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The Junior Classics, Volume 8: Animal and Nature Stories

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Title: The Junior Classics, Volume 8: Animal and Nature Stories

Editor: William Patten


        
Release date: May 1, 2005 [eBook #8075]
                Most recently updated: December 26, 2020

Language: English

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Credits: Produced by Charles Franks, Robert Prince, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JUNIOR CLASSICS, VOLUME 8: ANIMAL AND NATURE STORIES ***




Produced by Charles Franks, Robert Prince,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.





[Illustration: 'WHAT A PRETTY LITTLE WATER LILY' CRIED LILEN
             From the painting by Marie Webb]

THE JUNIOR CLASSICS

SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY WILLIAM PATTEN MANAGING EDITOR OF THE
HARVARD CLASSICS

INTRODUCTION BY CHARLES W. ELIOT, LL. D. PRESIDENT EMERITUS OF
HARVARD UNIVERSITY

WITH A READING GUIDE BY WILLIAM ALLAN NEILSON, Ph.D. PROFESSOR OF
ENGLISH, HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESIDENT SMITH COLLEGE, NORTHAMPTON,
MASS., SINCE 1917





VOLUME EIGHT

Animal and Nature Stories



TABLE OF CONTENTS

Little Cyclone: The Story of a Grizzly Cub, W. T. Hornaday
Some True Stories of Tigers, Wolves, Foxes, and Bears,
   W. H. G. Kingston
Some Animal Friends in Africa, Bayard Taylor
My Fight with a Catamount, Allen French
In Canada with a Lynx, Roe L. Hendrick
Solomon's Grouch: The Story of a Bear, Franklin W. Calkins
A Droll Fox-Trap, C. A. Stephens
The Horse That Aroused the Town, Lillian M. Gask
What Ginger Told Black Beauty, Anna Sewell
Some True Stories of Horses and Donkeys, W. H. G. Kingston
"Old Mustard": A Tale of the Western Pioneers, E. W. Frentz
Carlo, the Soldiers' Dog, Rush C. Hawkins
A Brave Dog, Sir Samuel W. Baker
Uncle Dick's Rolf, Georgiana M. Craik
Scrap, Lucia Chamberlain
A Fire-Fighter's Dog, Arthur Quiller-Couch
Plato: The Story of a Cat, A. S. Downs
Peter: A Cat O' One Tail, Charles Morley
Jeff the Inquisitive, Rush C. Hawkins
The Impudent Guinea-Pig, Charles F. Lummis
Hard to Hit, Ernest Ingersoll
That Sly Old Woodchuck, William O. Stoddard
The Faithful Little Lizard, W. Hill James
Toby the Wise, Rush C. Hawkins
Blackamoor, Ruth Landseer
A Parrot That Had Been Trained to Fire a Cannon,
   Sir Samuel W. Baker
The Sandpiper's Trick, Celia Thaxter
How Did the Canary Do It?, Celia Thaxter
A Runaway Whale, Capt. O. G. Fosdick
Saved by a Seal, Theodore A. Cutting
Old Muskie the Rogue, Levi T. Pennington
Teaching Fish to Ring Bells, C. F. Holder
Marcus Aurelius, Octave Thanet
Anna and the Rattler, Mrs. Cornell
The Butterfly's Children, Mrs. Alfred Gatty
The Dragon-Fly and the Water-Lily, Carl Ewald
Powder-Post, C. A. Stephens
The Queen Bee, Carl Ewald
A Swarm of Wild Bees, Albert W. Tolman
The Intelligence of Ants, Sir John Lubbock
The Katy-Did's Party, Harriet B. Stowe
The Beech and the Oak, Carl Ewald
The Oak and the Snail, Mrs. Alfred Gatty
The Story of a Stone, David Starr Jordan
How the Stone-Age Children Played, Charles C. Abbott
The Mist, Carl Ewald
The Anemones, Carl Ewald
The Weeds, Carl Ewald
Some Voices from the Kitchen Garden,
   Mrs. Alfred Gatty
The Wind and the Flowers, Mrs. Alfred Gatty

PHIL'S ADVENTURES AMONG THE ANIMALS

At Home With the Beavers, Lillian M. Gask
Two Enemies of the Beavers, Lillian M. Gask
The Squirrel's Story, Lillian M. Gask
A Den in the Rocks, Lillian M. Gask
Ships of the Desert, Lillian M. Gask

SOME ANIMAL STORIES

The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Beatrix Potter
Lions and Tigers, Anonymous
Apes and Monkeys, Anonymous
The Hippopotamus and the Rhinoceros, Anonymous
The Giraffe, Anonymous
Parrots, Anonymous
Rab and His Friends, John Brown, M.D.
A Ride With a Mad Horse in a Freight-Car,
   W. H. H. Murray
A-Hunting of the Deer, Charles D. Warner


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"WHAT A PRETTY LITTLE WATER-LILY!" CRIED ELLEN

The Dragon-Fly and the Water-Lily
  (Frontispiece illustration in color from the painting by Marie Webb)

GINGER AND I WERE STANDING ALONE IN THE SHADE
   What Ginger Told Black Beauty
     (From the painting by Maude Scrivener)

THEY LEARNT FROM THEIR FATHER TO HUNT THE STAG IN HIS COVERT

The Beech and the Oak
  (From the drawing by John Hassell)

PEOPLE WHO WERE OUT FOR AN EVENING STROLL
  The Mist
     (From the painting by Edmund Dulac)




LITTLE CYCLONE: THE STORY OF A GRIZZLY CUB

By W. T. Hornaday


Little Cyclone is a grizzly cub from Alaska, who earned his name by
the vigor of his resistance to ill treatment. When his mother was
fired at, on a timbered hillside facing Chilkat River, he and his
brother ran away as fast as their stumpy little legs could carry
them. When they crept where they had last seen her, they thought
her asleep; and cuddling up close against her yet warm body they
slept peacefully until morning.

Before the early morning sun had reached their side of the
mountains, the two orphans were awakened by the rough grasp of
human hands. Valiantly they bit and scratched, and bawled aloud
with rage. One of them made a fight so fierce and terrible that his
nervous captor let him go, and that one is still on the Chilkoot.

Although the other cub fought just as desperately, his captor
seized him by the hind legs, dragged him backwards, occasionally
swung him around his head, and kept him generally engaged until
ropes were procured for binding him. When finally established, with
collar, chain and post, in the rear of the saloon in Porcupine
City, two-legged animals less intelligent than himself frequently
and violently prodded the little grizzly with a long pole "to see
him fight." Barely in time to save him from insanity, little
Cyclone was rescued by the friendly hands of the Zoological
Society's field agent, placed in a comfortable box, freed from all
annoyance, and shipped to New York.

He was at that time as droll and roguish-looking a grizzly cub as
ever stepped. In a grizzly-gray full moon of fluffy hair, two big
black eyes sparkled like jet beads, behind a pudgy little nose,
absurdly short for a bear. Excepting for his high shoulders, he was
little more than a big bale of gray fur set up on four posts of the
same material. But his claws were formidable, and he had the true
grizzly spirit.

The Bears' Nursery at the New York Zoological Park is a big yard
with a shade tree, a tree to climb, a swimming pool, three sleeping
dens, and a rock cliff. It never contains fewer than six cubs, and
sometimes eight.

Naturally, it is a good test of courage and temper to turn a new
bear into that roystering crowd. Usually a newcomer is badly scared
during his first day in the Nursery, and very timid during the
next. But grizzlies are different. They are born full of courage
and devoid of all sense of fear.

When little Cyclone's travelling box was opened, and he found
himself free in the Nursery, he stalked deliberately to the centre
of the stage, halted, and calmly looked about him. His air and
manner said as plainly as English: "I'm a grizzly from Alaska, and
I've come to stay. If any of you fellows think there is anything
coming to you from me, come and take it."

Little Czar, a very saucy but good-natured European brown bear cub,
walked up and aimed a sample blow at Cyclone's left ear. Quick as a
flash out shot Cyclone's right paw, as only a grizzly can strike,
and caught the would-be hazer on the side of the head. Amazed and
confounded, Czar fled in wild haste. Next in order, a black bear
cub, twice the size of Cyclone, made a pass at the newcomer, and he
too received so fierce a countercharge that he ignominiously
quitted the field and scrambled to the top of the cliff.

Cyclone conscientiously met every attack, real or feigned, that was
made upon him. In less than an hour it was understood by every bear
in the Nursery that that queer-looking gray fellow with the broad
head and short nose could strike quick and hard, and that he could
fight any other bear on three seconds' notice.

From that time on Cyclone's position has been assured. He is
treated with the respect that a good forearm inspires, but being
really a fine-spirited, dignified little grizzly, he attacks no
one, and never has had a fight.




SOME TRUE STORIES OF TIGERS, WOLVES, FOXES AND BEARS

By W. H. G. Kingston


On one of her voyages from China, the Pitt, East Indiaman, had on
board, among her passengers, a young tiger. He appeared to be as
harmless and playful as a kitten, and allowed the utmost
familiarity from every one. He was especially fond of creeping into
the sailors' hammocks; and while he lay stretched on the deck, he
would suffer two or three of them to place their heads on his back,
as upon a pillow. Now and then, however, he would at dinner-time
run off with pieces of their meat; and though sometimes severely
punished for the theft, he bore the chastisement he received with
the patience of a dog. His chief companion was a terrier, with whom
he would play all sorts of tricks--tumbling and rolling over the
animal in the most amusing manner, without hurting it. He would
also frequently run out on the bowsprit, and climb about the
rigging with the agility of a cat.

On his arrival in England, he was sent to the menagerie at the
Tower. While there, another terrier was introduced into his den.
Possibly he may have mistaken it for his old friend, for he
immediately became attached to the dog, and appeared uneasy
whenever it was taken away. Now and then the dangerous experiment
was tried of allowing the terrier to remain while the tiger was
fed. Presuming on their friendship, the dog occasionally ventured
to approach him; but the tiger showed his true nature on such
occasions by snarling in a way which made the little animal quickly
retreat.

He had been in England two years, when one of the seamen of the
_Pitt_ came to the Tower. The animal at once recognized his
old friend, and appeared so delighted, that the sailor begged to be
allowed to go into the den. The tiger, on this, rubbed himself
against him, licked his hands, and fawned on him as a cat would
have done. The sailor remained in the den for a couple of hours or
more, during which time the tiger kept so close to him, that it was
evident he would have some difficulty in getting out again, without
the animal making his escape at the same time. The den consisted of
two compartments. At last the keeper contrived to entice the tiger
to the inner one, when he closed the slide, and the seaman was
liberated.


