the house were away, so I made up my mind that I would go with her. When she came down stairs with her little satchel on her arm, I got up and stood beside her. "Dear, old Joe," she said, "you must not come." I pushed myself out the door beside her after she had kissed her mother and father and the boys, "Go back, Joe," she said, firmly. I had to step back then, but I cried and whined, and she looked at me in astonishment. " I will Ire back in the morning, Joe," she said, gently; 112 BEAUTIFUL JOE " don't squeal in that way," Then she shut the door and went out. I felt dreadfully. I walked up and down the floor and ran to the window, and howled without having to look at Ned. Mrs. Morris peered over her glasses at me in utter surprise. " Boys,' s she said, "did you ever see Joe act in that way before ? ' ' " No, mother," they all said. Mr. Morris was looking at me very intently. He had always taken more notice of me than any other ' creature about the house, and I was very fond of him. Now I ran up and put my paws on his knees. "Mother," he said, turning to his wife, " let the dog go." "Very well," she said, in a puzzled way. "Jack, just run over with him, and tell MrSc Drury how he is acting, and that I will be very much obliged if she will let him stay all night with Laura. ' ' Jack sprang up, seized his cap, and raced ^own the front steps, across the street, through the gate, and up the gravelled walk, where the little stones were all hard and fast in the frost. The Drurys lived in a large, white house, with trees all around it, and a garden at the back. They were rich people and had a great deal of company. Through the summer I had often seen carriages at the door, and ladies and gentlemen in light clothes walking over the lawn, and some- times I smelled nice things they were having to eat THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE LI$, They did not keep any dogs, nor pets of any kind* so Jim and I never had an excuse to call there. Jack and I were soon at the front door, and h* rang the bell and gave me in charge of the maio who opened it. The girl listened to his message for Mrs. Drury, then she walked upstairs, smiling and looking at me over her shoulder. There was a trunk in the upper hall, and an elderly woman was putting things in it. A lady stood watching her, and when she saw me, she gave a little scream, ' ' Oh, nurse ! look at that horrid dog ! Where did he come from ? Put him out, Susan." I stood quite still, and the girl who had brought me upstairs, gave her Jack's message. "Certainly, certainly," said the lady, when the maid finished speaking. " If he is one of the Morris dogs, he is sure to be a well-behaved one. Tell the little boy to thank his mamma for letting Laura come over, and say that we will keep the dog with pleasure. Now, nurse, we must hurry ; the cab will be here in five minutes." I walked softly into a front room, and there I found my dear Miss Laura. Miss Bessie was with her, and they were cramming things into a port- manteau. They both ran out to find out how I came there, and just then a gentleman came hur- riedly upstairs, and said the cab had come. There was a scene of great confusion and hurry, but in a few minutes it was all over. The cab had rolled away, and the house was quiet. "Nurse, you must be tired, you had better go 114 BEAUTIFUL JOE to bed," said Miss Bessie, turning to the elderly- woman, as we all stood in the hall. " Susan, will you bring some supper to the dining-room, for Miss Morris and me ? What will you have, Laura ? ' ' ' ' What are you going to have ? ' ' asked Miss Laura, with a smile. " Hot chocolate and tea biscuits." ' ' Then I will have the same. ' ' " Bring some cake too, Susan, said Miss Bessie, • ' and something for the dog. I dare say he would like some of that turkey that was left from dinner. ' ' If I had had any ears I would have pricked them up at this, for I was very fond of fowl, and I never got any at the Morrises', unless it might be a stray bone or two. What fun we had over our supper ! The two girls sat at the big dining table, and sipped their chocolate, and laughed and talked, and I had the skeleton of a whole turkey on a newspaper that Susan spread on the carpet. I was very careful not to drag it about, and Miss Bessie laughed at me till the tears came in her eyes. " That dog is a gentleman," she said; "see how he holds bones on the paper with his paws, and strips the meat off with his teeth. Oh, Joe, Joe, you are a funny dog ! And you are hav- ing a funny supper. I have heard of quail on toast, but I never heard of turkey on newspaper. "Hadn't we better go to bed?" said Miss Laura, when the hall clock struck eleven. ' ' Yes, I suppose we had, ' ' said Miss Bessie. "Where is this animal to sleep ? ' ' THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE IIJ *' I don't know," said Miss Laura ; "he sleeps \ii the stable at home, or in the kennel with Jim." " Suppose Susan makes him a nice bed by the kitchen stove?" said Miss Bessie. Susan made the bed, but I was not willing to sleep in it. I barked so loudly when they shut me up alone, that they had to let me go upstairs with them. ^t Miss Laura was almost angry with me, but I could not help it. I had come over there to protect her, and I wasn't going to leave her, if I could help it. Miss Bessie had a handsomely furnished room ; with a soft carpet on the floor, and pretty curtains at the windows. There were two single beds in it, and the two girls dragged them close together,, so that they could talk after they got in bed. Before Miss Bessie put out the light, she told Miss Laura not to be alarmed if she heard any one walking about in the night, for the nurse was sleeping across the hall from them, and she would probably come in once or twice to see if they were sleeping comfortably. The two girls talked for a long time, and then they fell asleep. Just before Miss Laura dropped off, she forgave me, and put down her hand for me to lick as I lay on a fur rug close by her bed. I was very tired, and I had a very soft and pleasant bed, so I soon fell into a heavy sleep, But I waked up at the slightest noise. Once Miss Laura turned in bed, and another time Miss Bessie laughed in her sleep, and again, there were queer Il6 BEAUTIFUL JOE crackling noises in the frosty limbs of the trees outside, that made me start up quickly out of my sleep. There was a big clock in the hall, and every time it struck I waked up. Once, just after it had struck some hour, I jumped up out of a sound nap. I had been dreaming about my early home. Jen= kins was after me with a whip, and my limbs were quivering and trembling as if I had been trying to get away from him. I sprang up and shook myself. Then I took a turn around the room. The two girls were breath- ing gently ; I could scarcely hear them. I walked to the door and looked out into the halL There was a dim light burning there. The door of the nurse's room stood open. I went quietly to it and looked in. She was breathing heavily and muttering in her sleep. I went back to my rug and tried to go to sleep, but I could not. Such an uneasy feeling was upon me that I had to keep walking about. I went out into the hall again and stood at the head of the staircase. I thought I would take a walk through the lower hall, and then go to bed again. The Drurys' carpets were all like velvet, and my paws did not make a rattling on them as they did on the oil cloth at the Morrises'. I crept down the stairs like a cat, and walked along the lower hall, smelling under all the doors, listening as I went. There was no night light burning down here, and it was quite dark, but if there had THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE Alf been any strange person about I would have smelled him. I was surprised when I got near the farther end of the hall, to see a tiny gleam of light shine for an instant from under the dining-room door. Then it went away again. The dining-room was the place to eat. Surely none of the people in the house would be there after the supper we had. I went and sniffed under the door. There was a smell there ; a strong smell like beggars and poor people> It smelled like Jenkins» It wm Jenkins. *t CHAPTER XIV HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR HAT was the wretch doing in the hous£ with my dear Miss Laura ? I thought I would go crazy. I scratched at the door, and barked and yelped. I sprang up on it, and though I was quite a heavy dog by this time, I felt as light as a feather. It seemed to me that I would go mad if I could not get that door open. Every few seconds I stopped and put my head down to the doorsill to listen. There was a rushing about inside the Jtoom, and a chair fell over, and some one seemed to be getting out of the window. This made me worse than ever. I did not stop to think that I was only a medium-sized dog, and that Jenkins would probably kill me, if he got his hands on me. I was so furious that I thought •only of getting hold of him. In the midst of the noise that I made, there was a screaming and a rushing to and fro upstairs. 1 ran up and down the hall, and half-way up the steps and back again. I did not want Miss Laura to come down, but how was I to make her under* HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR XI 9 stand ? There she was, in her white gown, lean- ing over the railing, and holding back her long hair, her face a picture of surprise and alarm. "The dog has gone mad," screamed Miss Bessie. ' ' Nurse, pour a pitcher of water on him. The nurse was more sensible. She ran down- stairs, her night-cap flying, and a blanket that she had seized from her bed, trailing behind her. ' ' There are thieves in the house, ' ' she shouted at the top of her voice, ' ' and the dog has found it out. ' ' She did not go near the dining-room door, but threw open the front one, crying, "Policeman! Policeman ! help, help, thieves, murder ! ' ' Such a screaming as that old woman made ! She was worse than I was. I dashed by her, out through the hall door, and away down to the gate, where I heard some one running. I gave a few loud yelps to call Jim, and leaped the gate as the man before me had done. There was something savage in me that night. I think it must have been the smell of Jenkins. 1 felt as if I could tear him to pieces. I have never felt so wicked since. I was hunting him, as he had hunted me and my mother, and the thought gave me pleasure. Old Jim soon caught up with me, and I gave him a push with my nose, to let him know I was glad he had come. We rushed swiftly on, and at the corner caught up with the miserable man who was running away from us. I gave an angry growl, and jumping up, bit at 120 BEAUTIFUL JOE his leg. He turned around, and though it was not a very bright night, there was light enough for me to see the ugly face of my old master. He seemed so angry to think that Jim and I dared to snap at him. He caught up a handful of stones, and with some bad words threw them at us. Just then, away in front of us, was a queer whistle, and then another one like it behind us. Jenkins made a strange noise in his throat, and started to run down a side street, away from the direction of the two whistles. I was afraid that he was going to get away, and though I could not hold him, I kept springing up on him, and once I tripped him up. Oh, how furious he was ! He kicked me against the side of a wall, and gave me two or three hard blows with a stick that he caught up, and kept throwing stones at me. I would not give up, though I could scarcely see him for the blood that was running over my eyes. Old Jim got so angry whenever Jenkins touched me, that he ran up behind and nipped his calves, to make him turn on him. Soon Jenkins came to a high wall, where h& stopped, and with a hurried look behind, began to climb over it. The wall was too high for me to jump. He was going to escape. What shall I do? I barked as loudly as I could for someone to come, and then sprang up and held him by the leg as he was getting over. I had such a grip, that I went over the wall with him, and left Jim on the other side. Jenkins HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR 121 fell on his face in the earth. Then he got up, and with a look of deadly hatred on his face, pounced upon me. If help had not come, I think he would have dashed out my brains against the wall, as he dashed out my poor little brothers' against the horse's stall. But just then there was a running sound. Two men came down the street and sprang upon the wall, just where Jim was leaping up and down and barking in distress. I saw at once by their uniform and the clubs in their hands, that they were policemen. In one short instant they had hold of Jenkins. He gave up then, but he stood snarling at me like an ugly dog. "If it hadn't been for that cur, I'd never a been caught. Why , ' ' and he staggered back and uttered a bad word, "it's me own dog. "More shame to you," said one of the police- men, sternly ; ' ' what have you been up to at this time of night, to have your own dog and a quiet minister's spaniel dog a chasing you through the street ? ' ' Jenkins began to swear and would not tell them anything. There was a house in the garden, and just at this minute some one opened a window and called out : " Hallo, there, what are you doing?" ' ' We' re catching a thief, sir, ' ' said one of the policemen, "leastwise I think that's what he's been up to. Could you throw us down a bit of rope? We've no handcuffs here, and one of us has to go to the lock-up and the other to Washing- ton street, where there's a woman yelling blue murder ; and hurry up, please, sir." S22 BEAUTIFUL JOE The gentleman threw down a rope, and in two minutes Jenkins' wrists were tied together, and he was walked through the gate, saying bad words as fast as he could to the policeman who was leading him. ' ' Good dogs, ' ' said the other policeman to Jim and me. Then he ran up the street and we followed him. As we hurried along Washington street, and came near our house, we saw lights gleaming through the darkness, and heard people running to and fro. The nurse's shrieking had alarmed the neighborhood. The Morris boys were all out in the street only half clad and shivering with cold, and the Drurys' coachman, with no hat on, and his hair sticking up all over his head, was running about with a lantern. The neighbors' houses were all lighted up, and a good many people were hanging out' of their windows and opening their doors, and calling to each other to know what all this noise meant. When the policeman appeared with Jim and me at his heels, quite a crowd gathered around him to hear his part of the story. Jim and I dropped on the ground panting as hard as we could, and with little streams of water running from our tongues. We were both pretty well used up. Jim's back was bleeding in several places from the stones that Jenkins had thrown at him, and I was a mass of bruises. Presently we were discovered, and then what a fuss was made over us. "Brave dogs! noble dogs ! " everybody said, and patted and praised HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR 17 us. We were very proud and happy, and stoov up and wagged our tails, at least Jim did, and I wagged what I could. Then they found what a state we were in. Mrs. Morris cried, and catching me up in her arms, ran in the house with me, and Jack followed with old Jim. We all went into the parlor. There was a good fire there, and Miss Laura and Miss Bessie were sitting over it. They sprang up when they saw us, and right there in the parlor washed our wounds, and made us lie down by the fire. ' ' You saved our silver, brave Joe, ' ' said Miss Bessie ; "just wait till my papa and mamma come home, and see what they will say. Well, Jack, what is the latest?" as the Morris boys came trooping into the room. ' ' The policeman has been questioning your nurse, and examining the dining-room, and has gone down to the station to make his report, and do you know what he has found out ? ' ' said Jack, excitedly. ' ' No — what ? ' ' asked Miss Bessie. "Why that villain was going to burn your house." Miss Bessie gave a little shriek. " Why, what do you mean ? ' ' * ' Well, ' ' said Jack, ' ' they think by what they discovered, that he planned to pack his bag with silver, and carry it off ; but just before he did so he would pour oil around the room, and set fire to it, so people would not find out that he had been robbing you." 124 BEAUTIFUL JOE "Why we might have all been burned te death," said Miss Bessie. "He couldn't burn the dining-room without setting fire to the rest of the house. ' ' Certainly not, ' ' said Jack, that shows what a villain he is." " Do they know this for certain, Jack ? " asked Miss Laura. * « Well, they suppose so ; they found some bottles of oil along with the bag he had for the silver." " How horrible ! You darling old Joe, perhaps you saved our lives," and pretty Miss Bessie kissed my ugly, swollen head. I could do noth- ing but lick her little hand, but always after that I thought a great deal of her. It is now some years since all this happened, and I might as well tell the end of it. The next day the Drurys came home, and everything was found out about Jenkins. The night they left Fairport he had been hanging about the station. He knew just who were left in the house, for he had once supplied them with milk, and knew all about their family. He had no customers at this time, for after Mr. Harry rescued me, and that piece came out in the paper about him, he found that no one would take milk from him. His wife died, and some kind people put his children in an asylum, and he was obliged to sell Toby and the cows. Instead of learning a lesson from all this, and leading a better life, he kept sinking lower. He was, therefore, ready for any kind of mis- ROW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR 1 25 chief that turned up, and when he saw the Drurys going away in the train, he thought he would steal a bag of silver from their sideboard, then set fire to the house, and run away and hide the silver. After a time he would take it to some city and sell it. He was made to confess all this. Then for his wickedness he was sent to prison for ten years, and I hope he will get to be a better man there, and be one after he comes out. I was sore and stiff for a long time, and one day Mrs. Drury came over to see me. She did not love dogs as the Morrises did. She tried to, but she could not. Dogs can see fun in things as well as people can, and I buried my muzzle in the hearth-rug, so that she would not see how I was curling up my lip and smiling at her. ' ' You — are — a — good — dog, ' ' she said, slowly. "You are" — then she stopped, and could not think of anything else to say to me. I got up and stood in front of her, for a well-bred dog should not lie down when a lady speaks to him. I wag- ged my body a little, and I would gladly have said something to help her out of her difficulty, but I couldn't. If she had stroked me it might have helped her ; but she didn't want to touch me, and I knew she didn't want me to touch her, so I just stood looking at her. "Mrs. Morris," she said, turning from me with a puzzled face, " I don't like animals, and I can't pretend to, for they always find me out : but I2& BEAUTIFUL JOE can't you let that dog know that I shall feel eter- nally grateful to him for saving not only our property-for that is a trifle-but my darling daughter from fright and annoyance, and a pos- sible injury or loss of life ? " -I think he understands," said Mrs. Morris. ■ He is a very wise dog." And smiling in great amusement, she called me to her and put my paws on her lap. "Look at that lady, Joe. She is pleased with you for driving Jenkins ^ away from her house. You remember Jenkins ? ' ' I barked angrily and limped to the window. -How intelligent he is," said Mrs. Drury. •■ My husband has sent to New York for a watch- do- and he says that from this on our house shall never be without one. Now I must go. Your do- is happy, Mrs. Morris, and I can do nothing foArim, except to say that I shall never forget him, and I wish he would come over occasionally to see us. Perhaps when we get our dog he will. I shall tell my cook whenever she sees him to give him something to eat. This is a souvenir for Laura of that dreadful night. I feel under a deep obligation to you, so I am sure you will allow her to accept it. ' ' Then she gave Mrs. Morris a little box and went away. When Miss Laura came in, she opened the box, and found in it a handsome diamond ring. On the inside of it was engraved: " Laura in memory of December 20th, 18— From her grateful friend, Bessie." The diamond was worth hundreds of dollars, HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR 127 ind Mrs. Morris told Miss Laura that she had rather she would not wear it then, while she was a young girl. It was not suitable for her, and she knew Mrs. Drury did not expect her to do so. She wished to give her a valuable present, and this would always be worth a great deal of money. w CHAPTER XV OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE VERY other summer, the Morris children were sent to some place in the country, | Bfagsgail so that they could have a change of air, and see what country life was like. As there w r ere so many of them they usually went different ways. The summer after I came to them, Jack and Carl went to an uncle in Vermont, Miss Laura went to another in New Hampshire, and Ned and Willie went to visit a maiden aunt who lived in the White Mountains. Mr. and Mrs. Morris stayed at home. Fairport was a lovely place in summer, and many people came there to visit. The children took some of their pets with them, and the others they left at home for their mother to take care of. She never allowed them to take a pet animal anywhere, unless she knew it would be perfectly welcome. " Don't let your pets be a worry tc other people," she often said to them, "'or they will dislike them and you too." Miss Laura went away earlier than the others, for she had run down through the spring, and was 128 OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE 1 29 jpale and thin. One day, early in June, we set out I say " we," for after my adventure with Jenkins, Miss Laura said that I should never be parted from her. If any one invited her to come and see Ihem and didn't want me, she would stay at home. The whole family went to the station to see us off. They put a chain on my collar and took me to the baggage office and got two tickets for me. One was tied to my collar and the other Miss Laura put in her purse. Then I was put in a baggage car and chained in a corner. I heard Mr. Morris say that as we were only going a short distance, it was not worth while to get an express ticket for me. There was a dreadful noise and bustle at the station. Whistles were blowing and people were rushing up and down the platform. Some men were tumbling baggage so fast into the car where I was, that I was afraid some of it would fall on me. For a few minutes Miss Laura stood by the door and looked- in, but soon the men had piled up so many boxes and trunks that she could not see me. Then she went away. Mr. Morris asked one of the men to see that I did not get hurt, and I heard some money rattle. Then he went away too. It was the beginning of June and the weather had suddenly become very hot. We had a long, cold spring, and not being used to the heat, it seemed very hard to bear. Before the train started, the doors of the bag- gage car were closed, and it became quite dark inside. The darkness, and the heat, and the close I30 BEAUTIFUL JOE smell, and the noise, as we went rushing along, made me feel sick and frightened. I did not dare to lie down, but sat up trembling and wishing that we might soon come to Riverdale Station. But we did not get there for some time, and I was to have a great fright. I was thinking of all the stories that I knew of animals traveling. In February, the Drurys' New- foundland watch-dog, Pluto, had arrived from New York, and he told Jim and me that he had a miser- able journey. A gentleman friend of Mr. Drury' s had brouglK him from New York. He saw him chained up in his car, and he went into his Pullman, first tipping the baggage-master handsomely to look after him . Pluto said that the baggage-master had a very rei nose, and he was always getting drinks for himself when they stopped at a station, but he never once gave him a drink or anything to eat, from the time they left New York till they got to Fairport. When the train stopped there, and Pluto's chain was un- fastened, he sprang out on the platform and nearly knocked Mr. Drury down. He saw some snow that had sifted through the station roof and he was so thirsty that he began to lick it up. When the snow was all gone, he jumped up and licked th« frost on the windows. Mr. Drury' s friend was so angry. He found the baggage-master, and said to him : ' ' What did you mean, by coming into my car every few hours, to tell me that the dog was fed, and watered, and comfortable ? I shall report you. ' ' OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE 1 3* He went into the office at the station, and com- plained of the man, and was told that he was a drinking man, and was going to be dismissed. I was not afraid of suffering like Pluto, because it was only going to take us a few hours to get to Riverdale. I found that we always went slowly before we came in to a station, and one time when we began to slacken speed I thought that surely we must be at our journey's end. However, it was not Riverdale. The car gave a kind of jump, then there was a crashing sound ahead, and we stopped. I heard men shouting and running up and down, and I wondered what had happened. It was all dark and still in the car, and nobody came in, but the noise kept up outside, and I knew some- thing had gone wrong with the train. Perhaps Miss Laura had got hurt. Something must have happened to her or she would come to me. I barked and pulled at my chain till my neck was sore, but for a long, long time I was there alone. The men running about outside must have heard me. If ever I hear a man in trouble and crying for help I go to him and see what he wants. After such a long time that it seemed to me it must be the middle of the night, the door at the end of the car opened,- and a man looked in. V This is all through baggage for New York, miss, " I heard him say ; "they wouldn't put your dog in here." "Yes, they did — I am sure this is the car," 5 132 BEAUTIFUL JOE heard in the voice I knew so well ; "and won't you get him out, please ? He must be terribly €rightened. ' ' The man stooped down and unfastened my chain, grumbling to himself because I had not been put in another car. * ' Some folks tumble a dog round as if he was a junk of coal," he said, patting me kindly. I was nearly wild with delight to get with Miss Laura again, but I had barked so much, and pressed my neck so hard with my collar that my voice was all gone. I fawned on her, and wagged myself about, and opened and shut my mouth, but no sound came out of it. It made Miss Laura nervous. She tried to laugh and cry at the same time, and then bit her lip hard, and said : "Oh, Joe, don't." "He's lost his bark, hasn't he?" said the man, looking at me curiously. " It is a wicked thing to confine an animal in a dark and closed car, ' ' said Miss Laura, trying to see her way down the steps through her tears. The man put out his hand and helped her. "He's not suffered much, miss," he said ; " don't you distress yourself. Now if you' d been a brake- man on a Chicago train, as I was a few years ago, and seen the animals run in for the stock yards, you might talk about cruelty. Cars that ought to hold a certain number of pigs, or sheep, or cattle, jammed full with twice as many, and half of 'em thrown out choked and smothered to death. I've seen a man running up and down, raging and OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE 1 33 swearing because the railway people hadn't let him get in to tend to his pigs on the road. ' ' ' ' Miss Laura turned and looked at the man with a very white face. " Is it like that now ?" )he asked. * « No, no, ' ' he said, hastily. ' ' It' s better now. They've got new regulations about taking care of the stock ; but mind you, miss, the cruelty to animals isn't all done on the railways. There's a great lot of dumb creatures suffering all round everywhere, and if they could speak, 'twould be a hard showing for some other people besides the railway men." He lifted his cap and hurried down the plat- form, and Miss Laura, her face very much troubled, picked her way among the bits of coal and wood scattered about the platform, and went into the waiting room of the little station. She took me up to the filter and let some water run in her hand, and gave it to me to lap. Then she sat down and I leaned my head against her knees, and she stroked my throat gently. There were some people sitting about the room, and, from their talk, I found out what had taken place. There had been a freight train on a side track at this station, waiting for us to get by. The switchman had carelessly left the switch open after this train went by, and when we came along after- ward, our train, instead of running in by the plat- form, went crashing into the freight train. If we had been going fast, great damage might have been done. As it was, our engine was smashed J 34 BEAUTIFUL JOE so badly that it could not take us on ; the passen- gers were frightened ; and we were having a tedi^ ous time waiting for another engine to coine and take us to Riverdaie. After the accident, the trainmen were so busy that Miss Laura could get no one to release me. I While I sat by her, I noticed an old gentleman Staring at us. He was such a queer-looking old gentleman. He looked like a poodle. He had bright brown eyes, and a pointed face, and a shock of white hair that he shook every few minutes. He sat with his hands clasped on the top of his cane, and he scarcely took his eyes from Miss Laura's face. Suddenly he jumped up and came ?.nd sat down beside her. " An ugly dog, that," he said, pointing to me. Most young ladies would have resented this, but Miss Laura only looked amused " He seems beautiful to me," she said, gently. "H'm, because he's your dog, ' said the old man, darting a sharp look at me. "What's the matter with him ? " "This is his first journey by rail, and he's a little frightened." " No wonder. The Lord only knows the suf- fering of animals in transportation," said the old gentleman. " My dear young lady, if you could see what I have seen, you'd never eat another bit of meat all the days of your life. Miss Laura wrinkled her forehead. " I know — I have heard," she faltered. "It must be terrible. ' ' OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE 1 35 ' ' Terrible — it' s awful, ' ' said the gentleman. 31 Think of the cattle on the western plains. Choked with thirst in summer, and starved and frozen in winter. Dehorned and goaded on to trains and steamers. Tossed about and wounded and suffering on voyages. Many of them dying and being thrown into the sea. Others landed sick and frightened. Some of them slaughtered on docks and wharves to keep them from dropping dead in their tracks. What kind of food does their flesh make? It's rank poison. Three of iviy family have died of cancer. I am a vege- t.irian." The strange old gentleman darted from his seat, and began to pace up and down the room. I was very glad he had gone, for Miss Laura hated to hear of cruelty of any kind, and her tears were dropping thick and fast on my brown coat. The gentleman had spoken very loudly, and every one in the room had listened to what he said. Among them, was a very young man, with a cold, handsome face. He looked as if he was annoyed that the older man should have made Miss Laura cry. "Don't you think, sir," he said, as the old gentleman passed near him in walking up and down the floor, ' ' that there is a great deal of mock sentiment about this business of taking care of the dumb creation ? They were made for us. They've got to suffer and be killed to supply our wants. The cattle and sheep, and other animals would over-run the earth, if we didn't kill them." 12,6 BEAUTIFUL JOE "Granted," said the old man, stopping right in front of him. ' ' Granted, young man, if you take out that word suffer. The Lord made the sheep, and the cattle, and the pigs. They are his creatures just as much as we are. We can kill them, but we've no right to make them suffer. ' ' " But we can't help it, sir." "Yes, we can, my young man. It's a possL ble thing to raise healthy stock, treat it kindly, kill it mercifully, eat it decently. When men do that I, for one, will cease to be a vegetarian. You're only a boy. You haven't traveled as I have. I've been from one end of this country to the other. Up north, down south, and out west, I've seen sights that made me shudder, and I tell you the Lord will punish this great American nation if it doesn't change its treatment of the dumb animals committed to its care. ' ' The young man looked thoughtful, and did not reply. A very sweet-faced old lady sitting near him answered the old gentleman. I don't think I have ever seen such a fine-looking old lady as she was. Her hair was snowy white, and her face was deeply wrinkled, yet she was tall and stately, and her expression was as pleasing as my dear Miss Laura's. " I do not think we are a wicked nation," she said, softly. ' ' We are a younger nation than many of the nations of the earth, and I think that many of our sins arise from ignorance and thoughtlessness " OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE 1 37 "Yes, madame, yes, madame," said the fiery old gentleman, staring hard at her. ' ' I agree with you there." She smiled very pleasantly at him and went on. "I, too, have been a traveler, and I have talked to a great many wise and good people on the subject of the cruel treatment of animals, and I find that many of them have never thought about it. They, themselves, never knowingly ill-treat a dumb creature, and when they are told stories of inhuman conduct, they say in surprise, ' Why, these things surely can't exist ! ' You see they have never been brought in contact with them. As soon as they learn about them, they begin to agitate and say, 'We must have this thing stopped. Where is the remedy?' " "And what is it, what is it, madame, in your opinion?" said the old gentleman, pawing the floor with impatience. * ' Just the remedy that I would propose for the great evil of intemperance," said the old lady, smiling at him. "Legislation and educations Legislation for the old and hardened, and educa- tion for the young and tender. I would tell the schoolboys and schoolgirls that alcohol will destroy the framework of their beautiful bodies, and that cruelty to any of God's living creatures will blight and destroy their innocent young souls." The young man spoke again. "Don't you think," he said, "that you temperance and humane people lay too much stress upon the education of our youth in all lofty and noble sen- I38 BEAUTIFUL JOE timents ? The human heart will always be wicked. Your Bible tells you that, doesn't it? You can't educate all the badness out of children. ' ' "We don't expect to do that," said the old lady, turning her pleasant face toward him ; ' ' but even if the human heart is desperately wicked; shouldn't that make us much more eager to try to educate, to ennoble, and restrain ? However, as far as my experience goes, and I have lived in this wicked world for seventy-five years, I find that the human heart, though wicked and cruel, as you say, has yet some soft and tender spots, and the impressions made upon it in youth are never, never effaced. Do you not remember better than anything else, standing at your mother's knee — the pressure of her hand, her kiss on your forehead ? ' ' By this time our engine had arrived. A whistle was blowing, and nearly every one was rushing from the room, the impatient old gentle- man among the first. Miss Laura was hurriedly trying to do up her shawl strap, and I was stand- ing by, wishing that I could help her. The old lady and the young man were the only other peo- ple in the room, and we could not help hearing what they said. "Yes, I do," he said in a thick voice, and his face got very red. ' ' She is dead now — I have no mother." " Poor boy ! " and the old lady laid her hand on his shoulder. They were standing up, and she was taller than he was. " May God bless you. OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE 13$ k know you have a kind heart I have 'gui stal- wart boys, and you remind me of the youngest. If you are ever in Washington come to see me. ,! She gave him some name, and he lifted his hat and looked as if he was astonished to find out ^ho she was. Then he, too, went away, and she rurned to Miss Laura. "Shall I help you, mj dear ? ' ! • "If you please," said my young mistress. " i can't fasten this strap/' In a few seconds the bundle was done up, and ^e were joyfully hastening to the train. It was 3nly a few miles to Riverdale, so the conductor let me stay in the car with Miss Laura. She spread her coat out on the seat in front of her, and I sat on it and looked out of the car window as we sped along through a lovely country, all green and fresh in the June sunlight. How light and pleasant this car was — so different from the baggage car. What frightens an animal most of all things, is not \.o see where it is going, not tc know what is going to happen to it. I think thai ihey are very like human beings in this respect. The lady had taken a seat beside Miss Laura, and as we went along, she too looked out of the window and said in a low voice : ** What is so rare as a Jay in June, Then, if ever, come perfect days." "That is very true,' 8 said Miss Laura; "how sad that the autumn must come, and the cold winter. ' ' *40 BEAUTIFUL JOE 54 No, my dear, not sado It is but a prepara- tion for another summer." "Yes, I suppose it is,'* said Miss Laura. Then she continued a little shyly, as her com- panion leaned over to stroke my cropped ears \ fYou seem very fond of animals." 