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Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed | |
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was | |
produced from images generously made available by The | |
Internet Archive/American Libraries.) | |
HARPER’S | |
STORY BOOKS | |
No. 1 | |
BRUNO. | |
[Illustration] | |
DECEMBER, 1854. | |
PRICE 25 Cts | |
HARPER & BROTHERS | |
FRANKLIN SQUARE, NEW YORK. | |
[Illustration: “Bruno forgives him, and why should not I?” said Hiram.] | |
HARPER’S STORY BOOKS. | |
A SERIES OF NARRATIVES, DIALOGUES, BIOGRAPHIES, AND TALES, | |
FOR THE INSTRUCTION AND ENTERTAINMENT | |
OF THE YOUNG. | |
BY | |
JACOB ABBOT. | |
Embellished with | |
NUMEROUS AND BEAUTIFUL ENGRAVINGS. | |
BRUNO; | |
OR, | |
LESSONS OF FIDELITY, PATIENCE, AND SELF-DENIAL | |
Taught by a Dog. | |
NEW YORK: | |
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS. | |
Entered, according to an Act of Congress, in the year one | |
thousand eight hundred and fifty-four, by | |
HARPER & BROTHERS, | |
in the Clerk’s Office for the Southern District of New York. | |
PREFACE. | |
The present volume is the first of a proposed monthly series of story | |
books for the young. | |
The publishers of the series, in view of the great improvements which | |
have been made within a few years past in the means and appliances of | |
the typographical art, and of the accumulation of their own facilities | |
and resources, not only for the manufacture of such books in an | |
attractive form, and the embellishment of them with every variety | |
of illustration, but also for the circulation of them in the widest | |
manner throughout the land, find that they are in a condition to make a | |
monthly communication of this kind to a very large number of families, | |
and under auspices far more favorable than would have been possible at | |
any former period. They have accordingly resolved on undertaking the | |
work, and they have intrusted to the writer of this notice the charge | |
of preparing the volumes. | |
The books, though called story books, are not intended to be works of | |
amusement merely to those who may receive them, but of substantial | |
instruction. The successive volumes will comprise a great variety, | |
both in respect to the subjects which they treat, and to the form and | |
manner in which the subjects will be presented; but the end and aim | |
of all will be to impart useful knowledge, to develop the thinking | |
and reasoning powers, to teach a correct and discriminating use of | |
language, to present models of good conduct for imitation, and bad | |
examples to be shunned, to explain and enforce the highest principles | |
of moral duty, and, above all, to awaken and cherish the spirit of | |
humble and unobtrusive, but heartfelt piety. The writer is aware of the | |
great responsibility which devolves upon him, in being thus admitted | |
into many thousands of families with monthly messages of counsel and | |
instruction to the children, which he has the opportunity, through the | |
artistic and mechanical resources placed at his disposal, to clothe in | |
a form that will be calculated to open to him a very easy access to | |
their attention, their confidence, and their hearts. He can only say | |
that he will make every exertion in his power faithfully to fulfill his | |
trust. | |
JACOB ABBOTT. | |
New York, 1854. | |
CONTENTS. | |
PAGE | |
THE COMBAT WITH THE WOLF 13 | |
COMBAT WITH A BOAR 16 | |
JOOLY 19 | |
THE EMIGRANTS 32 | |
THE VOYAGE 34 | |
GOING ALONE 38 | |
SILVER BOWL STOLEN 41 | |
THE SILVER BOWL RECOVERED 52 | |
BRUNO AND THE LOST BOY 62 | |
BOYS ADRIFT 84 | |
BRUNO AND THE ROBIN 97 | |
BURNING OF THE TOOL-HOUSE 120 | |
WILLING TO LEARN 129 | |
PANSITA 135 | |
THE DOG’S PETITION 140 | |
THE STORM ON THE LAKE 143 | |
TAKING AN INTEREST 151 | |
ENGRAVINGS | |
PAGE | |
THE TOOL-HOUSE ON FIRE _Frontispiece._ | |
COMBAT WITH THE WOLF 15 | |
THE TWO BOARS 17 | |
COMBAT WITH A BOAR 18 | |
THE CHAMOIS HUNTERS 20 | |
CHILDREN IN THE GROVE 21 | |
BRUNO IN THE SNOW 28 | |
THE COTTAGE 30 | |
BRUNO ON WOLF-SKIN 31 | |
THE EMIGRANTS 33 | |
THE BEGINNING OF THE VOYAGE 35 | |
THE STORM 36 | |
THE END OF THE VOYAGE 37 | |
THE PARTING 39 | |
THE GIPSY CAMP 43 | |
FORTUNE TELLING 51 | |
FRANK AND LORENZO 58 | |
THE PARLOR DOGS 63 | |
VARIETY 64 | |
THE WATCH-DOG 66 | |
THE GATEWAY IN THE WOOD 71 | |
TONY LOST 75 | |
THE PIER 88 | |
THE PORT 94 | |
RALPH AND THE ROBIN 101 | |
HIRAM’S SQUIRREL 104 | |
THE SLY FOX 109 | |
WILLING TO LEARN 132 | |
THE STORM ON THE LAKE 146 | |
BRUNO WATCHING 149 | |
PLAY 150 | |
BRUNO AND THE SHEEP 158 | |
BRUNO. | |
THE COMBAT WITH THE WOLF. | |
[Sidenote: The hunter alarmed.] | |
In the night, a hunter, who lived in a cottage among the Alps, heard a | |
howling. | |
“Hark!” said he, “I heard a howling.” | |
His wife raised her head from the pillow to listen, and one of the two | |
children, who were lying in a little bed in the corner of the room, | |
listened too. The other child was asleep. | |
“It is a wolf,” said the hunter. | |
“In the morning,” said the hunter, “I will take my spear, and my | |
sheath-knife, and Bruno, and go and see if I can not kill him.” | |
Bruno was the hunter’s dog. | |
The hunter and his wife, and the child that was awake, listened a | |
little longer to the howling of the wolf, and then, when at length the | |
sounds died away, they all went to sleep. | |
[Sidenote: Prepares for a hunt.] | |
In the morning the hunter took his spear, and his sheath-knife, and his | |
hunting-horn besides, and then, calling Bruno to follow him, went off | |
among the rocks and mountains to find the wolf. | |
[Sidenote: Discovers the animal.] | |
While he was climbing up the mountains by a steep and narrow path, | |
he thought he saw something black moving among the rocks at a great | |
distance across the valley. He stopped to look at it. He looked at it | |
very intently. | |
At first he thought it was the wolf. But it was not the wolf. | |
[Sidenote: The hunter blows his horn.] | |
Then he thought it was a man. So he blew a loud and long blast with his | |
horn. He thought that if the moving thing which he saw were another | |
man, he would answer by blowing _his_ horn, and that then, perhaps, he | |
would come and help the hunter hunt the wolf. He listened, but he heard | |
no reply. He heard nothing but echoes. | |
By-and-by he came to a stream of water. It was a torrent, flowing | |
wildly among the rocks and bushes. | |
“Bruno,” said the hunter, “how shall we get across this torrent?” | |
Bruno stood upon a rock, looking at the torrent very earnestly, but he | |
did not speak. | |
“Bruno,” said the hunter again, “how shall we get across this torrent?” | |
Bruno barked. | |
[Sidenote: The rude bridge.] | |
The hunter then walked along for some distance on the margin of the | |
stream, and presently came to a place where there was a log lying | |
across it. So he and Bruno went over on the log. Bruno ran over at | |
once. The hunter was at first a little afraid to go, but at last he | |
ventured. He got across in safety. Here the hunter stopped a few | |
minutes to rest. | |
[Sidenote: The wolf discovered.] | |
He then went on up the mountain. At last Bruno began to bark and to | |
run on forward, looking excited and wild. He saw the wolf. The hunter | |
hastened forward after him, brandishing his spear. The wolf was in a | |
solitary place, high up among the rocks. He was gnawing some bones. He | |
was gaunt and hungry. Bruno attacked him, but the wolf was larger and | |
stronger than he, and threw him back with great violence against the | |
ground. The dog howled with pain and terror. | |
[Illustration: Picture of the combat.] | |
[Sidenote: Bruno’s courage. The wolf is killed.] | |
The man thrust the spear at the wolf’s mouth, but the ferocious beast | |
evaded the blow, and seized the shaft of the spear between his teeth. | |
Then the great combat came on. Very soon the dog sprang up and seized | |
the wolf by the throat, and held him down, and finally the man killed | |
him with his spear. | |
Then he took his horn from his belt, and blew a long and loud blast in | |
token of victory. | |
[Sidenote: What became of the skin of the wolf.] | |
He took the skin of the wolf, and carried it home. The fur was long, | |
and gray in color. The hunter tanned and dressed the skin, and made it | |
soft like leather. He spread it down upon the floor before the fire | |
in his cottage, and his children played upon it. Bruno was accustomed | |
to lie upon it in the evening. He would lie quietly there for a long | |
time, looking into the fire, and thinking of the combat he had with | |
the savage monster that originally wore the skin, at the time when he | |
fought him on the mountains, and helped the hunter kill him. | |
* * * * * | |
The hunter and the hunter’s children liked Bruno very much before, but | |
they liked him more than ever after his combat with the wolf. | |
COMBAT WITH A BOAR. | |
Some wild animals are so ferocious and strong that it requires several | |
dogs to attack and conquer them. Such animals are found generally in | |
remote and uninhabited districts, among forests and mountains, or in | |
countries inhabited by savages. | |
[Sidenote: Habits of the boar.] | |
The wild boar is one of the most terrible of these animals. He has long | |
tusks projecting from his jaws. These serve him as weapons in attacking | |
his enemies, whether dogs or men. He roams in a solitary manner | |
among the mountains, and though he is very fierce and savage in his | |
disposition, he will seldom molest any one who does not molest him. If, | |
when he is passing along through the forests, he sees a man, he pays | |
no regard to him, but goes on in his own way. If, however, when he is | |
attacked by dogs, and is running through the forest to make his escape, | |
he meets a man in his way, he thinks the man is the hunter that has | |
set the dogs upon him, or at least that he is his enemy. So he rushes | |
upon him with terrible fury, and kills him--sometimes with a single | |
blow--and then, trampling over the dead body, goes on bounding through | |
the thickets to escape from the dogs. | |
[Illustration: Picture of a fight.] | |
[Sidenote: The tusks.] | |
Wild boars often have dreadful combats with each other. In this | |
engraving we have a representation of such a fight. The weapons with | |
which they fight are sharp tusks growing out of the under jaw. With | |
these tusks they can inflict dreadful wounds. | |
Savages, when they attack the wild boar, arm themselves with spears, | |
and station themselves at different places in the forest, where they | |
think the boar will pass. Sometimes they hide themselves in thickets, | |
so as to be ready to come out suddenly and attack the boar when the | |
dogs have seized him. | |
[Illustration: Picture of the combat.] | |
[Sidenote: The dogs and the boar. The spears.] | |
Here is a picture of such a combat. The dogs have pursued the boar | |
through the woods until he begins to be exhausted with fatigue and | |
terror. Still, he fights them very desperately. One he has thrown down. | |
He has wounded him with his tusks. The dog is crying out with pain and | |
fright. There are three other dogs besides the one who is wounded. They | |
are endeavoring to seize and hold the boar, while one of the hunters | |
is thrusting the iron point of his spear into him. Two other hunters | |
are coming out of a thicket near by to join in the attack. One of them | |
looks as if he were afraid of the boar. He has good reason to be afraid. | |
[Sidenote: Savages dress themselves in skins.] | |
These hunters are savages. They are nearly naked. One of them is | |
clothed with a skin. I suppose, by the claws, that it is a lion’s skin. | |
He hunted and killed the lion, perhaps, in the same way that he is now | |
hunting and killing the boar. | |
Savages use the skins of beasts for clothing because they do not know | |
how to spin and weave. | |
But we must now go back to Bruno, the Alpine hunter’s dog that killed | |
the wolf, and who used afterward to sleep before the fire in the | |
hunter’s cottage on the skin. | |
JOOLY. | |
[Sidenote: The Alps.] | |
Bruno’s master lived among the Alps. The Alps are very lofty mountains | |
in Switzerland and Savoy. | |
[Sidenote: Chamois hunting.] | |
The upper portions of these mountains are very rocky and wild. There | |
are crags, and precipices, and immense chasms among them, where it | |
is very dangerous for any one to go. The hunters, however, climb up | |
among these rocks and precipices to hunt the chamois, which is a small | |
animal, much like a goat in form and character. He has small black | |
horns, the tips of which turn back. | |
The chamois climbs up among the highest rocks and precipices to feed | |
upon the grass which grows there in the little nooks and corners. The | |
chamois hunters climb up these after him. They take guns with them, | |
in order to shoot the chamois when they see one. But sometimes it is | |
difficult for them to get the game when they have killed it, as we see | |
in this engraving. The hunters were on one side of a chasm and the | |
chamois on the other, and though he has fallen dead upon the rocks, | |
they can not easily reach him. One of the hunters is leaning across | |
the chasm, and is attempting to get hold of the carcass with his right | |
hand. With his left hand he grasps the rock to keep himself from | |
falling. If his hand should slip, he would go headlong down into an | |
awful abyss. | |
[Illustration: Picture of the chamois hunters on the Alps.] | |
The other hunter is coming up the rock to help his comrade. He has his | |
gun across his shoulder. Both the hunters have ornamented their hats | |
with flowers. | |
The chamois lies upon the rock where he has fallen. We can see his | |
black horns, with the tips turned backward. | |
[Sidenote: The lower <DW72>s of the mountains.] | |
In the summer season, the valleys among these Alpine mountains are very | |
delightful. The lower <DW72>s of them are adorned with forests of fir | |
and pine, which alternate with smooth, green pasturages, where ramble | |
and feed great numbers of sheep and cows. Below are rich and beautiful | |
valleys, with fields full of flowers, and cottages, and pretty little | |
gardens, and every thing else that can make a country pleasant to | |
see and to play in. There are no noxious or hurtful animals in these | |
valleys, so that there is no danger in rambling about any where in | |
them, either in the fields or in the groves. They must take care of the | |
wet places, and of the thorns that hide among the roses, but beyond | |
these dangers there is nothing to fear. In these valleys, therefore, | |
the youngest children can go into the thickets to play or to gather | |
flowers without any danger or fear; for there are no wild beasts, or | |
noxious animals, or poisonous plants there, or any thing else that can | |
injure them. | |
[Illustration: Children at play.] | |
[Sidenote: Winter in the Alps.] | |
Thus the country of the Alps is very pleasant in summer, but in winter | |
it is cold and stormy, and all the roads and fields, especially in | |
the higher portions of the country, are buried up in snow. Still, the | |
people who live there must go out in winter, and sometimes they are | |
overtaken by storms, and perish in the cold. | |
[Sidenote: Scene in the hunter’s cottage.] | |
Once Bruno saved his master’s life when he was thus overtaken in a | |
storm. The baby was sick, and the hunter thought he would go down in | |
the valley to get some medicine for him. The baby was in a cradle. His | |
grandmother took care of him and rocked him. His mother was at work | |
about the room, feeling very anxious and unhappy. The hunter himself, | |
who had come in tired from his work a short time before, was sitting | |
in a comfortable easy-chair which stood in the corner by the fire. The | |
head of the cradle was near the chair where the hunter was sitting.[1] | |
[1] For the positions of the chair and cradle in the hunter’s | |
cottage, see engraving on page 30. | |
“George,” said the hunter’s wife, “I wish you would look at the baby.” | |
George leaned forward over the head of the cradle, and looked down upon | |
the baby. | |
“Poor little thing!” said he. | |
“What shall we do?” said his wife. As she said this she came to the | |
cradle, and, bending down over it, she moved the baby’s head a little, | |
so as to place it in a more comfortable position. The baby was very | |
pale, and his eyes were shut. As soon as he felt his mother’s hand upon | |
his cheek, he opened his eyes, but immediately shut them again. He was | |
too sick to look very long even at his mother. | |
[Sidenote: Consultation between the hunter and his wife.] | |
“Poor little thing!” said George again. “He is very sick. I must go to | |
the village and get some medicine from the doctor.” | |
“Oh no!” said his wife. “You can not go to the village to-night. It is | |
a _dreadful_ storm.” | |
“Yes,” said the hunter, “I know it is.” | |
“The snow is very deep, and it is drifting more and more,” said his | |
wife. “It will be entirely dark before you get home, and you will lose | |
your way, and perish in the snow.” | |
The hunter did not say any thing. He knew very well that there would be | |
great danger in going out on such a night. | |
“You will get lost in the snow, and die,” continued his wife, “if you | |
attempt to go.” | |
[Sidenote: A hard alternative.] | |
“And baby will die, perhaps, if I stay at home,” said the hunter. | |
The hunter’s wife was in a state of great perplexity and distress. It | |
was hard to decide between the life of her husband and that of her | |
child. While the parents were hesitating and looking into the cradle, | |
the babe opened its eyes, and, seeing its father and mother there, | |
tried to put out its little hands to them as if for help, but finding | |
itself too weak to hold them up, it let them drop again, and began to | |
cry. | |
“Poor little thing!” said the hunter. “I’ll go--I’ll go.” | |
The mother made no more objection. She could not resist the mute appeal | |
of the poor helpless babe. So she brought her husband his coat and cap, | |
and forced her reluctant mind to consent to his going. | |
It was strange, was it not, that she should be willing to risk the life | |
of her husband, who was all the world to her, whose labor was her life, | |
whose strength was her protection, whose companionship was her solace | |
and support, for the sake of that helpless and useless baby? | |
It was strange, too, was it not, that the hunter himself, who was | |
already almost exhausted by the cold and exposure that he had suffered | |
during the day, should be willing to go forth again into the storm, for | |
a child that had never done any thing for him, and was utterly unable | |
to do any thing for him now? Besides, by saving the child’s life, he | |
was only compelling himself to work the harder, to procure food and | |
clothing for him while he was growing up to be a man. | |
What was the baby’s name? | |
His name was Jooly. | |
At least they called him Jooly. His real name was Julien. | |
[Sidenote: The hunter bids little Jooly good-by.] | |
When the hunter was all ready to go, he came to the cradle, and, | |
putting his great rough and shaggy hand upon the baby’s wrist, he said, | |
“Poor little Jooly! I will get the doctor himself to come and see you, | |
if I can.” | |
So he opened the door and went out, leaving Jooly’s grandmother rocking | |
the cradle, and his mother at work about the room as before. | |
When the hunter had gone out and shut the door, he went along the side | |
of the house till he came to a small door leading to his cow-house, | |
which was a sort of small barn. | |
[Sidenote: He calls Bruno.] | |
He opened the door of the cow-house and called out “BRUNO!” | |
Bruno, who was asleep at this time in his bed, in a box half filled | |
with straw, started up on hearing his master’s voice, and, leaping over | |
the side of the box, came to his master in the storm. | |
[Sidenote: Bruno’s bed.] | |
Bruno was glad to be called. And yet it was a dark and stormy night. | |
The wind was blowing, and the snow was driving terribly. On the other | |
hand, the bed where he had been lying was warm and comfortable. The | |
cow was near him for company. He was enjoying, too, a very refreshing | |
sleep, dreaming of races and frolics with other dogs on a pretty green. | |
All this repose and comfort were disturbed. Still, Bruno was glad. | |
He perceived at once that an unexpected emergency had occurred, and | |
that some important duty was to be performed. Bruno had no desire to | |
lead a useless life. He was always proud and happy when he had any | |
duty to perform, and the more important and responsible the duty was, | |
the more proud and happy it made him. He cared nothing at all for any | |
discomfort, fatigue, or exposure that it might bring upon him. | |
[Sidenote: A comparison.] | |
Some boys are very different from Bruno in this respect. They do not | |
share his noble nature. They never like duty. All they like is ease, | |
comfort, and pleasure. When any unexpected emergency occurs, and they | |
are called to duty, they go to their work with great reluctance, and | |
with many murmurings and repinings, as if to do duty were an irksome | |
task. I would give a great deal more for a _dog_ like Bruno than for | |
such a boy. | |
[Sidenote: The hunter and Bruno in the snow.] | |
Bruno and his master took the road which led to the village. The hunter | |
led the way, and Bruno followed. The road was steep and narrow, and | |
in many places the ground was so buried in snow that the way was very | |
difficult to find. Sometimes the snow was very soft and deep, and the | |
hunter would sink into it so far that he could scarcely advance at | |
all. At such times Bruno, being lighter and stronger, would wallow on | |
through the drift, and then look back to his master, and wait for him | |
to come, and then go back to him again, looking all the time at the | |
hunter with an expression of animation and hope upon his countenance, | |
and wagging his tail, as if he were endeavoring to cheer and encourage | |
him. This action had the effect, at any rate, of encouragement. It | |
cheered the hunter on; and so, in due time, they both arrived safely at | |
the village. | |
The doctor concluded, after hearing all about the case, that it would | |
not be best for him to go up the mountain; but he gave the hunter some | |
medicine for the baby. | |
[Sidenote: The hunter attempts to return to the cottage.] | |
The medicine was put in a phial, and the hunter put the phial in his | |
pocket. When all was ready, the hunter set out again on his return home. | |
[Sidenote: Difficulties in the way.] | |
It was much harder going up than it had been to come down. The road was | |
very steep. The snow, too, was getting deeper every hour. Besides, it | |
was now dark, and it was more difficult than ever to find the way. | |
At last, when the hunter had got pretty near his own cottage again, his | |
strength began to fail. He staggered on a little farther, and then he | |
sank down exhausted into the snow. Bruno leaped about him, and rubbed | |
his head against his master’s cheek, and barked, and wagged his tail, | |
and did every thing in his power to encourage his master to rise and | |
make another effort. At length he succeeded. | |
“Yes,” said the hunter, “I’ll get up, and try again.” | |
[Sidenote: Getting lost.] | |
So he rose and staggered feebly on a little farther. He looked about | |
him, but he could not tell where he was. He began to feel that he was | |
lost. Now, whenever a man gets really lost, either in the woods or in | |
the snow, a feeling of great perplexity and bewilderment generally | |
comes over his mind, which almost wholly deprives him of the use of | |
his faculties. The feeling is very much like that which one experiences | |
when half awake. You do not know where you are, or what you want, or | |
where you want to go. Sometimes you scarcely seem to know who you are. | |
The hunter began to be thus bewildered. Then it was bitter cold, and he | |
began to be benumbed and stupefied. | |
Intense cold almost always produces a stupefying effect, when one has | |
been long exposed to it. The hunter knew very well that he must not | |
yield to such a feeling as this, and so he forced himself to make a new | |
effort. But the snow seemed to grow deeper and deeper, and it was very | |
hard for him to make his way through it. It was freshly fallen, and, | |
consequently, it was very light and soft, and the hunter sank down in | |
it very far. If he had had snow shoes, he could have walked upon the | |
top of it; but he had no snow shoes. | |
At last he became very tired. | |
“Bruno,” said he, “I must lie down here and rest a little, before I can | |
go on any further.” | |
[Sidenote: Bruno tries to encourage and save his master.] | |
But Bruno, when he saw his master preparing to lie down, jumped about | |
him, and barked, and seemed very uneasy. Just then the hunter saw | |
before him a deep black hole. He looked down, and saw that it was | |
water. Instead of being in the road, he was going over some deep pit | |
filled with water, covered, except in one place, with ice and snow. He | |
perceived that he had had a very narrow escape from falling into this | |
water, and he now felt more bewildered and lost than ever. He contrived | |
to get by the dangerous hole, feeling his way with a stick, and then he | |
sank down in the snow among the rocks, and gave up in despair. | |
[Sidenote: The hunter comes very near perishing in the snow.] | |
And yet the house was very near. The chimney and the gable end of it | |
could just be distinguished in the distance through the falling snow. | |
Bruno knew this, and he was extremely distressed that his master should | |
give up when so near reaching home. He lay down in the snow by the | |
side of his master, and putting his paw over his arm, to encourage | |
him and keep him from absolute despair, he turned his head toward the | |
house, and barked loud and long, again and again, in hopes of bringing | |
somebody to the rescue. | |
[Illustration] | |
In the picture you can see the hunter lying in the snow, with Bruno | |
over him. His cap has fallen off, and is half buried. His stick, too, | |
lies on the snow near his cap. That was a stick that he got to feel | |
down into the hole in the ice with, in order to ascertain how deep the | |
water was, and to find his way around it. The rocks around the place | |
are covered with snow, and the branches of the trees are white with it. | |
[Sidenote: Danger of going to sleep when out in a storm.] | |
It is extremely dangerous to lie down to sleep in the snow in a storm | |
like this. People that do so usually never wake again. They think, | |
always, that they only wish to rest themselves, and sleep a few | |
minutes, and that then they will be refreshed, and be ready to proceed | |
on their journey. But they are deceived. The drowsiness is produced, | |
not by the fatigue, but by the cold. They are beginning to freeze, and | |
the freezing benumbs all their sensations. The drowsiness is the effect | |
of the benumbing of the brain. | |
Sometimes, when several persons are traveling together in cold and | |
storms, one of their number, who may perhaps be more delicate than the | |
rest, and who feels the cold more sensibly, wishes very much to stop a | |
few minutes to lie down and rest, and he begs his companions to allow | |
him to do so. But they, if they are wise, will not consent. Then he | |
sometimes declares that he _will_ stop, at any rate, even if they do | |
not consent. Then they declare that he shall not, and they take hold | |
of his shoulders and arms to pull him along. Then he gets angry, and | |
attempts to resist them. The excitement of this quarrel warms him a | |
little, and restores in some degree his sensibility, and so he goes | |
on, and his life is saved. Then he is very grateful to them for having | |
disregarded his remonstrances and resistance, and for compelling him to | |
proceed.[2] | |
[2] Children, in the same way, often complain very strenuously | |
of what their parents and teachers require of them, and resist | |
and contend against it as long as they can; and then, if their | |
parents persevere, they are afterward, when they come to | |
perceive the benefit of it, very grateful. | |
But now we must return to the story. | |
[Sidenote: Alarm in the cottage. They open the door.] | |
The hunter’s family heard the barking in the house. They all | |
immediately went to the door. One of the children opened the door. The | |