Even a wolf, savage as that animal is, may, if caught young, and
treated kindly, become tame.

A story is told of a wolf which showed a considerable amount of
affection for its master. He had brought it up from a puppy, and it
became as tame as the best-trained dog, obeying him in everything.
Having frequently to leave home, and not being able to take the
wolf with him, he sent it to a menagerie, where he knew it would be
carefully looked after. At first the wolf was very unhappy, and
evidently pined for its absent master. At length, resigning itself
to its fate, it made friends with its keepers, and recovered its
spirits.

Fully eighteen months had passed by, when its old master, returning
home, paid a visit to the menagerie. Immediately he spoke, the wolf
recognized his voice, and made strenuous efforts to get free. On
being set at liberty it sprang forward, and leaped up and caressed
him like a dog. Its master, however, left it with its keepers, and
three years passed away before he paid another visit to the
menagerie. Notwithstanding this lapse of time, the wolf again
recognized him, and exhibited the same marks of affection.

On its master again going away, the wolf became gloomy and
desponding, and refused its food, so that fears were entertained
for its life.

It recovered its health, however, and though it suffered its
keepers to approach, exhibited the savage disposition of its tribe
towards all strangers.

The history of this wolf shows you that the fiercest tempers may be
calmed by gentleness.


Arrant thieves as foxes are, with regard to their domestic virtues
they eminently shine. Both parents take the greatest interest in
rearing and educating their offspring. They provide, in their
burrow, a comfortable nest, lined with feathers, for their new-born
cubs. Should either parent perceive in the neighbourhood of their
abode the slightest sign of human approach, they immediately carry
their young to a spot of greater safety, sometimes many miles away.
They usually set off in the twilight of a fine evening. The papa
fox having taken a survey all round, marches first, the young ones
march singly, and mamma brings up the rear. On reaching a wall or
bank, papa always mounts first, and looks carefully around, rearing
himself on his haunches to command a wider view. He then utters a
short cry, which the young ones, understanding as "Come along!"
instantly obey. All being safely over, mamma follows, pausing in
her turn on the top of the fence, when she makes a careful survey,
especially rearward. She then gives a responsive cry, answering to
"All right!" and follows the track of the others. Thus the party
proceed on their march, repeating the same precautions at each
fresh barrier.

When peril approaches, the wary old fox instructs his young ones to
escape with turns and doublings on their path, while he himself
will stand still on some brow or knoll, where he can both see and
be seen. Having thus drawn attention to himself, he will take to
flight in a different direction. Occasionally, while the young
family are disporting themselves near their home, if peril
approach, the parents utter a quick, peculiar cry, commanding the
young ones to hurry to earth; knowing that, in case of pursuit,
they have neither strength nor speed to secure their escape. They
themselves will then take to flight, and seek some distant place of
security.

The instruction they afford their young is varied. Sometimes the
parents toss bones into the air for the young foxes to catch. If
the little one fails to seize it before it falls to the ground, the
parent will snap at him in reproof. If he catches it cleverly, papa
growls his approval, and tosses it up again. This sport continues
for a considerable time.


As I have said, no other animals so carefully educate their young
in the way they should go, as does the fox. He is a good husband,
an excellent father, capable of friendship, and a very intelligent
member of society; but all the while, it must be confessed, an
incorrigible rogue and thief.

A gentleman was lying one summer's day under the shelter of some
shrubs on the banks of the Tweed, when his attention was attracted
by the cries of wild-fowl, accompanied by a great deal of
fluttering and splashing. On looking round, he perceived a large
brood of ducks, which had been disturbed by the drifting of a fir
branch among them. After circling in the air for a little time,
they again settled down on their feeding-ground.

Two or three minutes elapsed, when the same event again occurred. A
branch drifted down with the stream into the midst of the ducks,
and startled them from their repast. Once more they rose upon the
wing, clamouring loudly, but when the harmless bough had drifted
by, settled themselves down upon the water as before. This occurred
so frequently, that at last they scarcely troubled themselves to
flutter out of the way, even when about to be touched by the
drifting bough.

The gentleman, meantime, marking the regular intervals at which the
fir branches succeeded each other in the same track, looked for a
cause, and perceived, at length, higher up the bank of the stream,
a fox, which, having evidently sent them adrift, was eagerly
watching their progress and the effect they produced. Satisfied
with the result, cunning Reynard at last selected a larger branch
of spruce-fir than usual, and couching himself down on it, set it
adrift as he had done the others. The birds, now well trained to
indifference, scarcely moved till he was in the midst of them,
when, making rapid snaps right and left, he secured two fine young
ducks as his prey, and floated forward triumphantly on his raft;
while the surviving fowls, clamouring in terror, took to flight,
and returned no more to the spot.


A labourer going to his work one morning sight of a fox stretched
out at full length under a bush. Believing it to be dead, the man
drew it out by the tail, and swung it about to assure himself of
the fact. Perceiving no symptoms of life, he then threw it over his
shoulder, intending to make a cap of the skin, and ornament his
cottage wall with the brush. While the fox hung over one shoulder,
his mattock balanced it on the other. The point of the instrument,
as he walked along, every now and then struck against the ribs of
the fox, which, not so dead as the man supposed, objected to this
proceeding, though he did not mind being carried along with his
head downward. Losing patience, he gave a sharp snap at that
portion of the labourer's body near which his head hung. The man,
startled by this sudden attack, threw fox and mattock to the
ground, when, turning round, he espied the live animal making off
at full speed.


I have still another story to tell about cunning Reynard. Daylight
had just broke, when a well-known naturalist, gun in hand,
wandering in search of specimens, observed a large fox making his
way along the skirts of a plantation. Reynard looked cautiously
over the turf-wall into the neighbouring field, longing evidently
to get hold of some of the hares feeding in it, well aware that he
had little chance of catching one by dint of running. After
examining the different gaps in the wall, he fixed on one which
seemed to be the most frequented, and laid himself down close to
it, in the attitude of a cat watching a mouse-hole. He next scraped
small hollow in the ground, to form a kind of screen. Now and then
he stopped to listen, or take a cautious peep into the field. This
done, he again laid himself down, and remained motionless, except
when occasionally his eagerness induced him to reconnoitre the
feeding hares.

One by one, as the sun rose, they made their way from the field to
the plantation. Several passed, but he moved not, except to crouch
still closer to the ground. At length two came directly towards
him. The involuntary motion of his ears, though he did not venture
to look up, showed that he was aware of their approach. Like
lightning, as they were leaping through the gap, Reynard was upon
them, and catching one, killed her immediately. He was decamping
with his booty, when a rifle-ball put an end to his career.


I must tell you one more story about a fox, and a very interesting
little animal it was, though not less cunning than its relatives in
warmer regions.

Mr. Hayes, the Arctic explorer, had a beautiful little snow-white
fox, which was his companion in his cabin when his vessel was
frozen up during the winter. She had been caught in a trap, but
soon became tame, and used to sit in his lap during meals, with her
delicate paws on the cloth. A plate and fork were provided for her,
though she was unable to handle the fork herself; and little bits
of raw venison, which she preferred to seasoned food. When she took
the morsels into her mouth, her eyes sparkled with delight. She
used to wipe her lips, and look up at her master with a
_coquetterie_ perfectly irresistible. Sometimes she exhibited
much impatience; but a gentle rebuke with a fork on the tip of the
nose was sufficient to restore her patience.

When sufficiently tame, she was allowed to run loose in the cabin;
but she got into the habit of bounding over the shelves, without
much regard for the valuable and perishable articles lying on them.

She soon also found out the bull's-eye overhead, through the cracks
round which she could sniff the cool air. Close beneath it she
accordingly took up her abode; and thence she used to crawl down
when dinner was on the table, getting into her master's lap, and
looking up longingly and lovingly into his face, sometimes putting
out her little tongue with impatience, and barking, if the
beginning of the repast was too long delayed.

To prevent her climbing, she was secured by a slight chain. This
she soon managed to break, and once having performed the operation,
she did not fail to attempt it again. To do this, she would first
draw herself back as far as she could get, and then suddenly dart
forward, in the hope of snapping it by the jerk; and though she was
thus sent reeling on the floor, she would again pick herself up,
panting as if her little heart would break, shake out her
disarranged coat, and try once more. When observed, however, she
would sit quietly down, cock her head cunningly on one side, follow
the chain with her eye along its whole length to its fastening on
the floor, walk leisurely to that point, hesitating a moment, and
then make another plunge. All this time she would eye her master
sharply, and if he moved, she would fall down on the floor at once,
and pretend to be asleep.

She was a very neat and cleanly creature, everlastingly brushing
her clothes, and bathing regularly in a bath of snow provided for
her in the cabin. This last operation was her great delight. She
would throw up the white flakes with her diminutive nose, rolling
about and burying herself in them, wipe her face with her soft
paws, and then mount to the side of the tub, looking round her
knowingly, and barking the prettiest bark that ever was heard. This
was her way of enforcing admiration; and being now satisfied with
her performance, she would give a goodly number of shakes to her
sparkling coat, then, happy and refreshed, crawl into her airy bed
in the bull's-eye, and go to sleep.


The Indian believes the bear to be possessed not only of a
wonderful amount of sagacity, but of feelings akin to those of
human beings. Though most species are savage when irritated, some
of them occasionally exhibit good humour and kindness.

A story is told of a man in Russia, who on an expedition in search
of honey, climbed into a high tree. The trunk was hollow, and he
discovered a large cone within. He was descending to obtain it,
when he stuck fast. Unable to extricate himself, and too far from
home to make his voice heard, he remained in that uncomfortable
position for two days, sustaining his life by eating the honey. He
had become silent from despair, when, looking up, what was his
horror to see a huge bear above him, tempted by the same object
which had led him into his dangerous predicament, and about to
descend into the interior of the tree!

Bears--very wisely--when getting into hollows of rocks or trees, go
tail-end first, that they may be in a position to move out again
when necessary. No sooner, in spite of his dismay, did the tail of
the bear reach him, than the man caught hold of it. The animal,
astonished at finding some big creature below him, when he only
expected to meet with a family of bees, against whose stings his
thick hide was impervious, quickly scrambled out again, dragging up
the man, who probably shouted right lustily. Be that as it may, the
bear waddled off at a quick rate, and the honey-seeker made his way
homeward, to relate his adventure, and relieve the anxiety of his
family.