4e l am, my dear. I have four horses, two COWS, a trme squirrel, three dogs, and a cat." ' • You should be a happy woman, ' ' said Miss Laura, with a smile. 4 ' I think I am. I must not forget my horned toad, Diego, that I got in California. I keep him in the green-house, and he is very happy catching flies and holding his horny head to be scratched whenever any one comes near." st I don't see how any one can be unkind to animals," said Miss Laura, thoughtfully. " Nor I, my dear child. It has always caused me intense pain to witness the torture of dumb animals. Nearly seventy years ago, when I was a little girl walking the streets of Boston, I would tremble and grow faint at the cruelty of drivers to over-loaded horses. I was timid and did not dare speak to them. Very often, I ran home and flung myself in my mother' s arms with a burst of tears, and asked her if nothing could be done to help the poor animals. With mistaken, motherly kindness, she tried to put the subject out of my moughts. I was carefully guarded from seeing or hearing of any instances of cruelty. But the ani- mals went on suffering just the same, and when I became a woman, I saw my cowardice. I agitated OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE 141 the matter among my friends, and told them that our whole dumb creation was groaning together in pain, and would continue to groan, unless merci- ful human beings were willing to help them. I was able to assist in the formation of several socie- ties for the prevention of cruelty to animals, and ;hey have done good service. Good service not only to the horses and cows, but to the nobler ani- mal, man. I believe that in saying to a cruel man, • You shall not overwork, torture, mutilate, nor kill your animal, or neglect to provide it with proper food and shelter,' we are making him a little nearer the kingdom of heaven than hie was before. For 'Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.' If he sows seeds of unkindness and cruelty to man and beast, no one knows what the blackness of the harvest will be. His poor horse, quivering under a blow, is not the worst sufferer. Ohj if people would only understand that their unkind deeds will recoil upon their own heads with tenfold farce — but, my dear child, I am fan- cying that I am addressing a drawing-room meet* ing— -and here we are at your station. Good-bye • keep your happy face and gentle ways. I hope that we may meet again some day," She pressed Miss Laura's hand, gave me a farewell pat, and the next minute we were outside on the platform,. and she was smiling through the window at us. CHAPTER XVI DINGLEY FARM SY dear niece," and a stout, middle-aged woman, with a red, lively face, threw both her arms around Miss Laura, e( How glad I am to see you, and this is the dog, Good Joe, I have a bone waiting for you. Here h Vncle John." A tall, good-looking man stepped up and put out a big hand, in which my mistress' little fingers were quite swallowed up. « ' I am glad to see you, Laura. Well, Joe, how d'ye do, old boy? I've >ieard about you." It made me feel very welcome to have then .X)th notice me, and I was so glad to be out of the irain that I frisked for joy around their feet as we went to the wagon. It was a big double one, wilh an awning over it to shelter it from the sun's rays,, and the horses were drawn up in the shade of a spreading tree. They were two powerful black horses, and as they had no blinders on, they could see us coming. Their faces lighted up and they moved their ears and pawed the ground, and whinnied when Mr. Wood went up to them. They DINGLEY FARM 1 43 tried to rub their heads against him, and I saw plainly that they loved him. ' ' Steady there, Cleve and Pacer," he said ; " now back, back up." By this time, Mrs. Wood, Miss Laura and I were in the wagon. Then Mr. Wood jumped in, took up the reins, and off we went. How the two black horses did spin along ! I sat on the seat be- side Mr. Wood, and sniffed in the delicious air c and the lovely smell of flowers and grass. How glad I was to be in the country ! What long races I should have in the green fields. I wished that I had another dog to run with me, and wondered very much whether Mr. Wood kept one. I knew I should soon find out, for whenever Miss Laura went to a place she wanted to know what animals there were about. We drove a little more than a mile along a country road where there were scattered houses. Miss Laura answered questions about her family, and asked questions about Mr. Harry, who was away at college and hadn't got home. I don't think I have said before that Mr. Harry was Mrs= Wood's son. She was a widow with one son when she married Mr. Wood, so that Mr. Harry, though the Morrises called him cousin, was not really their cousin. I was very glad to hear them say that he was soon coming home, for I had never forgotten that but for him I should never have known Miss Laura and gotten into my pleasant home. By-and-by, I heard Miss Laura say : "Uncle John, have you a dog ? ' ' 144 BEAUTIFUL JOE 48 Yes, Laura," he said ; " I have one to-day, but I sha'n't have one to-morrow." " Oh, uncle, what do you mean ? " she asked. 4 'Well, Laura," he replied, "you know ani- mals are pretty much like people. There are some good ones and some bad ones. Now, this dog is a snarling, cross-grained, cantankerous beast, and when I heard Joe was coming, I said : ' Now we'll have a good dog about the place, and here's an end to the bad one.' So I tied Bruno up, and to-morrow I shall shoot him. Something's got to be done, or he'll be biting some one." "Uncle," said Miss Laura, "people don't al- ways die when they are bitten by dogs, do they ?' ' " No, certainly not," replied Mr. Wood. " In my humble opinion there's a great lot of nonsense talked about the poison of a dog's bite and people dying of hydrophobia. Ever since I was born I've had dogs snap at me and stick their teeth in my flesh ; and I've never had a symptom of hydro- phobia, and never intend to have. I believe hall the people that are bitten by dogs frighten them- selves into thinking they are fatally poisoned. I was reading the other day about the policemen in a big city in England that have to catch stray dogs, and dogs supposed to be mad, and all kinds of dogs, and they get bitten over and over again, and never think anything about it. But let a lady or a gentleman walking along the street have a dog bite them, and they worry themselves till their blood is in a fever, and they have to hurry across to France to get Pasteur to cure them. They imagine they've DINGLEY FARM 1 4$ got hydrophobia, and they've got it because they imagine it. I believe if I fixed my attention on that right thumb of mine, and thought I had a sore there, and picked at it and worried it, in a short time a sore would come, and I'd be off to the doc- tor to have it cured. At the same time dogs have no business to bite, and I don't recommend any one to get bitten." "But, uncle," said Miss Laura, "isn't there such a thing as hydrophobia ? " " Oh, yes ; I dare say there is. I believe that a careful examination of the records of death re- ported in Boston from hydrophobia for the space of thirty-two years, shows that two people actually died from it. Dogs are like all other animals. They're liable to sickness, and they've got to be watched. I think my horses would go mad if I starved them, or over-fed them, or over-worked them, or let them stand in laziness, or kept them dirty, or didn't give them water enough. They'd get some disease, anyway. If a person owns an animal, let him take care of it, and it's all right* If it shows signs of sickness, shut it up and watch, it. If the sickness is incurable, kill it. Here's a sure way to prevent hydrophobia. Kill off all ownerless and vicious dogs. If you can't do that, have plenty of water where they can get at it. A dog that has all the water he wants, will never go mad. This dog of mine has not one single thing the matter with him but pure ugliness. Yet, if I let him loose, and he ran through the village with his tongue out, I'll warrant you there' d be a cry of €46 BEAUTIFUL JOE 4 mad dog ! ' However, I'm going to kill him. F ve no use for a bad dog. Have plenty of animals, I say, and treat them kindly, but if there' s a vicious one among them, put it out of the way, for it is a constant danger to man and beast. It' s queer how ugly some people are about their dogs. They'll keep them no matter how they worry other people, and even when they're snatching the bread out of their neighbors' mouths. But I say that is not th<$ fault of the four-legged dog. A human dog is the worst of all. There' s a band of sheep-killing dog? here in Riverdale, that their owners can't, or won't, keep out of mischief. Meek-looking fellows some of them are. The owners go to bed at night, ano the dogs pretend to go, too ; but when the house is quiet and the family asleep, off goes Rover or Fido to worry poor, defenseless creatures that can't de- fend themselves. Their taste for sheep's blood is like the taste for liquor in men, and the dogs will travel as far to get their fun, as the men will travel for theirs. They've got it in them, and you can't get it out. ' ' ' ' Mr. Windham cured his dog, ' ' said Mrs B Wood. Mr. Wood burst into a hearty laugh. " So he did, so he did. I must tell Laura about that. Windham is a neighbor of ours, and last summer I kept telling him that his collie was worrying my Shropshires. He wouldn't believe me, but I knew I was right, and one night when Harry was home, he lav in wait for the dog and lassoed him. I tied him up and sent for Windham . You should have DINGLEY FARM. 147 «* number of little gratings in the wall to let in the fresh air, and they were so placed that drafts would not blow on the horses. Mr. Wood was going from one horse to another, giving them hay, and talking to them in a cheerful voice. At last he spied me, and cried out, "The top of the morning to you, Joe ! You are up early. Don's ojme too near the horses, good dog," as I walked hi beside him ; ! ' they might think you are another Bruno, and give you a sly bite or kick. I should (\ave shot him long ago. ' Tis hard to make a good dog suffer for a bad one, but that's the way sf the world. Well, old fellow, what do you think of my horse stable? Pretty fair, isn't it?" And Mr. Wood went on talking to me as he fed and g roomed his horses, till I soon found out that his 'chief pride was in them. I like to have human beings talk to me. Mr. Morris often reads his sermons to me, and Miss I aura tells me secrets that I don't think she would t?jll to any one else. I watched Mr. Wood carefully, while h£ groomed a huge, gray cart-horse, that he called Dutchman. He took a brush in his right hand t and a curry-comb in his left, and he curried and brushed every part of the horse' s skin, and after- ward wiped him with a cloth. * ' A good grooming is equal to two quarts of oats, Joe," he said to me, Then Jie stooped down and examined the horse's hoofs. ''Your shoes are too heavy, Dutchman," he said; "but that pig-headed blacksmith thinks he kp^ws more about horses l\l, BEAUTIFUL JOE ^han I do. 'Don't cut the sole nor the frog,* I say to him, * Don't pare the hoof so much, and don't rasp it ; and fit your shoe to the foot, and not the foot to the shoe,' and he looks as if he wanted to say, ' Mind your own business.' We'll Hot go to him again. • 'Tis hard to teach an old dog new tricks.' I got you to work for me, not to wear out your strength in lifting about hif weighty shoes." Mr. Wood stopped talking for a few minutes, and whistled a tune. Then he began again. "I've made a study of horses, Joe. Over forty years I've studied them, and it's my opinion that the average horse knows more than the average man that drives him. When I think of the stupid tools that are goading patient horses about, beat- ing them and misunderstanding them, and think- ing they are only clods of earth with a little life irr. them, I'd like to take their horses out of the shafts And harness them in, and I'd trot them off at a pace, and slash them, and jerk them, till I guess they'd come out with a little less patience than the animal does. " Look at this Dutchman— see the size of him. You'd think he hadn't any more nerves than a bit of granite. Yet he's got a skin as sensitive as a girl's, See how he quivers if I run the curry-comb too harshly over him. The idiot I got him from didn't know what was the matter with him. He'd bought him for a reliable horse, and there he was, kicking and stamping whenever the boy went ntai feiin. ' Your boy's got too heavy a hand. D&? t i'.** MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES t$$ Jones,' said I, when he described the horse's actions to me. ' You may depend «upon it, a four- legged creature, unlike a two-legged one, has &■ reason for everything he does.' ' But he's only a draught horse,' said Deacon Jones. 'Draught horse or no draught horse,' said I, 'you're de scribing a horse with a tender skin to me, and I don't care if he's as big as an elephant.' Well 5 the old man grumbled and said he didn't want any thoroughbred airs in his stable, so I bought you, didn't I, Dutchman?" and Mr. Wood stroked him kindly and went to the next stall. In each stall was a small tank of water with a sliding cover, and I found out afterward that these covers were put on when a horse came in too heated to have a drink. At any other time, he could drink all he liked. Mr. Wood believed in having plenty of pure water for all his animals and they all had their own place to get a drink, Even I had a little bowl of water in the wood- Shed, though I could easily have run up to the barnyard when I wanted a drink. As soon as I came, Mrs. Wood asked Adele to keep it there for me and when I looked up gratefully at her, she said : ** Every animal should have its own feeding place and its own sleeping place, Joe ; that is only fair. ' ' The next horses Mr. Wood groomed were the black ones, Cleve and irYcer. Pacer had some- thing wrong with his mouth, and Mr. Wood turned back his lips and examined it carefully. This he was able to do, for there were large windows in the J 54 BEAUTIFUL JOE stable and it was as light as Mr. Wood's house was, • "No dark corners here, eh Joe!" said Mr-. Wood, as he came out of the stall and passed me to get a bottle from a shelf. "When this stable was built, I said no dirt holes for careless men here. 1 want the sun to shine in the corners, and I don'fc want my horses to smell bad smells, for they hate them, and I don't want them starting when they go into the light of day, just because they've been kept in a black hole of a stable, and I've never had a sick horse yet." He poured something from a bottle into a saucei and went back to Pacer with it. I followed him and stood outside. Mr. Wood seemed to be washing a sore in the horse's mouth, Pacei wmced a little, and Mr. Wood said: "Steady, steady, my beauty ; 'twill soon be over." The horse fixed his intelligent eyes on his master and looked as if he knew that he was try* «ng to do him good. , " Just look at these lips, Joe," said Mr. Woodf; delicate and fine like our own, and yet there are brutes that will jerk them as if they were made of iron, I wish the Lord would give horses voices just for one week. I tell you they'd scare some of us. Now, Pacer, that's over, I'm not going to dose you much, for I don't believe in it. If a horse has got a serious trouble, get a good horse doctor, say I. If it's a simple thing, try a simple remedy. There's been many a good horse drugged and dosed to death- MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES 1 55 Well, Scamp, my beauty, how are you, this morning ? " In the stall next to Pacer, was a small, jet-black mare, with a lean head, slender legs, and a curiou? restless manner. She was a regular greyhound oJ a horse, no spare flesh, yet wiry and able to do $ great deal of work. She was a wicked looking littlfi thing, so 1 thought I had better keep at a safe 'lis- tance from her heels. Mr. Wood petted her a great deal and I saw that she was his favorite. *' Saucebox," he ex- claimed, when she pretended to bite him, " ycu know if you bite me, I'll bite back again. I think I've conquered you," he said, proudly, as he stroked her glossy neck ; " but what a dance you led me. Do you remember how I bought you for a mere song, because you had a bad habit of turn- ing around like a flash in front of anything thai frightened you, and bolting off the other way 1 And how did I cure you, my beauty ? Beat you and make you stubborn ? Not I. I let you go round and round ; I turned you and twisted you, the oftener the better for me, till at last 1 go* it into your pretty head that turning and twisting was addling your brains, and you had better let me be master. " You've minded me from that day, haven't you ? Horse, or man, or dog aren't much good till they learn to obey, and I've thrown you down and I'll do it again if you bite me, so take care." Scamp tossed her pretty head, and took little pieces of Mr. Wood' s shirt sleeve in her mouth r Jjo BEAUTIFUL JOE keeping her cunning brown eye on him as if to see how far she could go. But she did not bite him. I think she loved him, for when he left her she whinnied shrilly, and he had to go back and stroke and caress her. I After that I often used to watch her as she Went about the farm. She always seemed to be lugging and striving at her load, and trying to step out fast and do a great deal of work. Mr. Wood was usually driving her. The men didn't like her, and couldn't manage her. She had not been properly broken in. After Mr. Wood finished his work he went and stood in the doorway. There were six horses altogether : Dutchman, Cleve, Pacer, Scamp, a bay mare called Ruby, and a young horse belong- ing to Mr. Harry, whose name was Fleetfoot. ' ' What do you think of them all ? " said Mr, Wood, looking down at me. "A pretty fine-look- ing lot of horses, aren't they ? Not a thoroughbred- there, but worth as much to me as if each had £, pedigree as long as this plank walk. There's % lot of humbug about this pedigree business i% horses. Mine have their manes and tails anyway, and the proper use of their eyes, which is mon»5 liberty than some thoroughbreds get. "I'd like to see the man that would persuade me to put blinders or check-reins or any other in strument of torture on my horses. Don't the sim pletons know that blinders are the cause of — well* I wouldn't like to say how many of our accidents,. Joe, for fear you' d think me extravagant. &nd thf MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES 15> check-rein drags up a horse's head out of its fine natural curve and presses sinews, bones, and joints together, till the horse is well-nigh mad, Ah, Joe, this is a cruel world for man or beast. You're a standing token of that, with your missing ears and tail. And now I've got to go and be cruel, and shoot that dog. He must be disposed of before anyone else is astir. How I hate to take life." He sauntered down the walk to the tool shed, went in and soon came out leading a large, brown dog by a chain. This was Bruno. He was snap- ping and snarling and biting at his chain as he went along, though Mr. Wood led him very kindly, and when he saw me he acted as if he could have torn me to pieces. After Mr. Wood took him behind the barn, he came back and got his gun. I ran away so that I would not hear the sound of it, for I could not help feeling sorry for Bruno. Miss Laura's room was on one side of the house, and in the second story. There was a lit* tie balcony outside it, and when I got near I sa.W ihat she was standing oat on it wrapped in a shawl. Her hair was streaming over her shoulders, and she was looking down into the garden where there were a great many white and yellow flowers in bloom. I barked, and she looked at me. "Dear old Joe, I will get dressed and come down." She hurried into her room, and I lay on the veranda till I heard her step. Then I jumped up, She unlocked the front door, aud we went for a I58 BEAUTIFUL JOE walk down the lane to the road until we heard tfe* breakfast bell. As soon as we heard it we ran back to the house, and Miss Laura had such an appetite for her breakfast that her aunt said the sundry ha£ lone her good already, g&*~ CHAPTER XVHI MRS. WOOD'S POULTRY jft^gdFTER breakfast, Mrs. Wood put on ft large apron, and going into the kitchen* said: "Have you any scraps for the hens, Adele ? Be sure and not give me anything salty." The French girl gave her a dish of food, then Mrs. Wood asked Miss Laura to go and see hei chickens, and away we went to the poultry house, On the way we saw Mr. Wood. He was sit ting on the step of the tool shed cleaning his gun • 8 Is the dog dead ? ' ' asked Miss Laura. "Yes," he said. . She sighed and said: "Poor creature, I an. sorry he had to be killed. Uncle, what is tht most merciful way to kill a dog ? Sometimes, when they get old, they should be put out of the way. ' ' "You can shoot them," he said, "or you can poison them. I shot Bruno through his head inSo his neck. There's a right place to aim at. It's a. little one side of the top of the skull. If you'll remind me 111 show you a circular I have in ikt l6o BEAUTIFUL JOE house. It tells the proper way to kill animals. The American Humane Education Society in Boston puts it out, and it's a merciful thing. "You don't know anything about the slaugh* tering of animals, Laura, and it c s well you don't. There's an awful amount of cruelty practised, and practised by some people that think themselves pretty good. I wouldn't have my lambs killed the way my father had his for a kingdom. I'D never forget the first one I saw butchered. I wouldn't feel worse at a hanging now. And that white ox, Hattie — you remember my telling you about him. He had to be killed, and father sent foi the butcher. I was only a lad, and I was all of a shudder to have the life of the creature 1 had known taken from him. The butcher,, stupid clown, gave him eight blows before he struck the right place. The ox bellowed, and turned his great black eyes on my father, and I fell in a faint." Miss Laura turned away, and Mrs. Wood fol- lowed her, saying : "If ever you want to kill a cat fc Laura, give it cyanide of potassium. I killed a poos old sick cat for Mrs. Windham the other day. We put half a teaspoonful of pure cyanide of potassium in a long-handled wooden spoon, and dropped it on the cat's tongue, as near the throat as we could. Poor pussy — she died in a few seconds. Do you know, I was reading such a funny thing the other day about giving cats medicine. They hate it, and one can scarcely force it into their mouths on account of their sharp teeth. The way MRS. WOOD'S POULTRY 36I te, to smear it on their sides, and they bck at off, A good idea, isn't it? Here we are at the hen house, or rather one of the hen houses/' s * Don't you keep your hens ail together ? '* asked Miss Laura, ss Only in the winter time," said Mrs= Wood. 9 I divide my flock in the spring. Part of them> stay here and part go to the orchard to live in Uttle movable houses that we put about in differ- ent places. I feed each flock morning and even- ing at their own little house. They know they'll get no food even if they come to my house, so (they stay at home. And they know they'll get no food between times, so all day long they pick and scratch in the orchard, and destroy so many bugs and insects that it more than pays for the trouble of keeping them there," " Doesn't this flock want to mix up with the other ?' ' asked Miss Laura, as she stepped into the little wooden house. "No ; they seem to understand. I keep my eye on them for a while at first, and they soon find Dut that they're not to fly either over the garden' fence or the orchard fence. They roam over the farm and pick up what they can get. There's a good deal of sense in hens, if one manages them properly. I love them because they are such good mothers." We were in the little wooden house by this time, and I looked around it with surprise. It was bet- ter than some of the poor people' s houses in Fair- port. The walls werft white and clean, so were 162 BEAUTIFUL JOE the little ladders that led up to different kinds of roosts, where the fowls sat at night Some roosts were thin and round, and some weie broad and flat. Mrs. Wood said that the broad ones were for a heavy fowl called the Brahma. Every part oi the little house was almost as light as it was out* doors, on account of the large windows. Miss Laura spoke of it, "Why, auntie, I never saw such a light hen house," Mrs, Wood was diving into a partly shut-iB place, where it was not so light, and where the nests were, She straightened herself up, her face redder than ever, and looked at the windows with a pleased smile. "Yes, there's not a hen house in New Hamp- shire with such big windows. Whenever I look at them, I think of my mother's hens, and wish that they could have had a place like this. They would have thought themselves in a hen's para= dise. When I was a girl we didn't know that hens loved light and heat, and all winter they used to sit in a dark hencoop, and the cold was so bad that their combs would freeze stiff, and the tops of hem would drop off. We never thought about it If we'd had any sense, we might have watched h hem on a fine day go and sit on the compost heap and sun themselves, and then have con- eluded that if they liked light and heat outside, they' d like it inside. Poor biddies, they were so cold that they wouldn't lay us any eggs in winter." ' •' You take a great interest in your poultry, don't you, auntie?" said Miss Laura. MRS. WOOD'S POULTRY 1 63 "Yes, indeed, and well I may. I'll show you my brown Leghorn, Jenny, that lay eggs enough in a year to pay for the newspapers, I take to keep myself posted in poultry matters. I buy all my own clothes with my hen money, and lately I've started a bank account, for I want to save up enough to start a few stands of bees. Even if I didn't want to be kind to my hens, it would pay me to be so for sake of the profit they yield. Of course they're quite a lot of trouble. Sometimes ihey get vermin on them, and I have to grease ihem and dust carbolic acid on them, and try some of my numerous cures. Then I must keep ashes and dust wallows for them and be very particular about my eggs when hens are sitting, And see that the hens come off regularly for food and exercise. Oh, there are a hundred things I have to think of, but I always say to any one that thinks of raising poultry : ' If you are going into the business for the purpose of making money, it pays to take care of them. ' " , ! ' ' There' s one thing I notice, ' ' said Miss Laura, •* and that is that your drinking fountains must be a great deal better than the shallow pans that I r.ave seen some people give their hens water in," " Dirty things they are," said Mrs. Wood ; "I wouldn't use one of them. I don't think there is anything worse for hens than drinking dirty water. My hens must have as clean water as I drink myself, and in winter I heat it for them. If it's poured boiling into the fountains in the morning, it keeps warm till night. Speaking of shallow f64 BEAUTIFUL JOE drinking dishes, I wouldn't use them, even before I ever heard of a drinking fountain. John made me something, that we read about. He used to take a powder keg and bore a little hole in the side, about an inch from the top, then fill it with water, and cover with a pan a little larger round than the keg. Then he turned the keg upside down, with- out taking away the pan. The water ran into the pan only as far as the hole in the keg, and it would have to be used before more would flow in. Now let us go and see my beautiful, bronze turkeys. They don't need any houses, for they roost in the trees the year round." We found the flock of turkeys, and Miss Laura admired their changeable colors very much. Some of them were very large, and I did not like them, for the gobblers ran at me, and made a dreadful noise in their throats. Afterward, Mrs. Wood showed us some ducks that she had shut up in a yard. She said that she was feeding them on vegetable food, to give their flesh a pure flavor, and by-and-by she would send them to market and get a high price for them. ' Every place she took us to was as clean as possible. " No one can be successful in raising poultry in large numbers," she said, " unless they keep their quarters clean and comfortable." As yet we had seen no hens, except a few op the nests, and Miss Laura said, "Where are they ? I should like to see them." ' ' They are coming, ' ' said Mrs. Wood. ' ' It is just their breakfast time, and they are as punc- MRS. WOOD'S POULTRY 1 65 tual as clockwork. They go off early in the morn- ing, to scratch about a little for themselves first." As she spoke she stepped off the plank walk, and looked off towards the fields. Miss Laura burst out laughing. Away beyond the barns the hens were coming. Seeing Mrs. Wood standing there, they thought they were late„j and began to run and fly, jumping over each other's backs, and stretching out their necks, in a state of great excitement. Some of their legs seemed sticking straight out behind. It was very funny to see them. They were a fine-looking lot of poultry, mostly white, with glossy feathers and bright eyes. They greedily ate the food scattered to them, and Mrs. Wood said, ' ' They think I' ve changed their break- fast time, and to-morrow they'll come a good bit earlier. And yet some people say hei»^ txa**e no sense." CHAPTER XIX A BAND OF MERCY FEW evenings after we came to Dingley Farm, Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura were sitting out on the veranda, and I was lying at their feet. "Auntie," said Miss Laura, "What do those letters mean on that silver pin that you wear with that piece of ribbon ? ' ' ' ' You know what the white ribbon means, don't you ? " asked Mrs. Wood. "Yes; that you are a temperance woman, doesn't it?" ' ' It does ; and the star pin means that I am a member of a Band of Mercy. Do you know what a Band of Mercy is ? " "No," said Miss Laura. " How strange ! I should think that you would have several in Fairport. A cripple boy, the son of a Boston artist, started this one here. It has done a great deal of good. There is a meeting to-morrow, and I will take you to it if you like." It was on Mondav that Mrs. Wood had this A BAND OF MERCY 1 6} talk with Miss Laura, and the next afternoon, after all the work was done, they got ready to go to the village. '« May Joe go ? " asked Miss Laura. -'Certainly," said Mrs. Wood; "he is such a good dog that he won't be any trouble." I was very glad to hear this, and trotted along Try them down the lane to the road. The lane was a very cool and pleasant place. There were tall trees growing on each side, and under them, among the grass, pretty wild flowers were peeping out to look at us as we went by. Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura talked all the way about the Band of Mercy. Miss Laura was much interested, and said that she would like to start one in Fairport. J< It is a very simple thing," said Mrs. Wood, 34 All you have to do is to write the pledge at the iop of a piece of paper : ' I will try to be kind to ail harmless living creatures, and try to protect :hem from cruel usage,' and get thirty people to (§ign it. That makes a band. *■ "I have formed two or three bands by keeping Slips of paper ready, and getting people that come to visit me to sign them. I call them * Corres ponding Bands,' for they are too far apart to meet I send the members ' Band of Mercy ' papers and I get such nice letters from them, telling me of kind things they do for animals. "A Band of Mercy in a place is a splendid thing. There's the greatest difference in River dale since this one was started. A few years ago, %6& BEaUTIFUL JOE when a man beat or raced his horse, and any one interfered, he said : 'This horse is mine ; I'll do what I like with him.' Most people thought he was right, but now they're all for the poor horse, and there isn't a man anywhere around who release him from his bargain, for he says if Ned Is so fond of Riverdale, he shall stay here." The president asked the boys and girls to give three cheers for old Ned, and then they had so m? more singing, After all had taken their seats, he said he would like to know what the members had been doing for animals during the past fort- night. One girl had kept her brother from shooting l8o BEAUTIFUL JOE two owls that came about their barnyard. She told him that the owls would destroy the rats and mice that bothered him in the barn, but if he hunted them, they would go to the woods. A boy said that he had persuaded some of his friends who were going fishing, to put their bait worms into a dish of boiling water to kill them before they started, and also to promise him that as soon as they took their fish out of the water, they would kill them by a sharp blow on the back of the head. They were all the more ready to do this, when he told them that their fish would taste better when cooked, if they had been killed as soon as they were taken from the water into the air. A little girl had gotten her mother to say that she would never again put lobsters into cold water and slowly boil them to death. She had also stopped a man in the street who was carrying a pair of fowls with their heads down, and asked him if he would kindly reverse their position. The man told her that the fowls didn't mind, and she pursed up her small mouth and showed the band how she said to him, "I would prefer the opinion of the hens." Then she said he had laughed at her, and said, " Certainly, little lady," and had gone off carrying them as she wanted him to. She had also reasoned with different boys outside the village who were throwing stones at birds and frogs, and sticking butterflies, and had invited them to come to the Band of Mercy., This child seemed to have done mo^e than any STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS IT5I Mie else for dumb animals. She had taken around a petition to the village boys, asking them not to search for birds' eggs, and she had even gone into her father's stable, and asked him to hold her up, so that she could look into the horses' mouths to see if their teeth wanted filing or were decayed. When her father laughed at her, she told him that horses often suffer terrible pain from their teeth, and that sometimes a runaway is caused by a metal bit striking against the exposed nerve in the tooth of a horse that has become almost frantic with pain. She was a very gentle girl, and I think by the way that she spoke that her father loved her dearly, for she told how much trouble he had taken to make some tiny houses for her that she wanted for the wrens that came about their farm* She told him that those little birds are so good at catching insects that they ought to give all their dime to it, and not have any worry about making houses. Her father made their homes very small, So that the English sparrows could not get in and Crowd them out. A boy said that he had gotten a pot of paint, and painted in large letters on the fences around his father's farm: "Spare the toads, don't kill the birds. Every bird killed is a loss to the country/* "That reminds me," said the president, "to ask the girls what they have done about the mil- linery business." " I have told my mother," said a tall, serious £82 BEAUTIFUL JOE laced girl, "that I think it is wrong to wear bird feathers, and she has promised to give up wearing any of them except ostrich plumes. ' ' Mrs. Wood asked permission to say a few words just here, and the president said : ' ' Certainly, w@ are always glad to hear from you." She went up on the platform, and faced the roomful of children. " Dear boys and girls," she began, "I have had some papers sent me from Boston, giving some facts about the killing of oui birds, and I want 10 state a few of them to you : You all know that nearly every tree and plant ihat grows swarms with insect life, and that they couldn't grow if the birds didn't eat the insects that would devour their foliage. All day long, the little beaks of the birds are busy. The dear little rose-breasted gross-beak carefully examines the potato plants, and picks off the beetles, the martins destroy weevil, the quail and grouse family eats the chinch- bug, the woodpeckers dig the worms from the trees, and many other birds eat the flies and gnats and mosquitoes that torment us so. No flying og crawling creature e c capes their sharp little eyes. A great Frenchman says that if it weren't for the birds human beings would perish from the face of the earth. They are doing all this for us, and how are we rewarding them ? All over America they are hunted and killed. Five million birds rous*. be caught every year for American women to wew in their hats and bonnets. Just think of it, girls= Isn't it dreadful ? Five million innocent, hard= working, beautiful birds killed, that thoughtless STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS 1 83 girls and women may ornament themselves with their little dead bodies. One million bobolinks have been killed in one month near Philadelphia, Seventy song-birds were sent from one Long Island tillage to New York milliners. " In Florida, cruel men shoot the mother birds on their nests while they are rearing their young, because their plumage is prettiest at that time. The little ones cry pitifully, and starve to deatho Every bird of the rarer kinds that is killed, sucb as humming birds, orioies and kingfishers, means ihe death of several others — that is, the young that starve to death, the wounded that fly away to die, and those whose plumage is so torn that it is not fit to put in a fine lady' s bonnet In some cases where birds have gay wings, and the hunters do not wish the rest of the body, they tear off the wings from the living bird, and throw it away to die. ' ' I am sorry to tell you such painful things, but I think you ought 1 know them. You wil? soon be men and women. Do what you can t<> it:op this horrid trade. Our beautiful birds ar@ being taken from us, and the insect pests are in- creasing. The State of Massachusetts has lost over one hundred thousand dollars because it did not protect its birds. The gypsy moth stripped the trees near Boston, and the State had to pay out all this money, and even then could not get rid of the moths. The birds could have done it better than the State, but they were all gone. My last words to you are, * Protect the birds.' " 184 BEAUTIFUL JOE Mrs. Wood went to her seat, and t&*Mgh th the earth till the wheels of the wagon are within a foot or two of the edge, I wished again that his horses could see each side of them, for I knew they'd have sense enough to keep out of danger if they could see it. Father said that might be very true, and yet his horses had been broken in with blinders, and didn't I think they would be inclined to shy if he took them off; and wouldn't they be frightened to look around and see the wagon wheels so near, ^1 told him that for every STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS l8j accident that happened to a horse without blinders, several happened to a horse with them ; and then I gave him Mr. Wood's opinion — -Mr. Wood out at Dingley Farm. He says that the worst thing against blinders is that a frightened horse never knows when he has passed the thing that scared him. He always thinks it is behind him. The blinders are tfiere and he can't see that he has passed it, and he can't turn his head to have & good look at it. So often he goes tearing madly on ; and sometimes lives are lost all on account of a little bit of leather fastened over a beautiful eye that ought to look out full and free at the world. That finished father. He said he'd take off his blinders, and if he had an accident, he'd send the bill for damages to Mr. Wood. But we've had n© accident. The horses did act rather queerly at first 3 and started a little ; but they soon got over it, and! now they go as steady without blinders as they ever did with them." The boy sat down, and the president said : " £ think it is time that the whole nation threw off this foolishness of half covering their horses' eyes, just put your hands up to your eyes, members of 'die band. Half cover them, and see how shut m you will feel ; and how curious you will be to know what is going on beside you. Suppose a girl saw 5 mouse with her eyes half covered, wouldn't she run?" Everybody laughed, and the president asked some one to tell him who invented blinders. ' 'An English nobleman, ' ' shouted a boy, ' ' who 186 BEAUTIFUL JOE had a wall-eyed horse ! He wanted to cover up the defect, and I think it is a great shame that all the American horses have to suffer because that English one had an ugly eye.' ee So do I, " said the president, ** Three groans lor blinders, boys." All the children in the room made three dread; fid noises away down in their throats. Then they aad another good laugh, and the president became sober again. '« Seven more minutes," he said; "'this meeting has got to be let out at five sharp." A tail girl at the back of the room rose, and said ; " My little cousin has two stories that she would like to tell the band." "Very well," said the president; "bring her dght along." The big girl came forward, leading a tiny child that she placed in front of the boys and girls. The child stared up into her cousin's face, turning and twisting her white pianafore through her fingers. Every time the big girl took her pinafore away horn her, she picked it up again. " Begin, Nannie/ aaid the big girl, kindly. "Well, Cousin Eleanor," said the child. s *you know Topsy, Graham's pony. Well, Topsy would run away, and a big, big man same out to papa and said he would train Topsy, So he drove her every day, and beat her, and beat her, till he was tired, but still Topsy would run away. Then papa said he would not have She poor pony whipped so much, and he took her sut a piece of bread every day, and he petted her STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS 1 87 and now Topsy is very gentle, and never runs away." "Tell about Tiger," said the girl. "Well, Cousin Eleanor," said the child, ••you know Tiger, our big dog. He used to be a bad dog, and when Dr. Fairchild drove up to the house he jumped up and bit at him. Dn Fairchild used to speak kindly to him, and throw out bits of meat, and now when he comes, Tigei follows behind and wags his tail. Now, give me a kiss." The girl had to give her a kiss, right up there before every one, and what a stamping the boys made. The larger girl blushed and hurried back to her seat, with the child clinging to her hand. There was one more story, about a brave New- foundland dog, that saved eight lives by swim- ming out to a wrecked sailing vessel, and getting a rope by which the men came ashore, and their a lad got up whom they all greeted with cheers, and cries of, "The Poet! the Poet!" I didn't know what they meant, till Mrs. Wood whispered Go Miss Laura that he was a boy who made rhymes, and the children had rather hear hiir speak than any one else in the room. He had a snub nose and freckles, and I think he was the plainest boy there, but that didn't matter, if the other children loved him. He sauntered up to the front, with his hands behind his back, and a very grand manner. "The beautiful poetry recited here to-day," he drawled, ' ■ put some verses in my mind that I 1 88 BEAUTIFUL JOE never had till I came here to-day." Every one present cheered wildly, and he began in a sing- song voice : u I am a Band of Mercy boy, I would not hurt a fly, I always speak to dogs and cats, When'er I pass them by. *« I always let the birdies sing, I never throw a stone, I always give a hungry dog A nice, fat, meaty bone, u I wouldn't drive a bob-tailed horse s Nor hurry up a cow, I " Then he forgot the rest. The boys and girls were so sorry. They called out, " Pig," " Goat," "Calf," "Sheep," "Hens," "Ducks," and all the other animals' names they could think of, but none of them was right, and as the boy had just made up the poetry, no one knew what the next could be. He stood for a long time staring at the ceiling, then he said, " I guess I'll have to give it sip. The children looked dreadfully disappointed. " Perhaps you will remember it by our next meet- ing," said the president, anxiously. "Possibly, said the boy, "but probably not. I think it is gone forever." And he went to his seat. The next thing was to call for new members. Miss Laura got up and said she would like to ioiu STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS 1 89 their Band of Mercy. I followed her up to the platform, while they pinned a little badge on her, and every one laughed at me. Then they sang, " God Bless our Native Land," and the president told us that we might all go home. It seemed to me a lovely thing for those chil- dren to meet together to talk about kindness to animals. They all had bright and good faces, and many of them stopped to pat me as I came out. One little girl gave me a biscuit from her school bag. Mrs, Wood waited at the door till Mr. Max- well came limping out on his crutches. She intro- duced him to Miss Laura, and asked him if he wouldn't go and take tea with them. He said he would be very happy to do so, and then Mrs. Wood laughed ; and asked him if he hadn't better empty his pockets first. She didn't want a little toad jumping over her te? *able, as one did the ?ast time he was there. CHAPTER XXI MR. MAXWELL AND MR. HARRY R. MAXWELL wore a coat with loose pockets, and while she was speaking, he rested on his crutches, and began to slap them with his hands. " No ; there's nothing here to-day," he said ; "I think I emptied my pockets before I went to the meeting. ' ' Just as he said that there was a loud squeal : cc Oh, my guinea pig, ' ' he exclaimed ; " I forgot -"Jm, ' ' and he pulled out a little spotted creature a ew inches long. "Poor Derry, did I hurt you ? " and he soothed it very tenderly. I stood and looked at Mr. Maxwell, for I had never seen any one like him. He had thick curly hair and a white face, and he looked just like a girl. While I was staring at him, something peeped up out of one of his pockets and ran out its tongue at me so fast that I could scarcely see it, and then drew back again. I was thunderstruck. I had never seen such a creature before. It was long and thin like a boy' s cane, and of a bright green color like grass, and it had queer shiny eyes. But its tongue was the strangest part of it. It cams m MR. MAXWELL AND MR. HARRY 191 and went like lightning. I was uneasy about it, and began to bark. "What's the matter, Joe?" said Mrs. Wood; "the pig won't hurt you." But it wasn't the pig I was afraid of, and I kept on barking. And all the time that strange live thing kept sticking up its head and putting out its tongue at me, and neither of them noticed it. ' ' Its getting on toward six, ' ' said Mrs. Wood ; ■ * we must be going home. Come, Mr. Maxwell. ' ' The young man put the guinea pig in his pocket, picked up his crutches, and we started down the sunny village street. He left his guinea pig at his boarding house as he went by, but he said nothing about the other creature, so I knew he did not know it was there. I was very much taken with Mr. Maxwell. He seemed so bright and happy, in spite of his lame- ness, which kept him from running about like other young men. He looked a little older than Miss Laura, and one day, a week or two later, when they were silting on the veranda, I heard him tell her that he was just nineteen. He told her, too, that his lameness made him love animals. They never laughed at him, or slighted him, or got impatient, because he could not walk quickly. They were always good to him, and he said he loved all ani- mals while he liked very few people. On this day as he was limping along, he said to Mrs. Wood : "I am getting more absent-minded every day. Have you heard of my latest esca- pade ? ' ' S9 2 BEAUTIFUL JOE "No," she said. " I am glad," he replied. " I was afraid that It would be all over the village by this time. I went to church last Sunday with my poor guinea pig in my pocket. He hasn't been well, and I was attending to him before church, and put him in there to get warm, and forgot about him. Unfor- tunately I was late, and the back seats were all full, sc I had to sit farther up than I usually do. During the first hymn I happened to strike Piggy against the side of the seat. Such an ear-splitting , squeal as he set up. It sounded as if I was murder- ing him. The people stared and stared, and I had to leave the church, overwhelmed with confusion." Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura laughed, and then they got talking about other matters that were not interesting to me, .so I did not listen. But I kept close to Miss Laura, for I was afraid that green thing might hurt her. I wondered very much what its name was. I don't think I should have feared it so much if I had known what it was. "There's something the matter with Joe," said Miss Laura, when we got into the lane. "What Is it, dear old fellow ? ' ' She put down her little hand, and I licked it, and wished so much that I could speak. Sometimes I wish very much that I had the gift of speech, and then at other times I see how little it would profit me, and how many foolish things I should often say. And I don't believe human beings would love animals as well, if they could Speak. MR. MAXWELL AND MR. HARRY 1 93 When we reached the house, we got a joyful surprise. There was a trunk standing on the veranda, and as soon as Mrs. Wood saw it, she gave a little shriek : • ' My dear boy ! ' ' Mr. Harry was there, sure enough, and stepped out through the open door. He took his mother in his arms and kissed her, then he shook hands with Miss Laura and Mr. Maxwell, who seemed to be an old friend of his. They all sat down on the veranda and talked, and I lay at Miss Laura's feet and looked at Mr. Harry. He was such a handsome young man, and had such a noble face. He was older and graver looking than when 1 saw him last, and he had a light, brown moustache that he did not have when he was in Fairport. He seemed very fond of his mother and of Miss Laura, and however grave his face might be when he was looking at Mr. Maxwell, it always lighted up when he turned to them. ' ' What dog is that ? ' ' he said at last, with a puzzled face, and pointing Jo me. "Why, Harry," exclaimed Miss Laura, "don't you know Beautiful Joe, that you rescued from that wretched milkman ? ' ' " Is it possible," he said, " that this well-con- ditioned creature is the bundle of dirty skin and bones that we nursed in Fairport ? Come here, sir. Do you remember me ? ' ' Indeed I did remember him, and I licked his hands and looked up gratefully into his face. " You're almost handsome now," he said, caress- ing me with a firm, kind hand, "and of a solid ?94 BEAUTIFUL JOE build, too. You look like a fighter — but I suppose you wouldn't let him fight, even if he wanted to, Laura, ' ' and he smiled and glanced at her. " No," she said ; " I don't think I should ; but he can fight when the occasion requires it." And She told him about our night with Jenkins. All the time she was speaking, Mr. Harry held me by the paws, and stroked my body over and over again. When slie finished, he put his head down to me, and murmured, " Good dog," and I saw that his eyes were red and shining. ' ' That' s a capital story, we must have it at the Band of Mercy, ' ' said Mr. Maxwell. Mrs. Wood had gone to help prepare the tea, so the two young men were alone with Miss Laura. When they had done talking about me, she asked Mr. Harry a number of questions about his college life, and his trip to New York, for he had not been studying all the time that he was away. M What are you going to do with yourself, Gray, when your college course is ended ? ' ' asked Mr. Maxwell. * s I am going to settle right down here," said Mro Harry. • * What, be a farmer ? ' ' asked his friend. ' • Yes ; why not ? ' ' ' ' Nothing, only I imagined that you would take a profession. " The professions are overstocked, and we have not farmers enough for the good of the country. There is nothing like farming, to my mind. In no other employment have you a surer living, 2 do MR. MAXWELL AND MR. HARRY 1 95 not like the cities. The heat and dust, and crowds of people, and buildings overtopping one another, and the rush of living, take my breath away. Sup- pose I did go to a city. I would sell out my share of the farm, and have a few thousand dollars. You know I am not an intellectual giant. I would never distinguish myself in any profession. I would be a poor lawyer or doctor, living in a back street all the days of my life, and never watch a tree or flower grow, or tend an animal, or have a drive unless I paid for it. No, thank you. I agree with President Eliot, of Harvard. He says scarcely one person in ten thousand betters him- self permanently by leaving his rural home and settling in a city. If one is a millionaire, city life is agreeable enough, for one can always get away from it ; but I am beginning to think that it is a dangerous thing, in more ways than one, to be a millionaire. I believe the safety of the country lies in the hands of the farmers ; for they are sel- dom very poor or very rich. We stand between the two dangerous classes — the wealthy and the paupers. ' ' "But most farmers lead such a dog's life," said Mr. Maxwell. " So they do ; farming isn't made one-half as attractive as it should be," said Mr. Harry. Mr. Maxwell smiled. "Attractive farming. Just sketch an outline of that, will you, Gray ? ' ' ' « In the first place, ' ' said Mr. Harry, " I would like to tear out of the heart of the farmer the thing that is as firmly implanted in him as it is ia tfcs I96 BEAUTIFUL JOE heart of his city brother — the thing that is doing more to harm our nation than anything else under the sun." ' • What is that? ' ' asked Mr. Maxwell, curiously. . ' ' The thirst for gc/ld. The farmer wants to get rich, and he works so hard to do it that he wears himself out soul and body, and the young people around him get so disgusted with that way of get- ting rich, that they go off to the cities to find out some other way, or at least to enjoy themselves, for I don't think many young people are animated by a desire to heap up money." Mr. Maxwell looked amused. ' ' There is cer- tainly a great exodus from country places city- ward," he said. "What would be your plan for checking it ? " " I would make the farm so pleasant, that you couldn't hire the boys and girls to leave it. I would have them work, and work hard, too, but when their work was over, I would let them have some fun. That is what they go to the city for. They want amusement and society, and to get into some kind of a crowd when their work is done. The young men and young women want to get together, as is only natural. Now that could be done in the country. If farmers would be con- tented with smaller profits and smaller farms, their houses could be nearer together. Their children would have opportunities of social intercourse, there could be societies and clubs, and that would tend to a distribution of literature. A farmer ought to take five or six papers and two or three MR. MAXWELL AND MR. HARRY 1 97 magazines. He would find it would pay him in the long run, and there ought to be a law made, compelling him to go to the post office once a day." Mr. Maxwell burst out laughing. "And another to make him mend his roads as well as mend his ways. I tell you Gray, the bad roads would put an end to all these fine schemes of yours. Imagine farmers calling on each other ©n a dark evening after a spring freshet. I can see them mired and bogged, and the house a mile ahead of them." "That is true," said Mr. Harry, "the road question is a serious one. Do you know how father and I settle it?" "No," said Mr. Maxwell. "We got so tired of the whole business, and the farmers around here spent so much time in discussing the art of roadmaking, as to whether it should be viewed from the engineering point of view, or the farmers' practical point of view, and whether we would require this number of stump extractors or that number, and how many shovels and crushers and ditchers would be necessary to keep our roads in order, and so on, that we simply withdrew. We keep our own roads in order. Once a year, father gets a gang of men and tackles every section of the road that borders upon our land, and our roads are the best around here. I wish the government would take up this matter of making roads and settle it. If we had good, smooth, country roads, such as they have in some parts of Europe, we would be able to travel com- I98 BEAUTIFUL JOE fortably over them all through the year, and out draught animals would last longer, for they would not have to expend so much energy in drawing !&mr loads. ' ' CHAPTER XXII WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE ROM my station under Miss Laura' s chair, I could see that all the time Mr. Harry- was speaking, Mr. Maxwell, although he spoke rather as if he was laughing at him, was yet glancing at him admiringly. When Mr. Harry was silent, he exclaimed* • ' You are right, you are right, Gray. With your smooth highways, and plenty of schools, and churches, and libraries, and meetings for young people, you would make country life a paradise, and I tell you what you would do, too ; you would empty the slums of the cities. It is the slowness and dullness of country life, and not their poverty alone, that keep the poor in dirty lanes and tene* ment houses. They want stir and amusement, too, poor souls, when their day's work is over. I be- lieve they would come to the country if it were made more pleasant for them. ' ' ' * That is another question, ' ' said Mr. Harry, 1 ' a burning question in my mind — the labor and capital one. When I was in New York, Max- well, I was in a hospital, and saw a number of 199 200 BEAUTIFUL JOE men who had been day laborers. Some of them were old and feeble, and others were young men, broken down in the prime of life. Their limbs were shrunken and drawn. They had been dig- ging in the earth, and working on high buildings, and confined in dingy basements, and had done all kinds of hard labor for other men. They had given their lives and strength for others, and this was the end of it — to die poor and forsaken. I looked at them, and they reminded me of the martyrs of old. Ground down, living from hand to mouth, separated from their families in many cases — they had had a bitter lot. They had never had a chance to get away from their fate, and had to work till they dropped. I tell you there is something wrong. We don't do enough for the people that slave and toil for us. We should take better care of them, we should not herd them together like cattle, and when we get rich, we should carry them along with us, and give them a part of our gains, for without them we would be as poor as they are. ' ' "Good, Harry — I'm with you there," said a voice behind him, and looking around, we saw Mr. Wood standing in the doorway, gazing down proudly at his step-son. Mr. Harry smiled, and getting up, said, "Won't you have my chair, sir?" "No, thank you; your mother wishes us to come to tea. There are muffins, and you know they won't improve with keeping." They all went to the dining-room, and I fol- WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE 201 lowed them. On the way, Mr. Wood said, "Right on top of that talk of yours, Harry, I've got to tell you of another person who is going to Boston to live." ' ' Who is it ? " said Mr. Harry. "Lazy Dan Wilson. I've been to see him this afternoon. You know his wife is sick, and they're half starved. He says he is going to the city, for he hates to chop wood and work, and he thinks maybe he'll get some light job there." Mr. Harry looked grave, and Mr. Maxwell said, " He will starve, that's what he will do." "Precisely," said Mr. Wood, spreading out his hard, brown hands, as he sat down at the table. " I don't know why it is, but the present generation has a marvelous way of skimming around any kind of work with their hands. They'll work their brains till they haven't got any more backbone than a caterpillar, but as for manual labor, it's old-timey and out of fashion, I wonder how these farms would ever have been carved out of the backwoods, if the old Puritans had sat down on the rocks with their noses in a lot of books, and tried to figure out just how little work they could do, and yet exist. ' ' ' ' Now, father, ' ' said Mrs. Wood, ' ' you are trying to insinuate that the present generation is lazy, and I'm sure it isn't. Look at Harry. He works as hard as you do." "Isn't that like a woman ? " said Mr. Wood, with a good-natured laugh. ' • The present gener- ation consists of her son, and the past of her hus- 202 BEAUTIFUL JOE band. I don't think all our young people are lazy, Hattie ; but how in creation, unless the Lord rains down a few farmers, are we going to support all our young lawyers and doctors ? They say the world is getting healthier and better, but we've got to fight a little more, and raise some more criminals, and we've got to take to eating pies and doughnuts for breakfast again, or some of our young sprouts from the colleges will go a begging." "You don't mean to undervalue the advan- tages of a good education, do you, Mr. Wood ? ' ' said Mr. Maxwell. " No, no ; look at Harry there. Isn't he peg- ging away at his studies with my hearty approval ? and he's going to bernothing but a plain, common farmer. But he'll be a better one than I've been though, because he's got a trained mind. I found that out when he was a lad going to the village school. He'd lay out his little garden by geome- try, and dig his ditches by algebra. Education's a help to any man. What I am trying to get at is this, that in some way or other we're running more to brains and less to hard work than our forefathers did. ' ' Mr. Wood was beating on the table with his forefinger while he talked, and every one was laughing at him. "When you've quite finished speechifying, John," said Mrs. Wood, "perhaps you'll serve the berries and pass the cream and sugar. Do you get yellow cream like this in the village, Mr. Maxwell?" WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE 203 " No, Mrs. Wood," he said ; " ours is a much paler yellow, ' ' and then there was a great tinkling of china, and passing of dishes, and talking and laughing, and no one noticed that I was not in my usual place in the hall. I could not get over my dread of the green creature, and I had crept under the table, so that if it came out and fright- ened Miss Laura, I could jump up and catch it. When tea was half over, she gave a little cry„ I sprang up on her lap, and there, gliding over the table toward her, was the wicked-looking green thing. I stepped on the table, and had it by the middle before it could get to her. My hind legs were in a dish of jelly, and my front ones were in a plate of cake, and I was very uncomfor- table. The tail of the green thing hung in a milk pitcher, and its tongue was still going at me, but I held it firmly and stood quite still. ' ' Drop it, drop it ! " cried Miss Laura, in tones of distress, and Mr. Maxwell struck me on the hack, so I let the thing go, and stood sheepishly looking about me. Mr. Wood was leaning back in his chair, laughing with all his might,* and Mrs. Wood was staring at her untidy table with rather 2> long face. Miss Laura told me to jump on the floor, and then she helped her aunt to take the spoiled things off the table. ' ' I felt that I had done wrong, so I slunk out into the hall. Mr. Maxwell was sitting on the lounge, tearing his handkerchief in strips and tying them around the creature where my teeth had stuck in. I had been careful not to hurt it much, 204 BEAUTIFUL JOE for I knew it was a pet of his ; but he did not know that, and scowled at me, saying : "You ras- cal ; you've hurt my poor snake terribly." I felt so badly to hear this that I went and stood with my head in a corner. I had almost rather be whipped than scolded. After a while, Mr. Max- well went back into the room, and they all went on with their tea. I could hear Mr. Wood's loud, cheery voice, " The dog did quite right. A snake is mostly a poisonous creature, and his instinct told him to protect his mistress. Where is he ? Joe, Joe ! " I would not move till Miss Laura came and spoke to me. "Dear old dog," she whispered, " you knew the snake was there all the time, didn't you?" Her words made me feel better, and I followed her to the dining room, where Mr. Wood made me sit beside him and eat scraps from his hand all through the meal. Mr. Maxwell had got over his ill humor, and was chatting in a lively way. "Good Joe," he said, ' ' I was cross to you, and I beg your pardon It always riles me to have any of my pets injured* You didn't know my poor snake was only after something to eat. Mrs. Wood has pinned him in my pocket so he won't come out again. D o>ft one side and come out on the other." " Poor brutes," said Mrs. Wood. " I wondsr fou took them." '« W® once lost a valuable hound while moo^e tainting," said Mr, Wood. "The moose stradk Mm with Ms hoof and the dog was terribly injured, \md' lay an the woods for days, till a neighbor arfi TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS 31$ rnurs, who was looking for timber, found Mm antf brought him home on his shoulders . Wasn't gfoert rejoicing among us boys to see old Lion coming foack= We took care of Mm &nd he gd stumers, and when dogs get after them, there i* great skiraiishing. They nip the bear behind, and when they turn, the dogs run like mad, for a hug from a bear means sure death to a dog. If they g©;i a slap from his paws, over they'd g©= Dogs new so the business were often killed by the bearSo" '? Were there many bears near your home,, Ms, Wood?" asked Mr. Maxwell. " Lots of them. More than we wanted. Tfc®f used to bother us fearfully about our sheep and 1 cattle. I've often had to get up in the night, and run out to the cattle. The bears would come omu of the woods, and jump on to the young heifer? and cows, and strike them and beat them down c and the cattle would roar as if the evil one had them. If the cattle were too far away from the house for us to hear them, the bears would worry them till they were dead. 44 As for the sheep, they never made any re- sistance. They'd meekly run in a corner when they saw a bear coming, and huddle together, and he'd strike at them, and scratch them with Ms claws, and perhaps wound a dozen before he g©& one firmly. Then he'd seize it in his paws s and* vyalk off on his hind legs over fences and anything 214 BEAUTIFUL JOE else that came in his way, till he came to a nice, retired spot, and there he' d sit down and skin that sheep just like a butcher. He'd gorge himself with the meat, and in the morning we'd find the other sheep that he'd torn, and we'd vow ven- geance against that bear. He'd be almost sure to come back for more, so for a while after that we always put the sheep in the barn at nights and set a trap by the remains of the one he had eaten. ''Everybody hated bears, and hadn't much pity for them ; still they were only getting their meat as other wild animals do, and we'd no right to set such cruel traps for them as the steel ones. They had a clog attached to them, and had long, sharp teeth. We put them on the ground and strewed leaves over them, and hung up some of the carcass left by the bear near by. When he attempted to get this meat, he would tread on the trap, and the