gusts of wind blew the snow in her face, and blinded her. She leaned | |
back against the door, and wiped the snow from her face and eyes with | |
her apron. Her grandmother came to the door with a light, but the wind | |
blew it out in an instant. Her mother came too, and for a moment little | |
Jooly was left alone. | |
[Illustration] | |
“It is my husband!” she exclaimed. “He is dying in the snow! Mercy upon | |
us! What will become of us? | |
“Give me the cordial,” said she. “Quick!” | |
So saying, she turned to the shelves which you see in the picture near | |
where she is standing, and hastily taking down a bottle containing | |
a cordial, which was always kept there ready to be used on such | |
occasions, she rushed out of the house. She shut the door after her as | |
she went, charging the rest, with her last words, to take good care of | |
little Jooly. | |
[Sidenote: The puss. Little Jooly sleeps undisturbed.] | |
Of course, those that were left in the cottage were all in a state of | |
great distress and anxiety while she was gone--all except two, Jooly | |
and the puss. Jooly was asleep in the cradle. The puss was not asleep, | |
but was crouched very quietly before the fire in a warm and bright | |
place near the grandmother’s chair. She was looking at the fire, and at | |
the kettle which was boiling upon it, and wondering whether they would | |
give her a piece of the meat by-and-by that was boiling in the kettle | |
for the hunter’s supper. | |
[Sidenote: The hunter and Jooly are both saved.] | |
When the hunter felt the mouth of the cordial bottle pressed gently to | |
his lips, and heard his wife’s voice calling to him, he opened his eyes | |
and revived a little. The taste of the cordial revived him still more. | |
He was now able to rise, and when he was told how near home he was, he | |
felt so cheered and encouraged by the intelligence that he became quite | |
strong. The company in the house were soon overjoyed at hearing voices | |
at the door, and on opening it, the hunter, his wife, and Bruno all | |
came safely in. | |
Jooly took the medicine which his father brought him, and soon got well. | |
Here is a picture of Bruno lying on the wolf-skin, and resting from his | |
toils. | |
[Illustration] | |
THE EMIGRANTS. | |
The hunter, Bruno’s master, emigrated to America, and when he went, he | |
sold Bruno to another man. A great many people from Europe emigrate to | |
America. | |
[Sidenote: Emigrants. The way they cross the Atlantic.] | |
To emigrate means to move from one country to another. The people in | |
Europe come from all parts of the interior down to the sea-shore, | |
and there embark in great ships to cross the Atlantic Ocean. A great | |
many come in the same ship. While they are at sea, if the weather is | |
pleasant, these passengers come up upon the deck, and have a very | |
comfortable time. But when it is cold and stormy, they have to stay | |
below, and they become sick, and are very miserable. They can not stay | |
on deck at such times on account of the sea, which washes over the | |
ships, and often keeps the decks wet from stem to stern. | |
When the emigrants land in America, some of them remain in the cities, | |
and get work there if they can. Others go to the West to buy land. | |
[Sidenote: The English family.] | |
Opposite you see a farmer’s family in England setting out for America. | |
The young girl who stands with her hands joined together is named | |
Esther. That is her father who is standing behind her. Her mother and | |
her grandmother are in the wagon. Esther’s mother has an infant in her | |
arms, and her grandmother is holding a young child. Both these children | |
are Esther’s brothers. Their names are George and Benny. The baby’s | |
name is Benny. | |
[Illustration: The farmer’s family. The farewell.] | |
Esther has two aunts--both very kind to her. One of her aunts is going | |
to America, but the other--her aunt Lucy--is to remain behind. They are | |
bidding each other good-by. The one who has a bonnet on her head is the | |
one that is going. We can tell who are going on the journey by their | |
having hats or bonnets on. Esther’s aunt Lucy, who has no bonnet on, is | |
to remain. When the wagon goes away, she will go into the house again, | |
very sorrowful. | |
[Sidenote: The journey in the covered wagon.] | |
The farmer has provided a _covered_ wagon for the journey, so as to | |
protect his wife, and his mother, and his sister, and his children from | |
the cold wind and from the rain. But they will not go all the way in | |
this wagon. They will go to the sea-shore in the wagon, and then they | |
will embark on board a ship, to cross the Atlantic Ocean. | |
We can see the ship, all ready and waiting, in the background of the | |
picture, on the right. There will be a great many other families on | |
board the ship, all going to America. There will be sailors, too, to | |
navigate the ship and to manage the sails. | |
THE VOYAGE. | |
[Sidenote: The voyage in the ship.] | |
The voyage which the emigrants have to take is very long. It is three | |
thousand miles from England to America, and it takes oftentimes many | |
weeks to accomplish the transit. Sometimes during the voyage the breeze | |
is light, and the water is smooth, and the ship glides very pleasantly | |
and prosperously on its way. Then the emigrants pass their time very | |
agreeably. They come up upon the decks, they look out upon the water, | |
they talk, they sew, they play with the children--they enjoy, in fact, | |
almost as many comforts and pleasures as if they were at home on land. | |
Opposite is a picture of the ship sailing along very smoothly, in | |
pleasant weather, at the commencement of the voyage. The cliff in the | |
background, on the right, is part of the English shore, which the ship | |
is just leaving. There is a light-house upon the cliff, and a town on | |
the shore below. | |
[Illustration: The emigrant ship setting sail. Smooth sea.] | |
The wind is fair, and the water is smooth. The emigrants are out upon | |
the decks. We can see their heads above the bulwarks. | |
[Sidenote: The buoy.] | |
The object in the foreground, floating in the water, is a _buoy_. It is | |
placed there to mark a rock or a shoal. It is secured by an anchor. | |
Thus, when the weather is fair, the emigrants pass their time very | |
pleasantly. They amuse themselves on the decks by day, and at night | |
they go down into the cabins, which are below the deck of the ship, and | |
there they sleep. | |
[Illustration: The ship in a storm. Great danger. Heavy seas.] | |
But sometimes there comes a storm. The wind increases till it becomes a | |
gale. Clouds are seen scudding swiftly across the sky. Immense billows, | |
rolling heavily, dash against the ship, or chase each other furiously | |
across the wide expanse of the water, breaking every where into foam | |
and spray. The winds howl fearfully in the rigging, and sometimes a | |
sail is burst from its fastenings by the violence of it, and flaps its | |
tattered fragments in the air with the sound of thunder. | |
[Sidenote: Discomfort and distress of the passengers.] | |
While the storm continues, the poor emigrants are obliged to remain | |
below, where they spend their time in misery and terror. By-and-by the | |
storm subsides, the sailors repair the damages, and the ship proceeds | |
on her voyage. | |
In the engraving below we see the ship far advanced on her way. She | |
is drawing near to the American shore. The sea is smooth, the wind is | |
fair, and she is pressing rapidly onward. | |
[Illustration] | |
On the left is seen another vessel, and on the right two more, far in | |
the offing. | |
The emigrants on board the ship are rejoiced to believe that their | |
voyage is drawing toward the end. | |
[Sidenote: The arrival.] | |
When the farmer and his family have landed in America, they will take | |
another wagon, and go back into the country till they come to the place | |
where they are going to have their farm. There they will cut down the | |
trees of the forest, and build a house of logs. Then they will plow the | |
ground, and sow the seeds, and make the farm. By-and-by they will gain | |
enough by their industry to build a better house, and to fit it with | |
convenient and comfortable furniture, and thenceforward they will live | |
in plenty and happiness. | |
[Sidenote: Benny and George.] | |
All this time they will take great care of George and Benny, so that | |
they shall not come to any harm. They will keep them warm in the | |
wagon, and they will watch over them on board the ship, and carry them | |
in their arms when they walk up the hills, in journeying in America, | |
and make a warm bed for them in their house, and take a great deal of | |
pains to have always plenty of good bread for them to eat, and warm | |
milk for them to drink. They will suffer, themselves, continual toil, | |
privation, and fatigue, but they will be very careful not to let the | |
children suffer any thing if they can possibly help it. | |
[Sidenote: Ingratitude.] | |
By-and-by, when Benny and George grow up, they will find that their | |
father lives upon a fine farm, with a good house and good furniture, | |
and with every comfort around them. They will hardly know how much care | |
and pains their father, and mother, and grandmother took to save them | |
from all suffering, and to provide for them a comfortable and happy | |
home. How ungrateful it would be in them to be unkind or disobedient to | |
their father, and mother, and grandmother, when they grow up. | |
GOING ALONE. | |
[Sidenote: Emigrant going alone.] | |
Sometimes, when a man is intending to emigrate to America, he goes | |
first himself alone, in order to see the country, and choose a place | |
to live in, and buy a farm, intending afterward to come back for his | |
family. He does not take them with him at first, for he does not know | |
what he should do with his wife and all his young children while he is | |
traveling from place to place to view the land. | |
[Illustration: He bids his wife and children good-by. Picture of it.] | |
When the emigrant goes first alone in this way, leaving his family | |
at home, the parting is very sorrowful. His poor wife is almost | |
broken-hearted. She gathers her little children around her, and clasps | |
them in her arms, fearing that some mischief may befall their father | |
when he is far away, and that they may never see him again. The man | |
attempts to comfort her by saying that it will not be long before he | |
comes back, and that then they shall never more be separated. His | |
oldest boy stands holding his father’s staff, and almost wishing that | |
he was going to accompany him. He turns away his face to hide his | |
tears. As for the dog, he sees that his master is going away, and he is | |
very earnestly desirous to go too. In fact, they know he _would_ go if | |
he were left at liberty, and so they chain him to a post to keep him at | |
home. | |
[Sidenote: A sorrowful parting.] | |
It is a hard thing for a wife and a mother that her husband should | |
thus go away and leave her, to make so long a voyage, and to encounter | |
so many difficulties and dangers, knowing, as she does, that it is | |
uncertain whether he will ever live to return. She bears the pain of | |
this parting out of love to her children. She thinks that their father | |
will find some better and happier home for them in the New World, where | |
they can live in greater plenty, and where, when they grow up, and | |
become men and women, they will be better provided for than they were | |
in their native land. | |
[Sidenote: The ship. The emigrants.] | |
In the distance, in the engraving, we see the ship in which this man | |
is going to sail. We see a company of emigrants, too, down the road, | |
going to embark. There is one child walking alone behind her father and | |
mother, who seems too young to set out on such a voyage. | |
SILVER BOWL STOLEN. | |
Bruno belonged to several different masters in the course of his life. | |
He was always sorry to leave his old master when the changes were made, | |
but then he yielded to the necessity of the case in these emergencies | |
with a degree of composure and self-control, which, in a man, would | |
have been considered quite philosophical. | |
The hunter of the Alps, whose life Bruno had saved, resolved at the | |
time that he would never part with him. | |
“I would not sell him,” said he, “for a thousand francs.” | |
They reckon sums of money by francs in Switzerland. A franc is a silver | |
coin. About five of them make a dollar. | |
[Sidenote: Bruno’s master is obliged to sell him. The reason why.] | |
However, notwithstanding this resolution, the hunter found himself at | |
last forced to sell his dog. He had concluded to emigrate to America. | |
He found, on making proper inquiry and calculation, that it would cost | |
a considerable sum of money to take Bruno with him across the ocean. | |
In the first place, he would have to pay not a little for his passage. | |
Then, besides, it would cost a good deal to feed him on the way, both | |
while on board the ship and during his progress across the country. | |
The hunter reflected that all the money which he should thus pay for | |
the dog would be so much taken from the food, and clothing, and other | |
comforts of his wife and children. Just at this time a traveler came by | |
who offered to buy the dog, and promised always to take most excellent | |
care of him. So the hunter sold him, and the traveler took him away. | |
[Sidenote: Bruno is sold and carried away to England.] | |
Bruno was very unwilling at first to go away with the stranger. But the | |
hunter ordered him to get into the gentleman’s carriage, and he obeyed. | |
He looked out behind the carriage as they drove away, and wondered what | |
it all could mean. He could not understand it; but as it was always a | |
rule with him to submit contentedly to what could not be helped, he | |
soon ceased to trouble himself about the matter, and so, lying down in | |
the carriage, he went to sleep. He did not wake up for several hours | |
afterward. | |
The traveler conveyed the dog home with him to England, and kept him | |
a long time. He made a kennel for him in the corner of the yard. Here | |
Bruno lived several years in great peace and plenty. | |
At length the gentleman was going away from home again on a long tour, | |
and as there was nobody to be left at home to take an interest in | |
Bruno, he put him under the charge, during his absence, of a boy named | |
Lorenzo, who lived in a large house on the banks of a stream near his | |
estate. Lorenzo liked Bruno very much, and took excellent care of | |
him.[3] | |
[3] The house where Lorenzo lived was a large double house, of | |
a very peculiar form. There is a picture of it on page 58. | |
There was a grove of tall trees near the house where Lorenzo lived, | |
which contained the nests of thousands of rooks. Rooks are large black | |
birds, very much like crows. Bruno used to lie in the yard where | |
Lorenzo kept him, and watch the rooks for hours together. | |
[Illustration: The encampment of gipsies.] | |
[Sidenote: How gipsies live.] | |
In a solitary place near where Lorenzo lived there was an encampment of | |
gipsies. Gipsies live much like Indians. They wander about England in | |
small bands, getting money by begging, and selling baskets, and they | |
build little temporary huts from time to time in solitary places, where | |
they live for a while, and then, breaking up their encampment, they | |
wander on till they find another place, where they encamp again. | |
[Sidenote: Their ingenuity in stealing.] | |
Sometimes, when they can not get money enough by begging and selling | |
baskets, they will steal. They show a great deal of ingenuity in the | |
plans they devise for stealing. In fact, they are very adroit and | |
cunning in every thing they undertake. | |
At one time Lorenzo’s father went away, and one of the gipsies, named | |
Murphy, resolved to take that opportunity to steal something from the | |
house. | |
[Sidenote: Murphy’s plan.] | |
“We can get in,” said he to his comrade, “very easily, in the night, by | |
the back door, and get the silver bowl. We can melt the bowl, and sell | |
it for four or five sovereigns.” | |
The silver bowl which Murphy referred to was one which had been given | |
to Lorenzo by his uncle when he was a baby. Lorenzo’s name was engraved | |
upon the side of it. | |
Lorenzo used his bowl to eat his bread and milk from every night for | |
supper. It was kept on a shelf in a closet opening from the kitchen. | |
Murphy had seen it put there once or twice, when he had been in the | |
kitchen at night, selling baskets. | |
“We can get that bowl just as well as not,” said Murphy, “when the man | |
is away.” | |
“There’s a big dog there,” said his comrade. | |
“Yes,” said Murphy, “but I’ll manage the dog.” | |
“How will you manage him?” asked his comrade. | |
“I’ll try coaxing and flattery first,” said Murphy. “If that don’t do, | |
I’ll try threatening; if threatening won’t do, I’ll try bribing; and if | |
he won’t be bribed, I’ll poison him.” | |
[Sidenote: Bruno is on the watch.] | |
That night, about twelve o’clock, Murphy crept stealthily round to a | |
back gate which led into the yard behind the house where Lorenzo lived. | |
The instant that Bruno heard the noise, he sprang up, and went bounding | |
down the path till he came to the gate. As soon as he saw the gipsy, he | |
began to bark very vociferously. | |
Lorenzo was asleep at this time; but as his room was on the back side | |
of the house, and his window was open, he heard the barking. So he got | |
up and went to the window, and called out, | |
“Bruno, what’s the matter?” | |
Bruno was at some distance from the house, and did not hear Lorenzo’s | |
voice. He was watching Murphy. | |
Murphy immediately began to coax and cajole the dog, calling him “Nice | |
fellow,” and “Good dog,” and “Poor Bruno,” speaking all the time in a | |
very friendly and affectionate tone to him. Bruno, however, had sense | |
enough to know that there was something wrong in such a man being seen | |
prowling about the house at that time of night, and he refused to be | |
quieted. He went on barking louder than ever. | |
“Bruno!” said Lorenzo, calling louder, “what’s the matter? Come back to | |
your house, and be quiet.” | |
Murphy thought he heard a voice, and, peeping through a crack in the | |
fence, he saw Lorenzo standing at the window. The moon shone upon his | |
white night-gown, so that he could be seen very distinctly. | |
[Sidenote: Murphy disappears.] | |
As soon as Murphy saw him, he crept away into a thicket, and | |
disappeared. Bruno, after waiting a little time to be sure that the man | |
had really gone, turned about, and came back to the house. When he saw | |
Lorenzo, he began to wag his tail. He would have told him about the | |
gipsy if he had been able to speak. | |
“Go to bed, Bruno,” said he, “and not be keeping us awake, barking at | |
the moon this time of night.” | |
So Bruno went into his house, and Lorenzo to his bed. | |
[Sidenote: Murphy tries threats.] | |
The next night, Murphy, finding that Bruno could not be coaxed away | |
from his duty by flattery, concluded to try what virtue there might | |
be in threats and scolding. So he came armed with a club and stones. | |
As soon as he got near the gate, Bruno, as he had expected, took the | |
alarm, and came bounding down the path again to see who was there. | |
As soon as he saw Murphy, he set up a loud and violent barking as | |
before. | |
“Down, Bruno, down!” exclaimed Murphy, in a stern and angry voice. | |
“Stop that noise, or I’ll break your head.” | |
So saying, he brandished his club, and then stooped down to pick up one | |
of the stones which he had brought, and which he had laid down on the | |
ground where he was standing, so as to have them all ready. | |
[Sidenote: He is unsuccessful.] | |
Bruno, instead of being intimidated and silenced by these | |
demonstrations, barked louder than ever. | |
Lorenzo jumped out of bed and came to the window. | |
“Bruno!” said he, calling out loud, “what’s the matter? There’s nothing | |
there. Come back to your house, and be still.” | |
The gipsy, finding that Bruno did not fear his clubs and stones, and | |
hearing Lorenzo’s voice again moreover, went back into the thicket. | |
Bruno waited until he was sure that he was really gone, and then | |
returned slowly up the pathway to the house. | |
“Go to bed, Bruno,” said Lorenzo, “and not be keeping us awake, | |
barking at the moon this time of night.” | |
So Bruno and Lorenzo both went to bed again. | |
[Sidenote: He tries bribes, which Bruno refuses.] | |
The next night Murphy came again, with two or three pieces of meat in | |
his hands. | |
“I’ll bribe him,” said he. “He likes meat.” | |
Bruno, on hearing the sound of Murphy’s footsteps, leaped out of his | |
bed, and ran down the path as before. As soon as he saw the gipsy | |
again, he began to bark. Murphy threw a piece of meat toward him, | |
expecting that, as soon as Bruno saw it, he would stop barking at | |
once, and go to eating it greedily. But Bruno paid no attention to the | |
offered bribe. He kept his eyes fixed closely on the gipsy, and barked | |
away as loud as ever. | |
Lorenzo, hearing the sound, was awakened from his sleep, and getting up | |
as before, he came to the window. | |
“Bruno,” said he, “what _is_ the matter now? Come back to your house, | |
and go to bed, and be quiet.” | |
Murphy, finding that the house was alarmed again, and that Bruno would | |
not take the bribe that he offered him, crept away back into the | |
thicket, and disappeared. | |
“I’ll poison him to-morrow night,” said he--“the savage cur!” | |
[Sidenote: The poisoned meat.] | |
Accordingly, the next evening, a little before sunset, he put some | |
poison in a piece of meat, and having wrapped it up in paper, he put it | |
in his pocket. He then went openly to the house where Lorenzo lived, | |
with some baskets on his arm for sale. When he entered the yard, he | |
took the meat out of the paper, and secretly threw it into Bruno’s | |
house. Bruno was not there at the time. He had gone away with Lorenzo. | |
[Sidenote: Bruno imprisoned.] | |
Murphy then went into the kitchen, and remained there some time, | |
talking about his baskets. When he came out, he found Lorenzo shutting | |
up Bruno in his house, and putting a board up before the door. | |
“What are you doing, Lorenzo?” said the gipsy. | |
“I am shutting Bruno up,” said Lorenzo. “He makes such a barking in the | |
night that we can not sleep.” | |
“That’s right,” replied the gipsy. So he went away, saying to himself, | |
as he went down the pathway, “He won’t bark much more, I think, after | |
he has eaten the supper I have put in there for him.” | |
Bruno wondered what the reason was that Lorenzo was shutting him up | |
so closely. He little thought it was on account of his vigilance and | |
fidelity in watching the house. He had, however, nothing to do but to | |
submit. So, when Lorenzo had finished fastening the door, and had gone | |
away, he lay down in a corner of his apartment, extended his paws out | |
before him, rested his chin upon them, and prepared to shut his eyes | |
and go to sleep. | |
[Sidenote: He discovers the meat.] | |
His eyes, however, before he had shut them, fell upon the piece of meat | |
which Murphy had thrown in there for him. So he got up again, and went | |
toward it. | |
He smelt of it. He at once perceived the smell of the gipsy upon it. | |
Any thing that a man handles, or even touches, retains for a time a | |
scent, which, though we can not perceive it is very sensible to a dog. | |
Thus a dog can follow the track of a man over a road by the scent | |
which his footsteps leave upon the ground. He can even single out a | |
particular track from among a multitude of others on the same ground, | |
each scent being apparently different in character from all the rest. | |
[Sidenote: He distrusts Murphy’s present, and maintains a faithful | |
watch.] | |
In this way Bruno perceived that the meat which he found in his house | |
had been handled by the same man that he had barked at so many times at | |
midnight at the foot of the pathway. This made him suspicious of it. | |
He thought that that man must be a bad man, and he did not consider it | |
prudent to have any thing to do with bad men or any of their gifts. So | |
he left the meat where it was, and went back into his corner. | |
His first thought in reflecting on the situation in which he found | |
himself placed was, that since Lorenzo had forbidden him so sternly | |
and positively to bark in the night, and had shut him up so close a | |
prisoner, he would give up all care or concern about the premises, and | |
let the robber, if it was a robber, do what he pleased. But then, on | |
more sober reflection, he perceived that Lorenzo must have acted under | |
some mistake in doing as he had done, and that it was very foolish in | |
him to cherish a feeling of resentment on account of it. | |
“The wrong doings of other people,” thought he to himself, “are no | |
reason why I should neglect _my_ duty. I will watch, even if I am shut | |
up.” | |
So he lay listening very carefully. When all was still, he fell into | |
a light slumber now and then; but the least sound without caused him | |
to prick up his ears and open one eye, until he was satisfied that | |
the noise he heard was nothing but the wind. Thus things went on till | |
midnight. | |
[Sidenote: The robber enters the house, and carries away the bowl.] | |
About midnight he heard a sound. He raised his head and listened. It | |
seemed like the sound of footsteps going through the yard. He started | |
up, and put his head close to the door. He heard the footsteps going | |
up close to the house. He began to bark very loud and violently. The | |
robbers opened the door with a false key, and went into the house. | |
Bruno barked louder and louder. He crowded hard against the door, | |
trying to get it open. He moaned and whined, and then barked again | |
louder than ever. | |
Lorenzo came to the window. | |
“Bruno,” said he, “what a plague you are! Lie down, and go to sleep.” | |
Bruno, hearing Lorenzo’s voice, barked again with all the energy that | |
he possessed. | |
“Bruno,” said Lorenzo, very sternly, “if you don’t lie down and be | |
still, to-morrow night I’ll tie your mouth up.” | |
Murphy was now in the house, and all was still. He had got the silver | |
bowl, and was waiting for Lorenzo to go to bed. Bruno listened | |
attentively, but not hearing any more sounds, ceased to bark. Presently | |
Lorenzo went away from the window back to his bed, and lay down. Bruno | |
watched some time longer, and then he went and lay down too. | |
In about half an hour, Murphy began slowly and stealthily to creep out | |
of the house. He walked on tiptoe. For a time he made no noise. He had | |
the bowl in one hand, and his shoes in the other. He had taken off | |
his shoes, so as not to make any noise in walking. Bruno heard him, | |
however, as he was going by, and, starting up, he began to bark again. | |
But Murphy hastened on, and the yard was accordingly soon entirely | |
still. Bruno listened a long time, but, hearing no more noise, he | |
finally lay down again in his corner as before. | |
[Sidenote: What could be the reason that the poison failed?] | |
Murphy crept away into the thicket, and so went home to his encampment, | |
wondering why Bruno had not been killed by the poison. | |
“I put in poison enough,” said he to himself, “for half a dozen dogs. | |
What could be the reason it did not take effect?” | |
When the people of the house came down into the kitchen the next | |
morning, they found that the door was wide open, and the silver bowl | |
was gone. | |
[Illustration] | |
What became of the silver bowl will be related in another story. I will | |
only add here that gipsies have various other modes of obtaining money | |
dishonestly besides stealing. One of these modes is by pretending to | |
tell fortunes. Here is a picture of a gipsy endeavoring to persuade | |
an innocent country boy to have his fortune told. She wishes him to | |
give her some money. The boy wears a frock. He is dressed very neatly. | |
He looks as if he were half persuaded to give the gipsy his money. He | |
might, however, just as well throw it away. | |
THE SILVER BOWL RECOVERED. | |
On the night when Lorenzo’s silver bowl was stolen by the gipsy, all | |
the family, except Lorenzo, were asleep, and none of them knew aught | |
about the theft which had been committed until the following morning. | |