The brown bear, which lives in Siberia, may be considered among the
most good-natured of his tribe. Mr. Atkinson, who travelled in that
country, tells us that some peasants--a father and mother--had one
day lost two of their children, between four and six years of age.
It was soon evident that their young ones had wandered away to a
distance from their home, and as soon as this discovery was made
they set off in search of them.

Having proceeded some way through the wilds, they caught sight in
the distance of a large animal, which, as they got nearer, they
discovered to be a brown bear; and what was their horror to see
within its clutches their lost young ones! Their sensations of
dismay were exchanged for astonishment, when they saw the children
running about, laughing, round the bear, sometimes taking it by the
paws, and sometimes pulling it by the tail. The monster, evidently
amused with their behaviour, treated them in the most affectionate
manner. One of the children now produced some fruit, with which it
fed its shaggy playfellow, while the other climbed up on its back,
and sat there, fearlessly urging its strange steed to move on. The
parents gave way to cries of terror at seeing the apparent danger
to which their offspring were exposed. The little boy, however,
having slipped off the bear's back, the animal, hearing the sound
of other voices, left the children, and retreated quietly into the
forest.




SOME ANIMAL FRIENDS IN AFRICA

By Bayard Taylor


Years ago I spent a winter in Africa. I had intended to go up the
Nile only as far as Nubia, visiting the great temples and tombs of
Thebes on the way; but when I had done all this, and passed beyond
the cataracts at the southern boundary of Egypt, I found the
journey so agreeable, so full of interest, and attended with so
much less danger than I had supposed, that I determined to go on
for a month or two longer, and penetrate as far as possible into
the interior. Everything was favorable to my plan.

When I reached Khartoum, the Austrian consul invited me to his
house; and there I spent three or four weeks, in that strange town,
making acquaintance with the Egyptian officers, the chiefs of the
desert tribes and the former kings of the different countries of
Ethiopia. When I left my boat, on arriving, and walked through the
narrow streets of Khartoum, between mud walls, very few of which
were even whitewashed, I thought it a miserable place, and began to
look out for some garden where I might pitch my tent, rather than
live in one of those dirty-looking habitations. The wall around the
consul's house was of mud like the others; but when I entered I
found clean, handsome rooms, which furnished delightful shade and
coolness during the heat of the day. The roof was of palm-logs,
covered with mud, which the sun baked into a hard mass, so that the
house was in reality as good as a brick dwelling. It was a great
deal more comfortable than it appeared from the outside.

There were other features of the place, however, which it would be
difficult to find anywhere except in Central Africa. After I had
taken possession of my room, and eaten breakfast with my host, I
went out to look at the garden. On each side of the steps leading
down from the door sat two apes, who barked and snapped at me. The
next thing I saw was a leopard tied to the trunk of an orange-tree.
I did not dare to go within reach of his rope, although I
afterwards became well acquainted with him. A little farther, there
was a pen of gazelles and an antelope with immense horns; then two
fierce, bristling hyenas; and at last, under a shed beside the
stable, a full-grown lioness sleeping in the shade. I was greatly
surprised when the consul went up to her, lifted up her head,
opened her jaws so as to show the shining white tusks, and finally
sat down upon her hack.

She accepted these familiarities so good-naturedly that I made bold
to pat her head also. In a day or two we were great friends; she
would spring about with delight whenever she saw me, and would purr
like a cat whenever I sat upon her back. I spent an hour or two
every day among the animals, and found them all easy to tame except
the hyenas, which would gladly have bitten me if I had allowed them
a chance. The leopard, one day, bit me slightly on the hand; but I
punished him by pouring several buckets of water over him, and he
was always very amiable after that. The beautiful little gazelles
would cluster around me, thrusting up their noses into my hand, and
saying "Wow! wow!" as plainly as I write it. But none of these
animals attracted me as much as the big lioness. She was always
good-humored, though occasionally so lazy that she would not even
open her eyes when I sat down on her shoulder. She would sometimes
catch my foot in her paws as a kitten catches a ball, and try to
make a plaything of it,--yet always without thrusting out her
claws. Once she opened Her mouth, and gently took one of my legs in
her jaws for a moment; and the very next instant she put out her
tongue and licked my hand. There seemed to be almost as much of the
dog as of the cat in her nature. We all know, however, that there
are differences of character among animals as there are among men;
and my favorite probably belonged to a virtuous and respectable
family of lions.


The day after my arrival I went with the consul to visit the pacha,
who lived in a large mud palace on the bank of the Blue Nile. He
received us very pleasantly, and invited us to take seats in the
shady court-yard. Here there was a huge panther tied to one of the
pillars, while a little lion, about eight months old, ran about
perfectly loose. The pacha called the latter, which came springing
and frisking towards him. "Now," said he, "we will have some fun."
He then made the lion lie down behind one of the pillars, and
called to one of the black boys to go across the court-yard on some
errand. The lion lay quite still until the boy came opposite to the
pillar, when he sprang out after him. The boy ran, terribly
frightened; but the lion reached him in five or six leaps, sprang
upon his back and threw him down, and then went back to the pillar
as if quite satisfied with his exploit. Although the boy was not
hurt in the least, it seemed to me like a cruel piece of fun.

The pacha, nevertheless, laughed very heartily, and told us that he
had himself trained the lion to frighten the boys.


Presently the little lion went away, and when we came to look for
him, we found him lying on one of the tables in the kitchen of the
palace, apparently very much interested in watching the cook. The
latter told us that the animal sometimes took small pieces of meat,
but seemed to know that it was not permitted, for he would run away
afterwards in great haste. What I saw of lions during my residence
in Khartoum satisfied me that they are not very difficult to tame,
only, as they belong to the cat family, no dependence can be placed
on their continued good behavior....


Although I was glad to leave that wild town, with its burning
climate, and retrace the long way back to Egypt, across the
Desert and down the Nile, I felt very sorry at being obliged to
take leave forever of all my pets. The little gazelles said, "Wow!
wow!" in answer to my "Good-bye"; the hyenas howled and tried to
bite, just as much as ever; but the dear old lioness I know would
have been sorry if she could have understood that I was going. She
frisked around me, licked my hand, and I took her great tawny head
into my arms, and gave her a kiss. Since then I have never had a
lion for a pet, and may never have one again. I must confess I am
sorry for it; for I still retain my love for lions (four-footed
ones, I mean), to this day.




MY FIGHT WITH A CATAMOUNT

By Allen French


My guide, Alaric, and I had gone in after moose to the country
beyond Mud Brook, in Maine. There its watershed between the east
branch and the west is cut up into valleys, in one or another of
which a herd of moose, in winter, generally takes up quarters. It
was not yet yarding-time, for the snow was still only about four
inches deep, making it just right for the moose-hunter who is at
the same time a sportsman.

Our task was a slow one; we had to examine each valley for moose
tracks, tramping up one side and down the other, or as we usually
managed it, separating at the valley's mouth, each taking a side,
meeting at the end and then, if unsuccessful, taking the quickest
way back to camp.

And unsuccessful we were, since for three days we found no trail.
But Alaric was not in the least discouraged.

"You can never tell about moose," he said; "they travel so. There
were moose in this country before the snow, and there are moose
within a day's walk of us now. It's just as I told you; we may have
to spend five days in finding where they are."

It was on the second day that we found that, while after moose, we
had been tracked by a catamount. The print of its paw was
generously large.

"I've seen bigger," said Alaric, "but this feller's big enough.
He's just waiting round, I guess, so as to get some of the meat we
kill. We'll remember him," he said, looking up at me as he knelt on
the snow, "so's to see that he doesn't spoil the hide or the head."

I accepted the theory, and thought little more of the matter for
twenty-four hours.

At the end of the third day we found that the catamount had for a
second time been following our trail--not only _our_ trail,
but also _mine._

He had followed me all day as I walked along the hillside, looking
ahead and on both sides, but seldom behind. Alaric examined his
tracks carefully for half a mile.

"He was in sight of you all the way," he said. "See here, where he
stood for some time, just shifting about in one place, watching?" I
saw--and thought.

After a while, it seemed to me, a catamount might get tired of
waiting for us to kill his meat, and would start in to kill it for
himself. Unquestionably the easiest game for him to get would be
human.

For there were no deer in the region, and the caribou were all
herded on Katahdin and Traveller. The previous severe winter had
decimated the partridges, and big is the catamount that will tackle
a moose. I mentioned the theory to Alaric.

"Um--yes, perhaps," he said, and eyed me dubiously.

Then I wished that I had not said anything. It is not well to let
your guide think that you are afraid.

In the morning, when we had attained our valley's mouth, Alaric was
about to keep with me, instead of leaving me as before; but that
made our hunting much slower, for we could cover much less ground,
and I sent him around the other way.

"All right," said he. "But keep a good lookout behind you now."

He disappeared in a cedar swamp, and I made my way along the slope
of a hill. I watched indeed behind as well as in front, and in
every fox's track I crossed I saw a catamount's, until finally I
got used to the situation, and believed that the "Indian devil" had
concluded to let me alone.

The day was fine. The sun shone bright, and the softening snow,
dropping from the upper branches of the trees, kept up a constant
movement in the woods. I took and held a good pace, and with my
eyes searching the snow ahead and on all sides of me for signs of
moose, walked for a full hour, seeing nothing living but the
woodpeckers and the chickadees, hearing nothing but the rustle of
the branches, as released of their loads they sprang back into
place. Then, quite needlessly, I found insecure footing under the
snow, and plunged suddenly at full length. My rifle whirled from my
hand with force, and I heard it strike against the uncovered top of
a sugar-loaf stone. I jumped up in fear and hastily examined it.
The breech was shattered--my rifle was as useless as any stick.

Now I thought of the catamount, as, with the broken rifle in my
hands, I looked about me in the woods, bright with sun and snow. I
was not entirely helpless, for my revolver and knife were in my
belt.

Yet a thirty-eight calibre revolver, even with a long cartridge and
a long barrel, is not a sure defence against an animal as heavy as
myself, which in facing me would present for a mark only a round
head and a chest with muscles so thick and knotty that they would
probably stop any revolver bullet. I doubted my ability to hit the
eye.

Very likely I was no longer followed; and in any case, I might call
Alaric. And yet he was too far away for a shout to reach him, and I
dared not fire signal-shots, for in order to travel light, I had
left at camp all revolver cartridges but those in the chambers.