teeth would spring together, and catch him by the leg. They always fought to get free. I once saw a bear that had been making a desperate effort to get away. His leg was broken, the skin and flesh were all torn away, and he was held by the tendons. It was a foreleg that was caught, and he would put his hind feet against the jaws of the trap, and then draw by pressing with his feet, till he would stretch those tendons to their utmost extent. ' ' I have known them to work away till they really pulled these tendons out of the foot, and got off. It was a great event in our neighborhood when a bear was caught. Whoever caught him TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS 215 blew a horn, and the men and boys came trooping together to see the sight. I've known them to blow that horn on a Sunday morning, and I've "seen the men turn their backs on the meeting house to go and see the bear." ' ' Was there no more merciful way of catching them than by this trap ? ' ' asked Miss Laura. ' ' Oh, yes, by the deadfall — that is by driving heavy sticks into the ground, and making a box- like place, open on one side, where two logs were so arranged with other heavy logs upon them, that when the bear seized the bait, the upper log fell down and crushed him to death. Another way was to fix a bait in a certain place, with cords tied to it, which cords were fastened to trig- gers of guns placed at a little distance. When the bear took the bait, the guns went off, and he shot himself. ' ' Sometimes it took a good many bullets to kill them. I remember one old fellow that we put eleven into, before he keeled over. It was one fall, over on Pike's Hill. The snow had com© earlier than usual, and this old bear hadn't got into his den for his winter's sleep. A lot of us started out after him. The hill was covered with beech trees, and he'd been living all the fall on the nuts, till he'd got as fat as butter. We took dogs and worried him, and ran him from one place to another, and shot at him, till at last he dropped. We took his meat home, and had his skin tanned for a sleigh robe. "One day I was in the woods, and looking 21 6 BEAUTIFUL JOE through the trees espied a bear. He was stand" ing up on his hind legs, snuffing in every direction, and just about the time I espied him, he espied me. I had no dog and no gun, so I thought I had better be getting home to my dinner. I was a small boy then, and the bear, probably thinking I'd be a mouthful for him anyway, began to come after me in a leisurely way. I can see myself now going through those woods — hat gone, jacket flying, arms out, eyes rolling over my shoulder every little while to see if the bear was gaining on me. He was a benevolent-looking old fellow, and his face seemed to say, ' Don't hurry, little boy.' He wasn't doing his prettiest, and I soon got away from him, but I made up my mind then, that it was more fun to be the chaser than the chased. ' ' Another time I was out in our cornfield, and hearing a r stling, looked through the stalks, and saw a brown bear with two cubs. She was slash- ing down the corn with her paws to get at the ears She smelled me, and getting frightened r began to run. I had a dog with me this time, and shouted and rapped on the fence, and set him on her. He jumped up and snapped at her flanks, and every few instants she'd turn and give him a cuff, that would send him yards away. I followed her up, and just bacK of the farm she and her cubs took into a tree. I sent my dog home, and my father and some of the neighbors came. It had gotten dark by this time, so we built a fire under *\e tree, and watched all night, TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS 21? and told stories to keep each other awake. Toward morning we got sleepy, and the fire burnt low, and didn't that old bear and one cub drop right down among us and start off to the woods. That waked us up. We built up the fire and kept watch, so that the one cub, still in the tree,, couldn't get away. Until daylight the mother bear hung around, calling to the cub to come down." "Did you let it go, uncle?" asked Miss Laura. ' ' No, my dear, we shot it. ' ' " How cruel ! " cried Mrs. Wood. ' ' Yes, weren't we brutes ? ' ' said her husband ; *'but there was some excuse for us, Hattie. The bears ruined our farms. This kind of hunting that hunts and kills for the mere sake of slaughter is very different from that. I'll tell you what I've no patience with, and that's with these English folks that dress themselves up, and take fine horsef and packs of dogs, and tear over the country afte? one little fox or rabbit. Bah, it's contemptible. Now if they were hunting cruel, man-eating tigers, or animals that destroy property, it would be r different thing." CHAPTER XXIV -mE RABBIT AND THE HEN §£^jfrfl OV had foxes up in Maine. I suppose, NyA] Mr : Wood ; hadn't you ?'" asked Mr 8 * Heaps of them* I always want to laugh wht& I think of our foxes, for they were so cute Never % fox did I catch in a trap, though I'd set many a one. F d take the carcass of some creature that had died, a sheep, for instance, and put it in a field nea? die woods, and the foxes would come and eat i& .4iter they got accustomed to come and eat and no Isarm befell them, they would be unsuspecting, So pst before a snowstorm, I'd take a trap and put It m this spot, Id handle it with gloves, and T& smoke it f and rub fir boughs on it to take away the kiman smelly and then the snow would come and cover it up r and yet those foxes would know it was a trap and walk all around it, It's a wonderful 'dsing, that sense of smell in animals, if it is a sen£ii M smelL Joe here has got a good bit of it, ' c *What kind of traps were they» father F' asked Mr c Harry, "Cruel ones— steel ones. They'd cafcefc &>tf THE BABBIT AND THE HEN 2I9 vnimal by the leg and sometimes break the bone, The leg would bleed, and below the jaws of the trap it would freeze, there being no circula* cion of the blood. Those steel traps are an abomi nation. The people around here use one made on the same principle for catching rats. I wouldn't have them on my place for any money, I believe we've got to give an account for all the unneces- sary suffering we put on animals." '* You'll have some to answer for, John, ac tording to your own story," said Mrs. Wood* " 1 have suffered already," he said. " Many a night I've lain on my bed and groaned, when I thought of needless cruelties I'd put upon animals when I was a young, unthinking boy — and I was pretty carefully brought up, too, according to out fcght in those days. I often think that if I was cruel, with all the instruction I had to be merciful, what can be expected of the children that get no good teaching at all when they're young." "-Tell us some more about the foxes £l Mfe $Tood," said Mr. Maxwell. " Well, we used to have rare sport hunting thefit with fox-hounds. I'd often go off for the day witr my hounds. Sometimes in the early morning they'd find a track in the snow. The leader for scent would go back and forth, to find out which »?ay the fox was going. I can see him now. All fhe time that he ran, now one way and now another Dft the track of the fox, he was silent, but kept his tail aloft, wagging it as a signal to the hounds be hnnd. He was leader in scent, but he did not likf 226 BEAUTIFUL JOE bloody D dangerous fights, By-and-by „ he would decide which way the fox had gone. Then his tail, still kept high in the air, would wag moie violently. The rest followed him in single file, going pretty slow, so as to enable us to keep up te them, By-and-by, they would come to a place where the fox was sleeping for the day. As soon a* he was disturbed he would leave his bed under some thick fir or spruce branches near the ground, This flung his fresh scent into the air- As soon as th^ hounds sniffed it, they gave toigue in good earnest. It was a mixed, deep baying, that made the blood quicken in my veins. While in the excitement of his first tnght, the fox would run fast for a mile or two, till he found it an easy matter to keep out oi the way of the hounds, Then he, cunning crea- ture, would begin to bother them. He would mount to the top pole of the worm fence dividing the fields from the woods. He could trot along here quite a distance and then make a long jump into the woods. The hounds would come up, but could not walk the fence, and they would have difficulty in finding where the fox had left it. Then we saw generalship. The hounds scattered in aE directions, and made long detours into the woods and fields. As soon as the track was lost, they ceased to bay, but the instant a hound found it again, he bayed to give the signal to the others. All would hurry to the spot, and off they \mild gti baying as they went. "Then Mr. Fox would try a new trick, He would climb a leaning tree, and then jump S*> th£ THE RABBIT AND THE HEN 221 ground This trick would soon be found out Then he'd try another. He would make a circle of a quarter of a mile in circumference. By mak- ing a loop in his course, he would come in behind the hounds ; and puzzle them between the scent of his first and following tracks. If the snow was deep, the hounds had made a good track for him. Over this he could run easily, and they would have to feel their way along, for after he had gone around the circle a few times, he would jump from the beaten path as far as he could, and make off to other cover in a straight line. Before this was done it was my plan to get near the circle, taking care to approach it on the leeward side. If the fox got a sniff of human scent, he would leave his circle very quickly, and make tracks fast to be out of danger By the baying of the hounds, the circle in which the race was kept up could be easily known* The last runs to get near enough Jo shoot had to be done when the hounds' baying came from the side of the circle nearest to met For then the fox would be on the opposite side farthest away. As soon as I got near enough to see the hounds when they passed, I stoppedc When they got on the opposite side, I then kept a bright lookout for the fox. Sometimes when the brush was thick, the sight of him would be indis- tinct The shooting had to be quick. As soon as the report of the gun was heard, the hounds ceased to bay, and made for the spot. If the fox was dead, they enjoyed the scent of his blood. If o*uy woundedj they went after him with all speed 222 BEAUTIFUL JOE Sometimes he was overtaken and killed, and some- times he got into his burrow in the earth, or in ft hollow log, or among the rocks. "One day, I remember, when I was standirg on the outside of the circle, the fox came in sight. I fired. He gave a shrill bark, and came toward me. Then he stopped in the snow and fell dead in his tracks. I was a pretty good shot in those days." "Poor little fox," said Miss Laura. " I wish you had let him get away. " Here's one that nearly got away," said Mr. Wood. "One winter's day, I was chasing him with the hounds. There was a crust on the snow, and the fox was light, while the dogs were heavy. They ran along, the fox trotting nimbly on the top of the crust and the dogs breaking through, and every few minutes that fox would stop and sit down to look at the dogs. They were in a fury, and the wickedness of the fox in teasing them, made me laugh so much that I was very unwilling to shoot him." ' ' You said your steel traps were cruel things f uncle, " said Miss Laura. ' ' Why didn' t you have a deadfall for the foxes as you had for the bears ? ' ' " They were too cunning to go into deadfalls. There was a better way to catch them, though. Foxes hate water, and never go into it unless they are obliged to, so we used to find a place where a tree had fallen across a river, and made a bridge for them to go back and forth on. Here we set snares, with spring poles that would throw them THE Aa&BLT AND THE HEN °-2$ into the river when they made struggles to get free, and drown them. Did you ever hear of the fox, Laura, that wanted to cross a river, and lay down on the bank pretending that he was dead, and a countryman came along, and, thinking he had a prize, threw him in his boat and rowed across,, when the fox got up and ran away ? ' ' "Now, uncle," said Miss Laura, "you're laughing at me. That couldn't be true." "No, no," said Mr. Wood, chuckling; "but they're mighty cute at pretending they're dead, I once shot one in the morning, carried him a long way on my shoulders, and started to skin him in the afternoon, when he turned around and bit me enough to draw blood. At another time I dug one out of a hole in the ground. He feigned death= I took him up and threw him down at some dis- tance, and he jumped up and ran into the woods." "What other animals did you catch when you were a boy ? ' ' asked Mr. Maxwell. I "Oh, a number. Otters and beavers — we Caught them in deadfalls and in steel traps. The mink we usually took in deadfalls, smaller, of course, than the ones we used for the bears. The musk-rat we caught in box traps like a mouse trap. The wild-cat we ran down like the hup cervier ' * ' ' What kind of an animal is that ? ' ' asked Mr„ Maxwell. "It is a lynx, belonging to the cat species* They used to prowl about the country killing hens, geese, and sometimes sheep. They'd fix their tushes in the sheep's neck and suck the bloods 224 BEAUTIFUL JOE They did not think much of the sheep's flesh. We ran them down with dogs. They'd often run up trees, and we'd shoot them. Then there were rabbits that we caught, mostly in snares. For musk-rats, we'd put a parsnip or an apple on the spindle of a box trap. When we snared a rabbit, I always wanted to find it caught around the neck and strangled to death. If they got half through the snare and were caught around the body, or by the hind legs, they'd live for some time, and they'd cry just like a child. I like shooting them better, just because I hated to hear their pitiful cries. It's a bad business this of killing dumb creatures, .and the older I grt, the more chicken-hearted I am about it. ' ' "Chicken-hearted — I should think you are," said Mrs. Wood. "Do you know, Laura, he won't even kill a fowl for dinner. He gives it to one of the men to do. ' ' "Blessed are the merciful," said Miss Laura, Growing her arm over her uncle's shoulder. "I love you, dear Uncle John, because you are SO^ kind to every living thing. ' ' "I'm going to be kind to you now," said her uncle, "and send you to bed. You look tired." ' * Very well, ' ' she said, with a smile. Then bidding them all good-night, she went upstairs. Mr. Wood turned to Mr. Maxwell. "You're going to stay all night with us, aren't you ? " " So Mrs. Wood says," replied the young man, with, a smile. TL*E RABBIT AND THE HEN 225 •* Of course," she said. " I couldn't think of letting you go back to the village such a night as this. It's raining cats and dogs — but I mustn't say that, or there'll be no getting you to stay. I'll go and prepare your old room next to Harry's.'* And she buutled away. The two young men went to the pantry fof* doughnuts and milk, and Mr. Wood stood gazing down at me. ' ' Good dog, ' ' he said ; ' ' you look as if you sensed that talk to-night. Come, get a bone, and ..hen away to bed." He gav£ me a very large mutton bone, and I held it in my mouth, and watched him opening the woodshed door. I love human beings ; and the saddest time of day for me is when I have to be separated from them while they sleep. " Now, go to bed and rest well, Beautiful Joe," said Mr. Wood, ' * and if you hear any stranger round the house, run out and bark. Don't be chasing wild animals in your sleep, though. They say a dog is the only animal that dreams. I won- der whether it' s true ? ' ' Then he went into the house and shut the door. I had a sheepskin to lie on, and a very good bed it made. I slept soundly for a long time ; then I waked up and found that, instead of rain patter- ing against the roof, and darkness everywhere, it was quite light. The rain was over, and the moon was shining beautifully. I ran to the door and looked out. It was almost as light as day. The moon made it very bright all around the house and farai buildings, and I could look all about and see 226 BEAUTIFUL JOE that there was no one stirring. I took a turn around the yard, and walked around to the side of the house, to glance up at Miss Laura's window. I always did this several times through the night, just to see if she was quite safe. I was on my way back to my bed, when I saw two small, white things mov- ing away down the lane. I stood on the verands and watched them. When they got nearer, I saw that there was a white rabbit hopping up the road, followed by a white hen. It seemed to me a very strange thing for these creatures to be out this time of night, and why were they coming to Dingley Farm ? This wasn't tneir home. I ran down on the road and stood in front of them. Just as soon as the hen saw me, she fluttered in front of the rabbit, and, spreading out het wings, clucked angrily, and acted as if she would peck my eyes out if I came nearer. I saw that they were harmless creatures, and c remembering my adventure with the snake, I Stepped aside. Besides that, I knew by their smell that they had been near Mr. Maxwell, so perhaps they were after him. They understood quite well that I would not hurt them, and passed by me. The rabbit went ahead again and the hen fell behind. It seemed to me that the hen was sleepy, and didn't like to be out so late at night, and was only following the rabbit because she thought it was her duty. He was going along in a very queer fashion, putting his nose to the ground, and rising up op THE RABBIT AND THE HEN 227 t»is bind legs, and sniffing the air, first on this side and then on the other, and his nose going, going all the time. He smelled all around the house till he came to Mr. Maxwell's room at the back. It opened on the veranda by a glass door, and the door stood ajar. The rabbit squeezed himself in, and the hen stayed out. She watched for a while, and when he didn't come back, she flew upon the back of a chair that stood near the door, and put her head under her wing. I went back to my bed, for I knew they would do no harm. Early in the morning, when I was walking around the house, I heard a great shout- ing and laughing from Mr. Maxwell' s room. He and Mr. Harry had just discovered the hen and the rabbit ; and Mr. Harry was calling his mother Co come and look at them. The rabbit had slept on the foot of the bed. Mr. Harry was charring Mr. Maxwell very much, and was telling him that any one who en- tertained him was in for a traveling menagerie* They had a great deal of fun over it, and Mr„ Maxwell said that he had had that pretty, white hen as a pet for a long time in Boston. Once when she had some little chickens, a frightened rabbit, that was being chased by a dog, ran into the yard. In his terror he got right under the hen's wings, and she sheltered him, and pecked at the dog's eyes, and kept him off till help came. The rabbit belonged to a neighbor's boy, and Mr. Maxwell bought it from him. From the day the %2% BEAUTIFUL JOE feen protected him, she became his friend, and followed him everywhere. I did not wonder that the rabbit wanted to sec Ms master, There was something about thai y natural position. With his wonderful ey& 234 BHAOTIFUL )l>*i and flowing mane and tail, and his glossy, reddish* brown body, I thought that he was the handsomest horse I had ever seen. He loved to go fast, and when Mr. Harry spoke lo him to slow up again, he tossed his head with impatience. But he was too sweet-tempered to disobey. In all the years that I have known Fleetfoot, I have never once seen him refuse to do as his master told him. ' ' You have forgotten your whip, haven' t you Harry?" I heard Miss Laura say, as we jogged slowly along, and I ran by the buggy panting and with my tongue hanging out. "I never use one," said Mr. Harry; "if I saw any man lay one on Fleetfoot, I'd knock him down." His voice was so severe that I glanced up into the buggy. He looked just as he did the day that he stretched Jenkins on the ground, and gave him a beating. "I am so glad you don't," said Miss Laura. ' ' You are like the Russians. Many of them con- trol their horses by their voices, and call them such pretty names. But you have to use a whip for some horses, don't you, Cousin Harry?" "Yes, Laura. There are many vicious horses that can't be controlled otherwise, and then with many horses one requires a whip in case of neces- sity for urging them forward. "I suppose Fleetfoot never balks," said Miss Laura. " No,'" replied Mr. Harry ; " Dutchman some- times does, and we have two cures for him, both gciiually good. We take up a forefoot and strike A HAPPY HORSE 235 his shoe two or three times with a stone. The operation always interests him greatly, and he usually starts. If he doesn't go for that, we pass a line round his forelegs, at the knee joint, then go in front of him and draw on the line. Father won't let the men use a whip, unless they are driven to it." *' Fleetfoot has had a happy life, hasn't he ?*° said Miss Laura, looking admiringly at him, " How did he get to like you so much, Harry ? " "I broke him in after a fashion of my own. Father gave him to me, and the first time I saw him on his feet, I went up carefully and put my hand on him. His mother was rather shy of me, for we hadn't had her long, and it made him shy too, so I soon left him. The next time I stroked him ; the next time I put rny arm around him. Soon he acted like a big dog. I could lead him about by a strap, and I made a little halter and a bridle for him. I didn't see why I shouldn't train him a little while he was young and manage- able. I think it is cruel to let colts run till one has to employ severity in mastering them. Of course, I did not let him do much work. Colts are like boys — a boy shouldn't do a man's work, but he had exercise every day, and I trained him to draw a light cart behind him. I used to do all kinds of things to accustom him to unusual sounds. Father talked a good deal to me about Rarey, the great hors^-tamer, and it put ideas into my head. He said bt once saw Rarey come on a stage in Boston wif*i a timid horse that he was going to 236 BEAUTIFUL JOE accustom to a loud noise. First a bugle was blown, then some louder instrument, and so on, till there was a whole brass band going. Rarey reassured liie animal, and it was not afraid." "You like horses better than any other ani- mals, don't you, Harry ?" asked Miss Laura. " I believe I do, though I am very fond of that dog of yours. I think I know more about horses than dogs. Have you noticed Scamp very much ? ' ' " Oh, yes ; I often watched her. She is such an amusing little creature. ' ' " She's the most interesting one we've got, that is, after Fleetfoot. Father got her from a man who couldn't manage her, and she came to us with a legion of bad tricks. Father has taken solid comfort though, in breaking her of them. She is his pet among our stock. I suppose you know that horses, more than any other animals, are creatures of habit. If they do a thing once, they will do it again. When she came to us, she had a trick of biting at a person who gave her oats„ She would do it without fail, so father put a little stick under his arm, and every time she would bite, he would give her a rap over the nose. She soon ^ot tired of biting, and gave it up. Sometimes aow, you'll see her make a snap at father as if she was going to bite, and then look under his arm to see if the stick is there. He cured some of her tricks in one way, and some in another. One bad one she had was to start for the stable the minute one of the traces was unfastened when we were unharnessing. She pulled father over once, and A HAPPY HORSE *37 another time she ran the shaft of the sulky clean through the barn door. The next time father brought her in, he got ready for her. He twisted the lines around his hands, and the minute she began to bolt, he gave a tremendous jerk, that pulled her back upon her haunches, and shouted, ' Whoa!* It cured her, and she never started again, till he gave her the word. Often now, you'll see her throw her head back when she is being unhitched. He only did it once, yet she remembers. If we'd had the training of Scamp, she'd be a very differ- ent animal. It's nearly all in the bringing up of a colt, whether it will turn out vicious or gentle. If any one were to strike Fleetfoot, he would not know what it meant. He has been brought mp differently from Scamp. "She was probably trained by some brutal man who inspired her with distrust of the human species. She never bites an animal, and seems attached to all the other horses. She loves Fleetfoot and Cleve and Pacer. Those three are her favorites." \ "I love to go for drives with Cleve and Pacer," said Miss Laura, " they are so steady and good. Uncle says they are the most trusty horses he has. He has told me about the man you had, who said that those two horses knew more than most ' humans. ' ' ' "That was old Davids," said Mr. Harry; "when we had him, he was courting a widow who lived over in Hoytville. About once a fortnight, he'd ask father for one of the h\l near the place, he was astonished to see by Pacer's actions that he had been on this road before, and recently, too. Father is so sharp about horses, that they never do a thing that he doesn't attach a meaning to. So he let the reins hang a little loose, and kept his eye on Pacer. The horse went along the road, and seeing father didn't direct him, turned into the lane leading to the house. There was an old red gate at the end of it, and he stopped in front of it, and waited for father to get out. Then he passed through, and instead of going up to the house, turned around, and stood with his head toward the road. " Father never said a word, but he was doing a lot of thinking. He went into the house, and found the old man sitting over the fire, rubbing his hands, and half-crying about ' the few poor dollars,' that he said he had had stolen from him. Father had never seen him before, but he knew he had the name of being half silly, and question him as much as he liked, he could make nothing of him. The daughter said that they had gone to bed at dark the night her father was robbed. She slept up stairs, and he down below. About ten o'clock she heard him scream, and running down stairs, she found him sitting up in bed, and the window wide open. He said a man had sprung in upon him, stuffed the bedclothes into his mouth, and dragging his box from under the bed, had made off with it. She ran to the door and looked out, but there was no one to be seen. It was dark, 16 2^2 BEAUTIFUL J^»E and snowing a little, so no traces of footsteps were to be perceived in the morning. "Father found that the neighbors were drop* ping in to bear the old man company, so he drove on to Sudbury, and then returned home. When he got back, he said Jacobs was hanging about the stable in a nervous kind of a way, and said he wanted to speak to him. Father said very good, but put the horse in first. Jacobs unhitched, and father sat on one of the stable benches and watched him till he came lounging along with a straw in his mouth, and said he' d made up his mind to go West, and he'd like to set off at once, " Father said again, very good, but first he had a little account to settle with him, and he took out of his pocket a paper, where he had jotted down, as far as he could, every quart of oats, and every bag of grain, and every quarter of a dollar of market money that Jacobs had defrauded him of. Father said the fellow turned all the colors of the rainbow, for he thought he had cov« ered up his tracks so cleverly that he would never be found out. Then father said, * Sit down, Jacobs, for I have got to have a long talk with you.' He had him there about an hour, and when he finished, the fellow was completely broken down. Father told him that there were just two courses in life for a young man to take, and he had gotten on the wrong one. He was a young, smart fellow, and if he turned right around now, there was a chance for him. If he didn't there was nothing but the State's prison ahead of THE BOX OF MONEY 243 him, for he needn't think he was going to gull and cheat all the world, and never be found out. Father said he'd give him all the help in his power, if he had his word that he'd try to be an ftonest man. Then he tore up the paper, and jaid there was an end of his indebtedness to him. "Jacobs is only a young fellow, twenty -three -Or thereabout, and father says he sobbed like a baby. Then, without looking at him, father gave in account of his afternoon's drive, just as if he was talking to himself. He said that Pacer neve? to his knowledge had been on that road before ! and yet he seemed perfectly familiar with it, and that he stopped and turned already to leave again quickly, instead of going up to the door, and how he looked over his shoulder and started on a run down the lane, the minute father's foot was in the cutter again. In the course of his remarks, father mentioned the fact that on Monday, the evening that the robbery was committed, Jacobs had bor- rowed Pacer to go to the Junction, but had come Ml with the horse steaming, and looking as if he had been driven a much longer distance than that. Father said that when he got done, Jacobs had sunk down all in a heap on the stable floor, with his hands over his face. Father left him to have it out with himself, and went to the house. "The next morning, Jacobs looked just the same as usual, and went about with the other men doing his work, but saying nothing about going West. Late in the afternoon, a farmer going by hailed father, and asked if he' d heard the news. H4 BEAUTIFUL JOE Old Miser Jerrold's box had been left on his door step some time through the night, and he'd found it in the morning. The money was all there, but the old fellow was so cute that he wouldn't tell any one how much it was. The neighbors had persuaded him to bank it, and he was coming to town the next morning with it, and that night some of them were going to help him mount guard over k. Father told the men at milking time, and he said Jacobs looked as unconscious as possible However, from that day there was a change in him. He never told father in so many words thai he'd resolved to be an honest man, but his actions spoke for him. He had been a kind of sullen, unwilling fellow, but now he turned handy and obliging, and it was a real trial to father to part with him." Miss Laura was intensely interested in this story, "Where is he now, Cousin Harry?'* she isked, eagerly. " What became of him ? " Mr, Harry laughed in such amusement that I stared up at him, and even Fleetfoot turned his bead around to see what the joke was. We weiQ going very slowly up a long, steep hill, and in the clear, still air, we could hear every word spoketr In the buggy. '• The last part of the story is the best, to m> mind," said Mr. Harry, * ' and as romantic as even a girl could desire. The affair of the stolen box was much talked about along Sudbury way, and Miss Jerrold got to be considered quite a desirable young person "*mong some of the youth near there, though THE BOX OF MONEY 24$ she is a frowsy-headed creature, and not as neat in her personal attire as a young girl should be. Among her suitors was Jacobs. He cut out a black- smith, and a painter, and several young farmers, and father said he never in his life had such a time to keep a straight face, as when Jacobs came to him this spring, and said he was going to marry, old Miser Jerrold's daughter.. He wanted to quit father's employ, and he thanked him in a real manly way for the manner in which he had always treated him. Well Jacobs left, and mother says that father would sit and speculate about him, as to whether he had fallen in love with Eliza Jerrold f or whether he was determined to regain possession of the box, and was going to do it honestly, or whether he was sorry for having frightened the old man into a greater degree of imbecility, and was marrying the girl so that he could take care of him, or whether it was something else, and so on, and so on. He had a dozen theories, and then mother fays he would burst out laughing, and say it jttas one of the cutest tricks that he had eve* beard of ** In the end, Jacobs got married, and father and mother went to the wedding. Father gave the bridegroom a yoke of oxen, and mother gave the bride a lot of household linen, and I believe they're as happy as the day is long, Jacobs makes his wife comb her hair, and he waits on the old man as if he was his son, and he is improving the farm that was going to rack and ruin, and I bear l» is going to build a new house.*' 246 BEAUTIFUL JOE "Harry," exclaimed Miss Laura, " can't you take me to see them ? ' ' ' ' Yes, indeed ; mother often drives over to take them little things, and we'll go, too, sometime. I'd like to see Jacobs myself, now that he is a de* cent fellow. Strange to say, though he hadn't the best of character, no one has ever suspected him of the robbery, and he's been cunning enough never to say a word about it. Father says Jacobs is like all the rest of us. There' s mixture of good and evil in him, and sometimes one predominates, and sometimes the other. But we must get on and not talk here all day. Get up, Fleetfoot. ' ' * ' Where did you say we were going ? ' ' asked Miss Laura, as we crossed the bridge over the river. " A little way back here in the woods," he re- plied. " There's an Englishman on a small clear- ing that he calls Penhollow. Father loaned him some money three years ago, and he won't pay either interest or principal. ' ' " I think I've heard of him," said Miss Laura c ac Isn't he the man whom the boys call Lord Ches^ terneld ? ' ' "The same one. He's a queer specimen of a man. Father has always stood up for him. He has a great liking for the English. He says we ought to be as ready to help an Englishman as an American, for we spring from common stock." ' ' Oh, not Englishmen only, ' ' said Miss Laura, warmly; "Chinamen, and Negroes, and every- THE BOX OF MONEY 247 ) ody. There ought to be a brotherhood of nations, l.