Lorenzo got up that morning before any body else in the house, as was | |
his usual custom, and, when he was dressed, he looked out at the window. | |
“Ah!” said he, “now I recollect; Bruno is fastened up in his house. I | |
will go the first thing and let him out.” | |
[Sidenote: Lorenzo discovers the open door.] | |
So Lorenzo hastened down stairs into the kitchen, in order to go out | |
into the yard. He was surprised, when he got there, to find the kitchen | |
door open. | |
“Ah!” said he to himself, “how came this door open? I did not know that | |
any body was up. It must be that Almira is up, and has gone out to get | |
a pail of water.” | |
[Sidenote: He releases Bruno.] | |
Lorenzo went out to Bruno’s house, and took down the board by which he | |
had fastened the door. Then he opened the door. The moment that the | |
door was opened Bruno sprang out. He was very glad to be released from | |
his imprisonment. He leaped up about Lorenzo’s knees a little at first, | |
to express his joy, and then ran off, and began smelling about the yard. | |
[Sidenote: Bruno’s mysterious behavior.] | |
He found the traces of Murphy’s steps, and, as soon as he perceived | |
them, he began to bark. He followed them to the kitchen door, and | |
thence into the house, barking all the time, and looking very much | |
excited. | |
“Bruno,” said Lorenzo, “what is the matter with you?” | |
Bruno went to the door of the closet where the bowl had been kept. The | |
door was open a little way. Bruno insinuated his nose into the crevice, | |
and so pushing the door open, he went in. As soon as he was in he began | |
to bark again. | |
“Bruno!” exclaimed Lorenzo, “what is the matter with you?” | |
Bruno looked up on the shelf where the bowl was usually placed, and | |
barked louder than ever. | |
“Where’s my bowl?” exclaimed Lorenzo, looking at the vacant place, and | |
beginning to feel alarmed. “Where’s my bowl?” | |
He spoke in a tone of great astonishment and alarm. He looked about on | |
all the shelves; the bowl was nowhere to be seen. | |
“Where can my bowl be gone to?” said he, more and more frightened. He | |
went out of the closet into the kitchen, and looked all about there for | |
his bowl. Of course, his search was vain. Bruno followed him all the | |
time, barking incessantly, and looking up very eagerly into Lorenzo’s | |
face with an appearance of great excitement. | |
“Bruno,” said Lorenzo, “you know something about it, I am sure, if you | |
could only tell.” | |
[Sidenote: The wind-mill.] | |
Lorenzo, however, did not yet suspect that his bowl had been stolen. | |
He presumed that his mother had put it away in some other place, and | |
that, when she came down, it would readily be found again. So he went | |
out into the yard, and sat on a stone step, and went to work to finish | |
a wind-mill he had begun the day before. | |
[Sidenote: Lorenzo’s mother explains the mystery.] | |
By-and-by his mother came down; and as soon as she had heard Lorenzo’s | |
story about the bowl, and learned, too, that the outer door had | |
been found open when Lorenzo first came down stairs, she immediately | |
expressed the opinion that the bowl had been stolen. | |
“Some thief has been breaking into the house,” said she, “I’ve no | |
doubt, and has stolen it.” | |
“Stolen it!” exclaimed Lorenzo. | |
“Yes,” replied his mother; “I’ve no doubt of it.” | |
So saying, she went into the closet again, to see if she could discover | |
any traces of the thieves there. But she could not. Every thing seemed | |
to have remained undisturbed, just as she had left it the night before, | |
except that the bowl was missing. | |
“Somebody has been in and stolen it,” said she, “most assuredly.” | |
Bruno, who had followed Lorenzo and his mother into the room, was | |
standing up at this time upon his hind legs, with his paws upon | |
the edge of the shelf, and he now began to bark loudly, by way of | |
expressing his concurrence in this opinion. | |
[Sidenote: “Seek him, Bruno!”] | |
“Seize him, Bruno!” said Lorenzo. “Seize him!” | |
Bruno, on hearing this command, began smelling about the floor, and | |
barking more eagerly than ever. | |
“Bruno smells his tracks, I verily believe,” said Lorenzo, speaking to | |
his mother. Then, addressing Bruno again, he clapped his hands together | |
and pointed to the ground, saying, | |
“Go seek him, Bruno! seek him!” | |
[Sidenote: Bruno departs upon his errand.] | |
Bruno began immediately to follow the scent of Murphy’s footsteps along | |
the floor, out from the closet into the kitchen, and from the kitchen | |
into the yard; he ran along the path a little way, and then made a wide | |
circuit over the grass, at a place where Murphy had gone round to get | |
as far as possible away from Bruno’s house. He then came back into the | |
path again, smelling as he ran, and thence passed out through the gate; | |
here, keeping his nose still close to the ground, he went on faster and | |
faster, until he entered the thicket and disappeared. | |
Lorenzo did not pay particular attention to these motions. He had given | |
Bruno the order, “Seek him!” rather from habit than any thing else, | |
and without any idea that Bruno would really follow the tracks of the | |
thief. Accordingly, when Bruno ran off down the yard, he imagined that | |
he had gone away somewhere to play a little while, and that he would | |
soon come back. | |
“He’ll be sure to come back pretty soon,” said he, “to get his | |
breakfast.” | |
But Bruno did not come back to breakfast. Lorenzo waited an hour after | |
breakfast, and still he did not come. | |
He waited two hours longer, and still he did not come. | |
Where was Bruno all this time? He was at the camp of the gipsies, | |
watching at the place where Murphy had hid the stolen bowl. | |
[Sidenote: He reaches the gipsy camp. He discovers the place where the | |
bowl was hidden.] | |
When he followed the gipsy’s tracks into the thicket, he perceived the | |
scent more and more distinctly as he went on, and this encouraged him | |
to proceed. Lorenzo had said “Seek him!” and this Bruno understood as | |
an order that he should follow the track until he found the man, and | |
finding him, that he should keep watch at the place till Lorenzo or | |
some one from the family should come. Accordingly, when he arrived at | |
the camp, he followed the scent round to the back end of a little low | |
hut, where Murphy had hidden the bowl. The gipsy had dug a hole in the | |
ground, and buried the bowl in it, out of sight, intending in a day or | |
two to dig it up and melt it. Bruno found the place where the bowl was | |
buried, but he could not dig it up himself, so he determined to wait | |
there and watch until some one should come. He accordingly squatted | |
down upon the grass, near the place where the gipsies were seated | |
around their fire, and commenced his watch.[4] | |
[4] See engraving, page 43. | |
There were two gipsy women sitting by the fire. There was also a man | |
sitting near by. Murphy was standing up near the entrance of the tent | |
when Bruno came. He was telling the other gipsies about the bowl. He | |
had a long stick in his hand, and Bruno saw this, and concluded that it | |
was best for him to keep quiet until some one should come. | |
“I had the greatest trouble with Bruno,” said Murphy. “He barked at | |
me whenever he saw me, and nothing would quiet him. But he is getting | |
acquainted now. See, he has come here of his own accord.” | |
“You said you were going to poison him,” remarked the other man. | |
“Yes,” replied Murphy. “I did put some poisoned meat in his house, but | |
he did not eat it. I expect he smelled the poison.” | |
[Sidenote: Lorenzo goes in search of Bruno.] | |
The hours of the day passed on, and Lorenzo wondered more and more what | |
could have become of his dog. At last he resolved to go and look him up. | |
“Mother,” said he, “I am going to see if I can find out what’s become | |
of Bruno.” | |
“I would rather that you would find out what’s become of your bowl,” | |
said his mother. | |
“Why, mother,” said Lorenzo, “Bruno is worth a great deal more than the | |
bowl.” | |
“That may be,” replied his mother, “but there is much less danger of | |
his being lost.” | |
Lorenzo walked slowly away from the house, pondering with much | |
perplexity the double loss he had incurred. | |
“I can not do any thing,” he said, “to get back the bowl, but I can | |
look about for Bruno, and if I find him, that’s all I can do. I must | |
leave it for father to decide what is to be done about the bowl, when | |
he comes home.” | |
So Lorenzo came out from his father’s house, and after hesitating for | |
some minutes which way to go, he was at length decided by seeing a | |
boy coming across the fields at a distance with a fishing-pole on his | |
shoulder. | |
“Perhaps that boy has seen him somewhere,” said he. “I’ll go and ask | |
him. And, at any rate, I should like to know who the boy is, and | |
whether he has caught any fish.” | |
[Sidenote: The sheep. The geese.] | |
So Lorenzo turned in the direction where he saw the boy. He walked | |
under some tall elm-trees, and then passed a small flock of sheep that | |
were lying on the grass in the field. He looked carefully among them | |
to see if Bruno was there, but he was not. After passing the sheep, | |
he walked along on the margin of a broad and shallow stream of water. | |
There were two geese floating quietly upon the surface of this water, | |
near where the sheep were lying upon the shore. These geese floated | |
quietly upon the water, like vessels riding at anchor. Lorenzo was | |
convinced that they had not seen any thing of Bruno for some time. If | |
they had, they would not have been so composed. | |
[Sidenote: The ducks in the water.] | |
Lorenzo walked on toward the boy. He met him at a place where the path | |
approached near the margin of the water. There was some tall grass on | |
the brink. Three ducks were swimming near. The ducks turned away when | |
they saw the boys coming, and sailed gracefully out toward the middle | |
of the stream. | |
[Illustration: Lorenzo meets Frank going a fishing.] | |
Lorenzo, when he drew near the boy, perceived that it was an | |
acquaintance of his, named Frank. Frank had a long fishing-pole in one | |
hand, with a basket containing his dinner in the other. | |
“Frank,” said Lorenzo, “where are you going?” | |
“I am going a fishing,” said Frank. “Go with me.” | |
“No,” said Lorenzo, “I am looking for Bruno.” | |
“I know where he is,” said Frank. | |
“Where?” asked Lorenzo. | |
“I saw him a little while ago at the gipsies’ camp, down in the glen. | |
He was lying down there quietly by the gipsies’ fire.” | |
“What a dog!” said Lorenzo. “Here I have been wondering what had become | |
of him all the morning. He has run away, I suppose, because I shut him | |
up last night.” | |
“What made you shut him up?” asked Frank. | |
“Oh, because he made such a barking every night,” replied Lorenzo. “We | |
could not sleep.” | |
“He is still enough now,” said Frank. “He is lying down very quietly | |
with the gipsies.” | |
Lorenzo then asked Frank some questions about his fishing, and | |
afterward walked on. Before long he came to a stile, where there was a | |
path leading to a field. He got over the stile, and followed the path | |
until at last he came to the gipsies’ encampment. | |
[Sidenote: Bruno in the camp of the gipsies.] | |
There he found Bruno lying quietly on the ground, at a little distance | |
from the fire. As soon as he came in sight of him, he called him. | |
“Bruno! Bruno!” said he. | |
Bruno looked up, and, seeing Lorenzo, ran to meet him, but immediately | |
returned to the camp, whining, and barking, and seeming very uneasy. | |
He, however, soon became quiet again, for he knew very well, or seemed | |
to know, that it would require more of a man than Lorenzo to take the | |
bowl away from the gipsies, and, consequently, that he must wait there | |
quietly till somebody else should come. | |
[Sidenote: Lorenzo tries to drive Bruno home, but Bruno will not go.] | |
“Bruno,” said Lorenzo, speaking very sternly, “_come home_!” | |
Bruno paid no attention to this command, but, after smelling about the | |
ground a little, and running to and fro uneasily, lay down again where | |
he was before. | |
“Bruno!” said Lorenzo, stamping with his foot. | |
“Won’t your dog obey you?” said Murphy. | |
“No,” said Lorenzo. “I wish you would take a stick, and drive him | |
along.” | |
Now the gipsies did not wish to have the dog go away. They preferred | |
that he should stay with them, and be their dog. They had no idea that | |
he was there to watch over the stolen bowl. | |
“Don’t drive him away,” said one of the gipsy women, speaking in a low | |
tone, so that Lorenzo could not hear. | |
“I’ll only make believe,” said Murphy. | |
So Murphy took up a little stick, and threw it at the dog, saying, “Go | |
home, Bruno!” | |
Bruno paid no heed to this demonstration. | |
Lorenzo then advanced to where Bruno was lying, and attempted to pull | |
him along, but Bruno would not come. He would not even get up from the | |
ground. | |
“I’ll make you come,” said Lorenzo. So he took hold of him by the neck | |
and the ears, and began to pull him. Bruno uttered a low growl. | |
“Oh, dear me!” said Lorenzo, “what shall I do?” | |
In fact, he was beginning to grow desperate. So he looked about among | |
the bushes for a stick, and when he had found one sufficient for his | |
purpose, he came to Bruno, and said, in a very stern voice, | |
“Now, Bruno, go home!” | |
Bruno did not move. | |
“Bruno,” repeated Lorenzo, in a thundering voice, and brandishing his | |
stick over Bruno’s head, “GO HOME!” | |
Bruno, afraid of being beaten with the stick, jumped up, and ran off | |
into the bushes. Lorenzo followed him, and attempted to drive him | |
toward the path that led toward home. But he could accomplish nothing. | |
The dog darted to and fro in the thickets, keeping well out of the way | |
of Lorenzo’s stick, but evincing a most obstinate determination not to | |
go home. On the contrary, in all his dodgings to and fro, he took care | |
to keep as near as possible to the spot where the bowl was buried. | |
[Sidenote: Lorenzo goes home.] | |
At last Lorenzo gave up in despair, and concluded to go back to the | |
house, and wait till his father got home. | |
[Sidenote: The search for the bowl.] | |
His father returned about the middle of the afternoon, and Lorenzo | |
immediately told him of the double loss which he had met with. He | |
explained all the circumstances connected with the loss of the bowl, | |
and described Bruno’s strange behavior. His father listened in silence. | |
He immediately suspected that the gipsies had taken the bowl, and | |
that Bruno had traced it to them. So he sent for some officers and a | |
warrant, and went to the camp. | |
[Sidenote: The bowl found.] | |
As soon as Bruno saw the men coming, he seemed to be overjoyed. He | |
jumped up, and ran to meet them, and then, running back to the camp | |
again, he barked, and leaped about in great excitement. The men | |
followed him, and he led them round behind the hut, and there he began | |
digging into the ground with his paws. The men took a shovel which was | |
there, one belonging to the gipsies, and began to dig. In a short time | |
they came to a flat stone, and, on taking up the stone, they found the | |
bowl under it. | |
[Sidenote: Pursuing Murphy.] | |
Bruno seemed overjoyed. He leaped and jumped about for a minute or two | |
when he saw the bowl come out from its hiding-place, and raced round | |
and round the man who held the bowl, and then ran away home to find | |
Lorenzo. The officers, in the mean time, went off hastily in pursuit of | |
Murphy, who had made his escape while they had been digging up the bowl. | |
BRUNO AND THE LOST BOY. | |
Bruno was quite a large dog. There are a great many different kinds | |
of dogs. Some are large, others are small. Some are irritable and | |
fierce, others are good-natured and gentle. Some are stout and massive | |
in form, others are slender and delicate. Some are distinguished for | |
their strength, others for their fleetness, and others still for their | |
beauty. Some are very affectionate, others are sagacious, others are | |
playful and cunning. Thus dogs differ from each other not only in form | |
and size, but in their disposition and character as well. | |
[Sidenote: Pointers.] | |
Some dogs are very intelligent, others are less so, and even among | |
intelligent dogs there is a great difference in respect to the modes | |
in which their intelligence manifests itself. Some dogs naturally love | |
the water, and can be taught very easily to swim and dive, and perform | |
other aquatic exploits. Others are afraid of the water, and can never | |
be taught to like it; but they are excellent hunters, and go into the | |
fields with their masters, and find the game. They run to and fro | |
about the field that their master goes into, until they see a bird, and | |
then they stop suddenly, and remain motionless till their master comes | |
and shoots the bird. As soon as they hear the report of the gun, they | |
run to get the game. Sometimes quite small dogs are very intelligent | |
indeed, though of course they have not so much strength as large dogs. | |
[Illustration: The little parlor dogs.] | |
In the above engraving we see several small dogs playing in a parlor. | |
The ladies are amusing themselves with flowers that they are arranging, | |
and the dogs are playing upon the carpet at their feet. | |
There are three dogs in all. Two of them are playing together near the | |
foreground, on the left. The other is alone. | |
[Sidenote: Bruno was a large dog.] | |
Bruno was a large dog. He was a very large dog indeed. When other dogs | |
were playing around him, he would look down upon them with an air of | |
great condescension and dignity. He was, however, very kind to them. | |
They would jump upon him, and play around him, but he never did them | |
any harm. | |
[Illustration: Bruno among his companions.] | |
[Sidenote: Faithfulness.] | |
Bruno was a very faithful dog. In the summer, when the farmer, his | |
master (at a time when he belonged to a farmer), went into the field to | |
his work in the morning, he would sometimes take his dinner with him in | |
a tin pail, and he would put the pail down under a tree by the side of | |
a little brook, and then, pointing to it, would say to Bruno, | |
[Sidenote: Watching.] | |
“Bruno, watch!” | |
[Sidenote: Bruno and his master eating dinner in the fields.] | |
So Bruno would take his place by the side of the pail, and remain there | |
watching faithfully all the morning. Sometimes he would become very | |
hungry before his master came back, but, though he knew that there was | |
meat in the pail, and that there was nothing to cover it but a cloth, | |
he would never touch it. If he was thirsty, he would go down to the | |
brook and drink, turning his head continually as he went, and while he | |
was drinking, to see that no one came near the pail. Then at noon, when | |
his master came for his dinner, Bruno would be rejoiced to see him. He | |
would run out to meet him with great delight. He would then sit down | |
before his master, and look up into his face while he was eating his | |
dinner, and his master would give him pieces of bread and meat from | |
time to time, to reward him for his fidelity. | |
Bruno was kind and gentle as well as faithful. If any body came through | |
the field while he was watching his master’s dinner, or any thing else | |
that had been intrusted to his charge, he would not, as some fierce and | |
ill-tempered dogs are apt to do, fly at them and bite them at once, but | |
he would wait to see if they were going to pass by peaceably. If they | |
were, he would not molest them. If they came near to whatever he was | |
set to guard, he would growl a little, to give them a gentle warning. | |
If they came nearer still, he would growl louder; but he would never | |
bite them unless they actually attempted to seize and take away his | |
trust. Thus he was considerate and kind as well as faithful. | |
[Sidenote: Fierceness.] | |
Some dogs, though faithful, are very fierce. They are sometimes | |
_trained_ to be fierce when they are employed to watch against thieves, | |
in order that they may attack the thieves furiously. To make them more | |
fierce, their masters never play with them, but keep them chained up | |
near their kennels, and do not give them too much to eat. Wild animals | |
are always more ferocious while hungry. | |
[Illustration: The hungry watch-dog.] | |
Here is a picture of a fierce watch-dog, set to watch against thieves. | |
He is kept hungry, in some degree, all the time, to make him more | |
ferocious. He looks hollow and gaunt. There is a pan upon the ground, | |
from which his master feeds him, but he has eaten up all that it | |
contained, and he wants more. This makes him watchful. If he had eaten | |
too much, he would probably now be lying asleep in his kennel. The | |
kennel is a small house, with a door in front, where the dog goes in | |
and out. There is straw upon the floor of the kennel. The dog was lying | |
down upon the floor of his kennel, when he thought he heard a noise. He | |
sprang up from his place, came out of the door, and has now stopped to | |
listen. He is listening and watching very attentively, and is all ready | |
to spring. The thief is coming; we can see him climbing over the gate. | |
He is coming softly. He thinks no one hears. A moment more, and the dog | |
will spring out upon him, and perhaps seize him by the throat, and hold | |
him till men come and take him prisoner. | |
This dog is chained during the day, but his chain is unhooked at night, | |
so as to leave him at liberty. By day he can do no harm, and yet the | |
children who live in the neighborhood are afraid to go near his kennel, | |
he barks so ferociously when he hears a noise; besides, they think it | |
possible that, by some accident, his chain may get unfastened. | |
[Sidenote: Tiger’s fidelity. His ferocious character.] | |
This dog’s name is Tiger. Bruno was not such a dog as Tiger. He was | |
vigilant and faithful, but then he was gentle and kind. | |
Bruno’s master, the farmer, had a son named Antonio. That is, his name | |
was properly Antonio, though they commonly called him Tony. | |
[Sidenote: The difference between Antonio and Bruno.] | |
Tony was very different from Bruno in his character. He was as | |
faithless and remiss in all his duties as Bruno was trusty and true. | |
When his father set him at work in the field, instead of remaining, | |
like Bruno, at his post, and discharging his duty, he would take the | |
first opportunity, as soon as his father was out of sight, to go away | |
and play. Sometimes, when Bruno was upon his watch, Tony would attempt | |
to entice him away. He would throw sticks and stones across the brook, | |
and attempt to make Bruno go and fetch them. But Bruno would resist all | |
these temptations, and remain immovable at his post. | |
It might be supposed that it would be very tiresome for Bruno to remain | |
so many hours lying under a tree, watching a pail, with nothing to | |
do and nothing to amuse him, and that, consequently, he would always | |
endeavor to escape from the duty. We might suppose that, when he saw | |
the farmer’s wife taking down the pail from its shelf, and preparing | |
to put the farmer’s dinner in it, he would immediately run away, and | |
hide himself under the barn, or among the currant-bushes in the garden, | |
or resort to some other scheme to make his escape from such a duty. | |
But, in fact, he used to do exactly the contrary of this. As soon as | |
he saw that his master was preparing to go into the field, he would | |
leap about with great delight. He would run into the house, and take | |
his place by the door of the closet where the tin pail was usually | |
kept. He would stand there until the farmer’s wife came for the pail, | |
and then he would follow her and watch her while she was preparing the | |
dinner and putting it into the pail, and then would run along, with | |
every appearance of satisfaction and joy, by the side of his master, as | |
he went into the field, and finally take his place by the side of the | |
pail, as if he were pleased with the duty, and proud of the trust that | |
was thus committed to him. | |
[Sidenote: Antonio’s expedients to avoid work.] | |
In fact, he _was_ really proud of it. He liked to be employed, and to | |
prove himself useful. With Tony it was the reverse. He adopted all | |
sorts of schemes and maneuvers to avoid the performance of any duty. | |
When he had reason to suppose that any work was to be done in which his | |
aid was to be required, he would take his fishing-line, immediately | |
after breakfast, and steal secretly away out of the back door, and go | |
down to a brook which was near his father’s house, and there--hiding | |
himself in some secluded place among the bushes, where he thought they | |
could not find him--he would sit down upon a stone and go to fishing. | |
If he heard a sound as of his father’s voice calling him, he would | |
make a rustling of the leaves, or some other similar noise, so as to | |
prevent his hearing whether his father was calling to him or not. Thus | |
his father was obliged to do without him. And though his father would | |
reprove him very seriously, when he came home at noon, for thus going | |
away, Tony would pretend that he did not know that his father wanted | |
him, and that he did not hear him when he called. | |
[Sidenote: The plowing.] | |
One evening in the spring, Tony heard his father say that he was going | |
to plow a certain piece of ground the following day, and he supposed | |
that he should be wanted to ride the horse. His father was accustomed | |
to plow such land as that field by means of a yoke of oxen, and a | |
horse in front of them; and by having Tony to ride the horse, he could | |
generally manage to get along without any driver for the oxen, as the | |
oxen in that case had nothing to do but to follow on where the horse | |
led the way. But if Tony was not there to ride the horse, then it was | |
necessary for the farmer to have his man Thomas with him, to drive | |
the horse and the oxen. There was no way, therefore, by which Tony | |
could be so useful to his father as by thus assisting in this work of | |
plowing; for, by so doing, he saved the time of Thomas, who could then | |
be employed the whole day in other fields, planting, or hoeing, or | |
making fence, or doing any other farm-work which at that season of the | |
year required to be done. | |
[Sidenote: Antonio escapes.] | |
Accordingly, when Tony understood that this was the plan of work for | |
the following day, he stole away from the house immediately after | |
breakfast, and ran out into the garden. He had previously put his | |
fishing-line, and other necessary apparatus for fishing, upon a certain | |
bench there was in an arbor. He now took these things, and then went | |
down through the garden to a back gate, which led into a wood beyond. | |
He looked around from time to time as he went on, to see if any one at | |
the house was observing him. He saw no one; so he escaped safely into | |
the wood, without being called back, or even seen. | |
He felt glad when he found that he had thus made his escape--glad, but | |
not happy. It is quite possible to be glad, and yet to be not at all | |
happy. Tony felt guilty. He knew that he was doing very wrong; and the | |
feeling that we are doing wrong always makes us miserable, whatever may | |
be the pleasure that we seek. | |
[Sidenote: His walk through the wood.] | |
There was a wild and solitary road which led through the wood. Tony | |
went on through this road, with his fishing-pole over his shoulder, and | |
his box of bait in his hand. He wore a frock, like a plowman’s frock, | |
over his dress. It was one which his mother had made for him. This | |
frock was a light and cool garment, and Tony liked to wear it very much. | |
When Tony had got so far that he thought there was no danger of his | |
being called back, and the interest which he had felt in making his | |
escape began to subside, as the work had been accomplished, he paused, | |
and began to reflect upon what he was doing. | |
[Sidenote: He almost decides to return and help his father.] | |
“I have a great mind to go back, after all,” he said, “and help my | |
father.” | |
So he turned round, and began to walk slowly back toward the house. | |
“No, I won’t,” said he again; “I will go a fishing.” | |
[Illustration] | |
So he turned again, and began to walk on. | |
“At any rate,” he added, speaking to himself all the time, “I will go | |