So I started at once for the bottom of the valley, hoping to strike
Alaric's trail on the opposite slope, and intending to follow it
until I caught him.

My rifle I left where it was; it was useless and heavy. I cast many
a glance behind me as, almost at a trot, I made my way down the
long hillside.

I strode on rapidly, for I had certainly a mile to cover before I
could strike Alaric's trail, much more before I could catch my
nimble guide. I was cheerful and unalarmed until, pausing to look
behind, I saw, a hundred yards away, a tawny animal quickly slip
behind a tree.

I hastily drew my revolver and knife; but no movement came from its
hidden breast, and rather than stand and wait, I pursued my
retreat. I moved more slowly, yet as fast as I could and still
guard myself against another fall and watch for a rush from behind.
I scanned the ground in front of me, and glanced back every second.
For some time I saw no more of the catamount.

But when I did see him, I was startled at his nearness; he was
within fifty yards. I hurried on as he slipped aside again; but
looking again in a moment, I saw him now following boldly upon my
trail. I stopped, but he stopped, too, and stood regarding me. He
was too far away for me to fire yet, and as he made no movement to
approach, I cautiously continued my retreat, always after a few
steps stopping to face him.

He stopped as I stopped, yet each time I turned away he came
quickly closer. I was already thinking of awaiting him without
further movement, when the way was blocked by a ravine.

It was cut by the stream that drained the valley, and its steep
sides were nearly fifteen feet in height. They even overhung in
places, but this I did not then know. I was in no mind to trust
myself in the deep gully, where the catamount might drop upon me
before I could scramble out upon the other side.

I walked into an open space, and took my stand close to a birch
that grew on the very edge of the bank. For thirty feet there was
no good cover for the catamount; so, armed and determined, I waited
his action.

The animal skirted the bushes about me, as if examining the ground,
and to my disappointment, began to come upon me along the edge of
the ravine. This gave him the best cover before his charge, and at
the same time assured him that the momentum of his rush would not
carry him tumbling into the gully. Always keeping too well
concealed for a good mark, he crept up behind a fallen tree, on the
near side of which a little bush grew, and flattened himself there,
watching me, I felt sure, and waiting, in the hope that he might
catch me off my guard.

I cannot describe how stealthy and noiseless and altogether perfect
his maneuvering was. Although the trees that grew about were all
small and the bushes bare, and although the white snow gave no
background for concealment, he covered himself so perfectly at one
time, and slipped in and out of sight so quickly at another, that
although I stood with revolver pointed and cocked, I could find no
opportunity for a shot.

As he circled for position he came ever nearer, and I could see at
one time the round head, with its short, pointed ears; at another
the long, sinuous, muscular body; but they moved so rapidly that
before I could shoot they were gone from sight.

All the time he made no sound but a little rustle. In his final
concealment I saw nothing of him but his tail, that twitched and
twitched and twitched.

At last I caught the glint of his pale green eye and fired. There
came a snarl from behind the bush, and it was dashed to one side
and the other, while round head and bared teeth and tawny body came
crashing through. I pulled trigger again, and the report sounded
muffled, and the smoke for an instant obscured the beast. All was
white, when, like a breath, it passed, and I saw the rushing
catamount not ten feet from me.

I had not time to fire or crouch, but with ready legs hurled myself
to one side, and threw my left arm around the tree that grew at the
edge of the bank. With an awful dread I felt the ground giving way
beneath me.

I dropped my knife and caught the tree closer, when it, too, leaned
to fall. It hung for a moment over the steep slope, and I could not
save myself. The frost had not clamped the over-hang to the solid
ground. The last fall rains had cut it under; the first spring thaw
would have brought it down, had not my weight been thrown upon it.

With a twist the tree and I fell together. I clutched my revolver
desperately, despite the sickening fear of the fall, and in my
grasp it exploded in mid air. Then I fell, and although my body
struck easily in the snow-covered ravine, my right hand had been
beaten against a sharp rock, and the birch was upon me so that I
could not move.

My legs were on the bank, and underneath the snow beneath my
shoulders I soon felt the ice, from which stones protruded. One
snow-covered rock received and supported my head. I lay upon my
right side, and my right hand, swinging in a curve, had struck with
force upon another stone, and lay upon the ice, the only part of my
body, except my head, which was free. My left arm was pressed close
to my side by the birch, which lay across my body and legs.

The weight was not so great but that I could have lifted it, could
I but have gained purchase. But I must at the same time lift my own
body, for my hips were lower than my feet, my shoulders lower than
my hips; and I could not gather ten pounds of force in that
position.

My fall confused me somewhat, and I could not at first feel
anything, either the pain in my hand or the danger I was in. I
noticed only the fine, powdery snow which, cast up by the fall,
settled upon me as I lay. Then I saw my arm, stretched out in front
of me, with a bloody hand at the end of it, and I came fully to
myself.

A pain shot from finger-tip to shoulder as I closed my hand tighter
upon the butt of the revolver. But I clenched my teeth and tried to
rise--tried twice more before I gave it up as hopeless. Then I
raised my hand and put it in a better position, propped upon a
stone.

The movements hurt me terribly, but I thought of the catamount,
which would surely not be satisfied with two bullets for its
breakfast. I was scarcely ready when the head of the beast was
thrust over the edge of the bank to look for me.

He saw, and gloated as a human enemy might have done. His savage
snarl was full of intelligence, and his slow approach was
deliberate torture. He stood for a moment in full view--then
slipped and slid down to the surface of the ice, where, ten yards
away, he stood and looked at me.

I saw his magnificent build, his superb muscular development, as
with his body in profile, his head turned toward me, he waited
before approaching, playing with my helplessness; but I was not
entirely helpless! With shaking hand I took aim; I could not use my
thumb to cock the revolver, but drew hard at the trigger, and the
hammer rose and fell.

My turn for gloating had come now, for the catamount was crying
with rage and pain. He fell writhing, striking with his forepaws at
the snow, and raising his head to snap at nothing; but this did not
last long. Slowly he dragged himself to a sitting posture, and I
could understand his plight and estimate my own danger.

My first two bullets had but torn his flesh. My last had broken his
back. He was paralyzed in his hind legs, as I have seen a deer, yet
he had many minutes to live, perhaps hours, and was strong and
angry enough to finish me. Painfully he started on that short
journey to me. With his forepaws, his claws digging the snow, he
began to drag himself toward me.

I could only wait. I had but one more shot, and wished to hold it
till he should be close; but my torn hand was weak, and the bruised
tendons had already begun to stiffen. Into that deep place, where
bank and trees overhung, the sun did not come, and I felt the cold
striking into my raw flesh. More than that, my weight upon my
shoulder began to cut off the blood from my arm. I felt pricking in
my flesh, my arm began to be numb, and I feared that I might not be
able to shoot.

If he could but hurry! He dragged himself at a snail's pace. It
would be so long before he came close that my hand would be
useless. Yet as he crawled directly at me, the mark was a poor one.
I saw with satisfaction that he would have to turn aside for one of
the rocks in his path. When at last he reached it, and began to
drag himself around it, he gave me my last chance.

I saw the space behind his shoulder, prayed that my bullet might
miss his ribs, summoned the last force at my almost dead hand, and
fired.

A little drift of air blew the smoke aside so quickly that I could
see the fur fly. He bit savagely at his side, but he crawled on
without stopping. From my numb hand the revolver fell without noise
in the snow--my fight was finished. He came on; he was only fifteen
feet away from me, when he stopped and coughed. Would he sink,
unable to move farther?

No; he started again! Although his legs dragged behind him,
impeding, although he left a red trail on the snow, and each step
forced a snarl from him, he came on. With glittering eyes and
hoarse breath, he forced himself to cross the last space. Minutes
passed before he was close enough to touch me.

Ah! Even as he turned toward my hand to seize it, even as I waited
to see, rather than feel, the crunching of my senseless arm, his
head drooped. He raised it once more, but his power was gone. He
laid his head, once so powerful, upon my hand, rested his body
against the stone, that stood high enough to support him, and
glared at me with his fierce, malignant eyes.

Then the fire changed in his eyes, clouded, flickered, glowed--went
out. The last breath was expelled with a wheeze. He was dead.

Then my own powers sank, and I thought that I was dying, too.
Somewhere in the midst of my faintness I had a sense as if I felt,
rather than heard, hasty, heavy footsteps on the bank above me. As
soon as I knew anything clearly, I knew that the tree had been
pulled away, and that Alaric was bending over me. He had, with ears
alert for any sound, and with footsteps kept as near to me as they
might be with obedience to my order, come rushing to my aid at the
sound at my first revolver-shot. But the distance was so great that
he did not arrive until my fight was over.




IN CANADA WITH A LYNX

By Roe L. Hendrick


This adventure came about through an invitation which Ray Churchill
received from his friend, Jacques Pourbiere of Two Rivers, New
Brunswick. Ray had half-promised to visit his New Brunswick
acquaintance during the deer-hunting season, and late in August was
reminded of the fact. A second letter came in September, the
carefully worded school English of the writer not being able to
conceal the warmth and urgency of the invitation.

So Ray telegraphed his acceptance, and four days later arrived at
Fredericton, where he secured a hunting license. The next morning
he reached Two Rivers, and Jacques met him with a span of ponies,
attached to a queer spring vehicle, mounted on wheels that seemed
out of all proportion to the body of the carriage. Ray wondered if
it was a relic of Acadia, but did not like to ask. They drove for a
dozen miles through a wooded and hilly country, and arrived at
their destination shortly before nightfall.

Jacques was quite alone at the time, as his parents had gone to
visit their older children along the St. John River. He promised
Ray at least one deer within a couple of days, and another within a
week.

The Pourbiere home resembled those of the better class of
_habitants_, but with a difference due to the greater prosperity
of the family in preceding generations. The main room had a huge
fireplace, used only occasionally, for there was an air-tight
stove connected with the chimney just above it, to afford
greater warmth in winter. The other rooms Were chiefly detached,
although there was an entry-like porch on the south front of the
living-room, and a huge door opening at the east end, both
connecting with the yard outside.

But the wood-shed, milk-house and summer kitchen were in the rear,
each being a rectangular building of heavy logs, with low lofts
above. The homestead was, in fact, a cluster of houses rather than
a single dwelling.