-Jarry." "Yes Miss Enthusiasm, I suppose there ought to be, • ' and looking up, I could see that Mr. Harry was gazing admiringly into his cousin's face. ' * Please tell me some more about the English* man," said Miss Laura. "There isn't much to tell. He lives alone s only coming occasionally to the village for sup- plies, and though he is poorer than poverty, he despises every soul within a ten-mile radius of him, and looks upon us as no better than an orde? of thrifty, well-trained lower animals." ' ' Why is that ? ■ ' asked Miss Laura, in surprise. " He is a gentleman, Laura, and we are only common people. My father can't hand a lady in and out of a carriage as Lord Chesterfield can, nor can he make so grand a bow, nor does he put on evening dress for a late dinner, and we nevei go to the opera nor to the theatre, and know noth- ing of polite society, nor can we tell exactly whom our great-great-grandfather sprang from. I tell you, there is a gulf between us and that English* man, wider than the one young Curtius leaped into." Miss Laura was laughing merrily. " How funny that sounds, Harry. So he despises you," and she glanced at her good-looking cousin, and his handsome buggy and well-kept horse, and then burst into another merry peal of laughter. Mr. Harry laughed, too. ' ' It does seem absurd. Sometimes when I pass him jogging along to town 248 BEAUTIFUL JOE in his rickety old cart, and look at his pale, crueJ face, and know that he is a broken-down gambler and man of the world, and yet considers himself infinitely superior to me — a young man in the prime of life, with a good constitution and happy prospects, it makes me turn away to hide a smile." By this time we had left the river and the meadows far behind us, and were passing through a thick wood. The road was narrow and very broken, and Fleetfoot was obliged to pick his way carefully. "Why does the Englishman live in this out-of-the-way place, if he is so fond of city life ? ' ' said Miss Laura. "I don't know," said Mr. Harry. "Father is afraid that he has committed some misdeed, and is in hiding ; but we say nothing about it. We have not seen him for some weeks, and to tell the truth, this trip is as much to see what has become of him, as to make a demand upon him for the money. As he lives alone, he might lie there ill, find no one would know anything about it. The last time that we knew of his coming to the village was to draw quite a sum of money from the bank. It annoyed father, for he said he might take some of it to pay his debts. I think his relatives in England supply him with funds. Here we are at the entrance to the mansion of Penhollow. I must get out and open the gate that will admit us to the winding avenue." We had arrived in front of some bars which were laid across an opening in the snake fence that ran along one side of the road. I sat down THE BOX OF MOtyfcjY 249 and looked about. It was a strange, lonely place., The trees almost met overhead, and it was very dim and quiet. The sun could only send little Straggling beams through the branches. There was a muddy pool of water before the bars thai Mr. Harry was letting down, and he got his fee? wet in it. ' ' Confound that Englishman, ' ' he said, backing out of the water, and wiping his boots oe the grass. " He hasn't even gumption enough to throw down a load of stone there. Drive in , Laura, and I'll put up the bars. ' ' Fleetfoot took us through the opening, and then Mr. Harry jumped into the buggy and took up the reins again. We had to go very slowly up a narrow, rough road. The bushes scratched and scraped againsS the buggy, and Mr. Harry looked very much an- noyed. "No man liveth to himself," said Miss Laura, softly. "This man's carelessness is giving you trouble. Why doesn't he cut these branches thai Overhang the road ? ' ' " He can't do it, because his abominable lazi. Bess won't let him," said Mr. Harry. "I'd like to be behind him for a week, and I'd make him step a little faster. We have arrived at last thank goodness." There was a small grass clearing in the midst of the woods. Chips and bits of wood were littered about, and across the clearing was a roughly-built house of unpainted boards. The front door was propped open by a stick. Some of the panes of glass in the windows were broken, and the whole 250 BEAUTIFUL JOE house had a melancholy, dilapidated look. I thought that I had never seen such a sad-looking place. "It seems as if there was no one about," said Mr. Harry, with a puzzled face. ' * Barron must be away. Will you hold Fleetfoot, Laura, while I go and see?" He drew the buggy up near a small log build- tog that had evidently been used for a stable, and 1 lay down beside it and watched Miss Laura. CHAPTER XXVII A NEGLECTED STABLE HAD not been on the ground more than a few seconds, before I aimed my eyes from Miss Laura to the log hut. It was deathly quiet, there was not a sound coming from it, but the air was full of queer smells, and I was so uneasy that I could not lie still. There was something the matter with Fleetfoot s too. He was pawing the ground and whinnying, and looking, not after Mr. Harry, but toward the log building. *' Joe," said Miss Laura, " what is the matte* flith you and Fleetfoot? Why don't you stand sfill? Is there any stranger about?" and she peered out of the buggy. I knew there was something wrong somewhere, but I didn't know what it was ; so I stretched my* self up on the step of the buggy, and licked her hand, and barking, to ask her to excuse me, I ran off to the other side of the log hut. There was a door there, but it was closed, and propped firmly up by a plank that I could not move, scratch as hard as I liked. I was determined to get. in, so I «5» &$2 BEAUTIFUL JOE jumped against the door, and tore and bit at the plank, till Miss Laura came to help me. *' You won't find anything but rats in that ram" shackle old place, Beautiful Joe," she said, as she pulled the plank away; "and as you don't hurt them s 1 don't see what you want to get in for. However, you are a sensible dog, and usually hav* a reason for having your own way, so I am going to let you have it.*' The plank fell down as she spoke, and she pulled open the rough door and looked in. There was no window inside, only the light that streamed through the door, so that for an instant she could see nothing, " Is any one here? ,f she asked, in her clear, sweet voice. There was no answer,, ex- cept a low 9 moaning sound. ' * Why, some poor creature is in trouble, Joe," said Miss Laura cheer- fully. ia Let us see what it is, S8 and she stepped inside* I shall never forget seeing my dear Miss Laura going into that wet and filthy log house holding tip her white dress in her hands, her face a picture df pain and horror 3 There were two rougfc stallg In it, and in the first one was tied a cow, With a calf lying beside her, I could never have believed, if I had not seen it with my own eyes, that an animal could get so thin as that cow was. Her backbone rose up high and sharp, her hip bones stuck away out, and ail her body seemed shrunken in. There were sores on her sides, and the smell from her stall was terrible. Miss Laura gave one cry of pity, then with a very pale face she dropped her dress, A NEGLECTED STABLE 253 and seizing a little penknife from her pocket, she backed at the rope that tied the cow to the manger, and cut it so that the cow could lie down. The first thing the poor cow did was to lick her calf, but it was quite dead. I used to think Jenkins's, cows were thin enough, but he never had one that looked like this. Her head was like the head of a skeleton, and her eyes had such a famished look, that I turned away, sick at heart, to think that she had suffered so. When the cow lay down, the moaning noise stopped, for she had been making it. Miss Laura ran outdoors, snatched a handful of grass and took it in to her. The cow ate it gratefully, but slowly, for her strength seemed all gone* Miss Laura then went into the other stall to sec if there was any creature there. There had beet a horse. There was now a lean, gaunt-looking animal lying on the ground, that seemed as if he aras dead. There was a heavy rope knotted found his neck, and fastened to his empty rack* Miss Laura stepped carefully between his feet, cut the rope and going outside the stall spoke kindly to him. He moved his ears slightly, raised his head, tried to get up, fell back again tried again, and succeeded in staggering outdoors after Miss Laura, who kept encouraging him, and then he fell- down on the grass. Fleetfoot stared at the miserable-looking crea- ture as if he did not know what it was. The horse had no sores on his body, as the cow had, nor was he quite so lean ; but he was the weakest, most 254 BEAUTIFUL JOE distressed-looking animal that I ever saw. The flies settled on him, and Miss Laura had to keej driving them away. He was a white hcrse, with some kind of pale-colored eyes, and whenever he turned them on Miss Laura, she would look away. She did not cry, as she often did over the sick and suffering animals. This seemed too bad for tears. She just hovered over that poor horse with her face as white as her dress, and an expression of fright in her eyes. Oh, how dirty he was ! I would never have imagined that a horse could get in such a condition. All this had only taken a few minutes, and just after she got the horse out, Mr. Harry appeared. He came out of the house with a slow step, that quickened to a run when he saw Miss Laura. " Laura ! " he exclaimed, "what are you doing ?" Then he stopped and looked at the horse, not in amazement, but very sorrowfully. ' ■ Barron is gone, ' ' he said, and crumpling up a piece of paper* he put it in his pocket, " What is to be done foi ;hese animals ? There is a cow, isn't there ? " He stepped to the door of the log hut, glanced in, and said, quickly : " Do you feel able to drive kome?" "Yes," said Miss Laura. •' Sure ? " and he eyed her anxiously. " Yes, yes," she returned ; "what shall I get ?" "Just tell father that Barron has run away and left a starving pig, cow, and horse. There's not a tfiing to eat here. He'll know what to do. I'll irive you to the road." A NEGLECTED STABLE 255 Miss Laura got into the buggy and Mr. Harry jumped in after her. He drove her to the road and put down the bars; then he said: "Go straight on. You'll soon be on the open road„ and there's nothing to harm you. Joe will look after you. Meanwhile I'll go back to the house and heat some water. ' ' Miss Laura let Fleetfoot go as fast as he liked on the way home, and it only seemed a few min utes before we drove into the yard. Adele came out to meet us. "Where's uncle?" asked Miss Laura. ' ' Gone to de big meadow, ' ' said Adele. ' ' And auntie ? ' ' "She had de colds and chills, and entered into de bed to keep warm. She lose herself m sleep now. You not go near her. ' ' • ' Are there none of the men about ? ' ' asked Miss Laura. "No, mademoiselle. Dey all occupied way off." "Then you help me, Adele, like a good girl," said Miss Laura, hurrying into the house. "We've found a sick horse and cow. What shall I take them ? ' * ' ' Nearly all animals like de bran mash, ' ' said Adele. "Good !" cried Miss Laura. "That is the very thing. Put in the things to make it, will you please, and I would like some vegetables for the cow. Carrots, turnips, anything you have ; take some of those you have prepared for dinner tG- 2$fe BEAUTIFUL JOE aaorrow, and please run up to the barn, Adele, and get some hay, and corn, and oats, not much, for we'll be going back again ; but hurry, for the poor things are starving, and have you any milk for the pig ? Put it in one of those tin kettles with covers. ' ' For a few minutes, Miss Laura and Adele fleTO about the kitchen, then we set off again. Miss Laura took me in the buggy, for I was out of breath and wheezing greatly. I bad to sit on the seat beside her, for the bottom of the buggy and die back were full of eatables for the poor sick animals. Just as we drove into the road, we met Mr. Wood. "Are you running away with the farm?" he said with a laugh, pointing to the carrot tops that were gaily waving over the dash- board. Miss Laura said a few words to him, and with a very grave face he got in beside her. In a short $me, we were back on the lonely road. Mr, Harry was waiting at the gate for us, and when he saw Miss Laura, he said, "Why did you come back again? You'll be tired out. This isn't a place for a sensitive girl like you." " I thought I might be of some use," said she, gently. '* So you can," said Mr. Wood. " You go Into the house and sit down, and Harry and I wilt come to you when we want cheering up. What have you been doing, Harry ? " "I've watered them a little, and got a good r, « going. I scarcely think the cow will puff A NEGLECTED STABLE 257 tnrough. I think we'll save the horse. I tried to get the cow out-doors, but she can't move." "Let her alone," said Mr. Wood. "Give her some food and her strength will come to her. What have you got here ? ' ' and he began to take the things out of the buggy. " Bless the child, she' s thought of everything, even the salt. Bring those things into the house, Harry, and we'll make a bran mash. ' ' For more than an hour they were fussing over the animals. Then they came in and sat down. The inside of the Englishman's house was as untidy as the outside. There was no upstairs to it— only one large room with a dirty curtain stretched across it. On one side was a low bed with a heap of clothes on it, a chair and a wash- stand. On the other was a stove, a table, a shaky rocking-chair that Miss Laura was sitting in, a few hanging shelves with some dishes and books on them, and two or three small boxes that had evi- dently been used for seats. ;, On the walls were tacked some pictures ol grand houses and ladies and gentlemen in fine clothes, and Miss Laura said that some of them were noble people. "Well, I'm glad this partic- ular nobleman has left us," said Mr. Wood, seat- ing himself on one of the boxes, " if nobleman he is. I should call him in plain English, a scoun- drel. Did Harry show you his note ? " " No, uncle," said Miss Laura. " Read it aloud," said Mr. Wood. '"I'd like to hear it again." *? 858 BEAUTIFUL TOE Miss Laura read : J. Wood, Esq, Dear Sir :— It is a matter of great regret to me that I am suddenly called away from my place at Penhollow, and will, therefore, not be able to do myself the pleasure of calling en you and settling my little account. I sincerely hope that the possession of my live stock, which 1 make entirely over to you, will more than rein, burse you for any trifling expense which you may have incurred on my account. If it is any gratifl cation to you to know that you have rendered at slight assistance to the son of one of England s noblest noblemen, you have it. With expres- sions of the deepest respect, and hoping that my stock may be in good condition when you take possession, I am, dear sir, ever devotedly yours, Howard Algernon Leduc Barron. Miss Laura dropped the paper. "Uncle, did. be leave those animals to starve ?" "Didn't you notice," said Mr. Wood, grimly, **that there wasn't a wisp of hay inside that shanty, and that where the poor beasts were tied Up the wood was knawed and bitten by them in their torture for food ? Wouldn't he have sent me that note, instead of leaving it here on the table, if he'd wanted me to know? The note isn't dated, but I judge he's been gone five or six days. He has had a spite against me ever since I lent him that hundred dollars. I don't know why, for I've stood up for him when others vould have run him out of the place. He intended me to come here and find every animal lying dead, A NEGLECTED STABLE 2$$ Ae even had a rope around the pig's neck, Harry, my boy, let us go and look after them- again. I love a dumb brute too well to let it suffer, but in this case I'd give two hundred dol- lars more if I could make them live and have Barron know it. " They left the room, and Miss Laura sat turn* ing the sheet of paper over and over, with a kind of horror in her face. It was a very dirty piece of paper, but by-and-by she made a discovery. She took it in her hand and went out-doors. I am sure that the poor horse lying on the grass knew her. He lifted his head, and what a different ex- pression he had now that his hunger had been partly satisfied. Miss Laura stroked and patted him, then she called to her cousin, "Harry, will yon look at this ? ' ' He took the paper from her, and said : " That is a crest shining through the different strata of dust and grime, probably that of his own family, We'll have it cleaned, and it will enable us to track he villain. You want him punished, don't ;;ou?" he said, with a little, sly laugh at Miss Laura. She made a gesture in the direction of the suffering horse, and said, frankly, "Yes, I do." " Well, my dear girl," he said, " father and I are with you. If we can hunt Barron down, we'll do it." Then he muttered to himself as she turned away, "She is a real Puritan, gentle, and sveet, and good, and yet severe. Rewards fox 36o BEAUTIFUL JOE the virtuous, punishments for the vicious," and i»e repeated some poetry : 3 * She was so charitable and so piteous, She would weep if that she saw a mouse Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled. ' Miss Laura saw that Mr. Wood and Mr. Harry were doing all that could be done for the cow and horse, so she wandered down to a hollow at the back of the house, where the Englishman had kept his pig. Just now, he looked more like a greyhound than a pig. His legs were so long, his nose so sharp, and hunger, instead of making him stupid like the horse and cow, had made him more lively. I think he had probably not suffered so much as they had, or perhaps he had had a greater store of fat to nourish him. Mr. Harry said that if he had been a girl, he would have laughed and cried at the same time when he discovered that pig. He must have been asleep or exhausted when we arrived, for there was not a sound out of him, but shortly afterward he had set up a yelling that attracted Mr. Harry's attention, and made Mm run down to him. Mr. Harry said he was raging around his pen, digging the ground with his snout, falling down and getting up again, and by a miracle, escaping death by choking from the rope that was tied around his neck. Now that his hunger had been satisfied, he was gazing contentedly at his little trough that was half full of good, sweet milk. Mr. Harry said that a Starving animal, like a starving person, should A NEGLECTED STABLE 26l anly be fed a little at a time ; but the Englishman's animals had always been fed poorly, and their stomachs had contracted so that they could not eat much at one time. Miss Laura got a stick and scratched poos piggy's back a little, and then she went back tc the house. In a short time we went home with Mr. Wood. Mr. Harry was going to stay all night with the sick animals, and his mother would send him things to make him comfortable. She was better by the time we got home, and was horrified to hear the tale of Mr. Barron's neglect. Later in the evening, she sent one of the men over with a whole box full of things for her darling boy, and a nice, hot tea, done up for him in a covered dish : When the man came home, he said that Mr= Harry would not sleep in the Englishman's dirty nouse, but had slung a hammock out under the trees. However, he would not be able to sleep much, for he had his lantern by his side, all ready to jump up and attend to the horse and cow, K *»as a very lonely place for him out there in &f «N>ods s and his mother said that she would be glad when the sick animals could be driven to their owxt CHAPTER XXVIH «B END OF THE ENGLISHMAN jK a few days, thanks to Mr. Harry's con^ stant care, the horse and cow were able to walk. It was a mournful processiom that came into the yard at Dingley Farm. The hollow-eyed horse, and lean cow, and funny, little tlifn pig f staggering along in such a shaky fashion.. Their hoofs were diseased, and had partly rotted away, so that they could not walk straight. Though it was only a mile or two from Penhollow to Ding- ley Farm, they were tired out, and dropped dowD exhausted on their comfortable beds. 1 Miss Laura was so delighted to think that the$ tiad all lived, that she did not know what to do. Her eyes were bright and shining, and she went from one to another with such a happy face. The queer little pig that Mr. Harry had christened "Daddy Longlegs," had been washed, and he lay on his heap of straw in the corner of his neat little pen, and surveyed his clean trough and abun- dance of food with the ah' of a prince. Why, he would be clean and dry here, and all his life he fead been used to dirty, '>mp Penhollow, with the *6a THE END OF THE ENGLISHMAN 2fl^ trees hanging over him, and his little feet in a •mass of filth and dead leaves. Happy little pig \ His ugly eyes seemed to blink and gleam with gratitude, and he knew Miss Laura and Mr, Harry as well as I did. j His tiny tail was curled so tight that ic was al* most in a knot Mr. Wood said that was a sig© that he was healthy and happy* and that when poor Daddy was at Penhollow he had noticed that his tail hung as limp and as loose as the tail of a rat. He came and leaned over the pen with Miss Laura, and had a little talk with her about pigs. He said they were by no means the stupid animals that some people considered them, He had had pigs that were as clever as dogs. One little black pig that he had once sold to a man away back in the country had found his way home, through trie woods, across the river, up hill and down dale, and he'd been taken to the place with a bag ove* his heado Mr, Wood said that he kept that pig because he knew so much- He said the most knowing pigs he ever sss* j'ere Canadian pigs. One time he was having & trip on a sailing vessel, and it anchored in a long, narrow harbor in Canada, where the tide came ir with a front four or five feet high called the * ' bore. * ! There was a village opposite the place where the ship was anchored, and ever) r day at low tide^ a, number of pigs came down to look for shell-fish. Sometimes they went out for half a mile over the mud flats, but always a few minutes before the tide came rushing in they turned and hurried to ths ?64 BEAUTIFUL JOE shore, Their instincts warned them that if the^ stayed any longer they would be drowned. Mr Wood had a number of pigs, and after a while Daddy was put in with them, and a fine time he had of it making friends with the other little grunters- They were often let out in the pasturi m orchard, and when they were there c I could always single out Daddy from among them, be= cause he was t ae smartest, Though he had beers brought up m such a miserable way, he sooss learned to take very good care of himself at Ding* ley Farm, and it was amusing to see him when 9 stonr> was coming on, running about in a state of great excitement carrying little bundles of straw in his mouth to make himself a bed. He was s white pig, and was always kept very clean, Mr Wood said that it is wrong to keep pigs dirty, They like to be clean as well as other animals, and £ they were kept so, human beings would not gel so many diseases from eating their flesh. The cow, poor unhappy creature, never, as long §& she lived on Dingley Farm, lost a strange^, Saelancholy look from her eyes. I have heard it said that animals forget past unhappiness, and perhaps some of them do. I know that I have never forgotten my one miserable year with Jen kins, and I have been a sober, thoughtful dog in consequence of it, and not playful like some dogs who have never knov/n what it is to be reallj unhappy, It always seemed to me that the Englishman*! CO**? was thinking of her poor dead calf, starved 1$ THE END OF THE ENGLISHMAN 2 Hoses through to get the carrot or turnip, or what- ever he was handing to them. He called them his little Southdowns, and he said he loved his sheep, for they were the most gentle and inoffensive crea= tures that he had on his farm. One day when he came into the kitchen in- quiring for salt, Miss Laura said : " Is it for the sheep ? ' ' " Yes," he replied ; " I am going up to the woods pasture to examine my Shropshires, " "You would like to go too, Laura," said Mrs. 87X 372 BEAUTIFUL JOE Wood. * ' Take your hands right away from tha^ cake. I'll finish frosting it for you. Run along and get your broad-brimmed hat. It's very hot." Miss Laura danced out into the hall and back again, and soon we were walking up, back of the Vouse, along a path that led us through the fields to the pasture. "What are you going to do^ uncle?" she said; "and what are those funny things in your hands ?" " Toe-clippers," he replied ; *' and I am going to examine the sheeps' hoofs. You know we've had warm, moist weather all through July, and I'm afraid of foot-rot. Then they're sometimes troubled with overgrown hoofs." M What do you do if they get foot-rot } " asked Miss l^aura. " I've variou • cures," he said. " Paring and clipping, and dipping the hoof in blue vitriol and vinegar, or rubbing it on, as the English shepherds do. It destroys the diseased part, but doesn'S affect the sound." " Do sheep have many diseases ?" asked Mist ^ura. " I know one of them myself — that is the scab." "A nasty thing that," said Mr. Wood k vigor- ously ; ' ' and a man that builds up a flock from a stockyard often finds it out to his cost." 1 « What is it like ? ' ' asked Miss Laura. " The sheep get scabby from a microbe under the skin, which causes them to itch fearfully, audi mey lose their wool. " And can't it be cured ?" A TALE ABOUT SHEEP 2J'$ e< Oh, yes ! with time and attention. There are different remedies. I believe petroleum is the best." By this time we had got to a wide gate that opened into the pasture. As Mr. Wood let Miss i^aurago through and then closed it behind her, he said, " You are looking at that gate. You want t© know why it is so long, don't you ? *' s ' Yes, uncle," she said ; " but I can't bear to ask so many questions." "Ask as many as you like," he said ( good- aaturediy. "I don't mind answering them, Have you ever seen sheep pass through a gate or door ?' ' ' Gh, yes, often." " And how do they act ? " J *Oh, so silly, uncle. They hang back s and 'one waits for another ; and, finally, they aM. try ic fo at once." - * Precisely ; when one goes they all want to go, if it was to jump into a bottomless pit; Many siheep are injured by overcrowding, so I have my ^ates and doors very wide. Now, let us call them «p * s There wasn't one in sight, but when Mr, vVood lifted up his voice and cried : " Ca nan r nan r nan ! M black faces began to peer out from among ihe bushes ; and little black legs, carrying white bodies, came hurrying up the stony paths from the cooler parts of the pasture. Oh, how glad they were to get the salt ! Mr. Wood let Miss Laura spread it on some flat rocks, then they sat down on % log under a tree and watched them eating it and Peking the rocks when it was all gone. Miss x8 274 BEAUTIFUL JOE Laura sat fanning herself with her hat and smiling at them. " You funny, woolly things, " she said; "You're not so stupid as some people think you are. Lie still, Joe. If you show yourself, they may run away." I crouched behind the log, and only lifted my fiead occasionally to see what the sheep were do* ing. Some of them went back into the woods, foj it was very hot in this bare part of the pasture, but the most of them would not leave Mr. Wood, and stood staring at him. " That's a fine sheep, isn't it ? " said Miss Laura, pointing to one with the blackest face, and the blackest legs, and largest body of those near us. " Yes ; that's old Jessica. Do you notice how she's holding her head close to the ground ?" "Yes ; is there any reason for it ? " "There is. She's afraid of the grub fly t You often see sheep holding their noses in that way in the summer time. It is to prevent the fly from' going into their nostrils, and depositing an egg z which will turn into a grub and annoy and worry them. When the fly comes near, they give a snifi and run as if they were crazy, still holding their noses close to the ground. When I was a boy, and the sheep did that, we thought that they had colds in their heads, and used to rub tar on their noses. We knew nothing about the fly then, but the tar cured them, and is just what I use now. Two or three times a month during hot weather, we put a few drops of it on the nose of every sheep in the flock." A TALK ABOUT SHEEP 37$ '* I suppose farmers are like other iveople, and &re always finding out better ways of doing their work, aren't they, uncle?" said Miss Laura, "Yes, my child. The older I grow, the more I find out, and the better care I take of my stock. My grandfather would open his eyes in amazement,, and ask me if I was an old women petting her cats, if he were alive, and could know the care I give my sheep. He used to let his flock run till the fields were covered with snow, and bite as close as they liked, till there wasn't a scrap of feed left. Then he would give them an open shed to run under, and throw down their hay outside. Grain they scarcely knew the taste of. That they would fall off in flesh, and half of them lose their lambs in tne spring, was an expected thing. He would say I had them kennelled, if he could see my big, closed sheds, with the sunny windows that my fiock spend the winter in. I even house them during the bad fall storms. They can run out again, indeed, I like to get them in, and have a snack ©f dry food, to break them in to it. They are in and out of those sheds all winter. You must go in, Laura, and see the self-feeding racks. On bright, winter days they get a run in the cornfields. Cold doesn't hurt sheep. It's the heavy rain thai: soaks their fleeces. " With my way I seldom lose a sheep, and they're the most profitable stock I have. If I could not keep them, I think I'd give up farming. Last year my lambs netted me eight dollars each. The fleeces of the ewes average eight poa,^&, and 276 BEAUTIFUL JOE sell for two dollars each. That's something to brag ©f in these days, when so many are giving up the sheep industry." " How many sheep have you, uncle ? M asked Miss Laura. "Only fifty, now. Twenty-five here and twenty-five down below in the orchard., I've been selling a good many this spring." "These sheep are larger than those in the orchard, aren't they ? " said Miss Laura. "Yes ; I keep those few Southdowns for theii fine quality. I don't make as much on them as I do on these Shropshires. For an all-around sheep I like the Shropshire. It's good for mutton, for wool, and for rearing lambs. There's a great demand for mutton nowadays, all through our eastern cities. People want more and more of it. And it has *o be tender, and juicy, and finely fla- vored, so a person has to be particular about the ieedthe sheep get." " Don't you hate to have these creatures killed r that you have raised and tended so carefully?' said Miss Laura with a little shudder. "I do," said her uncle; " but never an ani- mal goes off my place that I don't know just how it's going to be put to death. None of your send- ing sheep to market with their legs tied together, and jammed in a cart, and sweating and suffering for me. They've got to go standing comfortably on their legs, or go not at all. And I'm going to know the butcher that kills my animals, that have been petted like children. I said to Davidson, A IaLK about sheep %Tf ovex there in Hoytville, ' If I thought you would herd my sheep and lambs and calves together, and take them one by one in sight of the rest, and stick your knife into them, or stun them, and have the others lowing, and bleating, and crying in their misery, this is the last consignment yo^ would ever get from me. ' 1 ' He said, ' Wood, I don't like my business, but on the word of an honest man, my butchering is done as well as it can be. Come and see foi yourself. ' "He took me to his slaughter-house, and though I didn't stay long, I saw enough to coi> vince me that he spoke the truth. He has differ- ent pens and sheds, and the killing is done ai quietly as possible ; the animals are taken in one by one, and though the others suspect wkat is going on, they can't see it." ' ' These sheep are a long way from the noose, ' said Miss Laura ; " don't the dogs that yo» were lelling me about attack them ? ' ' "'No; for since I had that brush with Wind sham's dog, I've trained them to go and o»m@ with the cows. It's a queer thing, but cows thai will run from a dog when they are alone will fight him if he meddles with their calves or the sheep. There's not a dog around that would dare to come into this pasture, for he knows the c©w§ would be after him with lowered horns, and a business look in their eyes. The sheep in the orchard are safe enough, for they're near the house, and if a strange dog came arounds Jot 27& BEAUTIFUL JOE would settle him, wouldn't you, Joe?" and Mr. Wood looked behind the log at me. I got up and put my head on his arm, and he went on : "By and by, the Southdowns will be changed up here, and the Shropshires will go down to the orchard. I like to keep one flock under my fruit trees. You know there is an old proverb, 'The sheep has a golden hoof.' They save me the trouble of ploughing. I haven't ploughed my orchard for ten years, and don't expect to plough It for ten years more. Then your Aunt Hattie's liens are so obliging that they keep me from the worry of finding ticks at shearing time. All the year round, I let them run among the sheep, and they nab every tick they see." "How closely sheep bite," exclaimed Miss Laura, pointing to one that was nibbling almost at Ms master's feet. ** Very close, and they eat a good many things that cows don't relish— bitter weeds, and briars, and shrubs, and the young ferns that come up in the spring. ' ' " I wish I could get hold of one of those dear iittie lambs, ' ' said Miss Laura. ' ' See that sweet little blackie back in the alders. Could you not coax him up ? " "He wouldn't come here," said her uncle, kindly; "but I'll try and get him for you." He rose, and after several efforts succeeded in capturing the black -faced creature, and bringing Mm up to the log. He was very shy of Miss Uwa, but Mr. Wood held him firmly, ° nd let hex A TALK ABOUT SHEEP 279 stroke his head as much as she liked. ' ' You call him little," said Mr. Wood; "if you put your arm around him, you'll find he's a pretty substan- tial lamb. He was born in March. This is the last of July ; he'll be shorn the middle of next month, and think he's quite grown up. Poor little animal ! he had quite a struggle for life, The sheep were turned out to pasture in April. They can't bear confinement as well as the cows, and as they bite closer they can be turned out earlier, and get on well by having good rations of corn in addition to the grass, which is thin and poor so early in the spring. This young creature was running by his mother's side, rather a weak- legged, poor specimen of a lamb. Every night me flock was put under shelter, for the ground was cold, and though the sheep might not suffer from \ying out-doors, the lambs would get chilled. One night this fellow's mother got astray, and as Ben neglected to make the count, she wasn't missed. I'm always anxious about my lambs in the spring, and often get up in the night to look after them, That night I went out about two o'clock. I took it into my head, for some reason or other, to count them. I found a sheep and lamb missing, took my lantern and Bruno, who was some good at tracking sheep, and started out. Bruno barked and I called, and the foolish creature came to me, the little lamb staggering after her. I wrapped the lamb in my coat, took it to the house, made a fire, and heated some milk. Your Aunt Hattie heard me and got up. She won't let me give l8o BEAUTIFUL JOE orandy even to a dumb beast, so I put some ground ginger, which is just as good, in the milk, and forced it down the lamb' s throat. Then we wrapped an old blanket round him, and put him near the stove, and the next evening he was ready to go back to his mother. I petted him all through. April, and gave him extras — different kinds of meal, till I found what suited him best ; now he does me credit." "Dear little lamb," said Miss Laura, patting him. "How can you tell him from the others, uncle? " 4 ' I know all their faces, Laura. A flock of sheep is just like a crowd of people. They all have different expressions, and have different dispositions." "They all look alike tome," said Miss Laura„ ( * I dare say. You are not accustomed to theiR, Do you know how to tell a sheep's age?" s No, uncle. * ' " Here, open your mouth, Cos-jet, " he said to Slie lamb that he still held. "At one year they have two teeth in the centre of the jaw. They get two teeth more every year up to five years, Then we say they have 'a full mouth.' Aftee that you can't tell their age exactly by the teeth Now, run back to your mother," and he let the lamb go. *• Do they always know their own mothers ?" asked Miss Laura. 