a fishing for a while, and then, perhaps, I will go back and help my | |
father.” | |
So Tony went on in the path until at length he came to a place where | |
there was a gateway leading into a dark and secluded wood. The wood was | |
very dark and secluded indeed, and Tony thought that the path through | |
it must lead to some very retired and solitary place, where nobody | |
could find him. | |
“I presume there is a brook, too, somewhere in that wood,” he added, | |
“where I can fish.” | |
The gate was fastened, but there was a short length of fence on the | |
left-hand side of it, formed of only two rails, and these were so far | |
apart that Tony could easily creep through between them. So he crept | |
through, and went into the wood. | |
[Sidenote: He comes to the brook.] | |
He rambled about in the wood for some time, following various paths | |
that he found there, until at length he came to a brook. He was quite | |
rejoiced to find the brook, and he immediately began fishing in it. He | |
followed the bank of this brook for nearly a mile, going, of course, | |
farther and farther into the wood all the time. He caught a few small | |
fishes at some places, while at others he caught none. He was, however, | |
restless and dissatisfied in mind. Again and again he wished that he | |
had not come away from home, and he was continually on the point of | |
resolving to return. He thought, however, that his father would have | |
brought Thomas into the field, and commenced his plowing long before | |
then, and that, consequently, it would do no good to return. | |
[Sidenote: Fishing. The squirrel.] | |
While he was sitting thus, with a disconsolate air, upon a large stone | |
by the side of the brook, fishing in a dark and deep place, where he | |
hoped that there might be some trout, he suddenly saw a large gray | |
squirrel. He immediately dropped his fishing-pole, and ran to see where | |
the squirrel would go. In fact, he had some faint and vague idea that | |
there might, by some possibility, be a way to catch him. | |
The squirrel ran along a log, then up the stem of a tree to a branch, | |
along the branch to the end of it, whence he sprang a long distance | |
through the air to another branch, and then ran along that branch to | |
the tree which it grew from. From this tree he descended to a rock. He | |
mounted to the highest point of the rock, and there he turned round and | |
looked at Tony, sitting upon his hind legs, and holding his fore paws | |
before him, like a dog begging for supper. | |
[Sidenote: An unsuccessful hunt.] | |
“The rogue!” said Tony. “How I wish I could catch him!” | |
Very soon the squirrel, feeling somewhat alarmed at the apparition of | |
a boy in the woods, and not knowing what to make of so strange a sight, | |
ran down the side of the rock, and continued his flight. Tony followed | |
him for some time, until at last the squirrel contrived to make his | |
escape altogether, by running up a large tree, keeping cunningly on the | |
farther side of it all the way, so that Tony could not see him. When | |
he had reached the branches of the tree, he crept into a small hollow | |
which he found there, and crouching down, he remained motionless in | |
this hiding-place until Tony became tired of looking for him, and went | |
away. | |
[Sidenote: The lost boy.] | |
Tony, when at last he gave up the search for the squirrel, attempted | |
to find his way back to the place where he had left his fishing-pole. | |
Unfortunately, he had left his cap there too, so that he was doubly | |
desirous of finding the place. There was, however, no path, for | |
squirrels in their rambles in the woods are of course always quite | |
independent of every thing like roadways. Tony went back in the | |
direction from which he thought he came; but he could find no traces of | |
his fishing-pole. He could not even find the brook. He began to feel | |
quite uneasy, and, after going around in very circuitous and devious | |
wanderings for some time, he became quite bewildered. He at length | |
determined to give up the attempt to find his fishing-line and cap, and | |
to get out of the woods, and make his way home in the quickest possible | |
way. | |
[Sidenote: Tony’s difficulties.] | |
The poor boy now began to feel more guilty and more wretched than ever | |
before. He was not really more guilty, though he _felt_ his guilt far | |
more acutely than he had done when every thing was going well with him. | |
This is always so. The feeling of self-condemnation is not generally | |
the strongest at the time when we are doing the wrong. It becomes far | |
more acute and far more painful when we begin to experience the bitter | |
consequences which we bring upon ourselves by the transgression. Tony | |
hurried along wherever he could find a path which promised to lead him | |
to the gateway, breathless with fatigue and excitement, and with his | |
face flushed and full of anxiety. He was in great distress. | |
He stopped from time to time, to call aloud to his father and to | |
Thomas. He was now as anxious that they should find him as he had been | |
before to escape from them. He listened, in the hope that he might hear | |
the barking of Bruno, or some other sound that might help him to find | |
his way out of the woods. | |
[Sidenote: He is misled by various sounds.] | |
Once he actually heard a sound among the trees, at some distance from | |
him. He thought that it was some one working in the woods. He went | |
eagerly in the direction from which the sound proceeded, scrambling, | |
by the way, over the rocks and brambles, and leaping from hummock to | |
hummock in crossing bogs and mire. When at length he reached the place, | |
he found that the noise was nothing but one tree creaking against | |
another in the wind. | |
At another time, he followed a sound which appeared different from | |
this; when he came up to it, he found it to be a woodpecker tapping an | |
old hollow tree. | |
[Sidenote: Tony at the brook.] | |
Tony wandered about thus in the wood nearly all the day, and at length, | |
about the middle of the afternoon, he became so exhausted with fatigue, | |
anxiety, and hunger, that he could go no farther. He was very thirsty | |
too, for he could find no water. He began to fear that he should die | |
in the woods of starvation and thirst. At length, however, a short | |
time before the sun went down, he came, to his great joy, to a stream | |
of water. It was wide and deep, so that he could not cross it. He, | |
however, went down to the brink of the water, and got a good drink. | |
This refreshed him very much, and then he went back again up the bank, | |
and lay down upon the grass there to rest. | |
[Sidenote: Cows in the water.] | |
Presently two cows came down to the water, on the side opposite to | |
where Tony was sitting. They came to drink. Tony wished very much that | |
they would come over to his side of the water, so that he could get | |
some milk from them. If he could get a good drink of milk from them, he | |
thought it would restore his strength, so that he could make one more | |
effort to return home. He called the cows, and endeavored, by every | |
means in his power, to make them come through the water to his side. | |
One of them waded into the water a little way, and stood there staring | |
stupidly at Tony, but she would not come any farther. | |
[Illustration] | |
Then Tony thought of attempting to wade across the water to the cows, | |
but he was afraid that it might be very deep, and that he should get | |
drowned. He thought, too, that if he could contrive in any way to get | |
near the cows, there would still be a difficulty in getting a drink of | |
their milk, for he had no cup or mug to milk into. He wondered whether | |
or not it would be possible for him to get down under one of the cows | |
and milk into his mouth. He soon found, however, that it was of no use | |
to consider this question, for it was not possible for him to get near | |
the cows at all. | |
Then he reflected how many times his mother, in the evenings at home, | |
when the cows were milked, had brought him drinks of the milk in a cup | |
or mug, very convenient to drink out of, and how many long and weary | |
days his father had worked in the fields, mowing grass to feed the | |
cows, and in the barns in the winter, to take care of them, so as to | |
provide the means of giving his boy this rich and luxurious food; and | |
he felt how ungrateful he had been, in not being willing to aid his | |
father in his work, when opportunities offered to him to be useful. | |
[Sidenote: Good resolutions.] | |
“If I ever get home,” said he to himself, “I’ll be a better boy.” | |
[Sidenote: Here comes Bruno.] | |
Just then Tony heard a noise in the bushes behind him. At first he was | |
startled, as most people are, at hearing suddenly a noise in the woods. | |
Immediately afterward, however, he felt glad, as he hoped that the | |
noise was made by some one coming. He had scarcely time to look around | |
before Bruno came rushing through the bushes, and, with a single bound, | |
came to Tony’s feet. He leaped up upon him, wagging his tail most | |
energetically, and in other ways manifesting the most extraordinary | |
joy. | |
[Sidenote: Bruno leads the way through the woods.] | |
In a minute or two he began to walk away again into the woods, looking | |
behind him toward Tony, intimating that Tony was to follow him. Tony | |
slowly rose from his place, and attempted to go. | |
“Yes, Bruno,” said he, “I know. You are going to show me the way home. | |
I’ll come along as fast as I can.” | |
Tony soon found, however, that he could not come very fast. In fact, | |
he was almost exhausted by fatigue and hunger, and he had now little | |
strength remaining. He accordingly staggered rather than walked in | |
attempting to follow Bruno, and he was obliged frequently to stop and | |
rest. On such occasions Bruno would come back and fawn around him, | |
wagging his tail, and expressing his sympathy in such other ways as | |
a dog has at command, and would finally lie down quietly by Tony’s | |
side until the poor boy was ready to proceed again. Then he would go | |
forward, and lead the way as before. | |
It is very extraordinary that a dog can find his way through the woods | |
under certain circumstances so much better than a boy, or even than a | |
man. But so it is; for, though so greatly inferior to a boy in respect | |
to the faculties of speech and reason, he is greatly superior to him | |
in certain instincts, granted to him by the Creator to fit him for the | |
life which he was originally designed to lead as a wild animal. It was | |
by means of these instincts that Bruno found Tony. | |
[Sidenote: The various expeditions in search of Tony.] | |
Bruno had commenced his search about the middle of the afternoon. It | |
was not until some time after dinner that the family began to be uneasy | |
about Tony’s absence. During all the forenoon they supposed that he had | |
gone away somewhere a fishing or to play, and that he would certainly | |
come home to dinner. When, however, the dinner hour, which was twelve | |
o’clock, arrived, and Tony did not appear, they began to wonder what | |
had become of him. So, after dinner, they sent Thomas down behind the | |
garden, and to the brook, and to all the other places where they knew | |
that Tony was accustomed to go, to see if he could find him. Thomas | |
went to all those places, and not only looked to see whether Tony was | |
there, but he called also very loud, and listened long after every | |
calling for an answer. But he could neither see nor hear any thing of | |
the lost boy. | |
[Sidenote: Bruno’s search.] | |
Then Tony’s mother began to be very seriously alarmed, and his father, | |
too, determined to leave his work, and go and see if he could find him. | |
He accordingly sent Thomas one way, while he himself went another. | |
Bruno watched all these movements with great interest. He understood | |
what they meant. He determined to see what he could do. He accordingly | |
ran out into the garden, where he had seen Tony go after breakfast in | |
the morning. He smelled about there in all the paths until at length he | |
found Tony’s track. He followed this track to the seat in the arbor, | |
where Tony had gone to get his fishing-line. Taking _a new departure_ | |
from this point, he went on, smelling the track along the paths as he | |
advanced, to the bottom of the garden, thence into a wood behind the | |
garden, thence along the road till he came to the gate under the trees | |
where Tony had gone in. | |
[Sidenote: He finds Tony’s cap and fishing-pole.] | |
By smelling about this gate, he ascertained that Tony did not open the | |
gate, but that he crept through between the bars on the left-hand side | |
of it. Bruno did the same. He then followed the track of Tony in the | |
solitary woods until he came to the brook where Tony had been fishing. | |
Here, to his great astonishment, he found Tony’s cap and fishing-pole | |
lying by the margin of the water. | |
What this could mean he was utterly unable to imagine. The sight of | |
these things, however, only increased his interest in the search for | |
Tony. He soon found the track again, and he followed it along by the | |
side of the bog, and to the great rock, and by the old trees. What | |
could have induced Tony to leave his cap and pole by the brook, and | |
go scrambling through the bushes in this devious way, he could not | |
imagine, not knowing, of course, any thing about the squirrel. | |
He, however, proceeded very industriously in the search, following the | |
scent which Tony’s footsteps had left on the leaves and grass wherever | |
he had gone, until at length, to his great joy, he came up with the | |
object of his search by the brink of the water, as has already been | |
described. | |
Tony had gone but a short distance from the place where Bruno had | |
discovered him, before he found his strength failing him so rapidly | |
that he was obliged to make his rests longer and longer. At one of | |
these stops, Bruno, instead of waiting by his side, as he had done | |
before, until Tony had become sufficiently rested to go on, ran off | |
through the bushes and left him. | |
“Now, Bruno!” said Tony, in a mournful tone, “if you go away and leave | |
me, I don’t know what I shall do.” | |
[Sidenote: The cap restored.] | |
Bruno was gone about five minutes, at the end of which time he came | |
back, bringing Tony’s cap in his mouth. He had been to the brook to get | |
it. | |
Tony was overjoyed to see Bruno again, and he was, moreover, | |
particularly pleased to get his cap again. | |
So he took his cap and put it on, patting Bruno’s head at the same | |
time, and commending him in a very cordial manner. | |
“I am very much obliged to you, Bruno,” said he, “for bringing me my | |
cap--_very_ much obliged indeed. The cap is all I care for; never mind | |
about the fishing-pole.” | |
[Sidenote: Bruno returns home.] | |
Tony spoke these words very feebly, for he was very tired and faint. | |
Bruno perceived that he was not able to go on; so, after remaining | |
by his side a few minutes, he ran off again into the bushes and | |
disappeared. | |
“Now he has gone to bring the fishing-pole, I suppose,” said Tony. “I | |
wish he would not go for that; I would rather have him stay here with | |
me.” | |
[Sidenote: His strange conduct.] | |
Tony was mistaken in his supposition that Bruno had gone for the | |
fishing-pole; for, instead of going to the brook again, where he had | |
found the cap, he ran as fast as he could toward home. His object was | |
to see if he could not get some thing for Tony to eat. As soon as he | |
arrived at the house, he went to the farmer’s wife, who was all this | |
time walking about the rooms of the house in great distress of mind, | |
and waiting anxiously to hear some news of those who were in search | |
of Tony, and began to pull her by her dress toward the place in the | |
kitchen where the tin pail was kept, in which she was accustomed to put | |
the farmer’s dinner. At first she could not understand what he wanted. | |
“My senses!” said she, “what does the dog mean?” | |
“Bruno!” said she again, after wondering a moment, “what do you want?” | |
Bruno looked up toward the pail and whined piteously, wagging his tail | |
all the time, and moving about with eager impatience. | |
[Sidenote: He succeeds in obtaining a dinner for Tony.] | |
At length the farmer’s wife took hold of the pail, and, as soon as she | |
had done so, Bruno ran off toward the closet where the food was kept, | |
which she was accustomed to put into the pail for her husband’s dinner. | |
He took his station by the door, and waited there, as he had been | |
accustomed to do, looking up eagerly all the time to Tony’s mother, who | |
was slowly following him. | |
“I verily believe,” said she, joyfully, “that Bruno has found Tony, and | |
is going to carry him something to eat.” | |
She immediately went into the closet, and filled the pail up, in a very | |
hurried manner, with something for Tony to eat, taking care not to put | |
in so much as to make the pail too heavy. As soon as she had done this, | |
and put on a cover, and then set the pail down upon the floor, Bruno | |
immediately took it up by means of the handle, and ran off with it. | |
Tony’s mother followed him, but she could not keep up with him, and was | |
soon obliged to relinquish the pursuit. | |
Bruno had some difficulty in getting over the fences and through the | |
bars with his burden, as he went on toward the place where he had left | |
Tony. He, however, persevered in his efforts, and finally succeeded; | |
and at length had the satisfaction of bringing the pail safely, and | |
laying it down at Tony’s feet. Tony, who was by this time extremely | |
hungry, as well as faint and exhausted by fatigue, was overjoyed at | |
receiving this unexpected supply. He opened the pail, and found there | |
every thing which he required. There was a supply of bread and butter | |
in slices, with ham, sandwich fashion, placed between. At the bottom of | |
the pail, too, was a small bottle filled with milk. | |
[Sidenote: He conducts Tony home, and goes back for the fishing-pole.] | |
After eating and drinking what Bruno had thus brought him, Tony felt | |
greatly relieved and strengthened. He now could walk along, where Bruno | |
led the way, without stopping to rest at all. So the boy and the dog | |
went on together, until they safely reached the bottom of the garden. | |
Here they were met by Tony’s mother, who was almost beside herself with | |
joy when she saw them coming. She ran to meet Tony, and conducted him | |
into the house, while Bruno, as soon as he found that his charge was | |
safe, turned back, and, without waiting to be thanked, ran off into the | |
woods again. | |
And where do you think he was going, reader? | |
He was going to get Tony’s fishing-pole. | |
Tony’s mother brought her boy into the house, and, after she had bathed | |
his face, and his hands, and his feet with warm water to refresh and | |
soothe him, agitated as he was by his anxiety and terror, she gave him | |
a comfortable seat by the side of the kitchen fire, while she went to | |
work to get ready the supper. As soon as Tony had arrived, she blew | |
the horn at the door, which was the signal which had been previously | |
agreed upon to denote that he was found. Thomas and Tony’s father heard | |
this sound as they were wandering about in the woods, and both joyfully | |
hastened home. Tony, in the mean time, dreaded his father’s return. | |
He expected to be bitterly reproached by him for what he had done. He | |
was, however, happily disappointed in this expectation. His father did | |
not reproach him. He thought he had already been punished enough; and | |
besides, he was so glad to have his son home again, safe and sound, | |
that he had not the heart to say a word to give him any additional pain. | |
[Sidenote: Bruno lies down to sleep.] | |
Bruno himself came home about the same time that Thomas did, bringing | |
the fishing-pole and line with him. The apparatus was all safe, except | |
that the hook was gone. It had got torn off by catching against the | |
bushes on the way. Bruno brought the pole and line to Tony. Tony took | |
them, and when he had wound up the line, he set the pole up in the | |
corner, while Bruno stretched himself out before the fire, and there, | |
with his mind in a state of great satisfaction, in view of what he had | |
done, he prepared to go to sleep. The bright fire glanced upon the | |
hearth and about the room, forming a very cheerful and pleasant scene. | |
[Sidenote: Tony’s reflections.] | |
How shameful it is, thought Tony, as he looked upon Bruno by the fire, | |
that while a dog can be so faithful, and seem to take so much pride and | |
pleasure in doing his duty, and in making himself as useful in every | |
way as he possibly can, a boy, whose power and opportunities are so | |
much superior to his, should be faithless and negligent, and try to | |
contrive ways and means to evade his proper work. You have taught me a | |
lesson, Bruno. You have set me an example. We will see whether, after | |
this, I will allow myself to be beaten in fidelity and gratitude by a | |
dog. | |
* * * * * | |
This story reminds me of another one about a boy named Antonio, | |
who got away from home, and was in trouble to get back, though the | |
circumstances were very different from those which I have just related. | |
The name of this new story is “Boys Adrift.” | |
BOYS ADRIFT. | |
Boys are generally greatly pleased with seeing ships and the water. | |
In fact, the view of a harbor, filled with boats and shipping, forms | |
usually for all persons, old as well as young, a very attractive scene. | |
There was once a boy named Antonio Van Tromp. They commonly called him | |
Antony. Sometimes they called him Van Tromp. He lived in a certain | |
sea-port town, where his father used to come in with a ship from sea. | |
His father was captain of the ship. Antonio used to be very fond of | |
going down to the pier while his father’s ship was unloading. One day | |
he persuaded his cousin, who was several years younger than himself, to | |
go down with him. | |
[Sidenote: Antonio and his cousin amuse themselves on the pier.] | |
The boys played about upon the pier for an hour very happily. The | |
seamen and laborers were unloading the ship, and there were a great | |
many boxes, and bales, and hogsheads, and other packages of merchandise | |
lying upon the pier. There were porters at work carrying the goods | |
away, and sailors rolling hogsheads and barrels to and fro. There was | |
an anchor on the pier, and weights, and chains, and trucks, and other | |
similar objects lying around. The boys amused themselves for some time | |
in jumping about upon these things. At length, on looking down over | |
the edge of the pier, they saw that there was a boat there. It was | |
fastened by means of a rope to one of the links of an enormous chain, | |
which was lying over the edge of the pier. On seeing this boat, they | |
conceived the idea of getting into it, and rowing about a little in the | |
neighborhood of the pier. | |
[Sidenote: The boat.] | |
There were no oars in the boat, and so Van Tromp asked a sailor, whom | |
he saw at work near, to go and get them for him on board the ship. | |
[Sidenote: Conversation with the sailor.] | |
“Not I,” said the sailor. | |
“Why not?” asked Van Tromp. | |
“It is ebb tide,” said the sailor, “and if you two boys cast off from | |
the pier in that boat, you will get carried out to sea.” | |
“Why, I can _scull_,” said Van Tromp. | |
“Oh no,” said the sailor. | |
“At least I can pull,” said Van Tromp. | |
“Oh no,” said the sailor. | |
The boys stood perplexed, not knowing what to do. | |
All along the shores of the sea the tide rises for six hours, and while | |
it is thus rising, the water, of course, wherever there are harbors, | |
creeks, and bays, flows _in_. Afterward the tide falls for six hours, | |
and while it is falling, the water of the harbors, creeks, and bays | |
flows _out_. When the water is going out, they call it ebb tide. That | |
is what the sailor meant by saying it was ebb tide. | |
[Sidenote: Sculling and pulling.] | |
_Sculling_ is a mode of propelling a boat by one oar. The oar in this | |
case is put out behind the boat, that is, at the stern, and is moved | |
to and fro in a peculiar manner, somewhat resembling the motion of the | |
tail of a fish when he is swimming through the water. It is difficult | |
to learn how to scull. Antony could scull pretty well in smooth water, | |
but he could not have worked his way in this manner against an ebb | |
tide. | |
_Pulling_, as Antony called it, is another name for rowing. In rowing, | |
it is necessary to have two oars. To row a boat requires more strength, | |
though less skill, than to scull it. | |
The boys, after hesitating for some time, finally concluded at least | |
to get into the boat. They had unfastened the painter, that is, the | |
rope by which the boat was tied, while they had been talking with the | |
sailor, in order to be all ready to cast off. When they found that the | |
sailor would not bring them any oars, they fastened the painter again, | |
so that the boat should not get away, and then climbed down the side of | |
the pier, and got into the boat. | |
[Sidenote: The boat adrift.] | |
Unfortunately, when, after untying the painter, they attempted to make | |
it fast again into the link of the chain, they did not do it securely; | |
and as they moved to and fro about the boat, pushing it one way and | |
another, the rope finally got loose, and the boat floated slowly away | |
from the pier. The boys were engaged very intently at the time in | |
watching some sun-fish which they saw in the water. They were leaning | |
over the side of the boat to look at them, so that they did not see | |
the pier when it began to recede, and thus the tide carried them to | |
a considerable distance from it before they observed that they were | |
adrift. | |
At length Larry--for that was the name of Antony’s cousin--looking up | |
accidentally, observed that the boat was moving away. | |
“Antony! Antony!” exclaimed, he, “we’re adrift.” | |
As he said this, Larry looked very much terrified. | |
Antony rose from his reclining position, and stood upright in the | |
bottom of the boat. He looked back toward the pier, which he observed | |
was rapidly receding. | |
[Sidenote: Adrift.] | |
“Yes,” said he, “we’re adrift; but who cares?” | |
When a boy gets into difficulty or danger by doing something wrong, he | |
is generally very much frightened. When, however, he knows that he has | |
not been doing any thing wrong, but has got into difficulty purely by | |
accident, he is much less likely to be afraid. | |
Antony knew that he had done nothing wrong in getting into the boat. | |
His father was a sea-captain, and he was allowed to get into boats | |
whenever he chose to do so. He was accustomed, too, to be in boats on | |
the water, and now, if he had only had an oar or a paddle, he would not | |
have felt any concern whatever. As it was, he felt very little concern. | |
His first thought was to call out to the sailor whom they had left on | |
the pier. The boys both called to him long and loud, but he was so busy | |
turning over boxes, and bales, and rolling hogsheads about, that he did | |
not hear. | |
“What shall we do?” asked Larry, with a very anxious look. | |
[Sidenote: The sail-boat.] | |
“Oh, we shall get ashore again easily enough,” replied Antony. “Here is | |
a large sail-boat coming up. We will hail them, and they will take us | |
aboard.” | |
“Do you think they will take us on board?” asked Larry. | |
“Yes, I am sure they will,” said Antony. | |
Just then the boat which the boys were drifting in came along opposite | |
to a large sail-boat. This boat was sloop-rigged; that is, it had one | |
mast and a fore-and-aft sail. She was standing up the harbor, and was | |
headed toward the pier. The sail was spread, and the sail-boat was | |
gliding along smoothly, but quite swiftly, through the water. | |
There were two men on board. One was at the helm, steering. The other, | |
who had on a red flannel shirt, came to the side of the boat, and | |
looked over toward the boys. We can just see the head of this man above | |
the gunwale on the starboard side of the boat in the picture. | |
[Illustration] | |
[Sidenote: Antony calls for help. He receives none.] | |
“Hallo! sail-boat!” said Antony. | |
“Hallo!” said the flannel shirt. | |
“Take us aboard of your boat,” said Antony; “we have got adrift, and | |