What most attracted Ray's attention were the huge bedsteads in the
living-room. They were tall four-posters, such as he had seen
elsewhere, but with the difference that a canopy covered them. Each
had a carved wooden frame, surmounting the top of the posts like a
roof. The wood was black with age, its surface being covered with
elaborate foliage and armorial devices, representing the toil of
some old French artisan of the seventeenth century. They probably
had been brought across the Atlantic by the original emigrant, and
carefully preserved ever since. They stood in diagonally opposite
corners of the room, and upheld the hugest of feather beds, with
gay, home-made worsted coverlets and valances that shamed the hues
of the rainbow. They certainly tempted to rest in that climate and
at that season, but would have seemed suffocating in a warmer
region.

That evening Ray said:

"See here, Jacques, you have double windows, with no way of opening
them that I can find, and your fireplace is closed to make a better
draft for this stove. I'm used to fresh air at night. If I leave
the end door ajar, you won't be afraid of burglars, will you?"

The Canadian shrugged his shoulders at this exhibition of his
guest's eccentricity, but his hospitality was more than equal to
the strain.

_"Non, non!"_ he replied. "Nobody rob. We nevaire lock doors
here," and his white teeth flashed.

Ray laughed softly as he thrust a billet of wood between the door
and its frame. "But why do you say 'br-r-r!' under your breath?" he
asked.

"Co-old before morning, ver' cold!"

"I know, but we'll be snug in bed, and won't feel it. You Canadians
wouldn't have so much consumption if you breathed purer air when
you slept."

_"Oui!"_ was the polite reply; and nothing more was said.

Long before dawn Ray sprang from bed, closed the door and stirred
up the fire. The moon, although low in the west, was still
brilliant when they made their way to where a stream trickled down
to Cedar Lake, and within a half-hour got their first deer, a fine
three-year-old buck.

They secured some smaller game during the morning, and in the
afternoon took the deer home, and skinned and dressed it. Most of
the carcass was hung up in the milk-room, but Jacques carried a
hind quarter in and suspended it beside the closed fireplace, later
cutting off steaks for supper and breakfast.

They passed a merry evening, each telling stories of his
experiences, which were so different in quality that they possessed
all the charm of novelty to the respective listeners. Again Ray set
the door ajar, after they had undressed, and in a few moments both
were asleep.

Several hours passed. Had either young man been awake, he might
have heard soft footfalls about the door. A squatty, heavily built
animal, with huge feet, bob tail, and pointed ears adorned with
tufts of hair, had traced the slaughtered deer to the farmhouse by
means of drops of blood, and now was searching eagerly for the
meat.

He sought the milk-room again and again, and even sprang to the
window-ledge, but could not get inside. Then he came back and
sniffed at the partly open door of the living-room.

The human smell was there, and he hesitated. But so, too, was the
odor of fresh venison, and his mouth watered.

A round head was thrust inside the door. The moon, peering above
the hemlocks to the southeastward, cast its rays through a window
directly upon the fresh meat.

The temptation was greater than the intruder was able to withstand.
Inch by inch he crowded past the swaying door, and silently crept
toward the venison. The two men were breathing very loudly, but
neither stirred; and at last he gathered supreme courage, and
leaped upon the meat.

It fell with a crash against the stove, and the two were awakened
simultaneously. As Jacques sprang from the bed, the animal backed,
dragging the quarter of venison toward the door. He collided with
it, knocking the billet of wood outside, and the latch fell into
place with a clash.

Finding himself a prisoner, the creature advanced, spitting and
growling, straight at Jacques, who, crying, _"Loup cervier! loup
cervier!"_ retreated to the bed.

But the pursuit did not end there. Seeing that the beast was about
to leap upon the bed, the Canadian hastily climbed one of the
posts, not a second too soon, and ensconced himself on the edge of
the canopy top, with his back pressed against the timbers of the
loft floor above.

Ray had been too much amazed to interfere at first, but now the
time seemed ripe to reopen the door and drive the lynx out. He made
a rush, but the angry creature turned and dashed at his legs so
viciously that in a couple of seconds he, too, found himself
perched precariously on the canopy of his own bed, with "prick-ears"
spitting and snarling on the coverlet.

"Can that beast climb up here, like a cat?" he asked, with no
little anxiety in his tones.

_"Oui,"_ was the reply, "he can; but _loup cerviers_ don'
climb mooch."

In a few moments the lynx went back to the venison, and began
eating it voraciously, only stopping to snarl when the young men
spoke or moved. The fire was very low, the room had been well
aired, and the two were thinly clad. Before long their teeth were
chattering.

"Eef Ah can get heem away from door, Ah'll roon an' get goon an'
feex heem!" Jacques said, with marked ill-will underlying his
quaint English. He clambered about the creaking canopy frame, which
threatened to collapse at any moment, till he reached the side
wall. Along this were suspended loops of onions. A big one hurtled
through the air and hit the intruder in the side. He whirled about
and dashed for the bed.

Babette, the family cat, had been concealed beneath this bed during
the preceding scrimmage. She now thrust out her head just in time
to be seen by the lynx, and the liveliest sort of chase about the
room ensued.

When hard pressed, she somehow reached a shelf close beside Ray,
climbed recklessly over him, her claws stabbing him in a dozen
places, and hid behind him. The lynx was thoroughly aroused, and
although clumsier and heavier, set out sturdily to follow.

Ray's hand fell on the shelf, and clutched a flat-iron, of which
there were a half-dozen in a row. Leaning forward, he struck the
oncomer a hard blow over the head. Prick-ears fell to the floor,
and rolled, writhing, struggling and half-stunned, under the bed.

"Now, Jacques, now!" Ray yelled. His host jumped, and was outside
the door in an instant. Ray grasped another flat-iron and waited.
The sound of struggling beneath the bed was unabated.

In five minutes he heard a plaintive voice calling outside:

"Where you put dem goons?"

"In the milk-room."

_"Oui,_ but where? Ah'm freezing!"

"I--I don't remember."

Jacques, saying many things in a _patois_ he had never learned
in the provincial school, went back to the milk-room. The lynx
ventured to show his head, and a flat-iron dented the floor close
beside it. Then the animal circled the room, dodged another
missile, and hid in a dark corner.

Ray could hear Jacques tossing things about in the obscurity of the
milk-room, but plainly finding no guns, and as plainly getting
colder every minute.

Something must be done at once. He clutched a flat-iron in each
hand, screwed his courage to the sticking point, and dropped to the
floor.

As he flung the door wide open, he heard the rasping of the lynx's
claws on the boards behind him. He dashed outside, threw both
flat-irons wildly at his pursuer, and jumped as far as he could to
one side. The lynx kept straight on, headed for the woods a few
rods away.

Jacques had found his gun at last. He took a flying shot in the
moonlight, hitting a tree at least a rod at the lynx's right. Then
the two went inside, enlivened the fire, and dressed as hastily as
possible.

"Consumption is bad, ver' bad for Canadians," said Jacques, a
half-hour later, picking his words with care.

Ray grinned, but made no reply.

"Night air is good; but Ah don' lak dese--dese beeg microbes eet
bring in."




SOLOMON'S GROUCH: THE STORY OF A BEAR

By Franklin W. Calkins


A pet grizzly bear had been for a number of years a feature
at Hartranft's. As a puny infant, barely able to crawl, Solomon,
as he was solemnly dubbed, was brought in off the Teton Mountains,
and as milk was scarcer than money at the horse-ranch, he was
aristocratically fed on malted milk.

On this expensive diet the cub throve amazingly. Good feeding was
continued after his weaning from the rubber nipple, and at the end
of three years Solomon had grown to be a fat wooly monster. He was
kept chained to a post in the warm season, and had an enclosed
stall in a big barn for his winter quarters. Ordinarily he was
good-natured, but he was a rough and not altogether safe
playfellow. The near-by bawling of cattle always aroused in him
ebullitions of rage.

"Solomon's got an awful grouch agin any noise bigger than what he
can make hisself," was the saying of the ranch hands.

When Joe Hartranft's sister, Mrs. Murray, and her two boys, Rufe
and Perry, came to the ranch to spend the month of June, Solomon
was promptly hustled into his stall in the barn. It was thought
best to have no boys fooling round the grizzly.

This would undoubtedly have been the safest disposition, but for an
oversight of the "stable boss." A big Percheron had been kept loose
in a closed stall adjoining Solomon's, and one day, when the bear's
voice was raised in remonstrance against his shrill neighing, he
had turned his heels loose against the partition which separated
them. His fierce battery had loosened two boards four or five feet
above the floor. And the cracks he made had gone unnoted, or at
least the mending had been neglected.

A few days after the visitors came, a fine shorthorn cow with a new
calf was turned into the barn for the day.

Men and work-horses were at work at the alfalfa-cutting, and the
bear and cow and calf were sole occupants of the barn when Rufe and
Perry mounted an outside ladder and entered its loft.

This loft, with its grain-bins, its huge empty space, its
cross-beams and braces, offered an attractive gymnasium. In one of
the bins, used chiefly for storage, they discovered a lot of
fishing-tackle, seines and spears of various sorts for taking the
salmon which annually ran up the Snake River and its tributaries.

They had ventured to drag out one of the seines and unroll it on
the floor of the loft, when the cow below them broke into
distressful bawling. Peering down a square aperture, through which
hay was lifted by machine forks in the season of storing, they saw
that the calf had got in between the wheels of two buggies which
were housed on one side of the driveway.

The feeble creature was stuck fast enough, and the helpless dam
could only bellow her distress. The boys, in spite of some fear of
the cow, would have gone down to extricate the calf, but at this
instant Solomon roused in his lair, and took a hand in the
demonstration.

His uproar became frightful as the cow, more than ever alarmed for
her calf, continued to bawl. There was a trap-door raised for
ventilation over Solomon's stall, and the boys ran eagerly to have
a look at the grizzly.

They were highly entertained for a moment. Hair on end, teeth
gnashing, Solomon charged back and forth in his enclosure. Then he
reared up on his hind legs and clawed at the pine planks which shut
him in. He had not long continued this performance when his claws
caught in the crack of a loosened board. There was a ripping creak
and a crash, and down came the board. Another followed, and
Solomon, ceasing his violent threats for the instant, peered
through a wide gap into another domain. His hesitation was brief;
he scrambled through, walked out of the open door of the
horse-stall into an alley, and sought wider range.

At first the boys were a little frightened, but they concluded that
Solomon would not be able to climb into the loft, and that it was
safer for them to stay above than to go down the ladder, for the
grizzly might easily push aside one of the half-dozen sliding doors
and get out of the barn.