64 Usually. Sometimes a ewe will not own hes. A TALK ABOUT SHEEP 28 2 lamb. In that case we tie them up in a separate stall till she recognizes it. Do you see that sheep over there by the blueberry bushes— the one with the very pointed ears ? ' ' "Yes, uncle," said Miss Laura. " That lamb by her side is not her own. Hert died and we took its fleece and wrapped it around a twin lamb that we took from another ewe, and gave to her. She soon adopted it. Now, come this way, and I'll show you our movable feeding troughs." He got up from the log, and Miss Laura fol- lowed him to the fence. ' ' These big troughs arc for the sheep," sad Mr. Wood , *'and those shal- low ones in the enclosure are for the lambs. See„ there is just room enough for them to get under the fence. You should see the small creatures rush to them whenever we appear with their oats 9 and wheat, or bran, or whatever we are going to give them. If they are going to the butcher, they get corn meal and oil meal. Whatever it is, they eat it up clean. I don't believe m cramming ani mals. I feed them as much as is good for them„ and not any more. Now, you go sit down over there behind those bushes with Joe, and I'll attend to business." Miss Laura found a shady place, and I curled myself up beside her. We sat there a long time, but we did not get tired, for it was amusing to watch the sheep and lambs. After a while, Mr, Wood came and sat down beside us. He talked oome more about sheep-raising ; then he saido 282 BEAUTIFUL JOE " You may stay here longer if you like, but I must get down to the house. The work must be done, if the weather is hot. "What are you going to do now?" asked Miss Laura, jumping up. "Oh! more sheep business. I've set out some young trees in the orchard, and unless I get chicken wire around them, my sheep will be bark- ing them for me. " ' " I've seen them," said Miss Laura, "stand- ing up on their hind legs and nibbling at the trees, taking off every shoot they can reach." "They don't hurt the old trees," said Mr. Wood ; but the young ones have to be protected. It pays me to take care of my fruit trees, for I get a splendid crop from them, thanks to the sheep." "Good-bye, little lambs and dear old sheep," said Miss Laura, as her uncle opened the gate for her to leave the pasture. " I'll come and see you again some time. Now, you had better go down to the brook in the dingle and have a drink. You look hot in your warm coats." I "You've mastered one detail of sheep-keep- ing," said Mr. Wood, as he slowly walked along beside his niece, "To raise healthy sheep one mast have pure water where they can get to it whenever they Iike„ Give them good water, good iood, and a variety of it, good quarters — cool in summer, comfortable in winter, and keep them quiet, and you'll make them happy and make money on them." A TALK ABOUT SHEKP 283 "I think I'd like sheep-raising," said Miss Laura ; " won't you have me for your flock mis- tress, uncle ?" He laughed, and said he thought not, for she would cry every time any of her charge were sent to the butcher. After this Miss Laura and 1 often went up to the pasture to see the sheep and the lambs. We used to get into a shady place wb/..re they could not see us, and watch them. One day I got a great surprise about the sheep. I b ad heard so much about their meekness that I nc;ve»- dreamed that they would fight ; but it turned cut that they did, and they went about it in such a business-l ; k« way, that I could not help smiling at thnm. \ suppose that like most other animus they had a spice of wickedness in them. On thk day a quarreJ arose between two sheep ; but instead of running at each other like two dogs they went a long distance apart, and then came rushing at each other with lowered heads. Their object seamed to be to break each other's skull ; but Miss Laura soon stopped them by calling out and fri ghtening them apart. I thought that the lambs were more inter- esting than the sheep. Sometimes f.hey fed quietly by their mothers' sides, and at other times they all huddled together on the top of some flat rock or in a bare place, and seemed to be talking to each other with their heads close together. Sud- denly one would jump down, and start for the bushes or the other side of the pasture. They would all follow pell-mell ; then in a few minute* 284 BEAUTIFUL JOE they would come rushing back again. It was pretty to see them playing together and having a good time before the sorrowful day of their deada came. CHAPTER XXX A JEALOUS OX R. WOOD had a dozen calves that he was raising, and Miss Laura sometimes went up to the stable to see them. Each calf was in a crib, and it was fed with milk. They had gentle, patient faces, and beau- tiful eyes, and looked very meek, as they stood quietly gazing about them, or sucking away at their milk. They reminded me of big, gentle dogs. I never got a very good look at them in their cribs, but one day when they were old enough to be let out, I went up with Miss Laura to the yard where they were kept. Such queer, ungainly, large-boned creatures they were, and such a good time they were having, running and jumping and throwing up their heels. Mrs. Wood was with us, and she said that it was not good for calves to be closely penned after they got to be a few weeks old. They were better for getting out and having a frolic. She stood beside Miss Laura for a long time, watching the calves, and laughing a great deal at their awk- 285 286 BEAUTIFUL JOE ward gambols. They wanted to play, but they did not seem to know how to use their limbs. They were lean calves, and Miss Laura asked her aunt why all the nice milk they had taken had not made them fat. " The fat will come all m good time," said Mrs. Wood. "A fat calf makes a poor cow, and a fat, small calf isn't profitable to fit for sending to the butcher. It's better to have a bony one and fatten it. If you come here next summer, you'll see a fine show of young cattle, with fat sides, and big, open horns, and a good coat of hair. Can you imagine, ' ' she went on, indignantly, "that any one could be cruel enough to torture such a harmless creature as a calf ? ' ' "No, indeed," replied Miss Laura. "Wito has been doing it ? " "Who has been doing it?" repeated Mrs. Wood, bitterly ; " they are doing it all the time. Do you know what makes the nice, white veal one gets in big cities ? The calves are bled to death. They linger for hours, and moan their lives away, The first time I heard it, I was so angry that 1 cried for a day, and made John promise that he'd never send another animal of his to a big city to be killed. That's why all of our stock goes to Hoytville, and small country places. Oh, those big cities are awful places, Laura. It seems to me that it makes people wicked to huddle them to- gether. I'd rather live in a desert than a city. There's Ch o. Every night since I've been there I pray to the Lord either to change the hearts A JEALOUS OX 287 of some of the wicked people in it, or to destroy them off the face of the earth. You know three years ago I got run down, and your uncle said I'd got to have a change, so he sent me off to my brother's in Ch o. I stayed and enjoyed my- self pretty well, for it is a wonderful city, till one day some Western men came in, who had been visiting the slaughter houses outside the city. I sat and listened to their talk, and it seemed to me that I was hearing the description of a great battle. These men were cattle dealers, and had been send- ing stock to Ch o, and they were furious that men, in their rage for wealth, would so utterly ignore and trample on all decent and humane feel- ings as to torture animals as the Ch o men were doing. * ' It is too dreadful to repeat the sights they saw a I listened till they were describing Texan steers kicking in agony under the torture that was prac- tised, and then I gave a loud scream, and fainted dead away. They had to send for your uncle, and he brought me home, and for days and days I heard nothing but shouting and swearing, and saw animals dripping with blood, and crying and moan- ing in their anguish, and now, Laura, if you' d lay down* a bit of Ch o meat, and cover it with gold, I'd spurn it from me. But what am I say- ing r you're as white as a sheet. Come and see the cow stable. John's just had it whitewashed." Miss Laura took her aunt' s arm, and 1 walked slowly behind them. The cow stable was a long building, well-built, and with no chinks in the 2S8 BEAUTIFUL JOfi watis, as Jenkins's stable had, there were large windows where the afternoon sun came streaming In, and a number of ventilators, and a great many stalls. A pipe of water ran through the stalls from one end of the stable to the other. The floor was covered with sawdust and leaves, and the ceiling and tops of the walls were whitewashed. Mrs. Wood said that her husband would not have the walls a glare of white right down to the floor, because he thought it injured the animals* eyes. So the lower parts of the walls- were stained a dark, brown color. There were doors at each end of the stable, and just now they stood open, and a gentle breeze was blowing through, but Mrs. Wood said that when the cattle stood in the stalls, both doors were mever allowed to be open at the same time. Mr. Wood was most particular to have no drafts blow- ing upon his cattle. He would not have them chilled, and he would not have them overheated. One thing was as bad as the other. And during the winter they were never allowed to drink icy water. He took the chill off the water for his cows, just as Mrs. Wood did for her hens. "You know, Laura," Mrs. Wood went on, "that when cows are kept dry and warm, they eat less than when they are cold and wet. They are so warm-blooded that if they are cold, they have to eat a great deal to keep up the heat of their bodies, so it pays better to house and feed them well. They like quiet, too. I never knew that till I married your uncle. On our farm, the boys A JEALOUS OX 289 always shouted and screamed at the cows when they were driving them, and sometimes they made them run. They're never allowed to do that here." " I have noticed how quiet this farm seems," said Miss Laura. ' ' You have so many men about, and yet there is so little noise. ' ' "Your uncle whistles a great deal," said Mrs. Wood. " Have you noticed that? He whistles when he's about his work, and then he has a call- ing whistle that nearly all of the animals know, and the men run when they hear it. You'd see every cow in this stable turn its head, if he whistled in a certain way outside. He says that he got into the way of doing it when he was a boy and went for his father's cows. He trained them so that he'd just stand in the pasture and whistle, and they' d come to him. I believe the first thing that inclined me to him was his clear, happy whistle, I'd hear him from our house away down on the road, jogging along with his cart, or driving in his buggy. He says there is no need of screaming at any animal. It only frightens and angers them. They will mind much better if you speak clearly and distinctly. He says there is only one thing an animal hates more than to be shouted at, and that's to be crept on — to have a person sneak up to it and startle it. John says many a man is kicked, because he comes up to his horse like a thief. A startled animal' s first instinct is to defend itself. A dog will spring at you, and a horse will let his heels fly. John always speaks or whistles to let the stock know when he's approaching." 2$* BEAUTIFUL JOE ' ' Where is uncle this afternoon ? ' ' asked Miss Laura. "Oh, up to his eyes in hay. He's even got one of the oxen harnessed to a hay cart. ' ' "I wonder whether it's Duke?" said Miss Laura. "Yes, it is. I saw the star on his forehead," replied Mrs. Wood. " I don't know when I have laughed at any- thing as much as I did at him the other day," said Miss Laura. ' ' Uncle asked me if I had ever heard of such a thing as a jealous ox, and I said no. He said, 'Come to the barnyard, and I'll show you one.' The oxen were both there, Duke with his broad face, and Bright so much sharper and more intelligent looking. Duke was drinking at the trough there, and uncle said : ' Just look at him. Isn't he a great, fat, self-satisfied creature, and doesn't he look as if he thought the world owed him a living, and he ought to get it ? ' Then he got the card and went up to Bright, and began scratching him. Duke lifted his head from the trough, and stared at uncle, who paid no attention to him but went on carding Bright, and stroking and petting him. Duke looked so angry. He left the trough, and with the water dripping from nis lips, went up to uncle, and gave him a push with his horns. Still uncle took no notice, and Duke almost pushed him over. Then uncle left off petting Bright, and turned to him. He said Duke would have treated him roughly, if he hadn't. I never saw a creature look as satisfied as Duke A JEALOUS OX 29£ did, when uncle began to card him. Bright didn't seem to care, and only gazed calmly at them." "I've seen Duke do that again and again," said Mrs. Wood. He's the most jealous animal that we have, and it makes him perfectly misera- ble to have your uncle pay attention to any animal but him. What queer creatures these dumb brutes are. They're pretty much like us in most ways. They're jealous and resentful, and they can love or hate equally well — and forgive, too, for that matter ; and suffer — how they can suffer, and so patiently, too. Where is the human being that would put up with the tortures that animals endure and yet come out so patient ? ' ' " Nowhere," said Miss Laura, in a low voice ; " we couldn't do it." " And there doesn't seem to bean animal," Mrs. Wood went on, "no matter how ugly and repulsive it is, but what has some lovable qualities. I have just been reading about some sewer rats, Louise Michel's rats " , "Who is she ? " asked Miss Laura. " A celebrated Frenchwoman, my dear child, a the priestess of pity and vengeance, ' Mr. Stead calls her. You are too young to know about her, but I remember reading of her in 1872, during the Commune troubles in France. She is an anarchist, and she used to wear a uniform, and shoulder a rifle, and help to build barricades. She was ar- rested and sent as a convict to one of the French penal colonies. She has a most wonderful love for animals in her heart, and when she went home she 392 BEAUTIFUL JOE took four cats with her. She was put into prison again in France and took the cats with her. Rats came about her cell and she petted them and taught her cats to be kind to them. Before she got the cats thoroughly drilled one of them bit a rat' s paw. Louise nursed the rat till it got well, then let it down by a string from her window. It went back to its sewer, and, I suppose, told the other rats how kind Louise had been to it, for after that they came to her cell without fear. Mother rats brought their young ones and placed them at her feet, as if to ask her protection for them. The most remarkable thing about them was their affec- tion for each other. Young rats would chew the crusts thrown to old toothless rats, so that they might more easily eat them, and if a young rat dared help itself before an old one, the others punished it. ' ' ' ' That sounds very interesting, auntie, ' ' said Miss Laura. ' ' Where did you read it ? ' * "I have just got the magazine," said Mrs. Wood ; ' ' you shall have it as soon as you come into the house. ' ' " I love to be with you, dear auntie," said Miss Laura, putting her arm affectionately around her, as they stood in the doorway ; "because you un- derstand me when I talk about animals. I can't explain it," went on my dear young mistress, lay- ing her hand on her heart, ' ' the feeling I have here for them. I just love a dumb creature, and I want to stop and talk to every one I see. Some- times I worry poor Bessie Drury, and I'm so sorry. A JEALOUS OX 293 but I can't help it. She says, " What makes you so silly, Laura ? ' ' Miss Laura was standing just where the sun- light shone through her light-brown hair, and made her face all in a glow. I thought she looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her before, and I think Mrs. Wood thought the same. She turned around and put both hands on Miss Laura's shoulders. "Laura," she said, earnestly, "there are enough cold hearts in the world. Don't you ever stifle a warm or tender feeling toward a dumb creature. That is your chief attraction, my child : your love for everything that breathes and moves. Tear out the selfishness from your heart, if there is any there, but let the love and pity stay. And now let me talk a little more to you about the cows. I want to interest you in dairy matters. This stable is new since you were here, and we've made a number of improvements. Do you see those bits of rock salt in each stall ? They are for the cows to lick whenever they want to. Now, come here, and I'll show you what we call ' The Black Hole.' " It was a tiny stable off the main one, and it was very dark and cool. " Is this a place of pun- ishment?" asked Miss Laura, in surprise. Mrs. Wood laughed heartily. "No, no; a place of pleasure. Sometimes when the flies are very bad and the cows are brought into the yard to be milked and a fresh swarm settles on them, they are nearly frantic ; and though they are the best cows in New Hampshire, they will kick a little. 294 BEAUTIFUL JOE When tfcey do, those that are the worst are brouglnt 5a here to be milked where there are no flies. Ths ©thers feave big strips of cotton laid over thek hacks and tied under them, and the men brush 3heir legs with tansy tea, or water with a little car- ioEc acid in it. That keeps the flies away, and the cows know just as well that it is done for their comfort, and stand quietly till the milking is over I s&esft ask John to have their nightdresses put go sometimes for you to see, Harry calls thess tfoeetcd ghosts/ and they do look queer enough ^.ss£sa§ ail round the barnyard Kdmd in whte D: ■•% CHAPTER XKM SN THE COW STABLE Tka strange thing/ B said Miss LsMr&t ss that a little thing like a fly, cam cause' so much annoyance to animals as well s& to people ? Sometimes when I am trying to get aasore sleep in the morning, their little feet Mckle me so that I am nearly frantic and have to % out of bed/ 9 ss Ygu shall have some netting to put bwgk your bed, ' 9 said Mrs, Wood ; ' ■ but suppose, Laura t you had no hands to brush away the flies. Sup- pose your whole body was covered with ihem t and jou were tied up somewhere and could no$ get ; loose, I can't imagine more exquisite torture my- self, Last summer the flies here were dreadfaL It seems to me that they are getting worse and sorse every year, and worry the animals more* I believe it is because the birds are getting thinned out all over the country, There are not enough of them to catch the flies, John says that the nertt improvements we make on the farm are to be wire gauze at all the stable windows and screen doers I© keep the little pests from the horses and cattle. *9S d$6 BEAUTIFUL JO® gs Oa© afternoon last summer, Mir, Maxwslff, modest came for me to go for a drive with km-. The keat was intense, and when we got dowa by Sfe® river, she proposed getting M tag the phaeton staid sitting under the trees, to see if k w&sM hn kny cooler. She was driving a horse that she had gate fe®m tSb,e hotel in the village £ a roan horse that was dUpped, and cheek=relned, and had his tail docked. I wouldn't drive behind a tailless horse? msm. Then f I wasn't so particular. However, 1 anade her unfasten the cteck^rein before I'd set loot m tne carriage. Well, I thought that horse woubI go mad. He'd tremble and shiver, and lock m pitifully at us, Th& flies were nearly eat- ing Mm up, Then he'd start a little, Mrs. Max- well had a weight at his head to hold him, but he could easily have dragged that. He was a good- dispositioned horse, and he didn't want to rim away, but he could not stand still. I soe© jxsmpsd up and slapped him, and rubfoed Mm till my handk were dripping wet. The poer brute was so grafts ful and would keep touching spy arm wisbs 'bis nos©, Mrs. Maxwell sat under the feces fanning aeasreSg and laughing at me, but I didm*t care. Hsray eeiM 1 enjoy myself with a dumb creatoiie writMng in pain before me ? 38 A docked horse can neither eat n&r sleep comfortably in the fly season. In one of our New England villages they have a sign up, ' Horses feaken in to grass. Long tails, one dollar and fifty cents. Short tails, one dollar' And It just means SSiat the short-tailed ones a*"^ ta?"en cheaper, be* m THE COW STABLE 2$J £*i»se they are so bothered by the ffies that they caw't eat much, while the long-tailed ones are abk to brush them away, and eat In peace*, I read the other day of a Buffalo coal dealer's horse that was an such an agony through flies, that he com= fitted suicide. You know animals will do that, I've read of horses and dogs drowning themselves. This horse had been clipped, and his tail wag docked, and he was turned out t® graze. The fies stung him till he was nearly crazy. He ran sap to % picket fence, and sprang up on the sharp spikes. There he hung, making no effort to geJ <&>wn. Some men saw him, and they s&sd k was a clear case of suicide. " I would like to have the power to take every man who cuts off a horse's tail, and tie Ms hand^ and turn him out in a field nn the hot sun, wsllh little clothing on, and plenty of flies about. Then we wmM. see ff he wouldn't sympathize with the poor, dumb beast. It's the most senseless thing in the world, this docking fashion. They've a few flimsy arguments about a horse with a docked tail being stronger-backed, like a short-tailed sheep, but I don't believe a word of it. The? horse was made strong enough to do the work he's got to do, and man can't improve on him, Docking is a cruel, wicked thing. Now, there' s a ghost of an argument in fr vor of check-reins, or certain occasions. A fiery, young horse can't rur away, with an overdrawn check, and in speeding horses a tight check-rein will make them hold their heads up, and keep them frop» cWfipf, %g® BEAUTIFUL JOE' But I doa't believe in raising colts in a way to make theni &ery, and I wish there wasn't a race feorse on the face of the earth, so if it depended on arse, every kind of check-rein would go. It's a pity we women can't vote s Laura„ We'd do away with a good many abuses. ' ' Miss Laura smiled, but it was a very faint, inmost an unhappy smile, and Mrs. Wood said {hastily, " Let us talk about something else. Did you ever hear that cows will give less milk on a dark day thaa on a bright one ? " " No ; I never did,* 8 said Miss Laura. "Well, they do. They are most sensitive Animals. One finds out all manners of curious i&iings about animals if he makes a study of them* Cows are wonderful creatures* I think, and so grateful for good usage that they return every scrap of care given them, with interest Have you ever feeard anything about dehorning, Laura ?' s "Not much, aantie. Does uncle approve at It?" 1 ■ No, indeed. He'd just as soon tMnk of eA iang their tails off s as of dehorning them Sfe §ays he guesses the Creator knew how to mats « cow better than he does. Sometimes I tell Jofea £hat his argument doesn't hold good,, for a man m lome ways can improve on nature. In ?&m natw3$ course of things, a cow would be feeding her c&M for half a year, but we take it away from feer, amdi aaise it as well as she could and get an extra quantity of milk from her in addition. I don't know what to think myself about dehorning* Mr, IN THE COW STABLE 399 Windham's cattle are all polled, and he has ass open space In his barn for them, instead of keep- ing them in stalls, and he says they're more com- fortable and not so confined. I suppose in send- ing cattle to sea, it's necessary to take their horns off, but when they're going to be turned out So grass, It seems like mutilating them. Our cows couldn't keep the dogs away from the sheep if they didn't have their horns, Their horns are ^eir means of defense. ' ' " Do your cattle stand in these stalls all win- tf r ? ' ' asked Miss Laura. " Oh, yes, except when they're turned out in the barnyard, and then John usually has to send a man to keep them moving or they'd take cold. Sometimes on very fine days they get ®ut all day. You know cows aren't like horses. John says they're like great milk machines. You've got to keep them quiet, only exercising enough to keep them in health. If a cow is hurried or worried, or chilled or heated, it stops her milk yield, And bad usage poisons it. John says you can't take a stick and strike a cow across the back, without her milk being that much worse, and as for drink- ing the milk that comes from a cow that isn't kept clean, you'd better throw it away and drink water. When I was in Chicago, my sister-in-law kepfc complaining to her milkman about what she called the 'cowy' smell to her milk. "It's the animal odor, ma'am,' he said, 'and it can't be hdped. All milk smells like that 8 ■ It's dirt/ I said, when she asked my opinion about it, f-VM }@0 BEAUTIFUL JO® wager my best bonnet that thaS esesss* 3 cows sum kept dirty* Their skins are plastered tap with filth, and as the poison in them can't escape that way, It's coming out through the milk s and yoai're help- sag to dispose of it.' She was astonished to hear vthis, and she got her milkman's address,, and one day dropped in upon him. She said that his cow? were standing in a stable that was comparatively clean, but that their bodies were in )®s& the state ihat I described them as living in. She advised the man to card and brush his cows every day, and said that he need bring her no more milk. " That shows how you city people are imposed apon with regard to your milk= I should §Mnk you'd be poisoned with the treatment your cows receive; and even when your milk is examined you can't tell whether it is pure or not In New York the law only requires thirteen per cent of solids in milk. That's absurd, for you can feed a cow on swill and still get fourteen per cento of solids In It. Oh ! you city people are queer/ ! Miss Laura laughed heartily, ' ' What a prejm .= ike you have against large towns, auntie." "Yes, I have," said Mrs. Wood, honestly, f? I often wish we could break up a few of our cities, and scatter the people through the country. Look at the lovely farms all about here, some of Shem with only an old man and woman on them. The boys are off to the cities, slaving In stores and offices, and growing pale and sickly. It would feave broken my heart if Harry had taken to city srays. I had a plain talk with your uncle when I IN THE COW STABLE ^OI married him, and said, ' Now, my boy's only a baby, and I want him to be brought up so that he will love country life. How are we going to manage it?' "Your uncle looked at me with a sly twinkle in his eye, and said I was a pretty fair specimen of a country girl, suppose we brought up Harry the way I'd been brought up, I knew he was only joking, yet I got quite excited. ' Yes/ I said, ' Do as my father and mother did, Have a farm about twice as large as you can manage. Don't keep a hired man, Get up at daylight and slave till dark. Never take a holiday. Have the girls do the housework, and take care of the hens, and help pick the fruit, and make the boys tend the colts and the calves, and put all the money they make in the bank. Don't take any papers, for they would waste their time reading them, and it's toe far to go the postoffice oftener than once a week : and ' — but, I don't remember the rest of what I .said. Anyway your uncle burst into & roar of daughter. « Hattie,' he said, * my farm's too big- s' m going to sell some of it, and enjoy myself a little more,' That very week he sold fifty acres,, and he hired an extra man, and got me a good girl, and twice a week he left his work in the after noon, and took me for a drive. Harry held the reins in his tiny fingers, and John told Mm that Dolly, the old mare we were driving, should be called his, and the very next horse he bougM should be called his, too, and he should name flf> arnd have it for his own ; and he would give Mm 302 BEAUTIFUL JOE five sheep, and he should have his own bank bot ^ and keep his accounts; and Harry understock mere baby though he was, and from that day h.t loved John as his own father. If my father hlw? had the wisdom that John has, his boys wouldn't be the one a poor lawyer and the other a poor d' o tor in two different cities ; and our farm wouldn't be in the hands of strangers. It makes me sick to ga there. I think of my poor mother lying with heir tired hands crossed out in the churchyard, and the boys so far away, and my father always hurrying and driving us — -I can tell you, Laura, the thing cuts both ways. It isn't all the fault of the bojs that they leave the country. ' ' Mrs. Wood was silent for a little while after sh* made this long speech, and Miss Laura said noth- ing. I took a turn or two up and down the stable, thinking of many things. No matter how happy human beings seem to be, they always have some' thing to worry them. I was sorry for Mrs. Wood, for her face had lost the happy look it usually wore. However, she soon forgot her trouble, and said : * s Now, I must go and get the tea. This is Adele's afternoon out." "I'll come, too," said Miss Laura, "for I promised her I'd make the biscuits for tea this evening and let you rest." They both saunterei slowly down the plank walk to the house, and I followed them. CHAPTER XXXf! OUR RETURN HOME [M October, the most beautiful of all tw§ months, we were obliged to go back to Fairport Miss Laura could not bear t© leave the farm, and her face got very sorrowful when any one spoke of her going away. Still, she had gotten well and strong, and was as brown as a berry, and she said that she knew she ought tc go home, and get back to her lessons. Mr. Wood called October the golden montho Everything was quiet and still, and at night and in the morning the sun had a yellow, misty look. The trees in the orchard were loaded with fruity and some of the leaves were floating down, mak= ing a soft covering on the ground. In the garden there were a great many flowers in bloom, in flaming red and yellow colors. Miss Laura gathered bunches of them every day to put in the parlor. One day when she was arranging them, she said, regretfully, ' * They will soon be gone. I wish it could always be summer. ' ' 11 You would get tired of it," said Mr, Harry , who had come up softly behind her, * 8 There' s 303 3©4 BEAUTIFUL JOE ©nly one place where we could stand perpetual summer, and that's in heaven." " Do you suppose that it will always be sum- mer there ? ' ' said Miss Laura, turning around, and looking at him. '•I don't know. I imagine it will be, but I don't think anybody knows much about it. We ! ve got to wait. ' ' Miss Laura's eyes fell on me. " Harry," shfe laid, ' • do you think that dumb animals will go to heaven ? ' ' " I shall have to say again, I don't know/' he sreplied. ■ ' Some people hold that they do. In a Michigan paper, the other day, I came across one writer's opinion on the subject. He says that among the best people of all ages have been some who believed in the future life of animals. Homer and the later Greeks, some of the Romans and garly Christians held this view-— the last believing ihat God sent angels in the shape of birds to com- fort sufferers for the faith. St. Francis called the birds and beasts his brothers. Dr. Johnson be- lieved in a future life for animals, as also did Wordsworth, Shelley, Coleridge, Jeremy Taylor, Agassiz, Lamartine, and many Christian scholars. It seems as if they ought to have some compensa- tion for their terrible sufferings in this world. Then to go to heaven, animals would only have to take up the thread of their lives here. Man is a god to the lower creation. Joe worships you, much as you worship your Maker. Dumb animals live in and for their masters. They hang on our OUR RETURN HOME 3©5 cords and looks, and are dependent on us in syiiSiost every way. For my own part, and looking a£ It from an earthly point of view, I wish with al mf heart that we may find our dumb friends In paradise." "And in the Bible," said Miss Laura, '"ani- mals are often spoken of. The dove and the raven f *he welf and the lamb, and the leopard, and the cattle what God says are his, and the little sparrow tthat can't fall to the ground without our Father 8 s knowing it." •■• Still, there's nothing definite about their im- mortality," said Mr. Harry. " However, we've got nothing to do with that. If it's right for them to be in heaven, we'll find them there. All we have to do now is to deal with the present f and £fce Bible plainly tells us that 'a righteous man reg&rdeth the life of his beast.* " • ' I think I would be happier in heaven If deas old Joe were where, ' ' said Miss Laura, looking wist~ fully at me. "He has been such a good dogo Just think how he has loved and protected me* I think I should be lonely without him." " That reminds me^of some poetry, or rathei doggerel," said Mr. Harry, "that I cutout of a newspaper for you yesterday ; " and he drew from Ms pocktst a little slip of paper, and read this : ** Do doggies gang to heaven, Dad ? Will oor auld Donald gang? For noo to tak' him, faither wf us, "Wad hz maist awfu* wrang." There was a number of other verses, telling 306 BEAUTIFUL JOB how many kind things old Donald the dog had done for his master's family, and then it closed *7stb these lines : " Withoot are dogs. Eh, faither, man, 'Twould be an awfu' sin To leave oor faithfu' doggie there t He's certain to win in. M Oor Donald's no like ither dogs, He'll no be lockit oot, If Donald's no let into heaven, I'll no gang there one foot.'