have not got any oar.” | |
“We can’t take you on board,” said the man; “we have got beyond you | |
already.” | |
“Throw us a rope,” said Antony. | |
“We have not got any rope long enough,” said the sailor. | |
As he said these words, the sail-boat passed entirely by. | |
“What _shall_ we do?” said Larry, much alarmed. | |
Larry was much smaller than Antony, and much less accustomed to be in | |
boats on the water, and he was much more easily terrified. | |
“Don’t be afraid,” said Antony; “we shall get brought up among some of | |
the shipping below. There are plenty of vessels coming up the harbor.” | |
[Sidenote: The boys float down the channel.] | |
So they went on--slowly, but very steadily--wherever they were borne by | |
the course of the ebbing tide. Instead of being brought up, however, as | |
Antony had predicted, by some of the ships, they were kept by the tide | |
in the middle of the channel, while the ships were all, as it happened, | |
on one side or the other, and they did not go within calling distance | |
of any one of them. At last even Antony began to think that they were | |
certainly about to be carried out to sea. | |
“If the water was not so deep, we could anchor,” said Antony. | |
“We have not got any anchor,” said Larry. | |
[Sidenote: The grapnel.] | |
“Yes,” replied Antony, “there is a grapnel in the bow of the boat.” | |
Larry looked in a small cuddy under the bow of the boat, and found | |
there a sort of grapnel that was intended to be used as an anchor. | |
“Let us heave it over,” said Larry, “and then the boat will stop.” | |
“No,” replied Antony, “the rope is not long enough to reach the bottom; | |
the water is too deep here. We are in the middle of the channel; but | |
perhaps, by-and-by, the tide will carry us over upon the flats, and | |
then we can anchor.” | |
“How shall we know when we get to the flats?” asked Larry. | |
“We can see the bottom then,” said Antony, “by looking over the side of | |
the boat.” | |
“I mean to watch,” said Larry; and he began forthwith to look over the | |
side of the boat. | |
[Sidenote: They see the bottom.] | |
It was not long before Antony’s expectations were fulfilled. The tide | |
carried the boat over a place where the water was shallow, the bottom | |
being formed there of broad and level tracts of sand and mud, called | |
flats. | |
“I see the bottom,” said Larry, joyfully. | |
Antony looked over the side of the boat, and there, down several feet | |
beneath the surface of the water, he could clearly distinguish the | |
bottom. It was a smooth expanse of mud and water, and it seemed to be | |
slowly gliding away from beneath them. The real motion was in the boat, | |
but _this_ motion was imperceptible to the boys, except by the apparent | |
motion of the bottom, which was produced by it. Such a deceiving of the | |
sight as this is commonly called an optical illusion. | |
“Yes,” said Antony, “that’s the bottom; now we will anchor.” | |
[Sidenote: Anchoring.] | |
So the two boys went forward, and, after taking care to see that the | |
inner end of the grapnel rope was made fast properly to the bow of the | |
boat, they lifted the heavy iron over the side of the boat, and let it | |
plunge into the water. It sank to the bottom in a moment, drawing out | |
the rope after it. It immediately fastened itself by its prongs in the | |
mud, and when the rope was all out, the bow of the boat was “brought | |
up” by it--that is, was stopped at once. The stern of the boat was | |
swung round by the force of the tide, which still continued to act upon | |
it, and then the boat came to its rest, with the head pointing up the | |
harbor. | |
“There,” said Antony, “now we are safe.” | |
“But how are we going to get back to the shore?” inquired Larry. | |
[Sidenote: The boys wait for the tide.] | |
“Why, by-and-by the tide will turn,” said Antony, “and flow in, and | |
then we shall get up our anchor, and let it carry us home again.” | |
“And how long shall we have to wait?” asked Larry. | |
“Oh, about three or four hours,” said Antony. | |
“My mother will be very much frightened,” said Larry. “How sorry I am | |
that we got into the boat!” | |
“So am I,” said Antony; “or, rather, I should be, if I thought it would | |
do any good to be sorry.” | |
[Sidenote: Captain Van Tromp misses them.] | |
In the mean time, while the boys had thus been making their involuntary | |
voyage down the harbor, Captain Van Tromp, on board his ship, had been | |
employed very busily with his accounts in his cabin. It was now nearly | |
noon, and he concluded, accordingly, that it was time for him to go | |
home to dinner. So he called one of the sailors to him, and directed | |
him to look about on the pier and try to find the boys, and tell them | |
that he was going home to dinner. | |
In a few minutes the sailor came back, and told the captain that he | |
could not find the boys; and that Jack, who was at work outside on the | |
pier, said that they had not been seen about there for more than an | |
hour, and that the boat was missing too; and he was afraid that they | |
had got into it, and had gone adrift. | |
“Send Jack to me,” said the captain. | |
When Jack came into the cabin, the captain was at work, as usual, on | |
his accounts. Jack stood by his side a moment, with his cap in his | |
hand, waiting for the captain to be at leisure to speak to him. At | |
length the captain looked up. | |
“Jack,” said he, “do you say that the boys have gone off with the boat?” | |
“I don’t know, sir,” said Jack. “The boat is gone, and the boys are | |
gone, but whether the boat has gone off with the boys, or the boys with | |
the boat, I couldn’t say.” | |
The captain paused a moment, with a thoughtful expression upon his | |
countenance, and then said, | |
“Tell Nelson to take the glass, and go aloft, and look around to see if | |
he can see any thing of them.” | |
“Ay, ay, sir,” said Jack. | |
The captain then resumed his work as if nothing particular had happened. | |
[Sidenote: Mr. Nelson discovers them by means of his spy-glass.] | |
Nelson was the mate of the ship. The mate is the second in command | |
under the captain. | |
When Nelson received the captain’s order, he took the spy-glass, and | |
went up the shrouds to the mast-head. In about ten minutes he came down | |
again, and gave Jack a message for the captain. Jack came down again | |
into the cabin. He found the captain, as before, busy at his work. The | |
captain had been exposed to too many great and terrible dangers at sea | |
to be much alarmed at the idea of two boys being adrift, in a strong | |
boat and in a crowded harbor. | |
“Mr. Nelson says, sir,” said Jack, “that he sees our boat, with two | |
boys in it, about a mile and a half down the harbor. She is lying a | |
little to the eastward of the red buoy.” | |
A buoy is a floating beam of wood, or other light substance, anchored | |
on the point of a shoal, or over a ledge of rocks, to warn the seamen | |
that they must not sail there. The different buoys are painted of | |
different colors, so that they may be easily distinguished one from | |
another. | |
The captain paused a moment on hearing Jack’s report, and looked | |
undecided. In fact, his attention was so much occupied by his accounts, | |
that only half his thoughts seemed to be given to the case of the boys. | |
At length he asked if there was any wind. | |
“Not a capful,” said the sailor. | |
“Tell Nelson, then,” said the captain, “to send down the gig with four | |
men, and bring the boys back.” | |
[Sidenote: The gig.] | |
The gig, as the captain called it, was a light boat belonging to the | |
ship, being intended for rowing swiftly in smooth water. | |
[Sidenote: Nelson fits out an expedition to relieve the boys.] | |
So Nelson called out four men, and directed them to get ready with the | |
gig. The men accordingly lowered the gig down from the side of the ship | |
into the water, and then, with the oars in their hands, they climbed | |
down into it. In a few minutes they were rowing swiftly down the | |
harbor, in the direction of the red buoy, while Captain Van Tromp went | |
home to dinner. On his way home he left word, at the house where Larry | |
lived, that the boys had gone down the harbor, and would not be home | |
under an hour. | |
[Sidenote: The boys watch the progress of the tide.] | |
While these occurrences had been taking place on the pier, the boys | |
had been sitting very patiently in their boat, waiting for the tide | |
to turn, or for some one to come to their assistance. They could see | |
how it was with the tide by the motion of the water, as it glided past | |
them. The current, in fact, when they first anchored, made quite a | |
ripple at the bows of the boat. They had a fine view of the harbor, | |
as they looked back toward the town from their boat, though the view | |
was so distant that they could not make out which was the pier where | |
Captain Van Tromp’s vessel was lying. | |
[Illustration] | |
Of course, as the tide went out more and more, the surface of the water | |
was continually falling, and the depth growing less and less all the | |
time. The boys could easily perceive the increasing shallowness of | |
the water, as they looked over the side of the boat, and watched the | |
appearance of the bottom. | |
[Sidenote: A new danger. A discussion.] | |
“Now here’s another trouble,” said Antony. “If we don’t look out, we | |
shall get left aground. I’ve a great mind to pull up the anchor, and | |
let the boat drift on a little way, till we come to deeper water.” | |
“Oh no,” said Larry, “don’t let us go out to sea any farther.” | |
“Why, if we stay here,” said Antony, “until the tide falls so as to | |
leave us aground, we may have to stay some hours after the tide turns | |
before we get afloat again.” | |
“Well,” said Larry, “no matter. Besides, if you go adrift again, the | |
water may deepen suddenly.” | |
“Yes,” said Antony, “and then we should lose hold of the bottom | |
altogether. We had better not move.” | |
“Unless,” added Antony, after a moment’s thought, “we can contrive to | |
_warp_ the boat _up_ a little.” | |
[Sidenote: Warping the boat.] | |
So saying, Antony went forward to examine into the feasibility of this | |
plan. He found, on looking over the bow of the boat, that the water was | |
very shallow, and nearly still; for the tide, being nearly out, flowed | |
now with a very gentle and almost imperceptible current. Of course, as | |
the water was shallow, and the rope that was attached to the anchor was | |
pretty long, the anchor itself was at a considerable distance from the | |
boat. The boys could see the rope passing obliquely along under the | |
water, but could not see the anchor. | |
Antony took hold of the rope, and began to draw it in. The effect of | |
this operation was to draw the boat up the harbor toward the anchor. | |
When, at length, the rope was all in, Antony pulled up the grapnel, | |
which was small and easily raised, and then swinging it to and fro | |
several times to give it an impetus, he threw it with all his force | |
forward. It fell into the water nearly ten feet from where it had lain | |
before, and there sinking immediately, it laid hold of the bottom | |
again. Antony now, by pulling upon the rope, as he had done at first, | |
drew the boat up to the anchor at its new holding. He repeated this | |
operation a number of times, watching the water from time to time over | |
the bows of the boat, to see whether it was getting deeper or not. | |
While Antony was thus engaged, the attention of Larry was suddenly | |
attracted to the sound of oars. He looked in the direction from which | |
the sound proceeded, and saw, at a considerable distance, a boat coming | |
toward them. | |
[Sidenote: “Here comes the gig!”] | |
“Here comes a boat,” said Larry. | |
Antony looked where Larry pointed. | |
“Yes,” said he, “and she is headed directly toward us.” | |
“So she is,” said Larry. | |
“I verily believe it is our gig,” said Antony. | |
“It is,” he added, after looking a moment longer, “and there is Jack on | |
board of her. They are coming for us.” | |
In a few minutes more the gig was alongside. Two of the sailors that | |
had come down in the gig got on board of the boys’ boat with their | |
oars, and then both boats rowed up the harbor again, and in due time | |
the boys reached home in safety. | |
* * * * * | |
[Sidenote: Moral.] | |
The moral of this story is, that in all cases of difficulty and danger | |
it is best to keep quiet and composed in mind, and not to give way to | |
excitement and terror. Being frightened never does any good, excepting | |
when there is a chance to run away; in that case, it sometimes helps | |
one to run a little faster. In all other cases, it is best to be | |
cool and collected, and encounter whatever comes with calmness and | |
equanimity. | |
BRUNO AND THE ROBIN. | |
“Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.” | |
[Sidenote: Hiram and Ralph. The robin.] | |
At one time Bruno had for his master a boy named Hiram. Hiram had a | |
friend and companion who lived in the next house to him, whose name was | |
Ralph. This Ralph had a robin. He kept the robin in a cage. | |
[Sidenote: The loft.] | |
There was a small building near the bottom of Ralph’s father’s garden, | |
which was used as a place of deposit for gardening implements, seeds, | |
bundles of straw, matting for covering plants, and other similar | |
articles employed about the garden. This building was called the | |
“garden-house.” In the upper part of it was a loft, which Ralph had | |
taken possession of as a storehouse for his wagons, trucks, traps, and | |
other playthings. He used to go up to this loft by means of a number of | |
large wooden pins, or pegs, that were driven into one of the posts of | |
the frame of the garden-house, in a corner. Somebody once recommended | |
to Ralph to have a staircase made to lead up to his loft, but he | |
said he liked better to climb up by these pins than to have the best | |
staircase that ever was made. | |
Ralph used frequently to carry his robin to this garden-house when he | |
was playing about there, and on such occasions he would sometimes hang | |
the cage on a nail out of the window of his loft. He drove the nail | |
himself into the edge of a sort of a shelf, which was near the window | |
on the outside. The shelf was put there for doves to light upon, in | |
going in and out of their house, which was made in the peak of the | |
roof, over Ralph’s loft. | |
[Sidenote: Account of Ralph’s robin.] | |
Ralph caught his robin when he was very young. He caught him in a net. | |
He saw the nest when the birds were first building it. About a week | |
after the birds had finished it, he thought it was time for the eggs to | |
be laid. So he got a ladder, which was usually kept on the back side of | |
the tool-house, and, having planted it against a tree, he began to go | |
up. Just then, his little brother Eddy, who was walking along one of | |
the alleys of the garden near where the bird’s nest was, saw him. | |
[Sidenote: Eddy’s advice.] | |
“Ralph,” said Eddy, “what are you going to do?” | |
“I’m going to get the eggs out of the nest,” said Ralph. | |
“No,” replied Eddy, “you must not do that.” | |
Ralph paid no regard to this, but went on slowly mounting the ladder. | |
The top of the ladder, resting as it did against some of the branches | |
of the tree, was not very steady, and so Ralph could not go up very | |
fast. Besides, Ralph was somewhat afraid of the old birds; for they, | |
seeing that their nest was in danger, were flying about him with | |
very loud chirpings, being apparently in a state of great terror and | |
distress. | |
“Ralph,” said Eddy, “you must not trouble those birds.” | |
Ralph went steadily on. | |
“Besides,” said Eddy, when he saw that his brother paid no heed to his | |
remonstrances, “it would be a great deal better to wait till the eggs | |
are hatched, and then get one of the birds.” | |
[Sidenote: The plan changed.] | |
Ralph paused when he heard this suggestion. He began to think that it | |
might possibly be a better plan to wait, as Eddy proposed, and to get a | |
bird instead of an egg. He paused a moment on the ladder, standing on | |
one foot, and holding himself on by one hand. | |
“Would you, Eddy?” said he. | |
“Yes,” said Eddy, “I certainly would.” | |
Eddy proposed this plan, not so much from any desire he had that Ralph | |
should get one of the birds when they were hatched, as to save the | |
eggs from being taken away then. He had an instinctive feeling that it | |
was wrong to take away the eggs, and he pitied the poor birds in their | |
distress, and so he said what he thought was most likely to induce | |
Ralph to desist from his design. | |
After hesitating a few minutes, Ralph said, “Well, I will.” He then | |
came down to the ground again, and, taking up the ladder, he carried it | |
away. | |
About a week after this, Ralph got the ladder one day when the birds | |
were not there, and climbed up to the nest. He found three very pretty | |
blue eggs in it. | |
[Sidenote: The birds are hatched.] | |
About a week after this he climbed up again, and he found that the eggs | |
were hatched. There were three little birds there, not fledged. When | |
they heard Ralph’s rustling of the branches over their heads, they | |
opened their mouths very wide, expecting that the old birds had come to | |
bring them something to eat. | |
About a week after this Ralph climbed up again, but, just before he | |
reached the nest, the three birds, having now grown old enough to fly, | |
all clambered out of the nest, and flew away in all directions. | |
[Sidenote: “Here’s one!”] | |
“Stop ’em! stop ’em! Eddy,” said Ralph, “or watch them at least, and | |
see where they go, till I come down.” | |
“Here’s one,” said Eddy. | |
He pointed, as he said this, under some currant-bushes, near an alley | |
where he was walking. The little bird was crouched down, and was | |
looking about him full of wonder. In fact, he was quite astonished to | |
find how far he had flown. | |
Ralph clambered down the ladder as fast as he could, and then ran off | |
to the tool-house, saying as he ran, | |
“Keep him there, Eddy, till I go and get my net.” | |
“I can’t keep him,” said Eddy, “unless he has a mind to stay. But I | |
will watch him.” | |
So Eddy stood still and watched the bird while Ralph went after his | |
net. The bird hopped along a little way, and then stopped, and remained | |
perfectly still until Ralph returned. | |
[Sidenote: A bird pursued.] | |
The net was a round net, the mouth of it being kept open by means of a | |
hoop. It was fastened to the end of a long pole. Ralph crept up softly | |
toward the place where the bird had alighted, and, when he was near | |
enough, he extended the pole, and clapped the net down over the bird, | |
and made it prisoner. | |
[Sidenote: Caught and caged.] | |
“I’ve caught him! I’ve caught him!” said Ralph, greatly excited. “Run, | |
Eddy, and get the cage. Run quick. No, stop; you come here, and hold | |
the net down, and I’ll go and get the cage myself.” | |
So Eddy held the net down, while Ralph went into the tool-house after | |
the cage. He succeeded in putting the bird into the cage safely, and | |
then went home. | |
[Sidenote: The feeding.] | |
Ralph attended his bird very carefully for many days, feeding him | |
with strawberries and crumbs of bread. The natural food of most small | |
birds consists of seeds, berries, and insects. Ralph knew, therefore, | |
that strawberries would be good for his bird, and as for bread, he | |
reflected that it was made from seeds, namely, the seeds of wheat. The | |
only difference was, that in bread the seeds were ground up, mixed with | |
water, and baked. So Ralph concluded that bread would be a very proper | |
food for his robin. | |
[Illustration: Ralph taming the robin.] | |
[Sidenote: The stile.] | |
As soon as the robin grew old enough to hop about a little, Ralph | |
used often to take him out of his cage and put him on the walk in the | |
garden, or on the end of a fence, near a stile, where was a broad, | |
flat place convenient for the little bird to stand on. In such cases, | |
he would, himself, always stand at a little distance off, so as not to | |
frighten the bird, and in this manner he gradually taught him to be | |
very tame and familiar. | |
[Sidenote: Bruno and Hiram. Description of the premises.] | |
Although Ralph was thus very kind to his robin, he was generally a very | |
unreasonable and selfish boy. Bruno, at this time, lived in the house | |
next to the one where he lived. Bruno belonged, as has already been | |
said, to a boy named Hiram. The two houses that these two boys lived in | |
were pretty near together, and the gardens adjoined, being separated | |
from each other only by a wall. At the foot of each garden was a gate, | |
and there was a little path which led along from one gate to the other, | |
through a field where there was a brook, and also a great many trees | |
overshadowing the banks of it. The boys used often to visit each other | |
by going from one of these gates to the other along this path. There | |
was a space under Hiram’s gate where Bruno could get through. He used | |
often to go through this opening, and pass down into the field, to | |
drink in the brook, or to play about among the trees. Sometimes both | |
the gates were left open, and then Bruno would go and look into Ralph’s | |
garden; and once he went in, and walked along as far as the tool-house, | |
looking about and examining the premises very curiously. As soon as he | |
had seen what sort of a place it was, however, he turned round and ran | |
out again, not knowing what might happen to him if he stayed there. | |
[Sidenote: Ralph wishes to buy Bruno.] | |
Ralph saw Bruno often when he went to visit Hiram in his garden, and he | |
wished that he could have such a dog himself. In fact, he tried to buy | |
him of Hiram a long time, but Hiram would not sell him. Ralph became | |
very angry with Hiram at last for so strenuously refusing to sell his | |
dog. | |
“You are a great fool,” said he, “for not being willing to sell me the | |
dog. I would give you any price you would name.” | |
“That makes no difference,” said Hiram; “I would rather have the dog | |
than any amount of money, no matter how much.” | |
[Sidenote: Ralph becomes Bruno’s enemy.] | |
So Ralph turned, and went away in a rage; and the next time he saw | |
Bruno out in the field behind the garden, he ran down to his gate and | |
pelted him with stones. | |
Bruno could not understand what reason Ralph could have for wishing to | |
hurt him, or being his enemy in any way. He perceived, however, that | |
Ralph was his enemy, and so he became very much afraid of him. When he | |
wished to go down to the brook, he always looked out through the hole | |
under the gate very carefully to see if Ralph was near, and if he was, | |
he did not go. If he could not see Ralph any where, he would creep out | |
stealthily, and walk along in a very cautious manner, turning his head | |
continually toward Ralph’s gate, to watch for the slightest indications | |
of danger; and if he caught a glimpse of Ralph in the garden, he would | |
turn back and run into Hiram’s garden again. | |
[Sidenote: The boys play together.] | |
Bruno was a very courageous dog, and he would not have run away from | |
Ralph, but would have attacked him in the most determined manner, and | |
driven him away from the garden gate, and thus taught him better than | |
to throw stones at an innocent and unoffending dog, had he not been | |
prevented from doing this by one consideration. He perceived that Ralph | |
was one of Hiram’s friends. Hiram went often to visit Ralph, and Ralph, | |
in return, came often to visit Hiram. They used to employ themselves | |
together in various schemes of amusement, and Bruno, who often stood | |
by at such times, although he could not understand the conversation | |
that passed between them, perceived, nevertheless, that they were | |
good friends. He would not, therefore, do any harm to Ralph, even in | |
self-defense, for fear of displeasing Hiram. Accordingly, when Ralph | |
assaulted him with sticks and stones, the only alternative left him was | |
to run away. | |
[Sidenote: Hiram catches a squirrel. Ralph wishes to buy the squirrel.] | |
It is singular enough that Ralph, though often very unreasonable and | |
selfish in his dealings with other boys, and though in this instance | |
very cruel to Bruno, was still generally kind to animals. He was very | |
fond of animals, and used to get as many as he could; and whenever | |
Hiram had any, he used to go to see them, and he took a great interest | |
in them. Once Hiram caught a beautiful gray squirrel in a box-trap. He | |
put the trap down upon a chopping-block in a little room that was used | |
as a shop in his father’s barn. Ralph came in to see the squirrel. He | |
kneeled down before the block, and, lifting up the trap a little way, | |
he peeped in. The squirrel was in the back corner of the trap, crouched | |
down, and feeling, apparently, very much afraid. He had a long, bushy | |
tail, which was curled over his back in a very graceful manner. Ralph | |
resolved to buy this squirrel too, but Hiram was unwilling to sell | |
him. However, he said that _perhaps_ he would sell him, if Ralph would | |
wait till the next day. Ralph accordingly waited; but that night the | |
squirrel gnawed out of his trap, and as the shop window was left open, | |
he made his escape, and got off into the woods again, where he leaped | |
back and forth among the branches of the trees, and turned head over | |
heels again and again in the exuberance of his joy. | |
[Illustration: The shop.] | |
[Sidenote: Hiram and Joe go into the woods.] | |
One day Hiram went out into the woods with a man whom they called Uncle | |
Joe, to get some stones to mend a wall. They went in a cart. They | |
placed a board across the cart for a seat. Uncle Joe and Hiram sat | |
upon this seat together, side by side, Hiram on the right, as he was | |
going to drive. The tools for digging out the stones, consisting of a | |
spade, a shovel, a hoe, and a crowbar, were laid in the bottom of the | |
cart. Thus they rode to the woods. Bruno followed them, trotting along | |
by the road-side, and now and then running off under the fences and | |
walls, to see if he could smell the tracks of any wild animals among | |
the ferns and bushes. | |
[Sidenote: Bruno barks at something.] | |
He was not successful in this hunting on his way to the woods, but, | |
after he arrived there, he accomplished quite a brilliant achievement. | |
Hiram and Uncle Joe were very busy digging out stones, when their | |
attention was arrested by a very loud and violent barking. Hiram knew | |
at once that it was Bruno that was barking, though he could not see | |
him. The reason why they could not see the dog was, that he was down | |
in the bottom of a shady glen, that lay near where Hiram and Uncle Joe | |
were digging the stones. | |
“What’s that?” said Hiram. “What is Bruno barking at?” | |
“I don’t know,” said Uncle Joe; “go and see.” | |
[Sidenote: Bruno finds a fox’s hole.] | |
So Hiram threw down his hoe, and, seizing a stick, he ran down into the | |
glen. He found Bruno stationed before a hole, which opened in under | |
a bank, near a small spring. He seemed very much excited, sometimes | |
running back and forth before the hole, sometimes digging into it with | |
his fore paws, and barking all the time in a very loud and earnest | |
manner. He seemed greatly pleased when he saw Hiram coming. | |
As soon as Hiram saw that Bruno was barking at a hole, which seemed to | |
be the hole of some wild animal, he went back and called Uncle Joe to | |
come and see. Uncle Joe said he thought it was the hole of a fox, and | |
from the excitement that Bruno manifested, he judged that the fox must | |
be in it. | |
“I’ll go and get the tools,” said he, “and we will dig him out.” | |
[Sidenote: Hiram gets a little fox.] | |
So Uncle Joe went for the tools, and he and Hiram began to dig. They | |
dug for more than half an hour. Finally they came to the end of the | |
hole, and then they found a young fox crouching close into a corner. He | |
was about as large as a small kitten. | |
[Sidenote: His plans for him. Hiram gives his fox a hole to live in.] | |
Hiram said he meant to carry the fox home, and bring him up, and tame | |
him. He accordingly took him in his arms, and carried him back to the | |
place where they had been digging stones. Uncle Joe carried back the | |
tools. Bruno jumped about and barked a great deal by the side of Hiram, | |
but Hiram ordered him to be quiet, and finally he learned that the | |