The barn was at a considerable distance from the house, so they
determined not to alarm the women unless Solomon should get outside
and so make it necessary. They sat for a time listening to the
monotonous bawling of the cow. Solomon seemed to have lost interest
in her noise, as they heard him now and then rummaging among the
empty stalls.

They had begun to hope that the bear would not find his way out of
the stalls, when they heard him scrambling heavily.

Then came a resounding thump as he dropped from one of the open
mangers to the floor of the barn.

Almost instantly a terrific bawling and uproar broke out below.
Solomon had reached the cow at last. The boys ran to the edge of
the hay-lift and peered down. The cow was directly underneath, had
backed up against the buggies, and stood tossing her head and
bawling like a crazy thing.

Dropping their eyes below the level of the loft floor, the lads saw
Solomon coming round a pile of new alfalfa which had been unloaded
in front of the central stalls. His rage was terrific, although he
advanced slowly to the attack.

He came under the wide opening and swayed back and forth before the
cow like a tiger in its cage, roaring his threats and watching for
an opening to get by the lowered horns. He was a creature of
instinct, and with a veteran's precaution before a wicked pair of
horns.

Nevertheless the cow, in a lightning charge, caught him broadside
on, and bore him, in a swift rush, into the midst of the heap of
clover. But for that soft padding for his ribs, it would have gone
hard with Solomon. He was doubled up and thrust into the soft mass,
fighting wildly.

Bear and cow were buried in a storm of clover and flying hay. They
twisted about. Then the bear got his back braced against a stall
and his hind feet against the cow, and he bowled her into the
middle of the barn.

With a huge grunt she alighted on her side and rolled clean over.
As she scrambled to her feet, full of pluck and snorting fiercely,
Solomon issued from the midst of the alfalfa-heap, and again the
two faced each other, filling the barn with loudmouthed threats.

It was a splendid and exciting battle, but Rufe and Perry, certain
that the bear would kill the cow unless prevented, felt that they
must do something. They had heard their Uncle Joe say that, since
Solomon was getting crosser, he would give him away if anybody
could be found to come and get him.

Since nobody else was within reach, they cast about for some means
of distracting Solomon from his fell purpose. Better kill the bear,
if possible, than let him destroy a valuable farm animal. Suddenly,
as the bear came directly beneath, Perry bethought him of the
fish-spears.

In a twinkling he had one in hand, and was standing over the wide
aperture.

"That's it! That's it!" shouted Rufe. "Stab him! Stick it clear
into him! That'll keep him busy for a while!"

Solomon was again weaving back and forth before the threatening
horns, and as he came within easy reach, Perry gave him a fierce
thrust between the shoulders. As the tines pierced his muscles, the
bear reared to his hind legs with a whining roar of pain. Perry,
still clinging to the handle of the spear, was suddenly thrown off
his perch and tumbled head foremost upon the grizzly!

Thus the peril of breaking bones in falling was avoided in the
peril of rolling on the barn floor in the clutches of a mad
grizzly!

The bear had twisted his neck to seize the spear-handle, and when
Perry hit him, was bowled over on his side.

The spear-handle snapped in his teeth, and as he wrenched
frantically at the fragment, its tines were twisted, cutting deeper
into his flesh.

This wound, the first he had ever received, set Solomon crazy.

He paid not the slightest heed to boy or cow, but rolled and
threshed, biting at the fragment of spear-handle, giving vent to
his rage and pain in a hoarse, distressful roar.

Perry might easily have scrambled to his feet and escaped, but he
also was flung at full length on the floor, and instantly Solomon,
in distress, rolled over him, crushing the breath from his lungs.

The terrified Rufe, looking down upon his brother's blackened face
and the bear's wicked claws waving above it, leaped to his feet and
started to run to the barn-loft door, to scream for help.

At less than half the distance, his feet caught in the meshes of
the unrolled net, and he measured his length on the floor.

As he quickly untangled a foot, the thought flashed into his mind,
"Throw this net upon the bear's legs!" In a flash he was at the
edge of the open floor and hauling the big seine in coils at his
feet.

When he had a heap to the height of his knees he gathered it in his
arms and dropped the coils upon Solomon's waving legs.

The bear's claws took instant hold of the stout meshes, and bruin,
feeling his feet entangled, wrenched at their fastenings, rolling
himself over on his side and off the body of the prostrate boy.
Perry, well-nigh smothered, had barely strength enough to crawl out
of reach of the whirlwind fight which now took place.

Even the cow was awed to silence by the uproar of Solomon's rage as
he fought with the entangling folds of the salmon net.

The seine needed no attendance. It did its own work once the
grizzly's legs had been thrust through its meshes.

Coil after coil, the hundred and fifty feet of seine came down out
of the loft as the bear rolled and pitched and tumbled. The more he
tore and threshed, the more meshes there were to enwrap and
entangle him.

In five minutes from the time its first meshes dropped upon him,
the net had Solomon so wound and bound that his legs were
immovable, and he could barely wriggle his neck.

Perry soon recovered his breath, and before they ran to the field
to tell of Solomon's plight, the two boys had the presence of mind
to pen the cow up where she could not, should she take a notion,
gore the helpless grizzly.

Amid both laughter and commiseration, blended with comments on the
pluck of the two youngsters, the ranchmen performed a surgical
operation on the helpless Solomon, extracting the spear from his
flesh. With much greater difficulty they freed him from the seine
and got him back into his lair.



A DROLL FOX-TRAP

By C. A. Stephens

When I was a boy I lived in one of those rustic neighborhoods on
the outskirts of the great "Maine woods." Foxes were plenty, for
about all those sunny pioneer clearings birch-partridges breed by
thousands, as also field-mice and squirrels, making plenty of game
for Reynard.

There were red foxes, "cross-grays," and "silver-grays;" even black
foxes were reported. These animals were the pests of the
farm-yards, and made havoc with the geese, cats, turkeys, and
chickens. In the fall of the year, particularly after the frosts,
the clearings were overrun by them night and morning. Their sharp,
cur-like barks used often to rouse us, and of a dark evening we
would hear them out in the fields, "mousing" around the
stone-heaps, making a queer, squeaking sound like a mouse, to call
the real mice out of their grass nests inside the stone-heaps.
This, indeed, is a favorite trick of Reynard.

At the time of my story, my friend Tom Edwards (ten years of age)
and myself were in the turkey business, equal partners. We owned a
flock of thirty-one turkeys. These roosted by night in a large
butternut tree in front of Tom's house--in the very top of it, and
by day they wandered about the edges of the clearings in quest of
beech-nuts, which were very plentiful that fall.

All went well till the last week in October, when, on taking the
census one morning, a turkey was found to be missing; the
thirty-one had become thirty since nightfall the previous evening.
It was the first one we had lost.

We proceeded to look for traces. Our suspicions were divided. Tom
thought it was "the Twombly boys," nefarious Sam in particular. I
thought it might have been an owl. But under the tree, in the soft
dirt, where the potatoes had recently been dug, we found
fox-tracks, and two or three ominous little wads of feathers, with
one long tail feather adrift. Thereupon we concluded that the
turkey had accidentally fallen down out of the butternut--had a
fit, perhaps--and that its flutterings had attracted the attention
of some passing fox, which had, forthwith, taken it in charge. It
was, as we regarded it, one of those unfortunate occurrences which
no care on our part could have well foreseen, and a casualty such
as turkey-raisers are unavoidably heirs to, and we bore our loss
with resignation. We were glad to remember that turkeys did not
often fall off their roosts.

This theory received something of a check when our flock counted
only twenty-nine the next morning. There were more fox-tracks, and
a great many more feathers under the tree. This put a new and
altogether ugly aspect on the matter. No algebra was needed to
figure the outcome of the turkey business at this rate, together
with our prospective profits, in the light of this new fact. It was
clear that something must be done, and at once, too, or ruin would
swallow up the poultry firm.

Rightly or wrongly, we attributed the mischief to a certain
"silver-gray" that had several times been seen in the neighborhood
that autumn.

It would take far too much space to relate in detail the plans we
laid and put in execution to catch that fox during the next two
weeks. I recollect that we set three traps for him to no purpose,
and that we borrowed a fox-hound to hunt him with, but merely
succeeded in running him to the burrow in a neighboring rocky
hill-side, whence we found it quite impossible to dislodge the wily
fellow.

Meanwhile the fox (or foxes) had succeeded in getting two more of
the turkeys.

Heroes, it is said, are born of great crises. This dilemma of ours
developed Tom's genius.

"I'll have that fox," he said, when the traps failed; and when the
hound proved of no avail he still said: "I'll have him yet."

"But how?" I asked. Tom said he would show me. He brought a
two-bushel basket and went out into the fields. In the stone-heaps,
and beside the old logs and stumps, there were dozens of deserted
mouse-nests, each a wad of fine dry grass as large as a quart box.
These were gathered up, and filled the great basket.

"There," said he, triumphantly, "don't them smell _mousey_?"

They did, certainly; they savored as strongly of mice as Tom's
question of bad grammar.

"And don't foxes catch mice?" demanded Tom, confidently.

"Yes, but I don't see how that's going to catch the fox," I said.

"Well, look here, then, I'll show ye," said he. "Play you's the
fox; and play 't was night, and you was prowling around the fields.
Go off now out there by that stump."

Full of wonder and curiosity, I retired to the stump. Tom,
meantime, turned out the mass of nests, and with it completely
covered himself. The pile now resembled an enormous mouse-nest, or
rather a small hay-cock. Pretty soon I heard a low, high-keyed,
squeaking noise, accompanied by a slight rustle inside the nest.
Evidently there were mice in it; and, feeling my character as fox
at stake, I at once trotted forward, then crept up, and, as the
rustling and squeaking continued, made a pounce into the grass--as
I had heard it said that foxes did when mousing. Instantly two spry
brown hands from out the nest clutched me with a most vengeful
grip. As a fox, I struggled tremendously. But Tom overcame me
forthwith, choked me nearly black in the face, then, in dumb show,
knocked my head with a stone.

"D'ye see, now!" he demanded.

I saw.

"But a fox would bite you," I objected.

"Let him bite," said Tom. "I'll resk him when once I get these two
bread-hooks on him. And he can't smell me through the mouse-nests
either."

That night we set ourselves to put the stratagem in operation. With
the dusk we stole out into the field where the stone-heaps were,
and where we had oftenest heard foxes bark. Selecting a nook in the
edge of a clump of raspberry briars which grew about a great
pine-stump, Tom lay down, and I covered him up completely with the
contents of the big basket. He then practiced squeaking and
rustling several times to be sure that all was in good trim. His
squeaks were perfect successes--made by sucking the air sharply
betwixt his teeth.