* "My sentiments exactly," said a merry voice behind Miss Laura and Mr. Harry, and looking up they saw Mr. Maxwell. He was holding out one hand to them, and in the other kept back a basket of large pears that Mr. Hany promptly took from him, and offered to Miss Laura. " I'v&- been dependent upon animals for the most part of my comfort in this life," said Mr. Maxwell, "and I sha'n't be happy without them in heaven. I don't see how you would get on without Joe, Miss Morris, and I want my birds, and my snake, and my horse— how can I live without them ? They're almost all my life here. ' ' , " If some animals go to heaven and not others, I think that the dog has the first claim," said Miss Laura. " He's the friend of man— the oldest and best. Have you ever heard the legend about him and Adam?" "No," said Mr. Maxwell. "Well, when Adam was turned out of para- dise, all the animals shunned him, and he sat bit OUR RETURN HOME 3&? terly weeping with his 'head between his hands, when he felt the soft tongue of some creature gwitly touching him. He took his hands from his face, and there was a dog that had separated him- self from all the other animals, and was trying to Comfort him. He became the chosen friend and Companion of Adam, afterward of all men/ 5 "There is another legend," said Mr c Harry p '* about our Saviour and a dog. Have you ever heard it?' 8 "We'll tell you that later," said Mr. Maxwell, ■ when we know what it is." Mr. Harry showed his white teeth in an amused smile, and began : "Once upon a time our Lord was going through a town with his disciples, A dead dog lay by the wayside, and every one that passed along flung some offensive epithet at hintc Eastern dogs are not like our dogs, and seemingly there was nothing good about this loathsome crea- ture, but as our Saviour went by, he said, gently t * Pearls cannot equal the whiteness of his teeth, 5 ° f " What was the name of that old fellow," said Mio Maxwell, abruptly, " who had a beautiful swan that came every day for fifteen years, to bury its head in his bosom and feed from his hand, and would go near no other human being ?" "Saint Hugh, of Lincoln. We heard about him at the Band of Mercy the other day," said Miss Laura. " I should think that he would have wanted to have that swan in heaven with him, ' • said Mr r Maxwell. « f What a beautiful creature it must have ;fo8 BEAUTIFUL JOE beeiic Speaking about animals going to heaven, 1 dare say some of them would object to going, oe account of the company that they would meet there.. Think of the dog kicked to death by his master e the horse driven into his grave, the thousands ol cattle starved to death on the plains — will they want to meet their owners in heaven ?" "According to my reckoning, their owners won't be there," said Mr. Harry. "I firmly be- lieve that the Lord will punish every man or woman who ill-treats a dumb creature just as surely as he will punish those who ill-treat their fellow-creatures. If a man's life has been a long series of cruelty to iumb animals, do you suppose that he would en- joy himself in heaven, which will be full of kind= aess to every one ? Not he ; he'd rather be in the other place, and there he'll go, I fully believe." "When you've quite disposed of all your fel- low-creatures and the dumb creation, Harry, per- haps you will condescend to go out into the orchard and see how your father is getting on with picking the apples," said Mrs. Wood, joining Miss Laura and the two yoang men, her eyes twinkling and sparkling with amusement. "The apples will keep, mother," said Mr, Harry, putting his arm around her. " I just came in for a moment to get Laura. Come, Maxwell, we'll all go." "And not another word about animals," Mrs, Wood called after them. ' ' Laura will go crazy some day, through thinking of their sufferings,, M some one doesn't do something to stop her," OUR RETURN HOME 3©$ Miss Laura turned around suddenly, " Deai fount Hattie," she said, "you must not say that* 1 am a coward, I know, about hearing of animals' pains, but I must get over it. I want to know how tfiey suffer. I ought to know, for when I get to be \ woman, I am going to do all I can to help them. 1 ' sl And I'll join you," said Mr. Maxwell, stretch- ing out his hand to Miss Laura, She did not smile, but looking very earnestly at him, she held it clasped in her own. " You will help me to care for them, will you?" she said. "Yes, I promise," he said, gravely. "I'll give myself to the service of dumb animals, if you will." "And I, too," said Mr. Harry, in his deep yoice, laying his hand across theirs. Mrs. Wood stood looking at their three fresh, eager, young faces, with tears in her eyes. Just as they all stood silently for an instant, the old village clergy= man came into the room from the hall. He must have heard what they said, for before they could move he had laid his hands on their three brown beads. " Bless you, my children," he said, " God will lift up the light of his countenance upon yoa a for you have given yourselves to a noble work* In serving dumb creatures, you are ennobling the human race." Then he sat down in a chair and looked at them. He was a venerable old man, and had long, white hair, and the Woods thought a great deal of him. He had come to get Mrs. Wood tc make some nourishing dishes for a sick woman m 3IO BEAUTIFUL JOE the village, and while he was talking to her, Miss Laura and the two young men went out of the house. They hurried across the veranda and over the lawn, talking and laughing, and enjoy- ing themselves as only happy young people can„ and with not a trace of their seriousness of a few moments before on their faces. They were going so fast that they ran right iato a flock of geese that were coming up the lane, They were driven by a little boy called Tommy, the son of one of Mr. Wood' s farm laborers, and they were chattering and gabbling, and seemed very angry. "What's all this about ? " said Mr, Harry, stopping and looking at the boy. " What's the matter with your feathered charges, Tommy, my lad ? ' ' "If it's the geese you mean," said the boy, half crying and looking very much put out, "it's all them nasty potatoes. They won't keep away from them. ' ' "So the potatoes chase the geese, dothey,'' said Mr. Maxwell, teasingly. "No, no," said the child, pettishly; "Mi Wood he sets me to watch the geese, and they runs in among the buckwheat and the potatoes, and I tries to drive them out, and they doesn't want to come, and," shamefacedly, "I has to switch their feet, and I hates to do it, 'cause I'm a Band of Mercy boy. ' ' "Tommy, my son," said Mr. Maxwell, sol- emnly, "you will go right to heaven when yow die, and your geese will go with you. OUR RETURN HOME 311 "Hush, hush," said Miss Laura; "don't £«;ase him," and putting her arm on the child's sfaoulder, she said, " You are a good boy, Tommy, not to want to hurt the geese. Let me see your switch, dear." He showed her a little stick he had In hi§ hand, and she said, "I don't think you could hurt them much with that, and if they will be naughty and steal the potatoes, you have to drive them out. Take some of my pears and eat them, and you will forget your trouble." The child iook the fruit, and Miss Laura and the two young men went on their way, smiling, and looking over their shoulders at Tommy, who stood in the lane, devouring his pears and keeping one eye on the geese that had gathered a little in front of him 9 and were gabbling noisily and having a kind of Indignation meeting, because they had been driven out of the potato field. Tommy's father and mother lived in a little house down near the road. Mr. Wood never had his hired men live in his own house. He had two small houses for them to live in, and they were required to keep them as neat as Mr. Wood's own house was kept. He said that he didn't see why he should keep a boarding house, if he was a farmer, nor why his wife should wear herself out waiting on strong, hearty men, that had just as soon take care of themselves. He wished to have his own family about him, and it was better for his men to have some kind of family life for themselves. If one of his men was unmarried, he 312 BEAUTIFUL JOE boarded with the married one, but slept in hie own house. On this October day we found Mr. Wood hard at work under the fruit trees. He had a good many different kind of apples. Enormous red ones, and long, yellow ones that they called pip- pins, and little brown ones, and smooth-coated sweet ones, and bright red ones, and others, more than I could mention. Miss Laura often pared one and cut off little bits for me, for I always wanted to eat whatever I saw her eating. Just a few days after this, Miss Laura and I returned to Fairport, and some of Mr. Wood's apples traveled along with us, for he sent a good many to the Boston market. Mr. and Mrs. Wood came to the station to see us off. Mr. Harry could not come, for he had left Riverdale the day before to go back to his college. Mrs. Wood said that she would be very lonely without her two young people, and she kissed Miss Laura over and over again, and made her promise to come back again the next summer. L was put in a box in the express car, and Mr, Wood told the agent that if he knew what was good for him he would speak to me occasionally, for I was a very knowing dog, and if he didn't treat me well, I'd be apt to write him up in the newspapers. The agent laughed, and quite often on the way to Fairport, he came to my box and spoke kindly to me. So I did not get so lonely and frightened as I did on my way to Riverdale. How glad the Morrises were to see us coming OUR RETURN HOME $U^ back, The boys had all gotten home before us s and such a fuss as they did make over their sister 3 They loved her dearly, and never wanted her to be long away from them. I was rubbed and stroked, and had to run about offering my paw to every one. Jim and little Billy licked my face s and Bella croaked out, "Glad to see you, Jo®,! Had a good time ? How's your health ?' 9 We soon settled down for the winter. Mist Laura began going to school, and came horn® every day with a pile of books under her arm. The summer in the country had done her so mucfc good that her mother often looked at her fondly 9 &nd said the white-faced child she sent away tmi [ come home a nut-brown maid, k*- CHAPTER XXXfll PERFORMING ANIMALS WEEK or two after we got h jtne, I heard the Morris boys talking about an Italian 11 who was coming to Fairport with a troupe of trained animals, and I could see for myself, whenever I went to town, great flaming pictures on the fences, of monkeys sitting at tables, dogs, and ponies, and goats climbing ladders, and roll- ing balls, and doing various tricks. I wondered very much whether they would be able to do all those extraordinary things, but it turned out that they did. The Italian's name was Bellini, and one after«- ttoon the whole Morris family went to see him and his animals, and when they came home, I heard them talking about it. "I wish you could have been there, Joe, ' ' said Jack, pulling up my paws to rest on his knees. "Now listen, old fellow, and I'll tell you all about it. First of all, there was a perfect jam in the town hall. I sat up in front, with a lot of fellows, and had a splendid view. The old Italian came out dressed in his best suit of clothes— black broadcloth, flower in his but- 314 PERFORMING "ANIMALS 3 1 £ tonhole, and so on. He made a fine bow, and he said he was ' pleased too see ze fine audience, and he was going to show zem ze fine animals, ze finest animals in ze world.' Then he shook a little whip that he carried in his hand, and he said * zat zat whip didn't mean zat he was cruel. He cracked it to show his animals when to begin, end, or change their tricks.' Some boy yelled, 'Rats! you do whip them sometimes, ' and the old man made another bow, and said, ' Sairteenly, he whip- ped zem just as ze mammas whip ze naughty boys P to make zem keep still when zey was noUy or stubborn. ' " Then everybody laughed at the boy, and the Italian said the performance would begin by a grand procession of all the animals, if some lady would kindly step up to the piano and play a march. Nina Smith — you know Nina, Joe, the girl that has black eyes and wears blue ribbons, and lives around the corner — stepped up to the piano, and banged out a fine loud march. The doors at the side of the platform opened, and out came the animals, two by two, just like Noah's ark. There was a pony with a monkey walking beside it and holding on to its mane, another mon- key on a pony's back, two monkeys hand in hand, a dog with a parrot on his back, a goat harnessed tc> a little carriage, another goat carrying a bird- cage in its mouth with two canaries inside, differ- ent kinds of cats, some doves and pigeons, half a dozen white rats with red harness, and dragging a Uttle chariot with a monkey in it, and a common 316 BEAUTIFUL JOE white gander that came in last of all, and did nothing but follow one of the ponies about. "The Italian spoke of the gander, and said it was a stupid creature, and could learn no tricks, and he only kept it on account of its affection for the pony. He had got them both on a Vermont farm, when he was looking for show animals. The pony's master had made a pet of him, and had taught him to come whenever he whistled for him. Though the pony was only a scrub of a creature, he had a gentle disposition, and every other ani- mal on the farm liked him. A gander, in particu- lar, had such an admiration for him that he fol- lowed him wherever he went, and if he lost him for an instant, he would mount one of the knolls on the farm and stretch out his neck looking for him. When he caught sight of him, he gabbled with delight, and running to him, waddled up and down beside him. Every little while the pony put his nose down, and seemed to be having a con- versation with the goose. If the farmer whistled for the pony and he started to run to him, the gan- der, knowing he could not keep up, would seize the pony's tail in his beak, and flapping his wings, would get along as fast as the pony did. And the pony never kicked him. The Italian saw that this pony would be a good one to train for the stage, so he offered the farmer a large price for him, and took him away. " Oh, Joe, I forgot to say, that by this time all the animals had been sent off the stage except the pony and the gander, and they stood looking a* "PERFORMING ANIMALS 317 the Italian while he talked. I never saw anything as human in dumb animals as that pony's face, He looked as if he understood every word that his master was saying. After this story was over, the Italian made another bow, and then told the pony to bow. He nodded nis head at the people, and they all laughed. Then the Italian asked him to favor us with a waltz, and the pony got up on his hind legs and danced. You should have seen that gander skirmishing around, so as to be near the pony and yet keep out of the way of his heels. We fellows just roared, and we would have kept him dancing all the afternoon if the Italian hadn't begged ' ze young gentlemen not to make ze noise, but let ze pony do ze rest of his tricks.' Pony number two came on the stage, and it was too queer for anything to see the things the two of them did. They helped the Italian on with his coat, they pulled off his rubbers, they took his coat away and brought him a chair, and dragged a table up to it. They brought him letters and papers, and rang bells, and rolled barrels, and swung the Italian i» a big swing, and jumped a rope, and walked up and down steps — they just went around that stage as handy with their teeth as two boys would be with their hands, and they seemed to understand every word their master said to them. " The best trick of all was telling the time and doing questions in arithmetic. The Italian pulled his watch out of his pocket and showed it to the first pony, whose name was Diamond, and said, ' What time is it ? ' The pony looked at it, then pig BEAUTIFUL JOE scratched four times with his forefoot on the pM< form. The Italian said, 'Zat's good— fans 3*clocko But it's a few minutes after four— how iiiany ? 5 The pony scratched again five times. The Italian showed his watch to the audience, and mid that it was just five minutes past four, TheK ike asked the pony how old he was. He scratched four timeso That meant four years. He asked him how many days in a week there were ; how many months in a year ; and he gave him some questions in addition and subtraction, and the pony answered them all correctly., Of course, the Italian was giving him some sign ; but, though we watched him closely, we couldn't make out what it was. At last, he told the pony that he had been very good,, and had done his lessons well ; if it would rest him, he might be naughty a little while, AH of a sudden a wicked look came into the crea= lure's eyes. He turned around, and kicked up Ms heels at his master, he pushed over the table and chairs, and knocked down a blackboard where he had been rubbing out figures with a sponge held in his mouth,, The Italian pretended to be cross, and said, ' Come, come ; this won't do,' and he called the other pony to him, and told him £o take that troublesome fellow off the stage^ The second one nosed Diamond, and pushed him about, finally bit him by the ear, and led hire iquealing off the stage. The gander followed, gabbling &s fast as he could, and there was t\ fsguiar roar of applause "' After that, there were ladders brought In- PERFORMING ANIMALS 33£ J©e D and dogs came on ; not thoroughbreds,, tatf curs something like you. The Italian says he can't teach tricks to pedigree animals as well as to scrubs. Tnose dogs jumped the ladders, and climbed them, and went through them, and did all kinds of things. The man cracked his whip once, and they began ; twice, and they did backward what they had done forward ; three times, and they stopped, and. every animal, dogs, goats, ponies, and monkeys, after they had finished their tricks, ran up to their master, and he gave them a lump of sugar, They seemed fond of him, and often when they weren't performing went up to him, &nd licked his hands or his sleeve. There was one boss dog, Joe., with a head like yours. Bob, Aey called him, and he did all his tricks alone. The Italian went off the stage, and the dog came on and made his bow, and climbed his ladders, and jumped his hurdles, and went off again, The aodience howled for an encore, and didn't h® come out alone, make another bow D and retire. . I saw old Judge Brown wiping the tears from his syes, he'd laughed so much. One of the last tricks was with a goat, and the Italian said it was the best of all, because the goat is such a hard animal to teach. He had a big ball, and the goat got on it and rolled it across the stage without get° ting off, He looked as nervous as a cat, shaking bis old beard, and trying to keep his four hoofs close enough together to keep him on the ball. "We had a funny little play at the end of the performance. A monkey dressed as a lady in a |2® BEAUTIFUL JOE white satin suit and a bonnet with a white sasffi© on the stage. She was Miss Green and t&S dog Bob wag going to elope with her. He was sM figged out as Mr, Smith, and had on a light suit of clones, and a tall hat on the side of his head, high collar, long cuffs, and he earned a cane. He was a regular dude, He stepped tip to Miss Green on Ms hind legs, and helped her on to a pony's back. The pony galloped off the stage; Sihen a crowd of monkeys, chattering and wring- ing fiheir hands, came" on, Mr, Smith had ran ■away with their child. They were all dressed up 5 'too.- There were the father and mother, with gray -wigs and black clothes, and the young Greens in bibs and tuckers. They were a queer-looking .crowd. While they were going on in this way, the pony trotted back on the stage ; and they al flew at Mm and pulled off their daughter from Ms" back, and laughed and chattered, and boxed he* sarSp and took off her white veil and her satin dress, and put on an old brown things @&& some of them seized the dog, and kkked Ms hat, and broke Ms cane, and strapped his clothes off, and i&Sffew them In a corner, and bound his legs with cords. A goat came on, harnessed to a Mttle cart and they threw the dog in it, and wheeled him siroond the stage a few times, Then they took Mm oat and tied him to a hook In the wall, and She goat ran off the stage, and the monkeys ran So one secte, a&d one of them pulled out a 1M® revolver, pointed it at the dog, fired, and he drop Fpxgd down as i£ he was dead. PERFORMING ANIMALS 321 '"Use monkeys stood looking at him, and (a&en there was the most awful hullabaloo you evgsr keard, Such a barking and yelping, and half a dozen dogs rushed on the stage, and didn't they trundle those monkeys about. They nosed them, and pushed them p and shook them f till they all ran away., all but Miss Green, who sat shivering in a corner After a while, she crept up to the dead dog, pawed him a little, and didn't he jump ap as much alive as any of them ? Everybody in the room clapped and shouted, and then the cur- tain dropped, and the thing was over. I wish he'd give another performance. Early in the morning he has to go to Boston/' Jack pushed my paws from his knees and went outdoors, and I began to think that I would very vsmch like to see those performing animals. It was not yet tea time, and I would have plenty of time to take % run down to the hotel where they were staying ; so I set out. It was a lovely autumn evening, The sun was going down in a feaze, and it was qwte warm. Earlier in the day I .&&d beard Mr. Morris say that this was our Indian summer, and that we should soon have cold weather. Fairport was a pretty little town, and from the principal street one could look out upon the blue water of the bay and see the island opposite, which was quite deserted now, for all the summer visitors ■oad gone home, and the Island House was shut up. I was running down one of the steep side streets that led to the water when I met a heavily* 322 BEAUTIFUL JOE laden cart coming up. It must have been coming from one of the vessels, for it was full of strange- looking boxes and packages. A fine-looking nerv- ous horse was drawing it, and he was straining every nerve to get it up the steep hill. His driver was a burly, hard-faced man, and instead of let- ting his horse stop a minute to rest he kept urging him forward. The poor horse kept looking at his master, his eyes almost starting from his head in terror. He knew that the whip was about to de- scend on his quivering body. And so it did, and there was no one by to interfere. No one but a woman in a ragged shawl who would have no in- fluence with the driver. There was a very good humane society in Fairport, and none of the team- sters dared ill-use their horses if any of the mem- bers were near. This was a quiet out-of-the-way street, with only poor houses on it, and the man probably knew that none of the members of the society would be likely to be living in them. He whipped his horse, and whipped him, till every lash made my heart ache, and if I had dared I would have bitten him severely. Suddenly, there was a dull thud in the street. The horse had fallen down. The driver ran to his head, but he was quite dead. ' ' Thank God ! ' ' said the poorly- dressed woman, bitterly ; " one more out of this world of misery." Then she turned and went down the street. I was glad for the horse. He would never be frightened or miserable again, and I went slowly on, thinking that death is the best thing that can happen to tortured animals. PERFORMING ANIMALS 323 The Fairport hotel was built right in the cen- tie of the town, and the shops and houses crowded quite close about it. It was a high, brick build- ing, and it was called the Fairport House. As I v/as running along the sidewalk, I heard some one speak to me, and looking up I saw Charlie Mon- tague. I had heard the Morrises say that his parents were staying at the hotel for a few weeks, while their house was being repaired. He had hh Irish setter, Brisk, with him, and a handsome dog he was, as he stood waving his silky tail in the sun- light. Charlie patted me, and then he and his dog went into the hotel. I turned into the stable yard. It was a small, choked-up place, and as I picked my way under the cabs and wagons stand ing in the yard, L wondered why the hotel people didn't buy some of the old houses near by, and tear them down, and make a stable yard worthy of such a nice hotel. The hotel horses were just getting rubbed down after their day's work, and others were coming in. The men were talking and laughing, and there was no sign of strange animals, so I went around to the back of the yard. Here they were, in an empty cow stable, under a hay loft. There were two little ponies tied up in a stall, two goats beyond them, and dogs and mon- keys in strong traveling cages. I stood in the doorway and stared at them. I was sorry for the dogs to be shut up on such a lovely evening, but I suppose their master was afraid of their getting lost, or being stolen, if he let them loose. They ail seemed very friendly. The ponies 524 BEAUTIFUL JOE turned around and looked at me with their gentle eyes, and then went on munching their hay. I won- dered very much where the gander was, and went a little farther into the stable. Something white raised itself up out of the brownest pony's crib, and there was the gander close up beside the open mouth of his friend. The monkeys make a jab* bering noise, and held on to the bars of their cage with their little black hands, while they looked out at me. The dogs sniffed the air, and wagged their (tails, and tried to put their muzzles through the bars of their cage. I liked the dogs best, and I wanted to see the one they called Bob, so I went up quite close to them. There were two little white dogs, something like Billy, two mongrel spaniels, an Irish terrier, and a brown dog asleep in the corner, that I knew must be Bob. He did look a little like me, but he was not quite so ugly, for he had his ears and his tail. While I was peering through the bars at him, ft man came in the stable. He noticed me the first thing, but instead of driving me out, he spoke kindly to me, in a language that I did not under- stand. So I knew that he was the Italian. How glad the animals were to see him ! The gander flut- tered out of his nest, the ponies pulled at their halters, the dogs whined and tried to reach his hands to lick them, and the monkeys chattered with delight. He laughed and talked back to them in queer, soft-sounding words. Then he took out of a bag on his arm, bones for the dogs, nuts and cakes for the monkeys, nice, juicy carrots for the ponies PERFORMING ANIMALS 32g some green stuff for the goats, and corn for the gander. It was a pretty sight to see the old man feeding his pets, and it made me feel quite hungry, so I trotted home. I had a run down town again that evening with Mr. Morris, who went to get some- thing from a shop for his wife. He never let his boys go to town after tea, so if there were errands to be done, he or Mrs. Morris went. The town was bright and lively that evening, and a great many people were walking about and looking into the shop windows. When we came home, I went into the kennel with Jim, and there I slept till the middle of the night. Then I started up and ran outside. There was a distant bell ringing, which we often heard in Fairport, and which always meant fire. CHAPTER XXXIV A FIRE IN FAIRPORT HAD several times run to a fire with tfcfc boys, and knew that there was always a great noise and excitement. There was a light in the house, so I knew that somebody was getting up, I don't think— indeed ! know, for they were good boys— that they ever wanted any- body to lose property, but they did enjoy seeing a blaze, and one of their ' greatest delights, when there hadn't been a fire for some time, was to build & bonfire in the garden, Jim and I ran around to the front of the house &nd waited, In a few minutes, some one came rattling at the front door, and I was sure it was Jack, But it was Mr, Morris, and without a word to ms, he set off almost running toward the town. We followed after him, and as we hurried along other men ran out from the houses along the streets, and either joined him ; or dashed ahead. They seemed to have dressed in a hurry, and were thrusting their arms in their coats, and buttoning themselves up as they went. Some of them had hais and some of them had none, and they all hatfi A FIRE IN FAIRPORT 32? their faces toward the great red light that got brighter and brighter ahead of us, " Where's the fire ? ' ' they shouted to each other, s * Don't know — afraid it's the hotel, or the town halL It's such a blaze. Hope not. How's the water supply now ? Bad time for a fire, ' ' It was the hotel. We saw that as soon as we got on to the main street. There were people all about, and a great noise and confusion,, and smoke and blackness, and up above, bright tongues of flame were leaping against the sky. Jim and I kept close to Mr. Morris's heels, as he pushed his way among the crowd. When we got nearer the burning building, we saw men carrying ladders and axes, and others were shouting direc- tions, and rushing out of the hotel, carrying boxes and bundles and furniture in their arms. From the windows above came a steady stream of arti- cles, thrown among the crowd. A mirror struck Mr. Morris on the arm, and a whole package oi dothes fell on his head and almost smothered him j but he brushed them aside and scarcely noticed them, There was something the matter with Mr, Morris—! knew by the worried sound of his voice when he spoke to any one, I could not see his face, though it was as light as day about us r for we had got jammed In She crowd, and if I had not kept between his feet, I should have been trodden to death. Jim, being larger than I was, had got separated from m Presently Mr. Morris raised his voice abov® She uproar, and called, " Is every one out of the $S§ BEAUTIFUL JOE Ira&el?'* A voice shouted back, "I'm going up to see," 44 If§ Jim Watson , the fireman/' cried some ©me near, ,s He's risking his life to go into thai 5 fpst of fiame- Don't go, Watson/' I don't think feat the brave fireman paid any attention to this wamlng £ for an instant later the same voice said* 91 He's planting Ms ladder against the third story, He°i bound fco> go= He'll not get any farther than tne second; anyway/ 8 "Where are the Montagues? 6 ' shouted Mio Moms, ' Has any one seen the Montagues ? " J3 Mr Morns ! Mr, Morris ! " said a frightened yoke, and young Charlie Montague pressed through the people to us, « e Where's papa ? S8 ei I don't know, Where did you leave him ? 90 §&id Mr Morris, taking his hand and drawing Mm sloser to mm* >ha$ there was very little they could do. I won- dered whether I could do anything for the poor animals. I was not afraid of fire, as most dogs ; for one of the tricks that the Morris boys had iaught me was to put out a fire with my paws, They would throw a piece of lighted paper on the floor, and I would crush it with my forepaws ; and If the blaze was too large for that, I would drag a bit of old carpet over it and jump on it. I left Mr„ Morris, and ran around the corner of the street to the back of the hoteL It was not burned as much here as in the front, and in the houses all around, people were out on their roofs with wet blankets, and some were standing at the win- <$ows watching the fire, or packing up their belong- A FERE IN FAIRFORT 331 togs ready to move if it should spread to theiru There was a narrow lane running up a short dis- tance toward the hotel, and I started to go up this, when in front of me I heard such a wailing, pierc- ing noise, that it made me shudder and stand still. The Italian's animals were going to be burned up and they were calling to then master to come and let them out. Their voices sounded like the voices of children in mortal pain. I could not stand St, 1 was seized with such an awful horror of the fbe £ that I turned and ran, feelmg so thankful that I was not in it. As I got into the street I stumbled over something. St was a large bird— a parrot, &nd at first I thought it was Bella. Then I re- membered hearing Jack say that the Italian had a parrot It was not dead, but seemed stupid with £he smoke. I seized it in my mouth, and ran and laid it at Mr, Morris's feet. He wrapped it in Ms handkerchief, and laid it beside him. I sat, and trembled, and did not leave him again. I shall never forget that dreadful night St seemed as if we were there for hours, but m reality it was only a short time. The hotel soon got to be all red flames, and there was very little smoke. The inside of the building had burned away, and nothing more could be gotten out. The firemen and all the people drew back, and there was no noise. Everybody stood gazing silently at £ke flames. A man stepped quietly up to Mr. Morris, and looking at him, I saw that it was Mr, Montague. He was usually a well-dressed man, with a kind face, and a head of thick, grayish 332 BEAUTIFUL JOE brown hair. Now his face was black and grimy, his hair was burnt from the front of his head, and his clothes were half torn from his back. Mr. Morris sprang up when he saw him, and said, " Where is your wife ? " The gentleman did not say a word, but pointed to the burning building. ' ' Impossible !' ' cried Mr. Morris. " Is there no mistake ? Your beau- tiful young wife, Montague. Ca*> it be so ?" Mr. Morris was trembling from head to foot. "It is true," said Mr. Montague, quietly. " Give me the boy." Charlie had fainted again, and his father took him in Ks arms, and turned away. " Montague ! " cried Mr. Morris, " my heart is sore for you. Can I do nothing ? ' ' '* No, thank you," sai-3 the gentleman, without turning around ; but therfc was more anguish in his voice than in Mr. Morris's, and though I zxu only 9. fry?, f ******* *>yst his heart was breaking CHAPTER XXXV BILLY AND THE ITALIAN R. MORRIS stayed no longer. He fol- lowed Mr. Montague along the side- walk a little way, and then exchanged a few hurried words with some men who were standing near, and hastened home through streets that seemed dark and dull after the splendor of the fire. Though it was still the middle of the night, Mrs. Morris was up and dressed and wait- ing for him. She opened the hall door with one hand and held a candle in the other. I felt frightened and miserable, and didn't want t© *!eave Mr. Morris, so I crept in after him. / "Don't make a noise," said Mrs. Morris* M Laura and the boys are sleeping, and I thought it better not to wake them. It has been a terrible fire, hasn't it? Was it the hotel?" Mr. Morns threw himself into a chair and covered his face with his hands. "Speak to me, William !" said Mrs. Morris, in a startled tone. "You are not hurt, are you ?" and she put her candle on the table and came and sat down beside him. 334 BEAUTIFUL JOE He dropped his hands from his face, and tears were running down his cheeks. " Ten lives lost," he said ; "among them Mrs. Montague." Mrs. Morris looked horrified, and gave a little cry, "William, it can't be so ! " It seemed as if Mr. Morris could not sit stilL He got up and walked to and iro on the flooK " It was an awful scene, Margaret. I never wish to look upon the like again. Do you remember how I protested against the building of that death- trap. Look at the wide, open streets around it, and yet they persisted in running it up to the sky. God will require an account of those deaths at tr e hands of the men who put up that building. It is terrible — this disregard of human lives. To think of that delicate woman and her death agony." He threw himself in a chair and buried his face in his hands. "Where was she ? How did it happen ? Was her husband saved, and Charlie ? " said Mrs. Mor- ris, in a broken voice. "Yes; Charlie and Mr. Montague are safe. Charlie will recover from it. Montague's life is done. You know his love for his wife. Oh, Mar- garet ! when will men cease to be fools ? What does the Lord think of them when they say, 'Am I my brother' s keeper ? ' And the other poor crea- tures burned to death — their lives are as precious in his sight as Mrs. Montague's." Mr. Morris looked so weak and ill that Mis. Morris, like a sensible woman, questioned him no further, but made a fire and got him some hot tea. BILLY AND THE ITALIAN 335 "then she made him lie down on the sofa, and she sat by him till day-break, when she persuaded him to go to bed. I followed her about, and kept touching her dress with my nose. It seemed so ^ood to me to have this pleasant home after all the misery I had seen that night. Once she stopped and took my head between her hands, " Dear old ^oe," she said, tearfully, " this a suffering world, It's well there's a better one beyond it." In the morning the boys went down town before breakfast and learned all about the fire. It started in the top story of the hotel, in the room of some fast young men, who were sitting up late playing cards. They had smuggled wine into their room and had been drinking till they were stupid. One of them upset the lamp, and when the flames be- gan to spread so that they could not extinguish them, instead of rousing some one near them, they rushed downstairs to get some one there to come up and help them put out the fire. When they .returned with some of the hotel people, they found £hat the flames had spread from their room, which was in an " L " at the back of the house, to the front part, where Mrs. Montague's room was, and where the housemaids belonging to the hotel slept. By this time Mr. Montague had gotten upstairs ; but he found the passageway to his wife's room so full of flames and smoke, that, though he tried again and again to force his way through, he could not. He disappeared for a time, then he came to Mr. Morris and got his boy, and took him to some pooras over his bank, and shut himself up with him. J36 BEAUTIFtfjr-JOE For some days he would let no one in ; then hs eame out wftfe the look of an old man on his face, and his hair as white as snow, and went out to Ms beautiful house in the outskirts of the town. NearAy all the horses belonging to the hotel urere burned. A few were gotten out by having blankets, put over their heads, but the most ©f then. were so (terrified that they would not stir. The Morris boys said that they found the ©M 'Italian sitting on an empty box r looking at tfos smoking rums of the hotel. Has head was tang- ing on his breast, and his eyes were full of tears. His pomes were burned up, he said, and the gan- der, and the monkeys, and the goats, .and Ms wonderful performing dogs. Hs had ©mly nil birds left P and he was a ruined ma. He had foiled all Ms life to get this troupe of trained ami- asais together, and now they were swept from hissi* it was cruel and wicked, and he wished he $©uld die. The canaries, and pigeons, and doves, the 'hotel people had allowed him to take to Ms room, m& they were safe. The parrot was lost— a* educated parrot that could answer forty question^ &nd, among other things, could take a watch an<& Sell the feme of day. Jack Morris told him that they had it safe a! home, and that it was very much .alive, quarreling furiously with his parrot Bella. The old man 6 s face brightened at this, and then Jack and Carl, finding that he had had no breakfast, went off to a res- taurant near by, and got him some steak and cofiee. The Italian was very grateful, and &s hi BILLY AND THE ITALIAN 335? a*e f Jack said the tears ran into his coffee asp. Be told them how much he loved his animals, and how it "made ze heart bitter to hear zern crying J© Mm to deliver zem from ze raging fire." The boys came home, and got their breakfast md went to school, Miss Laura did not go out. She sat all day with a very quiet, pained face, She could neither read nor sew, and Mr. and Mrs. Morris were just as unsettled. They talked about iLe fere in low tones, and I could see that they felt more sad about Mrs. Montague's death than if sfoe had died In an ordinary way. Her dear little canary, Barry, died with her. She would nevei be separated from him, and his cage had bee& taken up to the top of the hotel with her. He probably died an easier death fdb.an his poor mis= isms, Charley' s dog escaped, but was so frightened %a& he ran out to their house, outside the town. At tea time, Mr. Morris went down town So see tfeal the Italian got a comfortable place for the night. When he came back, he said that he had .fend out that the Italian was by no means so old a man as he looked, and that he had talked to him about raising a sum of money for him among the Fairport people, till he had become quite cheerful, md said that if Mr. Morris would do that, he s?