little fox was not to be killed. When they reached the stone quarry, | |
Hiram made a small pen for the fox. He made it of four square stones, | |
which he placed together so as to inclose a small space, and then he | |
covered this space by means of a flat stone which he placed over it. | |
Thus the little prisoner was secured. | |
When the pen was completed, and the fox put in, Hiram resumed his work | |
of digging stones with Uncle Joe. He was very eager now to get the load | |
completed as soon as possible, so as to go home with his fox. While he | |
was at work thus, Bruno crouched down before the place where Hiram had | |
shut up his fox, and watched very earnestly. He understood that Hiram | |
wished to keep the fox, and therefore he had no intention of hurting | |
him. He only meant to be all ready to give the alarm, in case the | |
little prisoner should attempt to get away. | |
Hiram had very good success in training and taming his fox. Ralph and | |
Eddy came often to see him, and they sometimes helped Hiram to feed | |
him, and to take care of him. There was a place by an old wall behind | |
the house where Hiram lived where there was a hole, which seemed to | |
lead under ground, from a sort of angle between two large stones. | |
“I’ll let him have that hole for his house,” said Hiram. “I don’t know | |
how deep it is; but if it is not deep enough for him, he must dig it | |
deeper.” | |
[Sidenote: The chain.] | |
Ralph had a small collar which was made for a dog’s collar; and one | |
day, when he felt more good-natured than usual, and had in some measure | |
forgotten Hiram’s refusal to sell Bruno to him, he offered to lend | |
Hiram this collar to put around Foxy’s neck. | |
“Then,” said Ralph, “you can get a long chain, and chain Foxy to a | |
stake close to the mouth of his hole. And so the chain will allow him | |
to go in and out of his hole, and to play about around it, and yet it | |
will prevent his running away.” | |
Hiram liked this plan very much. So Ralph brought the collar, and the | |
boys put it upon Foxy’s neck. Hiram also found a kind of chain at a | |
hardware store in the village, which he thought would be suitable to | |
his purpose, and he bought two yards of it. This length of chain, | |
when Foxy was fastened with it, gave him a very considerable degree | |
of liberty, and, at the same time, prevented him from running away. | |
He could go into his hole, where he was entirely out of sight, or he | |
could come out and play in the grass, and under the lilac bushes that | |
were about his hole, and eat the food which Hiram brought out for him | |
there. Sometimes, too, he would climb up to the top of the wall, and | |
lie there an hour at a time, asleep. If, however, on such occasions, | |
he heard any one coming, he would run down the rocks that formed the | |
wall, and disappear in his hole in an instant, and he would not come | |
out again until he was quite confident that the danger had gone by. | |
[Sidenote: The cunning of the fox.] | |
It is not very difficult to tame a fox. And yet, in his natural state, | |
he is very wild and very cunning. He resorts to all sorts of maneuvers | |
and contrivances to entrap such animals as he likes for food. On the | |
adjoining page is the picture of a fox lying in wait to catch some | |
rabbits which he sees playing in a neighboring field. He watches for | |
them very slyly; and when they come near enough, he will spring upon | |
them, and seize them entirely unawares. | |
[Illustration: Picture of a fox lying in wait for some rabbits.] | |
He is very cunning, and yet, if he is caught young, it is not difficult | |
to tame him. | |
[Sidenote: Ralph offers half a dollar for Hiram’s fox.] | |
One day, after some time, Ralph took it into his head to buy Foxy, as | |
he had tried to buy Bruno; but he found Hiram as little disposed to | |
sell the one as the other. | |
“I will give you half a dollar for him,” said Ralph, “and that is twice | |
as much as he is worth: a full grown fox is not worth more than that.” | |
Ralph had some money in small silver pieces and cents, amounting to | |
about half a dollar. This treasure he kept in a tin moneybox, shaped | |
like a house, with a place to drop money in down the chimney. | |
“No,” said Ralph, “I would rather not sell him.” | |
Ralph tried a long time to persuade Hiram to sell the fox, but Hiram | |
persisted firmly in his refusal. At length Ralph became very | |
angry with him, because he would not consent. This was extremely | |
unreasonable. Has not a boy a right to do as he pleases about selling | |
or keeping his own property? | |
Most certainly he has; and yet nothing is more common than for both men | |
and boys to be angry with their friends and neighbors for not being | |
willing to sell them property which they wish to buy. | |
[Sidenote: “Ralph, are you stoning Bruno?”] | |
When Ralph found that Hiram could not be induced to sell Foxy, he went | |
off in great anger, muttering and threatening as he went. He passed out | |
through the gate at the bottom of the garden, and then walked along | |
the path toward the gate which led to his own garden. As he was going | |
in, he saw Bruno lying down upon a grassy bank near the stream. He | |
immediately began to take up stones to stone him. The first stone which | |
he threw struck Bruno on the back, as he lay upon the grass, and hurt | |
him very much. Bruno sprang up and ran away, barking and making other | |
outcries indicative of pain and terror. Hiram came running down to the | |
garden to see what was the matter. When he reached the place, he saw | |
Ralph just aiming another stone. | |
“Ralph!” exclaimed Hiram, greatly astonished, “are you stoning Bruno?” | |
“Yes,” said Ralph; “I’ve stoned him a great many times before, and I’ll | |
stone him again the next time I catch him down here.” | |
[Sidenote: Bruno’s escape.] | |
By this time Bruno had come to the gate. He scrambled in through his | |
hole, and then, thinking that he was now safe, he walked along up one | |
of the alleys of the garden. | |
Hiram, knowing well that it would do no good to remonstrate with Ralph | |
while he was in such a state of mind, shut the gate of the garden, and | |
went to the house. | |
[Sidenote: Ralph resolves to reclaim his collar.] | |
That evening, while Hiram was in the house eating his supper, Ralph | |
came down out of his own garden, and went into Hiram’s. He was talking | |
to himself as he walked along. | |
“I am going to get my collar,” said he. “I won’t lend it to such a | |
fellow any longer. I shall take it off the fox’s neck, and carry it | |
home. I don’t care if the fox does get away.” | |
[Sidenote: He does so.] | |
When he approached the old wall, the fox was on the top of it; but, on | |
hearing Ralph coming, he ran down, and went into his hole. As soon as | |
Ralph reached the place, he pulled the fox out roughly by the chain, | |
saying, | |
“Come out here, you red-headed son of a thief, and give me my collar.” | |
So saying, he pulled the fox out, and unhooked the chain from the | |
collar. He unfastened the collar, and took it off from the fox’s neck. | |
He then threw the fox himself carelessly into the grass, and walked | |
away down the garden. | |
Just at this time Hiram came out from his supper, and, seeing Ralph | |
walking away, he apprehended something wrong, and he accordingly | |
hastened on to see if his fox was safe. To his great surprise and | |
grief, he saw the chain lying on the ground, detached and useless. The | |
fox was gone. | |
He immediately called out to Ralph to ask an explanation. | |
“Ralph,” said he, “where is my fox?” | |
“_I_ haven’t got your fox,” said Ralph. | |
“Where is he, then?” asked Hiram. | |
“Gone off into the woods, I suppose,” said Ralph. | |
Hiram stood still a moment, utterly confounded, and wondering what all | |
this could mean. | |
“I came to get my collar,” said Ralph, holding up the collar in his | |
hand, “and if the fox has gone off, it is not my fault. You ought to | |
have had a collar of your own.” | |
[Sidenote: Hiram laments the loss of his fox.] | |
Hiram was extremely grieved at the thought of having so wanton an | |
injury inflicted upon him by his neighbor and playmate, and he turned | |
toward the place where his fox had been kept with tears in his eyes. | |
He looked all about, but the fox was nowhere to be seen. He then went | |
slowly back to the house in great sorrow. | |
As for Ralph, he went back into his own garden in a very unamiable | |
state of mind. He went up into the loft over the tool-house to put the | |
collar away. He climbed up upon a bench in order to reach a high shelf | |
above, and in so doing he knocked down a box of lucifer matches, which | |
had been left exposed upon a corner of the shelf. He uttered a peevish | |
exclamation at the occurrence of this accident, and then got down upon | |
the floor to pick up the matches. He gathered all that he could readily | |
find upon the floor, and put them in the box, and then put the box back | |
again upon the shelf. Then he went away into the house. | |
[Sidenote: Hope.] | |
About two hours after this, just before dark, Hiram was sitting on the | |
steps of the door at his father’s house, thinking mournfully of his | |
loss, when he suddenly heard a very loud barking at the foot of the | |
garden. | |
“There!” said he, starting up, greatly excited, “that’s Bruno, and he | |
has found Foxy, I’ll engage.” | |
[Sidenote: An alarm. The garden-house on fire.] | |
So saying, Hiram ran down the garden, and on his way he was surprised | |
to see a smoke rising from the direction of Ralph’s garden-house. | |
He did not, however, pay any very particular attention to this | |
circumstance, as it was very common for Ralph to have fires in the | |
garden, to burn the dried weeds and the old straw which often collect | |
in such places. He hastened on in the direction of Bruno’s barking, | |
quite confident that the dog had found his lost fox, and was barking | |
for him to come and get him. | |
Just at this moment he saw Bruno come running to the gate at the | |
bottom of the garden. He was barking violently, and he seemed very | |
much excited. As soon as he saw Hiram coming, he ran back again and | |
disappeared. Hiram hastened on, and, as soon as he got through the | |
gate into the field, he saw that Bruno was standing at the gate which | |
led into Ralph’s garden, and running in and out alternately, and | |
looking eagerly at Hiram, as if he wished him to come. Hiram ran to | |
the place, and, on looking in, he saw, to his utter consternation, | |
that the garden-house was on fire. Dense volumes of smoke were pouring | |
out of the doors and windows, with now and then great flashes of flame | |
breaking out among them. Bruno, having brought Hiram to the spot, | |
seemed now desirous of giving the alarm to Ralph; so he ran up toward | |
the house in which Ralph lived, barking violently all the way. | |
His effort was successful. In a minute or two he returned, barking as | |
before, and followed by Ralph. Ralph was greatly terrified when he saw | |
that the garden-house was on fire. He ran back to the house to call his | |
mother. She came down to the place in great haste, though she seemed | |
quite calm and composed. She was a woman of a very quiet disposition, | |
and was almost always composed and self-possessed. She saw at a glance | |
that the fire could not be put out. There was no sufficient supply of | |
water at hand, and besides, if there had been water, she and the two | |
boys could not have put it on fast enough to extinguish the flames. | |
[Sidenote: “What shall we do?”] | |
“Oh dear me! oh dear me!” exclaimed Ralph, in great distress, “what | |
shall we do? Mother! mother! what shall we do?” | |
“Nothing at all,” said his mother, quietly. “There is nothing for us to | |
do but to stand still and see it burn.” | |
“And there’s my poor robin all burning up!” said Ralph, as he ran to | |
and fro in great distress. “Oh, I wish there was somebody here to save | |
my robin!” | |
[Sidenote: The robin in danger.] | |
The cage containing the robin was hanging in its place, under the shelf | |
by the side of the window. The smoke and flame, which came out from the | |
window and from a door below, passed just over it, and so near as to | |
envelop and conceal the top of the cage, and it was plain that the poor | |
bird would soon be suffocated and burned to death, unless some plan | |
for rescuing it could be devised. When Hiram knew the danger that the | |
bird was in, his first thought was that he was glad of it. He pitied | |
the bird very much, but he said to himself that it was good enough for | |
Ralph to lose it. “He deserves to lose his bird,” thought he, “for | |
having let my Foxy go.” | |
This spirit, however, of resentment and retaliation remained but a | |
moment in Hiram’s mind. When he saw how much interest Bruno seemed | |
to feel in giving the alarm, and in desiring to have the fire | |
extinguished, he said to himself, “Bruno forgives him, and why should | |
not I? I will save the bird for him, if it is possible, even if I get | |
scorched in doing it.” | |
[Sidenote: Hiram rescues the robin by means of the ladder.] | |
He accordingly ran round to the back side of the garden-house to get | |
the ladder. Bruno followed him, watching him very eagerly to see what | |
he was going to do. Hiram brought the ladder forward, and planted it | |
against the garden-house, a little beyond the place where the cage, was | |
hanging. In the mean time, Ralph had run off to the house to get a pail | |
of water, vainly imagining that he could do at least something with it | |
toward extinguishing the flames and rescuing the bird. By the time he | |
got back, Hiram had placed the ladder, and was just going up, amid the | |
smoke and sparks, to get the cage.[5] Bruno stood by at the foot of the | |
ladder, looking up eagerly to Hiram, and watching as if he were going | |
to take the cage as soon as it came down. | |
[5] See Frontispiece. | |
Hiram had to stop once or twice in going up the ladder to get breath, | |
for the wind blew the smoke and sparks over him so much at intervals as | |
almost to suffocate him. He, however, persevered, and finally succeeded | |
in reaching the cage. He took it off from its fastening, and brought | |
it down the ladder. When he reached the ground, Bruno took it from his | |
hand by means of the ring at the top, and ran off with it away from the | |
fire. He then placed it carefully upon the ground, and began leaping | |
around it, wagging his tail, and manifesting every other indication of | |
excitement and delight. | |
Ralph was very much pleased, too, to find that his robin was safe. He | |
took the cage, and, carrying it away, set it down at a still greater | |
distance from the fire. The garden-house was burned to the ground. | |
Hiram and Bruno waited there until the fire was almost out, and then | |
they went home. Hiram experienced a feeling of great satisfaction and | |
pleasure at the thought that he had been able to save Ralph’s bird. “I | |
should have been sorry,” said he to himself, “if he had lost his bird, | |
and I think, too, that he will be sorry now that he let my little Foxy | |
go.” | |
The next morning, after breakfast, Hiram concluded that he would go | |
round into Ralph’s garden, and look at the ruins of the fire. He passed | |
out through the gate at the bottom of his father’s garden, and then | |
turned into the path leading to the other gate, and there, to his | |
surprise, he saw Ralph sitting on a stone, feeding Bruno with a piece | |
of meat. It was a piece which he had saved from his own breakfast for | |
the purpose. Bruno was eating the meat with an appearance of great | |
satisfaction, while Ralph sat by, patting him on the head. | |
[Sidenote: “Hiram, I am giving Bruno some breakfast.”] | |
“Hiram,” said Ralph, as soon as he saw Hiram coming, “I am giving Bruno | |
some breakfast.” | |
Bruno looked up toward Hiram and wagged his tail. | |
“That’s right,” said Hiram. “He seems to like it very much.” | |
“Hiram,” said Ralph, again. | |
“What?” said Hiram. | |
Ralph hesitated. He seemed to have something on his mind, and not to | |
know exactly how to express it. | |
“How is the robin this morning? Did he get stifled any by the smoke?” | |
[Sidenote: Restitution. Ralph proposes to get another fox for Hiram.] | |
“No,” said Ralph; “he is as bright as a lark.” Then, after a moment’s | |
pause, he added, “I am sorry I let your Foxy get away. I suppose I | |
ought to pay you for him; and, if I could get another fox for you, I | |
would. I have not got any thing but just my bird. I’ll give you him.” | |
To find Ralph taking this view of the subject was something so new and | |
strange to Hiram, that at first he did not know what to say. | |
“No,” he replied, at length, “I would rather not take your bird, though | |
I am very sorry that Foxy has got away. If you had only told me that | |
you wanted your collar, I would have taken it off, and fastened Foxy | |
with something else.” | |
Ralph hung his head and had nothing to say. | |
The boys went soon after this to look at the bed of ashes and embers | |
that marked the spot where the garden-house had stood, and then they | |
sauntered together slowly back into Hiram’s garden. Bruno followed | |
them. He seemed to understand that a great change had somehow or other | |
taken place in Ralph’s disposition of mind toward him, and he was no | |
longer afraid. The boys went together to the place where Foxy had been | |
confined. | |
“John Thomas hunts foxes sometimes with his father,” said Ralph. “There | |
are a great many in the woods back of their farm. I am going to see if | |
I can’t get him to catch you another young one. I shall tell him I will | |
give him half a dollar if he will get one, and that is all the money I | |
have got.” | |
Hiram did not reply to this suggestion. He did not know exactly what to | |
say. His thought was, that no other fox that could possibly be found | |
would supply the place, in his view, of the one that he had lost. He | |
had taken so much pains to teach that one, and to tame him, that he had | |
become quite attached to him individually, and he was very sure that he | |
should never like any other one so well. He did not, however, like to | |
say this to Ralph, for he perceived that Ralph was very much troubled | |
about what he had done, and was quite anxious to make some reparation, | |
and he thought that it would trouble him still more to learn that all | |
reparation was wholly out of his power. | |
“And if he catches one for you,” continued Ralph, “then I’ll give you | |
the collar for your own. I would give it to you now, if it would do you | |
any good.” | |
“I’ll take the chain off, at any rate,” said Hiram, “and carry it in, | |
and keep it, in case I ever should have another fox.” | |
[Sidenote: Foxy found.] | |
So he stooped down, and began to unhook the chain from the stake to | |
which it was fastened. As he did this, his face was brought down pretty | |
near to the hole under the wall, and, looking in there, his attention | |
was attracted to two bright, shining spots there, that looked like the | |
eyes of an animal. | |
[Sidenote: “Run and get the collar.”] | |
“Hi--yi,” said he, suddenly, “I verily believe he is here now. Run and | |
get the collar.” | |
Ralph took a peep, first, into the hole, and then ran for the collar. | |
When he came back, he found Hiram sitting down on the grass, with the | |
fox in his arms. The truth was, that the fox had been treated so kindly | |
since he had been in Hiram’s keeping, and he had become so accustomed | |
to his hole under the wall, that he did not wish to go away. When he | |
found himself at liberty by the removal of the collar, he had gone off | |
a little in the grass and among the bushes, but, when night came on, | |
he had returned as usual to his hole; and when he heard the voices of | |
the boys at the wall in the morning, he supposed that Hiram had come to | |
give him his breakfast, and he came accordingly out to the mouth of his | |
hole to see if his supposition were correct. He submitted to have his | |
collar put on very readily. | |
Thus there was a general reconciliation all round, and Bruno, Foxy, | |
Hiram, and Ralph became, all four of them, very excellent friends. | |
Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good. | |
This story reminds me of another one relating to the burning of a small | |
building in the bottom of a garden, called a tool-house. I will here | |
relate that story, and then tell more about Bruno. It will be seen that | |
this tool-house took fire in a very singular way. Precisely how Ralph’s | |
garden-house took fire never was known. It was probably in some way | |
connected with the matches which Ralph left upon the floor. Whether | |
he stepped upon one of them, and thus ignited it, and left it slowly | |
burning--or whether some mouse came by, and set one of them on fire by | |
gnawing upon it--or whether one of the matches got into a crack of the | |
floor, and was then inflamed by getting pinched there by some springing | |
or working of the boards, produced by the gardener’s walking over the | |
floor or wheeling the wheelbarrow in--whether, in fine, the mischief | |
originated in either of these ways, or in some other wholly unknown, | |
could never be ascertained. | |
At all events, however--and this is the conclusion of the story--the | |
garden-house was soon rebuilt, and Ralph was effectually cured of his | |
resentment and enmity by the noble and magnanimous spirit which Hiram | |
and Bruno exhibited in saving his bird. | |
_Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good._ | |
Three times I have put this precept in the story, in order that you may | |
be sure to remember it. | |
THE BURNING OF THE TOOL-HOUSE. | |
When one has committed a fault, to acknowledge it frankly, and to bear | |
the consequences of it one’s self submissively, is magnanimous and | |
noble. On the contrary, to resort to cunning tricks to conceal it, and | |
especially to attempt to throw the blame of it upon others who are | |
innocent, is mean and contemptible. | |
[Sidenote: Description of the tool-house. Thomas, the gardener.] | |
Once there were two boys, named William and John, who had a building | |
for a tool-house and work-shop at the bottom of their father’s garden. | |
It was very similar in its situation to the one described in the last | |
story. The building was at a place where the land descended, so that | |
while it was only one story high on the front side toward the garden, | |
it was two stories high on the other side toward a brook, which ran | |
along near the lower garden fence. The upper part of the building was | |
the tool-room. This room opened out upon one of the alleys of the | |
garden. The lower part was the shop. The door leading into the shop | |
was behind. There was a fire-place in the shop, and the chimney passed | |
up, of course, through the tool-room; but there was no fire-place in | |
the tool-room, for there never was any occasion to make a fire there. | |
The only use of that room was, that Thomas, the old gardener, used to | |
keep his spades, and rakes, and hoes, and other garden tools in it; | |
and sometimes of a summer evening, when his work was done, he used | |
to sit at the door of it and smoke his pipe. The building was very | |
convenient, though it was small, and old, and so not of much value. | |
In the winter, the boys were accustomed occasionally to have a fire in | |
the work-shop below, when they were at work there. There was not much | |
danger in this, for the floor of the room was of stone. | |
[Sidenote: Sealing the packages.] | |
In the summer, of course, they never required a fire, except when they | |
wished to use the glue. Then they were accustomed to make a small | |
fire to dissolve the glue. One summer morning, however, they wanted a | |
candle. They had been collecting garden seeds, and they wished to seal | |
them up in small packages with sealing-wax. It would have been better, | |
perhaps, to have tied the parcels up with twine; but the boys took a | |
fancy to using sealing-wax, for the sake of the interest and pleasure | |
which they expected to find in the work of sealing. So, just before | |
noon, when they had got their seeds all ready, William went up to the | |
house, and his mother gave him a long candle. | |
When William came into the shop, John accosted him, saying, | |
[Sidenote: The boys have no candlestick.] | |
“Why, William, you have not brought any candlestick. What shall we do | |
for a candlestick?” | |
“I forgot that,” said William. | |
“Never mind,” said John; “we can make one with a block and three nails.” | |
There is a way of making a candlestick in a shop, which consists of | |
driving three nails into a small block of wood, at such a distance | |
apart as to leave just space for the end of the candle between them. | |
If the nails are driven into the block in a proper manner, and if the | |
heads of the nails are not too large, this contrivance makes quite a | |
good candlestick. | |
Another way is to take a similar block of wood, and bore a hole in the | |
top of it just large enough to receive the end of the candle, and just | |
deep enough to hold it firmly. | |
William proposed that they should make the candlestick by boring a | |
hole, but John thought it was best to do it by means of nails. | |
[Sidenote: The two candlesticks.] | |
So they concluded to make two. John was to make one with nails, and | |
William one with the borer. So they both began to look about among | |
the shavings under the bench for blocks, and when they found two that | |
seemed to answer their purpose, William went to a drawer, and selected | |
a borer of the proper size, while John began to choose nails with small | |
heads out of a nail-box which was upon the bench for his operation. | |
In due time the candlesticks were both finished. The one which William | |
had made was really the best; but John insisted that the one which he | |
had made was the best, and so William, who was a very good-natured boy, | |
gave up the point. The candle was put into John’s candlestick, and | |
William put his away upon a shelf, to be used, perhaps, on some future | |
occasion. The boys then lighted the candle by means of a match, and put | |
it on the end of the work-bench where they were going to do the work of | |
putting up their seeds. | |
[Sidenote: The boys leave the candle burning.] | |
It was now, however, about noon, which was the hour for the boys to | |
go home to dinner. They arranged their seeds a little upon the bench, | |
but did not have time to begin to seal them up before they heard the | |
dinner-bell ring. They then left their work, and went up to the house. | |
Unfortunately, they left the candle burning. As it was bright daylight, | |
and especially as the sun shone in near where the candle stood, the | |
flame was very faint to the view; in fact, it was almost entirely | |
invisible, and the boys, when they looked around the shop just before | |
they left it, did not observe it at all. | |
After dinner, the boys concluded that they would go a fishing that | |
afternoon, and not finish putting up their seeds until the following | |
day. | |
[Sidenote: The matting. The pipe.] | |
While they were gone, the candle was burning all the time, the flame | |
gradually descending as the combustion went on, until, about tea-time, | |
it reached the block of wood. It did not set the wood on fire, but | |
the wick fell over, when the flame reached the wood, and communicated | |
the fire to a roll of matting which lay upon the bench behind it. The | |
matting had been used to wrap up plants in, and was damp; so it burned | |
very slowly. About this time, Thomas, the old gardener, came and sat | |
down in the doorway of the tool-house above, smoking his pipe. He did | |
not know, however, what mischief was brewing in the room below; and so, | |
when it began to grow dark, he knocked the ashes out of his pipe upon | |
the ground of the garden, shut the tool-room door, and went home. | |
[Sidenote: Fire! fire!] | |
That night, about midnight, the boys were suddenly awakened and | |
dreadfully terrified by a cry of fire, and, on opening their eyes, they | |
perceived a strong light gleaming into the windows of their bed-room. | |
They sprang up, and saw that the tool-house was all on fire. The people | |
of the house dressed themselves as quick as possible, and hastened to | |
the spot, and some of the neighbors came too. It was, however, too | |
late to extinguish the fire. The building and all the tools which it | |
contained, both in the tool-room and in the shop, and all the seeds | |