"Now be off," said Tom, "and don't come poking around, nor get in
sight, till you hear me holler."

Thus exhorted, I went into the barn and established myself at a
crack on the back side, which looked out upon the field where Tom
was ambushed.

Tom, meanwhile, as he afterward told me, waited till it had grown
dark, then began squeaking and rustling at intervals, to draw the
attention of the fox when first he should come out into the
clearing, for foxes have ears so wonderfully acute, that they are
able to hear a mouse squeak twenty rods away, it is said.

An hour passed. Tom must have grown pretty tired of squeaking. It
was a moonless evening, though not very dark. I could see objects
at a little distance through the crack, but could not see so far as
the stump. It got rather dull, watching there; and being amidst
nice cozy straw, I presently went to sleep, quite unintentionally.
I must have slept some time, though it seemed to me but a very few
minutes.

What woke me was a noise--a sharp suppressed yelp. It took me a
moment to understand where I was, and why I was there. A sound of
scuffling and tumbling on the ground at some distance assisted my
wandering wits, and I rushed out of the barn and ran toward the
field. As I ran, two or three dull whacks came to my ear.

"Got him, Tom?" I shouted, rushing up.

Tom was holding and squeezing one of his hands with the other and
shaking it violently. He said not a word, and left me to poke about
and stumble on the limp warm carcass of a large fox that lay near.

"Bite ye?" I exclaimed, after satisfying myself that the fox was
dead.

"Some," said Tom; and that was all I could get from him that night.

We took the fox to the house and lighted a candle. It was the
"silver-gray."

Tom washed his bite in cold water and went to bed. Next morning he
was in a sorry and a very sore plight. His left hand was bitten
through the palm, and badly swollen. There was also a deep bite in
the fleshy part of his right arm, just below the elbow, several
minor nips in his left leg above the knee, and a ragged "grab" in
the chin. These numerous bites, however, were followed by no
serious ill effects.

The next day, Tom told me that the fox had suddenly plunged into
the grass, that he had caught hold of one of its hind legs, and
that they had rolled over and over in the grass together. He owned
to me that when the fox bit him on the chin, he let go of the
brute, and would have given up the fight, but that the fox had then
actually attacked him. "Upon that," said Tom, "I just determined to
have it out with him."

Considering the fact that a fox is a very active, sharp-biting
animal, and that this was an unusually large male, I have always
thought Tom got off very well. I do not think that he ever cared to
make a fox-trap of himself again, however.

We sold the fox-skin in the village, and received thirteen dollars
for it, whereas a common red fox-skin is worth no more than three
dollars.

How, or by what wiles that fox got the turkeys out of the high
butternut, is a secret--one that perished with him. It would seem
that he must either have climbed the tree, or else have practiced
sorcery to make the turkey come down.



THE HORSE THAT AROUSED THE TOWN

By Lillian M. Gask

A wise and just monarch was the good King John. His kingdom
extended over Central Italy, and included the famous town of Atri,
which in days gone by had been a famous harbour on the shores of
the Adriatic. Now the sea had retreated from it, and it lay inland;
no longer the crested waves rolled on its borders, or tossed their
showers of silver spray to meet the vivid turquoise of the sky.

The great desire of good King John was that every man, woman and
child in his dominions should be able to obtain justice without
delay, be they rich or poor. To this end, since he could not
possibly listen to all himself, he hung a bell in one of the city
towers, and issued a proclamation to say that when this was rung a
magistrate would immediately proceed to the public square and
administer justice in his name. The plan worked admirably; both
rich and poor were satisfied, and since they knew that evil-doers
would be quickly punished, and wrongs set right, men hesitated to
defraud or oppress their neighbours, and the great bell pealed less
often as years went on.

In the course of time, however, the bell-rope wore thin, and some
ingenious citizen fastened a wisp of hay to it, that this might
serve as a handle. One day in the height of summer, when the
deserted square was blazing with sunlight, and most of the citizens
were taking their noonday rest, their siesta was disturbed by the
violent pealing of the bell.

"Surely some great injustice has been done," they cried, shaking
off their languor and hastening to the square. To their amazement
they found it empty of all human beings save themselves; no angry
supplicant appealed for justice, but a poor old horse, lame and
half blind, with bones that nearly broke through his skin, was
trying with pathetic eagerness to eat the wisp of hay. In
struggling to do this, he had rung the bell, and the judge,
summoned so hastily for so slight a cause, was stirred to
indignation.

"To whom does this wretched horse belong?" he shouted wrathfully.
"What business has it here?"

"Sir, he belongs to a rich nobleman, who lives in that splendid
palace whose tall towers glisten white above the palm-grove," said
an old man, coming forward with a deep bow. "Time was that he bore
his master to battle, carrying him dauntlessly amid shot and shell,
and more than once saving his life by his courage and fleetness.
When the horse became old and feeble, he was turned adrift, since
his master had no further use for him; and now the poor creature
picks up what food he can in highways and byways."

On hearing this the judge's face grew dark with anger. "Bring his
master before me," he thundered, and when the amazed nobleman
appeared, he questioned him more sternly than he would have done
the meanest peasant.

"Is it true," he demanded, "that you left this, your faithful
servant, to starve, since he could no longer serve you? It is long
since I heard of such gross injustice--are you not ashamed?"

The nobleman hung his head in silence; he had no word to say in his
own defence as with scathing contempt the judge rebuked him, adding
that in future he would neglect the horse at his peril.

"For the rest of his life," he said, "you shall care for the poor
beast as he deserves, so that after his long term of faithful
service he may end his days in peace."

This decision was greeted with loud applause by the town folk, who
gathered in the square.

"Our bell is superior to all others," they said to each other, with
nods and smiles, "for it is the means of gaining justice, not only
for men, but for animals too in their time of need."

And with shouts of triumph they led the old war-horse back to his
stable, knowing that for the future its miserly owner would not
dare to begrudge it the comfort to which it was so justly entitled.



WHAT GINGER TOLD BLACK BEAUTY

By Anna Sewell

One day when Ginger and I were standing alone in the shade, we had
a great deal of talk; she wanted to know all about my bringing up
and breaking in, and I told her.

"Well," said she, "if I had had your bringing up, I might have had
as good a temper as you, but now I don't believe I ever shall."

"Why not?" I said.

"Because it has been all so different with me," she replied. "I
never had any one, horse or man, that was kind to me, or that I
cared to please, for in the first place I was taken from my mother
as soon as I was weaned, and put with a lot of other young colts;
none of them cared for me, and I cared for none of them. There was
no kind master like yours to look after me, and talk to me, and
bring me nice things to eat. The man that had the care of us never
gave me a kind word in my life. I do not mean that he ill-used me,
but he did not care for us one bit further than to see that we had
plenty to eat, and shelter in the winter. A footpath ran through
our field and very often the great boys passing through would fling
stones to make us gallop. I was never hit, but one fine young colt
was badly cut in the face, and I should think it would be a scar
for life. We did not care for them, but of course it made us more
wild, and we settled it in our minds that boys were our enemies. We
had very good fun in the free meadows, galloping up and down and
chasing each other round and round the field; then standing still
under the shade of the trees. But when it came to breaking in, that
was a bad time for me; several men came to catch me, and when at
last they closed me in at one corner of the field, one caught me by
the forelock, another caught me by the nose and held it so tight I
could hardly draw my breath; then another took my under jaw in his
hard hand and wrenched my mouth open, and so by force they got on
the halter and the bar into my mouth; then one dragged me along by
the halter, another flogging behind, and this was the first
experience I had of men's kindness; it was all force. They did not
give me a chance to know what they wanted. I was high bred and had
a great deal of spirit and was very wild, no doubt, and gave them,
I dare say, plenty of trouble, but then it was dreadful to be shut
up in a stall day after day instead of having my liberty, and I
fretted and pined and wanted to get loose. You know yourself it's
bad enough when you have a kind master and plenty of coaxing, but
there was nothing of that sort for me.

"There was one--the old master, Mr. Ryder--who, I think, could soon
have brought me round, and could have done anything with me; but he
had given up all the hard part of the trade to his son and to
another experienced man, and he only came at times to oversee. His
son was a strong, tall, bold man; they called him Samson, and he
used to boast that he had never found a horse that could throw him.
There was no gentleness in him, as there was in his father, but
only hardness, a hard voice, a hard eye, a hard hand; and I felt
from the first that what he wanted was to wear all the spirit out
of me, and just make me into a quiet, humble, obedient piece of
horse-flesh. 'Horse-flesh!' Yes, that is all that he thought
about," and Ginger stamped her foot as if the very thought of him
made her angry. Then she went on:

"If I did not do exactly what he wanted, he would get put out, and
make me run round with that long rein in the training field till he
had tired me out. I think he drank a good deal, and I am quite sure
that the oftener he drank the worse it was for me. One day he had
worked me hard in every way he could, and when I lay down I was
tired, and miserable, and angry; it all seemed so hard. The next
morning he came for me early, and ran me round again for a long
time. I had scarcely had an hour's rest, when he came again for me
with a saddle and bridle and a new kind of bit. I could never quite
tell how it came about; he had only just mounted me on the training
ground, when something I did put him out of temper, and he chucked
me hard with the rein. The new bit was very painful, and I reared
up suddenly, which angered him still more, and he began to flog me.
I felt my whole spirit set against him, and I began to kick, and
plunge, and rear as I had never done before, and we had a regular
fight; for a long time he stuck, to the saddle and punished me
cruelly with his whip and spurs, but my blood was thoroughly up,
and I cared for nothing he could do if only I could get him off. At
last, after a terrible struggle, I threw him off backwards. I heard
him fall heavily on the turf, and, without looking behind me, I
galloped off to the other end of the field; there I turned round
and saw my persecutor slowly rising from the ground and going into
the stable. I stood under an oak tree and watched, but no one came
to catch me. The time went on, and the sun was very hot; the flies
swarmed round me and settled on my bleeding flanks where the spurs
had dug in. I felt hungry, for I had not eaten since the early
morning, but there was not enough grass in that meadow for a goose
to live on. I wanted to lie down and rest, but with the saddle
strapped tightly on, there was no comfort, and there was not a drop
of water to drink. The afternoon wore on, and the sun got low. I
saw the other colts led in, and I knew they were having a good
feed.