@uld try to gather another Iroupe of animak together and train them. "Now, what can we do for this Italian?" sisked Mrs. Morris. "We can't give him much money r but we might let him have one or two of m& petio There's Billy, he's a bright, little dcg s . 33** BEAUTIFUL JOE and not two years old yet. He could teach him anything. ' ' There was a blank silence among the Morris children. Billy was such a gentle, lovable, little dog, that he was a favorite with every one in the house. *' I suppose we ought to do it," said Miss Laura, at last ; ' ' but how can we give him up ? " There was a good deal of discussion, but the end of it was that Billy was given to the Italian, He came up to get him, and was very grateful, and made a great many bows, holding his hat hi his hand. Billy took to him at once, and the Italian spoke so kindly to him, that we knew he would have a good master. Mr. Morris got quite a large sum of money for him,, and when he handed it to him, the poor man was so pleased that he kissed his hand, and promised to sen* 1 frequent word as to Billy' s progress and welfare CHAPTER XXXVI DANDY THE TRAMP sttMJBOUT a week after Billy left us, the fSKm Morris family, much to its surprise, be- came the owner of a new dog. He walked into the house one cold, wintry afternoon and lay calmly down by the fire. He was a brindled bull-terrier, and he had on a silver- plated collar with " Dandy " engraved on it. He lay all the evening by the fire, and when any of the family spoke to him, he wagged his tail, and looked pleased. I growled a little at hin\ at first, but he never cared a bit, and just dozed off to sleep, so 1 soon stopped. He was such a well-bred dog, that the Morrises >ere afraid that some one had lost him. They made some inquiries the next day, and found that he belonged to a New York gentleman who had come to Fairport in the summer in a yacht. This dog did not like the yacht. He came ashore in a boat whenever he got a chance, and if he could not come in a boat, he would swim. He was a tramp, his master said, and he wouldn't stay long in any place, The Morrises were so amused with his impu= 339 34« BEAUTIFUL JOE dence, that they did not send him away, but said every day, " Surely he will be gone to-morrow." However, Mr. Dandy had gotten into com- fortable quarters, and he had no intention of changing them, for a while at least. Then he 'was very handsome, and had such a pleasant way with him, that the family could not help liking him. I never cared for him. He fawned on the Morrises, and pretended he loved them, and after- ward turned around and laughed and sneered at them in a way that made me very angry. I used to lecture him sometimes, and growl about Mm to Jim, but Jim always said, " Let him alone, i'ou can't do him any good. He was born bad. His mother wasn't good. He tells me that she had a bad name among all the dogs in her neigh- borhood. She was a thief and a runaway." Though he provoked me so often, yet I could not help laughing at some of his stories, they were so funny. We were lying out in the sun, on the platform at the back of the house, one day, and he had been more than usually provoking, so I got up to leave him. He put himself in my way, however, and said, coaxingly, " Don't be cross, old fellow. I'll tell you some stories to amuse you, old boy. What shall they be about ? ' ' ' ' I think the story of your life would be about as interesting as anything you could make up, " I said, dryly. " All right, fact or fiction, whichever you like. Here's a fact, plain and unvarnished. Born and DANDY THE TRAMF 34E bred in New York. Swell stable. Swell coach- man. Swell master. Jewelled fingers of ladies poking at me, first thing I remember. First pain= ful experience — -being sent to vet. to have ears cut. ' ' " What's a vet. ?" I said. ' "A veterinary — animal doctor, Vet. didn'tf; cut ears enough. Master sent me back. Cut ears again. Summer time, and flies bad. Ears got sore and festered, flies very attentive. Coachman set little boy to brush flies off, but he'd run out in yard and leave me. Flies awful. Thought they' d eat me up, or else I'd shake out brains trying t© get rid of them. Mother should have stayed horn® and licked my ears, but was cruising about neigjbi= borhood. Finally coachman put me in dark place, powdered ears, and they got well/' "Why didn't they cut your tail, too ? " I said, looking at his long, slim tail, which was like a sewer rat's. " 'Twasn't the fashion, Mr. Wayback ; abu!l= terrier's ears are clipped to keep them from getting torn while fighting." "You're not a fighting dog," I said. "Not I. Too much trouble. I believe in taking things easy." " I should think you did," I said, scornfully. " You never put yourself out for any one, I notice ; but, speaking of cropping ears, what do you think df it?" "Well," he said, with a sly glance at my head, "it isn't a pleasant operation ; but one might a# 34 2 BEAUTIFUL JOE well be out of the world as out of the fashion. E don't care, now my ears are done." "But," I said, "think of the poor dogs that will come after you." "What difference does that make to me ? " he said. "I'll be dead and out of the way. Men can cut off their ears, and tails, and legs, too, if they want to. " "Dandy," I said, angrily, "you're the most selfish dog that I ever saw. ' ' " Don't excite yourself," he said, coolly. "Let me get on with my story. When I was a few months old, I began to find the stable yard narrow, and wondered what there was outside of it. I discovered a hole in the garden wall, and used to sneak out nights. Oh, what fun it was. I got to know a lot of street dogs, and we had gay times, barking under people's windows and making them mad, and getting into back yards and chasing cats. We used to kill a cat nearly every night. Police- man would chase us, and we would run and run till the water just ran off our tongues, and we fnadn' t a bit of breath left. Then V d go home and sleep all day, and go out again the next night. When I was about a year old, I began to stay out days as well as nights. They couldn't keep me home. Then I ran away for three months. I got with an old lady on Fifth Avenue, who was very fond of dogs. She had four white poodles, and her servants used to wash them, and tie up their hair with blue ribbons, and she used to take them for drives in her phaeton in the park, and they DANDY THE TRAMP 343 wore gold and silver collars. The biggest poodle wore a ruby in his collar worth five hundred dollars. I went driving, too, and sometimes we met my master. He often smiled, and shook his head at me. I heard him tell the coachman one day that I was a little blackguard, and he was to let me come and go as I liked." "If they had whipped you soundly," I said, a " it might have made a good dog of you." "I'm good enough now," said Dandy, airily. "The young ladies who drove with my master used to say that it was priggish and tiresome to be too good. To go on with my story : I stayed with Mrs. Judge Tibbett till I got sick of her fussy ways. She made a simpleton of herself over those poodles. Each one had a high chair at the table, and a plate, and they always sat in these chairs and had meals with her, and the servants all called them Master Bijou, and Master Tot, and Miss Tiny, and Miss Fluff. One day they tried to make me sit in a chair, and I got cross and bit Mrs. Tibbett, and she beat me cruelly, and her servants stoned me away from the house." "Speaking about fools, Dandy," I said, "if it is polite to call a lady one, I should say that that lady was one. Dogs shouldn't be put out of their place. Why didn't she have some poor children at her table, and in her carriage, and let the dogs run behind ? ' ' "Easy to see you don't know New York," said Dandy, with a laugh. " Poor children don't live with rich, old ladies. Mrs. Tibbett hat*d 544 BEAUTIFUL JOE children, anyway. Then dogs like poodles would get lost in the mud, or killed in the crowd if they ran behind a carriage. Only knowing dogs like me can make their way about. ' ' I rather doubted this speech ; but I said nothing, and he went on, patronizingly : " However, Joe, thou hast reason,, as the French say. Mrs. Judge Tibbett didn't give her dogs exercise enough. Their claws were as long as Chinamen's nails, and the hair grew over their pads, and they had red eyes and were always sick, and she had to dose them with medi- cine, and call them her poor, little, ' weeny-teeny, sicky-wicky doggies.' Bah ! I got disgusted with her. When I left her, I ran away to her niece's, Miss Ball's. She was a sensible young lady, and she used to scold her aunt for the way in which she brought up her dogs. She was almost too sen- sible, for her pug and I were rubbed and scrubbed within an inch of our lives, and had to go for such long walks that I got thoroughly sick of them. A woman, whom the servants called Trotsey, came every morning, and took the pug and me by our chains, and sometimes another dog or two, and took us for long tramps in quiet streets. That was Trotsey' s business, to walk dogs, and Miss Ball got a great many fashionable young ladies who could not exercise their dogs, to let Trotsey have them, and they said that it made a great difference in the health and appearance of their pets. Trotsey got fifteen cents an hour for a dog. Good- ness, what appetites those walks gave us, and didn't we make the dog biscuits disappear ? But DANDY THE TRAMP 34§ it was a slow life at Miss Ball' s. We only saw her for a little while every day. She slept till noon, After lunch she played with us for a little while in the greenhouse, then she was off driving or visit- ing, and in the evening she always had company 9 or went to a dance, or to the theatre. I soon made up my mind that I'd run away. I jumped out of a window one fine morning, and ran home : I stayed there for a long time. My mother had been run over by a cart and killed, and I wasn't sorry. My master never bothered his head about me, and I could do as I liked. One day wher I was having a walk, and meeting x lot o*" dogs that i knew, a little boy came behind me, and before X could tell what he was doing, he had snatched me up, and was running off with me, I couldn't bite him, for he had stuffed some of his rags In my mouth. He took me to a tenement house, in a part of the city that I had never been in before He belonged to a very poor family, My faith, weren't they badly off — six children, and a mother and father, all living in two tiny rooms. Scarcely a bit of meat did I smell while I was there. I hated their bread and molasses, and the place smelled so badly that I thought I should choke, " They kept me shut up in their dirty rooms for several days ; and the brat of a boy that caught me slept with his arm around me at night. The weather was hot and sometimes we couldn't sleep, and they had to go up on the roof. After a while, they chained me up in a filthy yard at the back of the house, and there I thought I should go made 346 BEAUTIFUL JOE 1 would have liked to bite them all to death, if ( had dared. It's awful to be chained, especially for a dog like me that loves his freedom. The flies worried me, and the noises distracted me, and my flesh would fairly creep from getting no exer- cise. I was there nearly a month, while they were waiting for a reward to be offered. But none came ; and one day, the boy's father, who was a street peddler, took me by my chain and led me about the streets till he sold me. A gentleman got me for his little boy, but I didn't like the look of him, so I sprang up and bit his hand, and he dropped the chain, and I dodged boys and police- men, and finally got home more dead than alive, and looking like a skeleton. I had a good time for several weeks, and then I began to get restless and was off again. . But I'm getting tired ; I want to go to sleep." ' 'You' re not very polite, ' ' I said, ' ' to offer to tell a story, and then go to sleep before you finish it. ' ' ' ' Look out for number one, my boy, ' ' said Dandy, with a yawn ;"for if you don't, no one else will, ' ' and he shut his eyes and was fast asleep in a few minutes. I sat and looked at him. What a handsome, good-natured, worthless dog he was. A few days later, he told me the rest of his history. After a great many wanderings, he happened home one day just as his master's yacht was going to sail, and they chained him up till they went on board, so that he could be an amusement on the passage £o Fairport DANDY THE TRAMP 347 It was in November that Dandy came to us, and he stayed all winter. He made fun of the Morrises all the time, and said they had a dull, pok$ , old house, and he only stayed because Miss Laura was nursing him. He had a little sore on his back that she soon found out was mange. Her father said it was a bad disease for dogs to have, and Dandy had better be shot ; but she begged so hard for his life, and said she would cure him in a tew weeks, that she was allowed to keep him. Dandy wasn't capable of getting really angry, but he was as disturbed about having this disease as he could be about anything. He said that he had got it from a little, mangy dog, that he had played with a few weeks before. He was only with the dog a little while, and didn't think he would take it, but it seemed he knew what an easy thing it was to get. Until he got well he was separated from us. Miss Laura kept him up in the loft with the rabbits, where we Could not go ; and the boys ran him around the garden for exercise. She tried all kind of cures for him, and I heard her say that though it was a skin disease, his blood must be purified. She gave him some of the pills that she made out of sulphur and butter for Jim, and Billy* and me, to keep our coats silky and smooth. When they didn't cure him, she gave him a few drops of arsenic every day, and washed the sore, and, indeed his whole body, with tobacco water or carbolic soap. It was the tobacco water that cured him. 34^ BEAUTIFUL JOE Miss Laura always put on gloves when she frent near him, and used a brush to wash him, for if a person takes mange from a dog, they may lose their hair and their eyelashes. But if they are careful, no harm comes from nursing a mangy dog, and I have never known of any one taking the disease. After a time, Dandy's sore healed, and he was set free. He was right glad, he said, for he had got heartily sick of the rabbits. He used ;c oare at them and make them angry, and they would run around the loft, stamping their hind feet a? him, in the funny way that rabbits do. I think they disliked him as much as he disliked them* Jim and I did not get the mange. Dandy was not a strong dog, and I think his irregular way of liv= ing made him take diseases readily. He would stuff himself when he was hungry, and he always wanted rich food. If he couldn't get what he wanted at the Morrises', he went out and stole, or visited the dumps at the back of the town. ! When he did get ill, he was more stupid about doctoring himself than any dog that I have ever seen. He never seemed to know when to eat grass? or herbs, or a little earth, that would have kept him in good condition. A dog should never be without grass. When Dandy got ill he just suffered till he got well again, and never tried to cure himself of his small troubles. Some dogs even know enough to amputate their limbs. Jim told me a very in- teresting story of a dog the Morrises once had, called Gyp, whose leg became paralyzed by a kick DANDY THE TRAMP 349 from a horse. He knew the leg was dead, and gnawed it off nearly to the shoulder, and though he was very sick for a time, yet in the end he got well. To return to Dandy. I knew he was only wait- ing for the spring to leave us, and I was not sorry. The first fine day he was off, and during the rest of the spring and summer we occasionally met hirr* running about the town with a set of fast dogs. One day I stopped and asked him how he con- tented himself in such a quiet place as Fairport, and he said he was dying to get back to New York, and was hoping that his master' s yacht would come and take him away. Poor Dandy never left Fairport. After all, he was not such a bad dog. There was nothing really vicious about him, and I hate to speak of his end. His master's yacht did not come, and soon the summer was over, and the winter was coming, and no one wanted Dandy, for he had Tjch a bad name. He got hungry and cold, and 5ne day sprang upon a little girl, to take away s piece of bread and butter that she was eating. He did not see the large house-dog on the door sill, and before he could get away, the dog had seized him, and bitten and shaken him till he was nearly dead. When the dog threw him aside, he crawled to the Morrises, and Miss Laura bandaged his wounds, and made him a bed in the stable. One Sunday morning she washed and fed him very tenderly, for she knew he could not live much kmge/. He was so weak that he could scarcely 3§U BEACJTIFUL JOE gat tihe food that she put in his mouth, so she let him lick some milk from, her finger. As she was going to church, I could not go with her, but I ran down the lane and watched her out of sight. When I came back, Dandy was gone. I looked till I found him. He had crawled into the darkest corner of the stable to die, and though he was suffering very much, he never uttered a sound. I sat by him and thought of his master in New York. If he had brought Dandy up properly he might not now be here in his silent death agony. A young pup should be trained just as a child is, and punished when he goes wrong. Dandy began badly, and not being checked in his evil ways, had come to this. Poor Dandy ! Poor, handsome dog of a rich master ! He opened his dull eyes, gave me one last glance, then, with a convulsive shudder, his torn limbs were still. He would never suffer any more. When Miss Laura came home, she cried bit terly to know that he was dead. The boys took him away from her, and made him » grave in thf corner of the garden. CHAPTER XXXVII THE END OF MY STORY K^lpj HAVE come now to the last chapter ol IP! 2^1 m y stor > r - * thought when I began to H^aS^I write, that I would put down the events of each year of my life, but I fear that would make my story too long, and neither Miss Laura nor any boys and girls would care to read it. So I will stop just here, though I would gladly go on, for I have enjoyed so much talking over old times, 'Jiat I am very sorry to leave off. Every year that I have been at the Morrises' , jjomething pleasant has happened to me, but I cannot put all these things down, nor can I tell how Miss Laura and the boys grew and changed, year by year, till now they are quite grown up. I will just bring my tale down to the present time, and then I will stop talking, and go lie down in my basket, for I am an old dog now, and get tired very easily. I was a year old when I went to the Morrises, and I have been with them for twelve years. I art not living in the same house with Mr. and Mrs, Morris now, but I am with my dear Miss Laura r 35» 352 BEAUTIFUL JOE who is Miss Laura no longer, but Mrs. Gray. She married Mr. Harry four years ago, and lives with him and Mr. and Mrs. Wood, on Dingley Farm. Mr. and Mrs. Morris live in a cottage near by. Mr. Morris is not very strong, and can preach no longer. The boys are all scattered. Jack married pretty Miss Bessie Drury, and lives on a large farm near here. Miss Bessie says that she hates to be a farmer's wife, but she always iooKS very happy and contented, so I think that she must be mis- taken. Carl is a merchant in New York, Ned is a clerk in a bank, and Willie is studying at a place called Harvard. He says that after he finishes his studies, he is going to live with his father and mother. The Morrises' old friends often come to s$£ them. Mrs. Drury comes every summer on her way to Newport, and Mr. Montague and Charlie come every other summer. Charlie always brings with him his old dog Brisk, who is getting feeble, like myself. We lie on the veranda in the sun- shine, and listen to the Morrises talking about old days, and sometimes it makes us feel quite young again. In addition to Brisk we have a Scotch collie. He is very handsome, and is a constant attendant of Miss Laura's. We are great friends, he and I, but he can get about much better than I can. One day a friend of Miss Laura' s came with a little boy and girl, and ' ' Collie ' ' sat between the two children, and their father took their picture with a « ' kodak. ' ' I like him so much that I told him I would get them to put his picture in my book. THE END OF MY STORY 353 Wtien the Morris boys are all here in the sum- mer we have gay times. All through the winter we look forward to their coming, for they make the old farmhouse so lively. Mr. Maxwell never misses a summer in coming to Riverdale. He has such a following of dumb animals now, that he says he can't move them any farther away from Boston than this, and he doesn't know what he will do with them, unless he sets up a menagerie. He asked Miss Laura the other day, if she thought that the old Italian would take him into partner- ship. He did not know what had happened to poor Bellini, so Miss Laura told him. A few years ago the Italian came to Riverdale, to exhibit his new stock of performing animals. They were almost as good as the old ones, but he had not quite so many as he had before. The Morrises and a great many of their friends went to Ms performance, and Miss Laura said afterward, that when cunning little Billy came on the stage, and made his bow, and went through his antics of jumping through hoops, and catching balls, that she almost had hysterics. The Italian had made a special pet of him for the Morrises' sake, and treated him more like a human being than a dog. Billy rather put on airs when he came up to the farm to see us, but he was such a dear, little dog, in spite of being almost spoiled by his master, that Jim and I could not get angry with him. In a few days they went away, and we heard nothing but good news from them, till last winter. Then a letter came to Miss Laura from a nurse in* ^4 BEAUTIFUL JOE New York hospital. She said that the Italian w; as very- near his end, and he wanted her to write to Mrs. Gray to tell her that he had sold all his aiii- mals but the ' little dog that she had so kindly ^ven him. He was sending him back to her, and with his latest breath he would pray for heaven's blessing on the kind lady and her family that had befriended him when he was in trouble. The next day Billy arrived, a thin, white scare- crow of a dog. He was sick and unhappy, and would eat nothing, and started up at the slightest sound. He was listening for the Italian's foot- steps, but he never came, and one day Mr. Harry looked up from his newspaper and said, " Laura, Bellini is dead." Miss Laura's eyes filled with tears, and Billy, who had jumped up when he heard his master's name, fell back again. He knew what they meant, and from that instant he ceased listening for footsteps, and lay quite still till he died. Miss Laura had him put in a little wooden box, and buried him in a corner of the garden, and when she is working among her flowers, she often speaks regretfully of him, and i>f poor Dandy, who lies in the garden at Fairport. Bella, the parrot, lives with Mrs. Morris, and is as smart as ever. I have heard that parrots live to a very great age. Some of them even get to be a hundred years old. If that is the case, Bella will outlive all of us. She notices that I am getting blind and feeble, and when I go down to call on Mrs. Morris, she calls out to me, " Keep a stiff upper lip, Beautiful Joe. Never say die, THE END OF MY STORY 35 J Beautiful Joe. Keep the game a-going, Beautiful Joe." Mrs. Morris says that she doesn't know where Bella picks up her slang words. I think it is Mr. Ned who teaches her, for when he comes home in the summer he often says, with a sly twinkle in his eye, "Come out into the garden, Bella," and he lies in a hammock under the trees, and Bella perches on a branch near him, and he talks to her by the hour. Anyway, it is in the autumn after he leaves Riverdale that Bella always shocks Mrs. Morris with her slang talk. I am glad that I am to end my days in River- dale. Fairport was a very nice place, but it was not open and free like this farm. I take a walk every morning that the sun shines. I go out among the horses and cows, and stop to watch the hens pecking at their food. This is a happy place, and I hope my dear Miss Laura will live to enjoy it many years after I am gone. I have very few worries. The pigs bother me a little in the spring, by rooting up the bones that I bury in the fields in the fall, but that is a small matter, and I try not to mind it. I get a great many bones here, and I should be glad if I had some poor, city dogs to help me eat them. I don't think bones are good for pigs. Then there is Mr. Harry's tame squirrel out in one of the barns that teases me considerably. He knows that I can't chase him, now that my legs are so stiff with rheumatism, and he takes delight 'Sn showing me how spry he can be, darting around $$6 BEAUTIFUL JOE me and whisking his tail almost in my face, and trying to get me to run after him, so that he can laugh at me. I don't think that he is a very thoughtful squirrel, but I try not to notice him. The sailor boy who gave Bella to the Morrises has got to be a large, stout man, and is the first mate of a vessel. He sometimes comes here, and when he does, he always brings the Morrises pres- ents of foreign fruits and curiosities of different kinds. Malta, the cat, is still living, and is with Mrs. Morris. Davy, the rat, is gone, so is poor old Jim. He went away one day last summer, and no one ever knew what became of him. The Mor- rises searched everywhere for him, and offered a large reward to any one who would find him, but he never turned up again. I think that he felt he was going to die, and went into some out-of-the- way place. He remembered how badly Miss Laura felt when Dandy died, and he wanted to spare her the greater sorrow of his death. He was always such a thoughtful dog, and so anxious not to give trouble. I am more selfish. I could not go away from Miss Laura even to die. When my last hour comes, I want to see her gentle face bending over me, and then I shall not mind how much I suffer. She is just as tender-hearted as ever, but she tries not to feel too badly about the sorrow and suffering in the world, because she says that would weaken her, and she wants all her strength to try to put a stop to some of it. She does a great deal THE END OF MY STORY 357 of good in Riverdale, and I do not think that there is any one in all the country around who is as much beloved as she is. She has never forgotten the resolve that she made some years ago, that she would do all that she could to protect dumb creatures. Mr. Harry and Mr. Maxwell have helped her nobly. Mr. Maxwell's work is largely done in Boston, and Miss Laura and Mr. Harry have to do the most of theirs by writing, for Riverdale has got to be a model village in respect of the treatment of all kinds of animals. It is a model village not only in that respect, but in others. It has seemed as if all other improvements went hand in hand with the humane treatment of animals. Thoughtful- ness toward lower creatures has made the people more and more thoughtful toward themselves, and this little town is getting to have quite a name through the State for its good schools, good society, and good business and religious standing. Many people are moving into it, to educate their chil- dren. The Riverdale people are very particular about what sort of strangers come to live among them. A man, who came here two years ago and opened a shop, was seen kicking a small kitten out of his house. The next day a committee of Riverdale citizens waited on him. and said they had had a great deal of trouble to root out cruelty from their village, and they didn't want any one to come there and introduce it again, and they thought he had better move on to some other place. 358 BEAUTIFUL JOE The man was utterly astonished, and said he'd never heard of such particular people. He had had no thought of being cruel. He didn't think that the kitten cared ; but now when he turned the thing over in his mind, he didn't suppose cats liked being kicked about any more than he would like it himself, and he would promise to be kind to them in future. He said, too, that if they had no objection, he would just stay on, for if the people there treated dumb animals with such con- sideration, they would certainly treat human beings better, and he thought it would be a good place to bring up his children in. Of course they let him stay, and he is now a man who is celebrated for his kindness to every living thing ; and he never refuses to help Miss Laura when she goes to him for money to carry out any of her humane schemes. There is one most important saying of Miss Laura's that comes out of her years of service for dumb animals that I must put in before I close, and it is this. She says that cruel and vicious owners of animals should be punished ; but to merely thoughtless people, don't say " Don't " so much. Don't go to them and say, " Don't over- feed your animals, and don't starve them, and don't overwork them, and don't beat them," and so on through the long list of hardships that can be put upon suffering animals, but say simply to them, ' ' Be kind. Make a study of your animals' wants, and see that they are satisfied. No one can tell you how to treat your animal as well as you should know yourself, for you are with it all THE END OF MY STORY 359 the time, and know its disposition, and just how much work it can stand, and how much rest and food it needs, and just how it is different from every other animal. If it is sick or unhappy, you are the one to take care of it ; for nearly every animal loves its own master better than a stranger, and will get well quicker under his care. ' ' Miss Laura says that if men and women are kind in every respect to their dumb servants, they will be astonished to find how much happiness they will bring into their lives, and how faithful and grateful their dumb animals will be to them. Now, I must really close my story. Good-bye to the boys and girls who may read it ; and if it is not wrong for a dog to say it, I should like to add, "God bless you all." If in my feeble way I have been able to impress you with the fact that dogs and many other animals love their masters and mistresses, and live only to please them, my little story will not be written in vain. My last words are, " Boys and girls, be kind to dumb ani- mals, not only because you will lose nothing by it, but because you ought to ; for they were placed on f-he earth by the same Kind Hand that made all living creatures."