that the boys had collected were entirely consumed. | |
Nobody could imagine how the building took fire. Some said it must | |
have been set on fire by malicious persons. Others thought that old | |
Thomas must have been unconsciously the author of the mischief, with | |
his pipe. Nothing certain, however, could be ascertained at that time, | |
and so the company separated, determining to have the matter more fully | |
investigated the following morning. | |
William and John, who had dressed themselves when the alarm was first | |
given, and had gone to the fire, now went back to their room, and went | |
to bed again. | |
[Sidenote: What was the origin of the fire? A conversation.] | |
After they had been in bed some time, and each thought that the other | |
must be asleep, William said to John, | |
“John!” | |
“What?” said John. | |
“Are you asleep?” asked William. | |
“No,” said John. | |
“I will tell you how I think the tool-house got on fire,” said William. | |
“How?” asked John. | |
“Why, I believe we left our candle burning there,” replied William. | |
“Yes,” said John, “I thought of that myself.” | |
Here there was a little pause. | |
Presently John said, | |
“I don’t suppose that they will know that our candle set it on fire.” | |
“No,” said William, “unless we tell them.” | |
[Sidenote: The conversation continued.] | |
“They will suppose, I expect,” added John, “that Thomas set it on fire | |
with his pipe.” | |
“Yes,” said William, “perhaps they will.” | |
Here there was another pause. | |
[Sidenote: The boys hesitate.] | |
“Unless,” continued John, after reflecting on the subject a little | |
while in silence, “unless mother should remember that she gave us the | |
candle, and ask us about it.” | |
“We could say,” he added again, “that we did not go into the shop any | |
time in the afternoon or evening. That would be true.” | |
“Yes,” said William. “We did not go into it at all after we went home | |
to dinner.” | |
The boys remained silent a few minutes after this, when John, who felt | |
still quite uneasy in mind on the subject, said again, | |
“I expect that father would be very much displeased with us if he knew | |
that we set the tool-house on fire, for it has burned up all his tools.” | |
“Yes,” said William. | |
“And I suppose he would punish us in some way or other,” added John. | |
“Yes,” said William, “I think it very likely that he would.” | |
“But then, John,” continued William, “I don’t think it would be right | |
to let Thomas bear the blame of setting the tool-house on fire, when we | |
are the ones that did it.” | |
John was silent. | |
“I think we had better go and tell father all about it the first thing | |
to-morrow morning.” | |
“We shall get punished if we do,” said John. | |
“Well,” said William, “I don’t care. I had rather be punished than try | |
to keep it secret. If we try to keep it secret, and let Thomas bear the | |
blame, we shall be miserable about it for a long time, and feel guilty | |
or ashamed whenever we meet father or Thomas. I had rather be punished | |
at once and have it done with.” | |
[Sidenote: “Let us tell father.”] | |
“Well,” said John, “let us tell father. We will tell him the first | |
thing to-morrow morning.” | |
The affair being thus arranged, the boys ceased talking about it, | |
and shut up their eyes to go to sleep. After a few minutes, however, | |
William spoke to his brother again. | |
“John,” said he, “I think I could go to sleep better if I should go and | |
tell father now all about it. I don’t suppose that he is asleep yet.” | |
“Well,” said John, “go and tell him.” | |
So William got up out of his bed, and went to the door of his father’s | |
room. He knocked at the door, and his father said “Come in.” William | |
opened the door. His father was in bed, and there was no light in the | |
room, except a dim night-lamp that was burning on a table. | |
[Sidenote: The explanation.] | |
“Father,” said William, “I came to tell you that I suppose I know how | |
our tool-house caught on fire.” | |
“How was it?” asked his father. | |
“Why, John and I had a candle there before dinner, and I believe we | |
left it burning; and so I suppose that, when it burned down, it set the | |
bench on fire.” | |
“That could not have been the way,” said his father, “for, when it got | |
down to the candlestick, it would go out.” | |
“But there was not any candlestick,” said William, “only a wooden one, | |
which we made out of a block and three nails.” | |
“Oh! that was the way, was it?” said his father. “Indeed!” | |
Here there was a short pause. William waited to hear what his father | |
would say next. | |
“Well, William,” said his father, at length, “you are a very good boy | |
to come and tell me. Now go back to your bed, and go to sleep. We will | |
see all about it in the morning.” | |
So William went out; but, just as he was shutting the door, his father | |
called to him again. | |
“William!” said he. | |
“What, sir?” said William. | |
“Get up as early as you can to-morrow morning, and go to Thomas’s, and | |
tell him how it was. He thinks that he must have set the tool-house on | |
fire, and he is quite troubled about it.” | |
“Yes, sir, I will,” said William. | |
Then he went back to his room, and reported to John what he had done, | |
and what his father had said. The boys were both very much relieved in | |
mind from having made their confession. | |
“I am very glad I told him,” said William; “and now I only wish I could | |
tell Thomas about it without waiting till morning.” | |
“So do I,” said John. | |
“But we can’t,” said William, “so now we will go to sleep. But we will | |
get up, and go to his house the first thing in the morning.” | |
[Sidenote: The boys get up early to explain the accident to Thomas.] | |
This the boys did. Thomas’s mind was very much relieved when he heard | |
their story. He went directly into the house to tell his wife, who, as | |
well as himself, had been very anxious about the origin of the fire. | |
When he came out, he told the boys that he was very much obliged to | |
them for coming to tell him about it so early. “In fact,” said he, “I | |
think it is very generous and noble in you to take the blame of the | |
fire upon yourselves, instead of letting it rest upon innocent people. | |
There are very few boys that would have done so.” | |
[Sidenote: The final result.] | |
William and John were fortunately disappointed in their expectations | |
that they would have to suffer some punishment for their fault. In | |
fact, they were not even reproved. They told their father all about it | |
at breakfast, and he said that, though it certainly was not a prudent | |
thing for boys to trust themselves with a wooden candlestick in a shop | |
full of wood and shavings, still he did not think that they deserved | |
any particular censure for having made one. “The whole thing was one of | |
those accidents which will sometimes occur,” said he, “and you need not | |
think any thing more about it. I will have a new tool-house and shop | |
built pretty soon, and will make it better than the old one was. And | |
now, after breakfast, you may go down and rake over the ashes, and see | |
if you can rake out any of the remains of the garden tools.” | |
* * * * * | |
[Sidenote: An important principle.] | |
It would have been better for the story if it had happened that the | |
boys, in setting fire to the tool-house, had really been guilty of some | |
serious fault, for which they were afterward to be punished; for the | |
nobleness and magnanimity which are displayed in confessing a fault, | |
are so much the greater when the person confessing occasions himself | |
suffering by it. | |
WILLING TO LEARN. | |
[Sidenote: Bruno was willing to learn.] | |
Bruno had one excellent quality, which made him a special favorite with | |
the several boys that owned him at different times. He was _willing to | |
learn_. | |
[Sidenote: Boys and girls.] | |
When you are attempting to teach a dog any new art or accomplishment, | |
it is a great thing to have him willing to learn. It is the same, in | |
fact, if it is a girl or a boy that is the pupil. Sometimes, however, | |
when you are attempting to teach a dog, he shows very plainly all the | |
time that he does not wish to learn. If you have got him harnessed into | |
a little carriage, and wish to teach him to draw, he will stop and | |
seem very unwilling to proceed, and, perhaps, sit right down upon the | |
ground; or, if he has any chance to do so, he will run off and hide in | |
the bushes, or, if it is in the house that you are teaching him, in a | |
corner of the room or under the table. I was taking a walk once on the | |
margin of a stream, and I met some boys who were attempting to teach | |
their dog to dive into the water after sticks and such things, and the | |
dog was so unwilling to make the attempt, that they were obliged every | |
time to take him up and throw him in. | |
[Sidenote: A difficult lesson for a dog.] | |
I have known children to behave just in this way in learning to read or | |
to write. They come to the work reluctantly, and get away from it as | |
often and as quick as they can. But it was not so with Bruno. He was | |
glad to learn any thing that the boys were willing to teach him. A boy | |
at one time took it into his head to teach him to walk up a flight of | |
steps backward, and although Bruno could not conceive what possible | |
advantage it could ever be to him to learn such an accomplishment as | |
that, still he went to work resolutely to learn it, and though at first | |
he found it very difficult to do, he soon succeeded in going up very | |
well. | |
If any boy who reads this book should make the attempt to teach _his_ | |
dog to go up steps backward, and should find the dog unwilling to | |
learn, he will know at once how hard it is for his teacher to teach | |
him to write or to calculate, when he takes no interest in the work | |
himself. If he then imagines that his dog were as desirous of learning | |
to go up the steps backward as he is to teach him, and were willing | |
to try, and thinks how easy it would be in that case to accomplish | |
the object, he will see how much his own progress in study would be | |
promoted by his being cordially interested himself in what he is doing. | |
[Sidenote: The dog that went to market.] | |
I am always surprised when I find a dog that is willing to learn, and | |
am still more surprised when I find a child that is not willing. A | |
dog learns for the benefit of his master, a child learns for his own | |
benefit. I knew a dog who was taught to go to market. His master would | |
put the money and a memorandum of the things that were to be bought in | |
the basket, and the dog would then carry the basket to market by the | |
handle, which he held in his mouth. Then the market-man would take out | |
the money and the memorandum, and would put in the things that were | |
wanted, and the dog would carry them home. Now this was of no advantage | |
to the dog, except from the honorable satisfaction which he derived | |
from it in the thought that he was usefully employed, and that he was | |
considered worthy to sustain important trusts and responsibilities. | |
So far as his own ease and comfort was concerned, it would have been | |
better for him never to have learned such an art, and then, instead | |
of carrying a heavy basket to and fro along the street, he could have | |
spent his time in basking in the sun, or playing about with other | |
dogs. There is no necessity for a dog to learn any thing for his own | |
advantage. Nature teaches him every thing that he requires for himself. | |
He has to study and learn only for the benefit of his master. | |
It is very different from this with a child. When a child is in | |
his earliest infancy, he is the most ignorant and helpless being | |
imaginable. He can not speak; he can not walk; he can not stand; he | |
can not even creep along the floor. Then, besides, he _knows_ nothing. | |
He does not know any of the persons around him; he does not know the | |
light; he is bewildered, and filled with a stupid kind of wonder when | |
he looks at it; he does not know how to open and shut his hand, or to | |
take hold of any thing; and long after this, when he begins to learn | |
how to take hold of things, he is so ignorant and foolish, that he is | |
as ready to take hold of a burning candle as any thing else. | |
[Sidenote: Children learn for their own benefit.] | |
Of course, to fit such a child to perform the duties of a man in such a | |
busy world as this, he has a great many things to learn. And what is to | |
be particularly noticed is, that he must learn every thing himself. His | |
parents can not learn for him. His parents can _teach_ him--that is, | |
they can show him how to learn--but they can not learn for him. When | |
they show him how to learn, if he will not learn, and if they can not | |
contrive any means to make him, there is an end of it. They can do no | |
more. He must remain ignorant. | |
[Illustration: The little child willing to learn to walk.] | |
Here is a picture of a child that is willing to learn. His name is | |
Josey. His parents are teaching him to walk. He is just old enough to | |
learn to walk, and you see by his countenance, although it is turned | |
somewhat away from us, that he is pleased with the opportunity. He is | |
glad that he is going to learn to walk, and that his parents are going | |
to teach him. I do not suppose that he feels _grateful_ to his father | |
and mother for being willing to take so much pains to teach him, for he | |
is not old enough for that. But he is _glad_, at any rate, and he is | |
willing to try. | |
His mother is helping him to begin, and his father is encouraging him | |
to step along--holding out his hand, so that Josey may take hold of it | |
as soon as he gets near enough, and thus save himself from falling. | |
Since Josey is willing to learn, it gives his father and mother great | |
pleasure to teach him. Thus all three are happy together. | |
[Sidenote: Some children unwilling to learn.] | |
Sometimes a child, when his father and mother wish to teach him to | |
walk, is _not_ willing to learn. He will not try. He sits down at once | |
upon the ground, and will not make any effort, like the dog who does | |
not wish to learn to draw. So far as learning to walk is concerned, | |
this is of no great consequence, for, as his strength increases, he | |
will at last learn to walk himself, without any particular teaching. | |
There are a great many things, however, which it is very important for | |
children to know, that they never would learn of themselves. These they | |
must be taught, and taught very patiently and carefully. Reading is one | |
of those things, and writing is another. Then there is arithmetic, and | |
all the other studies taught in schools. Some children are sensible | |
enough to see how important it is that they should learn all these | |
things, and are not only willing, but are glad to be taught them. Like | |
Josey, they are pleased, and they try to learn. Others are unwilling to | |
learn. They are sullen and ill-humored about it. They will not make any | |
cordial and earnest efforts. The consequence is, that they learn very | |
little. But then, when they grow up, and find out how much more other | |
people know and can do than they, they bitterly regret their folly. | |
[Sidenote: Some are willing.] | |
Some children, instead of being unwilling to learn what their parents | |
desire to teach them, are so eager to learn, that they ingeniously | |
contrive ways and means to teach themselves. I once knew a boy, whose | |
parents were poor, so that they could not afford to send him to school, | |
and he went as an apprentice to learn the trade of shoemaking. He knew | |
how important it was to study arithmetic, but he had no one to teach | |
him, and, besides that, he had no book, and no slate and pencil. He, | |
however, contrived to borrow an arithmetic book, and then he procured | |
a large _shingle_[6] and a piece of chalk, to serve for slate and | |
pencil. Thus provided, he went to work by himself in the evenings, | |
ciphering in the chimney-corner by the light of the kitchen fire. | |
Of course he met with great difficulties, but he persevered, and by | |
industry and patience, and by such occasional help as he could obtain | |
from the persons around him, he succeeded, and went regularly through | |
the book. That boy afterward, when he grew up, became a senator. | |
[6] A shingle is a broad and thin piece of wood, formed like a | |
slate, and used for covering roofs. The word is explained here, | |
because, in some places where this book will go, shingles are | |
not used. | |
[Sidenote: Things difficult to learn.] | |
Some things are very difficult to learn, and children are very often | |
displeased because their parents and teachers insist on teaching them | |
such difficult things. But the reason is, that the things that are most | |
difficult to learn are usually those that are most valuable to know. | |
[Sidenote: The lawyer and the wood-sawyer.] | |
Once I was in the country, and I had occasion to go into a lawyer’s | |
office to get the lawyer to make a writing for me about the sale of | |
a piece of land. It took the lawyer about half an hour to make the | |
writing. When it was finished, and I asked him how much I was to pay, | |
he said one dollar. I expected that it would have been much more than | |
that. It was worth a great deal more than that to me. So I paid him the | |
dollar, and went out. | |
At the door was a laborer sawing wood. He had been sawing there all the | |
time that I had been in the lawyer’s office. I asked him how long he | |
had to saw wood to earn a dollar. | |
“All day,” said he. “I get just a dollar a day.” | |
[Sidenote: Difference of pay, and reason for it.] | |
Now some persons might think it strange, that while the lawyer, | |
sitting quietly in his office by a pleasant fire, and doing such easy | |
work as writing, could earn a dollar in half an hour, that the laborer | |
should have to work all day to earn the same sum. But the explanation | |
of it is, that while the lawyer’s work is very easy to do after you | |
have learned how to do it, it is very _difficult_ to _learn_. It takes | |
a great many years of long and patient study to become a good lawyer, | |
so as to make writings correctly. On the other hand, it is very easy to | |
learn to saw wood. Any body that has strength enough to saw wood can | |
learn to do it very well in two or three days. Thus the things that are | |
the most difficult to learn are, of course, best paid for when they are | |
learned; and parents wish to provide for their children the means of | |
living easily and comfortably in future life, by teaching them, while | |
they are young, a great many difficult things. The foolish children, | |
however, are often ill-humored and sullen, and will not learn them. | |
They would rather go and play. | |
It is very excusable in a dog to evince this reluctance to be taught, | |
but it is wholly inexcusable in a child. | |
PANSITA. | |
This is a true story of a dog named Pansita. They commonly called her | |
Pannie. | |
Pansita was a prairie-dog. These prairie-dogs are wild. They live in | |
Mexico. They burrow in the ground, and it is extremely difficult to | |
catch them. They are small, but very beautiful. | |
Pansita belonged to an Indian girl on the western coast of Mexico. | |
An American, who came into that country from Lima, which is a city in | |
Peru, saw Pansita. | |
“What a pretty dog!” said he. “How I should like her for a present to | |
the American minister’s wife in Lima.” | |
So he went to the Indian girl, and tried to buy the dog, but the girl | |
would not sell her. She liked her dog better than any money that he | |
could give her. | |
[Sidenote: Pansita bought with gold.] | |
Then the gentleman took some gold pieces out of his pocket, and showed | |
them to the mother of the girl. | |
“See,” said he; “I will give you all these gold pieces if you will sell | |
me Pansita.” | |
The Indian woman counted over the gold as the gentleman held it in his | |
hand, and found that it made eighteen dollars. She said that the girl | |
should sell Pansita for that money. So she took the dog out of the | |
girl’s arms, and gave it to the gentleman. The poor girl burst into a | |
loud cry of grief and alarm at the thought of losing her dog. She threw | |
the pieces of gold which her mother had put into her hand down upon the | |
ground, and screamed to the stranger to bring back her dog. | |
But he would not hear. He put the dog in his pocket, and ran away as | |
fast as he could run, till he got to his boat, and the sailors rowed | |
him away. | |
[Sidenote: She is taken off in a ship. Lima.] | |
He took the dog in a ship, and carried her to Peru. When he landed, | |
he wished to send her up to Lima. So he put her in a box. He had made | |
openings in the box, so that little Pannie might breathe on the way. He | |
gave the box to a friend of his who was going to Lima, and asked him to | |
deliver it to the American minister. | |
[Sidenote: A pretended chronometer.] | |
He was afraid that the gentleman would not take good care of the box if | |
he knew that there was only a dog inside, so he pretended that it was a | |
chronometer, and he marked it, “_This side up, with care_.” | |
A chronometer is a sort of large watch used at sea. It is a very exact | |
and a very costly instrument. | |
He gave the box to his friend, and said, “Will you be kind enough, sir, | |
to take this chronometer in your lap, and carry it to Lima, and give it | |
to the American minister there?” | |
The gentleman said that he would, and he took the box in his lap, and | |
carried it with great care. | |
Before long, however, Pansita, not having quite air enough to breathe | |
inside the box, put her nose out through one of the openings. | |
“Ah!” said the gentleman, “this is something strange. I never knew a | |
ship’s chronometer to have a nose before.” | |
Thus he discovered that it was a dog, and not a chronometer that he was | |
carrying. | |
He, however, continued to carry the box very carefully, and when | |
he arrived at Lima he delivered it safely to the minister, and the | |
minister gave it to his wife. | |
[Sidenote: The beauty of the dog. The lady is much pleased.] | |
The lady was very much pleased to see such a beautiful dog. Its form | |
was graceful, its eyes full of meaning, and its fur was like brown | |
silk, very soft, and smooth, and glossy. | |
[Sidenote: The American flag hoisted.] | |
By-and-by a revolution broke out in Lima, and there was great confusion | |
and violence in the streets. The Americans that were there flocked | |
to the house of the minister for protection. The house was a sort of | |
castle. It had a court, in the centre, and great iron gates across the | |
passage-way that formed the entrance. The minister brought soldiers | |
from the ships to guard his castle, and shut the gates to keep the | |
people that were fighting in the streets from getting in. He hoisted | |
the American flag, too, on the corner of the battlements. The Americans | |
that had fled there for safety were all within the walls, greatly | |
alarmed.[7] | |
[7] Such a minister as this is a high public officer of | |
government, who resides at a foreign capital for the purpose | |
of attending to the business of his own country there, and of | |
protecting the citizens in case of danger. | |
[Sidenote: Danger.] | |
Pansita, wondering what all the noise and confusion in the streets | |
could mean, concluded that she would go out and see. So, watching her | |
opportunity, she slipped through among the soldiers to the passage-way, | |
and thence out between the bars of the great iron gates. The lady, when | |
she found that Pansita had gone out, was greatly alarmed. | |
“She will be killed!” said she. “She will be killed! What can I do to | |
save her? She will certainly be killed!” | |
But nothing could be done to save Pansita; for if they had opened the | |
gates to go out and find her, the people that were fighting in the | |
streets would have perhaps rushed in, and then they would all have been | |
killed. | |
[Sidenote: Pansita is recovered.] | |
So they had to wait till the fighting was over, and then they went out | |
to look for Pansita. To their great joy, they found her safe in a house | |
round the corner. | |
After a time, the minister and his wife returned to America, and | |
they brought Pansita with them. They had a house on the North River, | |
and Pansita lived with them there many years in great splendor and | |
happiness. | |
[Sidenote: Pannie’s bed.] | |
The lady made a bed for Pannie in a basket, with nice and well-made | |
bed-clothes to cover her when she was asleep. Pannie would get into | |
this bed at night, but she would always scratch upon it with her claws | |
before she lay down. This was her instinct. | |
She was accustomed in her youth, when she was burrowing in the ground | |
in the prairies in Mexico, to make the place soft where she was going | |
to lie down by scratching up the earth with her paws, and she continued | |
the practice now, though, of course, this was not a proper way to beat | |
up a bed of feathers. | |
Pannie was a great favorite with all who knew her. She was affectionate | |
in her disposition, and mild and gentle in her demeanor; and, as is | |
usually the case with those who possess such a character, she made a | |
great many friends and no enemies. | |
[Sidenote: Mistakes.] | |
By-and-by Pannie grew old and infirm. She became deaf and blind, and | |
sometimes, when the time came for her to go to bed at night, she would | |
make a mistake, and get into the wrong basket--a basket that belonged | |
to another dog. This would make Looly, the dog that the basket belonged | |
to, very angry. Looly would run about the basket, and whine and moan | |
until Pansita was taken out and put into her own place. | |
[Sidenote: Pannie’s death and burial.] | |
At last Pansita died. They put her body in a little leaden coffin, and | |
buried it in a very pleasant place between two trees. | |
This is a true story. | |
THE DOG’S PETITION. | |
[Sidenote: Letter-day.] | |
One day, about the middle of the quarter, in a certain school, what the | |
boys called Letter-day came. Letter-day was a day in which all the boys | |
in the school were employed in writing letters. | |
Each boy, on these occasions, selected some absent friend or | |
acquaintance, and wrote a letter to him. The letters were written | |
first on a slate, and then, after being carefully corrected, were | |
copied neatly on sheets of paper and sent. The writing of these letters | |
was thus made a regular exercise of the school. It was, in fact, an | |
exercise in composition. | |
[Sidenote: Erskine’s conversation with his teacher.] | |
A boy named Erskine, after taking out his slate, and writing the date | |
upon the top of it, asked the teacher whom he thought it would be best | |
for him to write to. | |
“How would you like to write to your aunt?” asked the teacher. | |
“Why, _pretty_ well,” said Erskine, rather doubtfully. | |
“I think it would be doing good to write to her,” said the teacher. “It | |
will please her very much to have a letter from you.” | |
“Then I will,” said Erskine. “On the whole, I should like to write to | |
her very much.” | |
So Erskine wrote the letter, and, when it had been corrected and | |
copied, it was sent. | |
This is the letter. It gives an account of a petition offered by a | |
dog to his master, begging to be allowed to accompany the boys of the | |
school on an excursion: | |
[Sidenote: Erskine’s letter.] | |
August 2, 1853. | |
DEAR AUNT,--I hope you have been well since I have heard from | |
you. | |
We took an excursion up to Orange Pond, and stayed all day. In | |
the morning it was very misty, but in about an hour it cleared | |
up, and the sun came out. Charles and Stephen went over to Mr. | |
Wingate’s to get a stage, and a lumber-wagon, and a carriage. | |
There were two horses in the stage, and an old gray one in the | |
lumber-wagon. Wright and I went down to get William Harmer, a | |
new scholar, to come up here before we started. At last we all | |
were ready, Crusoe and all. The teacher bought a little dog in | |
the vacation, and named him Crusoe. One of the boys wrote a | |
letter, and tied it about Crusoe’s neck, and this was it: | |
[Sidenote: The dog’s petition.] | |
MY VERY DEAR MASTER,--Can I go with the boys to-day on | |
the excursion? I will be very good, and not bark or | |
bite. I wish to go very much indeed, and I hope you | |
will let me. | |
From your affectionate dog, | |
Bow-wow-wow. | |
[Sidenote: Account of an excursion. Diving off the row-boats. | |
The hot rock. Coming home.] | |
Soon we started. It was very cool when we left home, but when | |
we got out on the hills it was very hot. The teacher let us | |
get out once and get some berries. After a ride of about nine | |
miles, we got out, and found it a very cool place. The public | |
house was very near to the pond, and we ran down there as | |
soon as we got our fishing-poles. Some of the boys got into | |
an old boat, and got a fish as soon as they cast their poles | |
out. The man said some of us should go out on an old rock | |
that was there, and the rest of us in a boat. We had a fine | |
time fishing, and caught about thirty small fish. Mr. Wingate | |
went out in another boat, and caught a very large perch and | |
pickerel, and a few other fish. After we had caught a few | |
more fish, we became tired, and wanted to go to the shore; so | |
the teacher took two or three of us at a time, and we went to | |
the shore. After we had played around a little, we had a nice | |
dinner, and then we went in swimming. The man said we might | |
dive off the small row-boats. We had fine fun pulling the boats | |
along while we were wading in the water, for it was nice and | |
sandy on the bottom. We found we could wade out to the rock | |
before named. We all waded out on it; but no sooner had we got | |
on the top, than we jumped off in all directions, for it was so | |
hot that one could roast an egg on it. We all ran back to the | |
shore as fast as we could go, laughing heartily. As soon as we | |
got up and were dressed, we went up to the house. Mr. Wingate | |
harnessed up the horses, and we were soon trotting home. We | |
went around by a different way from the one we came by, through | |
some woods, and had a fine ride home. That is the end of our | |
excursion to Orange Pond. | |
From your affectionate friend, | |
ERSKINE. | |
Erskine’s aunt was very much gratified at receiving this letter. She | |
read it with great interest, and answered it very soon. | |
THE STORM ON THE LAKE. | |
[Sidenote: The philosophy of mountains, springs, brooks, and lakes.] | |
Mountains make storms, storms make rain fall, and the rain that falls | |
makes springs, brooks, and lakes; thus mountains, storms, brooks, and | |
lakes go together. | |
Mountains make storms, and cause the rain to fall by chilling the air | |
around their summits, and condensing the vapor into rain and into snow. | |
Around the lower parts of the mountains, where it is pretty warm, the | |
vapor falls in rain. Around the higher parts, where it is cold, it | |
falls in snow. | |
[Sidenote: Formation of rivers.] | |
Part of the water from the rain soaks into the ground, on the | |
declivities of the mountains, and comes out again, lower down, in | |
springs. Another portion flows down the ravines in brooks and torrents, | |
and these, uniting together, form larger and larger streams, until, at | |
length, they become great rivers, that flow across wide continents. If | |
you were to follow up almost any river in the world, you would come to | |
mountains at last. | |
It does not always rain among the mountains, but the springs and | |
streams always flow. The reason of this is, that before the water which | |
falls in one storm or shower has had time to drain out from the ground | |
and flow away, another storm comes and renews the supply. If it were to | |
cease to rain altogether among the mountains, the water that is now in | |
them would soon be all drained off, and the springs and streams would | |
all be dry. | |
But how is it in regard to lakes? How are the lakes formed? | |
[Sidenote: How lakes are formed.] | |
This is the way. | |
When the water, in flowing down in the brooks and streams, comes to a | |
valley from which it can not run out, it continues to run in and fill | |
up the valley, until it reaches the level of some place where it _can_ | |
run out. As soon as it reaches that level, the surplus water runs out | |
at the opening as fast as it comes in from the springs and streams, and | |
then the lake never rises any higher. | |
A lake, then, is nothing but a valley full of water. | |
Of course, there are more valleys among mountains than any where else, | |
and there, too, there are more streams and springs to fill them. Thus, | |
among mountains, we generally find a great many lakes. | |
[Sidenote: Outlets; feeders.] | |
Since lakes are formed in this way, you would expect, in going around | |
one, that you would find some streams flowing into it, and _one_ stream | |
flowing out. This is the case with almost all lakes. The place where | |
the water flows out of the lake is called the outlet. The streams which | |
flow into the lake are sometimes called the _feeders_. They feed the | |
lake, as it were, with water. | |
[Sidenote: Ponds without outlets.] | |
Sometimes a lake or pond has no outlet. This is the case when there are | |
so few streams running into it that all the water that comes can dry up | |
from the surface of the lake, or soak away into the ground. | |
Sometimes you will find, among hilly pastures, a small pond, lying in a | |
hollow, which has not any outlet, or any feeders either. Such a pond as | |
this is fed either by secret springs beneath the ground, or else by the | |
water which falls on the <DW72>s around it when it is actually raining. | |
If you were to take an umbrella, and go to visit such a pond in the | |
midst of a shower, and were to look down among the grass, you would see | |
a great many little streams of water flowing down into the pond. | |
[Sidenote: The way to note the rise and fall of water in a lake.] | |
Then if, after the shower was over, you were to put up a measure in | |
the water, and leave it there a few days, or a week, and then visit | |
it again, you would find that the surface of the water would have | |
subsided--that is, gone down. As soon as the rain ceases, so that all | |
fresh supplies of water are cut off, the water already in the pond | |
begins at once to soak away slowly into the ground, and to evaporate | |
into the air. Once I knew a boy who was of an inquiring turn of mind, | |
and who concluded to ascertain precisely what the changes were which | |
took place in the level of a small pond, which lay in a hollow behind | |
his father’s garden. So he measured off the inches on a smooth stick, | |
and marked them, and then he set up the stick in the water of the pond. | |
Thus he could note exactly how the water should rise or fall. There | |
came a great shower very soon after he set up his measure, and it | |
caused the water in the pond to rise three inches. After that it was | |
dry weather for a long time, and the level of the pond fell four inches | |
lower than it was when he first put up the measure. | |
Lakes among the mountains are often very large, and the waves which | |
rise upon them in sudden tempests of wind and rain sometimes run very | |
high. | |
[Sidenote: The storm on the Lake of Gennesaret. Jesus in the ship.] | |
The Lake of Gennesaret, so often mentioned in the New Testament, was | |
such a lake, and violent storms of wind and rain rose sometimes very | |
suddenly upon it. One evening, Jesus and his disciples undertook to | |
cross this lake in a small vessel. It was very pleasant when they | |
commenced the voyage, but in the night a sudden storm came on, and the | |
waves rose so high that they beat into the ship. This was the time that | |
the disciples came and awoke Jesus, who was asleep in the stern of the | |
ship when the storm came on, and called upon him to save them. He arose | |
immediately, and came forward, and rebuked the winds and the sea, and | |
immediately they became calm. | |
[Illustration] | |
The adjoining engraving represents the scene. Jesus has come forward | |
to the prow, and stands there looking out upon the waves, which seem | |
ready to overwhelm the vessel. The disciples are greatly terrified. One | |
of them is kneeling near the place where Jesus stands, and is praying | |
to God for mercy. The others are behind. They are equally afraid. The | |
sails have been torn by the wind, and are flying away. Jesus extends | |
his hand, and says to the winds and waves, “Peace! be still!” | |
The anchor of the ship is seen in the engraving hanging over the bow. | |
But the anchor, in such a case as this, is useless. The water is | |
too deep in the middle of the lake for it to reach the bottom; and, | |
besides, if it were possible to anchor the vessel in such a place, it | |
would do more harm than good, for any confining of the ship, in such a | |
sea, would only help the waves to fill it the sooner. | |
[Sidenote: Navigation of mountain lakes.] | |
The people who live on the borders of the lakes that lie among the | |
mountains often go out upon them in boats. Sometimes they go to fish, | |
sometimes to make passages to and fro along the lake, when there is no | |
convenient road by land, and sometimes they go to bring loads of hay or | |
sheaves of grain home from some field which lies at a distance from the | |
house, and is near the margin of the water. | |
[Sidenote: Tempests and storms.] | |
When a storm arises on the lake after the boat has gone out, the people | |
who remain at home are often very anxious, fearing that the boats may | |
have been overwhelmed by the waves. Over the leaf there is a picture | |
of people watching for the return of a man and boy who have gone out | |
on the lake. They went out in the middle of the day, and, though it is | |
now night, they have not returned. The family are anxious about their | |
safety, for in the middle of the afternoon there was a violent storm of | |
thunder and lightning, with dreadful gusts of wind and pouring rain. | |
The storm has now entirely passed away, and the moon, which has just | |
risen, shines serenely in the sky. Still the boat does not return. The | |
family fear that it may have foundered in the storm. | |
[Sidenote: Conversation in Marie’s cottage.] | |
The family live in a cottage on the margin of the lake. Marie, the wife | |
of the man and the mother of the boy that went away in the boat, is | |
very anxious and unhappy. | |
“Do you think that they are lost?” she said to Orlando. | |
Orlando was her oldest son. | |
“Oh no,” replied Orlando. “When the black clouds began to come up in | |
the sky, and they heard the thunder, they would go to the shore, and | |
draw up their boat there till the storm was over. And now that the | |
water is smooth again, and the air calm, I presume they are somewhere | |
coming home.” | |
“But how can they find their way home in the darkness of the night?” | |
said Marie. | |
“There is a moon to-night,” said Marie’s father. He was an old man, and | |
he was sitting at this time in the chimney-corner. | |
“Yes, there is a moon,” replied Marie, “but it is half hidden by the | |
broken clouds that are still floating in the sky.” | |
“I will light the lantern,” said Orlando, “and go out, and hold it up | |
on a high part of the shore. They will then see the light of it, and it | |
will guide them in.” | |
[Sidenote: Orlando and Bruno.] | |
Bruno was lying before the fire while this conversation was going | |
on. He was listening to it very attentively, though he could not | |
understand it all. He knew some words, and he learned from the words | |
which he heard that they were talking about the boat and the water, and | |
Pierre, the man who was gone. So, when Orlando rose, and went to get | |
the lantern, Bruno started up too, and followed him. He did not know | |
whether there would be any thing that he could do, but he wished to be | |
ready at a moment’s notice, in case there should be any thing. | |
[Sidenote: Anna and the baby.] | |
He stood by Orlando’s side, and looked up very eagerly into his face | |
while he was taking down the lantern, and then went with him out to the | |
door. The old man went out too. He went down as near as he could get | |
to the shore of the pond, in order to look off over the water. Orlando | |
remained nearer the door of the cottage, where the land was higher, and | |
where he thought the lantern could be better seen. Marie, with her baby | |
in her arms, and her little daughter, Anna, by her side, came out to | |
the steps of the door. Bruno took his place by Orlando’s side, ready | |
to be called upon at any time, if there should be any thing that he | |
could do, and looking eagerly over the water to see whether he could | |
not himself make some discoveries. | |
[Illustration: Watching for the boat.] | |
He would have liked to have held the lantern, but it would not have | |
been possible for him to have held it sufficiently high. | |
Just at this time the moon began to come out from behind the clouds, | |
and its light was reflected beautifully on the waters of the lake, and | |
the old man obtained, as he thought, a glimpse of a dark object gliding | |
slowly along over the surface of the distant water. | |
[Sidenote: The boat is coming.] | |
“They are coming!” he exclaimed. “They are coming! I see them coming!” | |
Bruno saw the boat too, and he soon began to leap about and bark to | |
express his joy. | |
* * * * * | |
[Sidenote: Excellence of Bruno’s behavior.] | |
Thus Bruno always felt an interest in all that interested his master, | |
and he stood by ready to help, even when there was nothing for him to | |
do. It is always a source of great pleasure to a father to observe that | |
his boy takes an interest in what he is doing, and stands ready to help | |
him, provided always that he does not interrupt the work by asking | |
questions. This Bruno never did. He never interrupted work in any way, | |
and least of all by asking questions. | |
[Illustration: Play.] | |
It is far more manly and noble for boys to take an interest, sometimes, | |
in useful work, than to be wholly absorbed, as some boys are, all the | |
time in idle play. | |
TAKING AN INTEREST. | |
[Sidenote: Important difference between the dog and the horse.] | |
There is a great difference between the dog and the horse, in respect | |
to the interest which they take in any work which they have to do. A | |
horse does not like to work. He never runs to his master to be saddled | |
when his master wishes to go and take a ride. If he runs either way, | |
he runs off. If you wish any time to take a ride in a wagon, and you | |
go into the pasture to find your horse, it is often very hard work to | |
catch him. He knows that you are going to harness him up, and give | |
him something to do, and he does not like to do it; so away he goes, | |
bounding over the pasture, and looking back, first over one shoulder, | |
and then over the other, to see whether you are pursuing him. | |
It is very different with the dog. As soon as he sees his master | |
take down his hat and cane, he jumps up and runs to accompany him. | |
He desires, above all things, to accompany his master wherever he | |
goes, that he may protect him, and render him any other service which | |
occasion may require. | |
It is true that a dog does not generally like to be harnessed into a | |
wagon, and draw, but the reason of this probably is, that drawing a | |
load is not a work that he is by nature fitted for. He is not properly | |
built for such work. His shoulders are not fitted to receive a collar, | |
and his feet are not of the right form to take good hold of the ground. | |
The nature and qualities of the dog fit him for other duties, and these | |
duties he is always greatly interested in performing. If his master is | |
a traveler, he is always ready to set out on the journey with him. If | |
his master stays at home, he is always on the watch about the house, | |
guarding the premises, and ready to do any thing that he may be called | |
upon to do. In a word, such duties as he is at all qualified for by his | |
nature and habits, he is always ready to perform with alacrity and with | |
hearty good-will. | |
[Sidenote: Supposed black pony. How valuable such a pony would be.] | |
What a fine thing it would be for a boy to have a horse of such a | |
disposition--a little black pony, I will suppose--just large enough | |
for the boy to harness and drive! Suppose you had such a pony. You | |
take the bridle, and go out into the pasture for him some day when | |
you feel inclined to take a ride. As soon as you enter the pasture, | |
you call him. Immediately on hearing your voice, he runs out of the | |
thicket where he was lying in the shade, and ascends an eminence near, | |
so that he can see. He looks all around to find where the voice comes | |
from, and when he sees you with the bridle in your hand, he immediately | |
feels proud and happy at the thought of being employed, and he comes | |
galloping toward you, prancing and capering in a very joyous manner. | |
As soon as he gets near you, he ceases his prancing, and, walking up to | |
you, he holds his head down that you may put the bridle on. As soon as | |
the bridle is buckled, you put the bridle-rein over his neck, and say, | |
“There! run along, pony!” | |
So your pony runs along before you, looking back from time to time, | |
first over one shoulder, and then over the other, not to see whether | |
you are pursuing him, in order that he may escape, but to be sure that | |
you are following him, and that he is going the right way. When he gets | |
to the gate, he waits till you come to open it for him; or, if he has | |
ingenuity enough to lift up the latch himself, he opens the gate and | |
goes through, and then waits outside till you come. As soon as you have | |
gone through the gate, he trots off to the barn. He does not know yet | |
whether you are going to put the saddle on, or to harness him into your | |
little wagon. But he is equally ready for either. He looks forward with | |
great pleasure to the thought of carrying you along over a pleasant | |
road, cantering merrily up and down the hills; and he resolves that he | |
will take special care not to stumble or fall with you. Or, if he finds | |
that you prefer riding in the wagon that day, he thinks how pleasant | |
it will be to trot along over the road with you, and give you a good | |
drive. If you stop any where by the way, he waits patiently where you | |
leave him until you come back again. If he is in the wagon, he stands | |
very still, lest he should do some damage to the vehicle by moving | |
about. If he has a saddle on, he walks out to the road-side, perhaps, | |
to crop the grass a little while he is waiting, but he lifts up his | |
head now and then to see if you are coming, in order that he may be all | |
ready to go on again when you wish to go. | |
It would certainly be a fine thing to have such a pony as that. | |
[Sidenote: How useful and valuable such a boy would be.] | |
But for a man, it is a finer thing to have such a _boy_ as that. I | |
never knew such ponies, but I have often known such boys. They take | |
a special interest and pleasure in being useful, and especially in | |
assisting their father and mother in any thing, no matter what it is, | |
that their father and mother wish to do. They feel proud and happy to | |
be employed, and come always with a ready alacrity whenever they are | |
called upon, and to do what they can do with a hearty good-will. | |
[Sidenote: Georgie at the raising. The way he acted.] | |
Boys sometimes take an interest of the wrong kind in what their fathers | |
are doing--that is, an interest which seeks for their own pleasure | |
and amusement, and not for the furtherance of the work. There was a | |
farmer, for instance, once, who had two sons, Lawrence and Georgie. | |
The farmer was building a shed, and when the shed was framed, the | |
carpenters came one afternoon to raise it. Lawrence was away from home | |
when the carpenters came, having gone to mill, but Georgie was very | |
much interested in the raising, and he brought several of the boys | |
of the neighborhood to see it. With these boys he played about among | |
the timbers of the frame, running along upon them from end to end, or | |
jumping over them. He made a great deal of noise in singing to express | |
his joy, and in calling to his companions. | |
“Georgie,” said his father, at last, “be still, or I shall send you | |
away.” | |
His father should have sent him away at once, instead of threatening to | |
do so if he was not still. | |
[Sidenote: Boring.] | |
Georgie was still after this, for he knew that his father would do as | |
he said; but he soon found out other means of making trouble besides | |
noise. He and the other boys went to one of the carpenters, who was | |
boring a hole, and he began to beg the carpenter to let him take the | |
auger and bore it. | |
“I can bore,” said he. | |
“I see you can,” said the carpenter, “but I wish you would not come | |
here and bore me.” | |
The other carpenters who were near laughed at hearing this, and | |
Georgie, not liking to be laughed at, walked away to another part of | |
the work. Here he began to ask questions, such as what this beam was | |
for, and what tenon was going into that mortice, and whether such and | |
such a hole was not bored wrong. All these questions interrupted the | |
workmen, confused them in their calculations, and hindered the work. At | |
last, Georgie’s father told him not to ask any more questions, but to | |
keep perfectly still. | |
[Sidenote: He and the other boys make a balancer.] | |
His father would, in fact, have sent him away entirely, were it not | |
that he was wanted from time to time to do an errand, or fetch a tool. | |
These errands, however, he did very slowly and reluctantly, so that | |
he was of little service. Finally, he proposed to the boys that they | |
should make a balancer, and they did so. They put up one short beam of | |
wood upon another, and then, placing a plank across, two of the boys | |
got on, one at each end, and began see-sawing up and down. This was | |
their balancer. | |
“Isn’t it good fun,” said Georgie, as he went up into the air, “to have | |
a raising?” | |
“Yes,” said the other boy, who was then down by the ground. | |
“I hope they won’t get through to-night,” said Georgie, coming down, | |
“and then we can have some more fun to-morrow.” | |
[Sidenote: A fall.] | |
Just then the upper beam, which supported the balancer, fell off, and | |
the plank, with the boys on it, came to the ground. There was now a | |
great outcry. Georgie’s father and some of the carpenters came to see | |
if the boys were hurt. They were not seriously hurt, but the accident | |
occasioned quite an interruption to the raising. | |
So Georgie’s father, finding that the trouble which Georgie made him | |
was greater far than any service that he rendered, sent him away. | |
Now this is not the right way to take an interest in what your father | |
or mother is doing. | |
[Sidenote: Lawrence comes home.] | |
Lawrence got back from the mill just as Georgie went away. He | |
immediately came and took Georgie’s place. He stationed himself near | |
his father, so as to be ready to do any thing which might be required | |
whenever he should be called upon. He observed carefully every thing | |
that was done, but he asked no questions. If he saw that a tool was | |
wanted, or going to be wanted, he brought it, so as to have it all | |
ready the moment it should be required. Thus, although he could not do | |
much substantial work himself, he assisted the men who could do it very | |
much, and rendered very effectual service, so that the raising went on | |
very prosperously, and was finished that night, greatly to his father’s | |
satisfaction. | |
[Sidenote: Conversation at the supper-table.] | |
At supper that night the farmer took his seat at the table. His wife | |
sat opposite to him. Lawrence was on one side, and Georgie on the other. | |
“Have you finished the raising?” said his wife. | |
“Yes,” said the farmer, “we have finished it. I did not expect to get | |
through. But we _have_ got through, and it is all owing to Lawrence.” | |
“Did he help you?” asked his wife. | |
“Yes,” said the farmer; “he forwarded the work, I think, a full half | |
hour, and that just saved us.” | |
Now that is the right kind of interest to take in what your father and | |
mother are doing. | |
[Sidenote: Another incident.] | |
At another time, one night after Georgie and Lawrence had gone to bed, | |
they heard a sort of thumping sound out in the barn. | |
“Hark!” said Lawrence; “what is that noise?” | |
Georgie said he thought it could not be any thing of consequence, and | |
so he shut up his eyes, and prepared to go to sleep. But Lawrence, | |
though he was equally sleepy, felt afraid that something might be the | |
matter with one of the horses; so he got up and went to his father’s | |
room, and told his father about the noise. His father immediately rose | |
and dressed himself, and went down to the barn. | |
“Georgie,” said Lawrence, “let us get up too. Perhaps we can help.” | |
“Oh no,” said Georgie, sleepily, “there is nothing that _we_ could do.” | |
“I can hold the lantern, at any rate,” said Lawrence, “and do some | |
good, perhaps, in that way.” So Lawrence dressed himself and went down | |
stairs, while Georgie went to sleep again. | |
[Sidenote: Lawrence takes an interest in his father’s concerns.] | |
Lawrence got out into the barn just in time to find that the horse had | |
fallen down, and had got entangled in his halter, so that he was in | |
danger of choking to death. | |
“Ah, Lawrence!” said his father, “you are just in time. I want you to | |
hold the lantern for me.” | |
So Lawrence took the lantern, and held it while his father disentangled | |
the halter, and got the horse up. Lawrence, who was much interested all | |
the time, held the lantern in the best possible way for his father to | |
see. | |
“That’s right,” said his father; “hold the lantern so that you can see | |
yourself, and then you may be sure that I can see.” | |
That is the right kind of interest for boys to take in what their | |
father or mother are doing. | |
That was, in fact, the kind of interest that Bruno took. He was always | |
on the watch for opportunities to do good, and when he saw that he | |
could not do any more good, he was extremely careful not to make any | |
trouble. | |
[Illustration: Driving the sheep to pasture in the morning.] | |
[Sidenote: Bruno sits waiting for orders.] | |
He would stand or sit silently by, looking on and watching what was | |
going forward with great interest, ready to act the moment that he was | |
called upon, as you see in the opposite engraving. They are driving | |
some sheep to pasture very early in the morning. It was dark when they | |
first came out with the flock, and so they brought a lantern; but the | |
sun has risen now, and it is light. Although it was very early when the | |
men set out with the flock, Bruno was eager to come with them. He has | |
helped to drive the sheep all the way. They have reached the pasture | |
at last, and there is now nothing more for him to do. So he is sitting | |
down to rest, and contemplating with great satisfaction, while he | |
rests, the accomplishment of the work which was to be done, and ready | |
to do any thing more that may be required without a moment’s delay. | |
In the distance, in the engraving, a river is seen, meandering through | |
a rich and beautiful country, with the beams of the morning sun | |
reflected from the surface of the water. | |
* * * * * | |
[Sidenote: A good conscience.] | |
The satisfaction which results from the faithful performance of duty | |
is a very solid and substantial pleasure. It endures long, and has no | |
alloy. There is something manly and noble in the very nature of it, and | |
he who makes it the end and aim of all his efforts in his search for | |
happiness is sure of a rich reward. | |
[Sidenote: They who are not faithful in duty can never be happy.] | |
Learn from the example of Bruno, then, to find your happiness in the | |
diligent and faithful performance of duty. “Duty first, and pleasure | |
afterward,” is the true rule for all. They who seek pleasure first, | |
or, rather, who look for their happiness in personal and selfish | |
gratifications, lead a very low and groveling life, and never exemplify | |
the true nobleness and dignity to which the human soul should aspire. | |
Nor do they ever attain to any real or permanent happiness. They | |
experience a continual feeling of self-reproach and self-condemnation | |
which mars all their enjoyments, and adds a fresh ingredient | |
of bitterness to all their sorrows. In a word, they are always | |
dissatisfied with themselves, and he who is dissatisfied with himself | |
can never be happy. | |
THE END. | |
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