"At last, just as the sun went down, I saw the old master come out
with a sieve in his hand. He was a very fine old gentleman with
quite white hair, but his voice was what I should know him by
amongst a thousand. It was not high, nor yet low, but full, and
clear, and kind, and when he gave orders it was so steady and
decided, that every one knew, both horses and men, that he expected
to be obeyed. He came quietly along, now and then shaking the oats
about that he had in the sieve, and speaking cheerfully and gently
to me: 'Come along, lassie, come along, lassie; come along, come
along.' I stood still and let him come up; he held the oats to me,
and I began to eat without fear; his voice took all my fear away.
He stood by, patting and stroking me whilst I was eating, and
seeing the clots of blood on my side he seemed very vexed. 'Poor
lassie! it was a bad business, a bad business!' Then he quietly
took the rein and led me to the stable; just at the door stood
Samson. I laid my ears back and snapped at him. 'Stand back,' said
the master, 'and keep out of her way; you've done a bad day's work
for this filly.' He growled out something about a vicious brute.
'Hark ye,' said the father, 'a bad-tempered man will never make a
good-tempered horse. You've not learned your trade yet, Samson.'
Then he led me into my box, took off the saddle and bridle with his
own hands, and tied me up; then he called for a pail of warm water
and a sponge, took off his coat, and while the stableman held the
pail, he sponged my sides a good while, so tenderly that I was sure
he knew how sore and bruised they were. 'Whoa! my pretty one,' he
said, 'stand still, stand still.' His very voice did me good, and
the bathing was very comfortable. The skin was so broken at the
corners of my mouth that I could not eat the hay; the stalks hurt
me. He looked closely at it, shook his head, and told the man to
fetch a good bran mash and put some meal into it. How good that
mash was! and so soft and healing to my mouth. He stood by all the
time I was eating, stroking me and talking to the man. 'If a
highmettled creature like this,' said he, 'can't be broken in by
fair means, she will never be good for anything.'

"After that he often came to see me, and when my mouth was healed,
the other breaker, Job, they called him, went on training me; he
was steady and thoughtful, and I soon learned what he wanted."



SOME TRUE STORIES OP HORSES AND DONKEYS

By W. H. G. Kingston

The horse becomes the willing servant of man, and when kindly
treated looks upon him as a friend and protector.

I have an interesting story to tell you of a mare which belonged to
Captain I--, an old settler in New Zealand. She and her foal had
been placed in a paddock, between which and her master's residence,
three or four miles away, several high fences intervened. The
paddock itself was surrounded by a still higher fence.

One day, however, as Captain I--was standing with a friend in front
of his house, he was surprised to see the mare come galloping up.
Supposing that the fence of her paddock had been broken down, and
that, pleased at finding herself at liberty, she had leaped the
others, he ordered a servant to take her back. The mare willingly
followed the man; but in a short time was seen galloping up towards
the house in as great a hurry as before. The servant, who arrived
some time afterwards, assured his master that he had put the mare
safely into the paddock. Captain I--told him again to take back the
animal, and to examine the fence more thoroughly, still believing
that it must have been broken down in some part or other, though
the gate might be secure.

Captain I--and his friend then retired into the house, and were
seated at dinner, when the sound of horse's hoofs reached their
ears. The friend, who had on this got up to look out of the window,
saw that it was the mare come back for the third time; and
observing the remarkable manner in which she was running up and
down, apparently trying even to get into the house, exclaimed,
"What can that mare want? I am sure that there is something the
matter." Captain I--on hearing this hurried out to ascertain the
state of the case. No sooner did the mare see him than she began to
frisk about and exhibit the most lively satisfaction; but instead
of stopping to receive the accustomed caress, off she set again of
her own accord towards the paddock, looking back to ascertain
whether her master was following. His friend now joined him, and
the mare, finding that they were keeping close behind her, trotted
on till the gate of the paddock was reached, where she waited for
them. On its being opened, she led them across the field to a deep
ditch on the farther side, when, what was their surprise to find
that her colt had fallen into it, and was struggling on its back
with its legs in the air, utterly unable to extricate itself. In a
few minutes more probably it would have been dead. The mare, it was
evident, finding that the servant did not comprehend her wishes,
had again and again sought her master, in whom she had learned from
past experience to confide. Here was an example of strong maternal
affection eliciting a faculty superior to instinct, which fully
merits the name of reason.

[Illustration: GINGER AND I WERE STANDING ALONE IN THE SHADE
    _From the painting by Maude Scrivener_]

The memory of horses is remarkable. The newsman of a country paper
was in the habit of riding his horse once or twice a week to the
houses of fifty or sixty of his customers, the horse invariably
stopping of his own accord at each house as he reached it.

But the memory of the horse was exhibited in a still more curious
manner. It happened that there were two persons on the route who
took one paper between them, and each claimed the privilege of
having it first on each alternate week. The horse soon became
accustomed to this regulation, and though the parties lived two
miles distant, he stopped once a fortnight at the door of the
half-customer at one place, and once a fortnight at the door of the
half-customer at the other; and never did he forget this
arrangement, which lasted for several years.

I was once travelling in the interior of Portugal with several
companions. My horse had never been in that part of the country
before. We left our inn at daybreak, and proceeded through a
mountainous district to visit some beautiful scenery. On our return
evening was approaching, when I stopped behind my companions to
tighten the girths of my saddle. Believing that there was only one
path to take, I rode slowly on, but shortly reached a spot where I
was in some doubt whether I should go forward or turn off to the
left. I shouted, but heard no voice in reply, nor could I see any
trace of my friends. Darkness was coming rapidly on. My horse
seeming inclined to take the left hand, I thought it best to let
him do so. In a short time the sky became overcast, and there was
no moon. The darkness was excessive. Still my steed stepped boldly
on. So dense became the obscurity, that I could not see his ears;
nor could I, indeed, distinguish my own hand held out at
arms-length. I had no help for it but to place the reins on my
horse's neck and let him go forward.

We had heard of robberies and murders committed; and I knew that
there were steep precipices, down which, had my horse fallen, we
should have been dashed to pieces. Still the firm way in which he
trotted gave me confidence. Hour after hour passed by. The darkness
would, at all events, conceal me from the banditti, if such were in
wait--that was one consolation; but then I could not tell where my
horse might be taking me. It might be far away from where I hoped
to find my companions.

At length I heard a dog bark, and saw a light twinkling far down
beneath me, by which I knew that I was still on the mountain-side.
Thus on my steady steed proceeded, till I found that he was going
along a road, and I fancied I could distinguish the outlines of
trees on either hand. Suddenly he turned on one side, when my hat
was nearly knocked off by striking against the beam of a trellised
porch, covered with vines; and to my joy I found that he had
brought me up to the door of the inn which we had left in the
morning.

My companions, trusting to their human guide, had not arrived,
having taken a longer though safer route. My steed had followed the
direct path over the mountains which we had pursued in the morning.

Another horse of mine, which always appeared a gentle animal, and
which constantly carried a lady, was, during my absence, ridden by
a friend with spurs. On my return, I found that he had on several
occasions attacked his rider, when dismounted, with his fore-feet,
and had once carried off the rim of his hat. From that time forward
he would allow no one to approach him if he saw spurs on his heels;
and I was obliged to blindfold him when mounting and dismounting,
as he on several occasions attacked me as he had done my friend.

A horse was shut up in a paddock near Leeds, in a corner of which
stood a pump with a tub beneath it.

The groom, however, often forgot to fill the tub, the horse having
thus no water to drink. The animal had observed the way in which
water was procured, and one night, when the tub was empty, was seen
to take the pump handle in his mouth, and work it with his head
till he had procured as much water as he required.

A remarkable instance of a horse saving human life occurred some
years ago at the Cape of Good Hope. A storm was raging when a
vessel, dragging her anchors, was driven on the rocks and speedily
dashed to pieces. Many of those on board perished. The remainder
were seen clinging to the wreck, or holding on to the fragments
which were washing to and fro amid the breakers. No boat could put
off. When all hope had gone of saving the unfortunate people, a
settler, somewhat advanced in life, appeared on horseback on the
shore. His horse was a bold and strong animal, and noted for
excelling as a swimmer. The farmer, moved with compassion for the
unfortunate seamen, resolved to attempt saving them. Fixing himself
firmly in the saddle, he pushed into the midst of the breakers. At
first both horse and rider disappeared; but soon they were seen
buffeting the waves, and swimming towards the wreck. Calling two of
the seamen, he told them to hold on by his boots; then turning his
horse's head, he brought them safely to land.

No less than seven times did he repeat this dangerous exploit, thus
saving fourteen lives. For the eighth time he plunged in, when,
encountering a formidable wave, the brave man lost his balance, and
was instantly overwhelmed. The horse swam safely to shore; but his
gallant rider, alas! was no more.

Some horses in the county of Limerick, which were pastured in a
field, broke bounds like a band of unruly schoolboys, and
scrambling through a gap which they had made in a fence, found
themselves in a narrow lane. Along the quiet by-road they galloped
helter-skelter, at full speed, snorting and tossing their manes in
the full enjoyment of their freedom, but greatly to the terror of a
party of children who were playing in the lane. As the horses were
seen tearing wildly along, the children scrambled up the bank into
the hedge, and buried themselves in the bushes, regardless of
thorns,--with the exception of one poor little thing, who, too
small to run, fell down on its face, and lay crying loudly in the
middle of the narrow way.

On swept the horses; but when the leader of the troop saw the
little child lying in his path, he suddenly stopped, and so did the
others behind him. Then stooping his head, he seized the infant's
clothes with his teeth, and carefully lifted it to the side of the
road, laying it gently and quite unhurt on the tender grass.

He and his companions then resumed their gallop in the lane,
unconscious of having performed a remarkable act.

We have no less an authority than Dr. Franklin to prove that
donkeys enjoy music.

The mistress of a chateau in France where he visited had an
excellent voice, and every time she began to sing, a donkey
belonging to the establishment invariably came near the window, and
listened with the greatest attention. One day, during the
performance of a piece of music which apparently pleased it more
than any it had previously heard, the animal, quitting its usual
post outside the window, unceremoniously entered the room, and, to
exhibit its satisfaction, began to bray with all its might.

Donkeys sometimes exert their ingenuity to their own advantage. A
certain ass had his quarters in a shed, in front of which was a
small yard. On one side of the yard was a kitchen garden, separated
from it by a wall, in which was a door fastened by two bolts and a
latch. The owner of the premises one morning, in taking a turn
round his garden, observed the footprints of an ass on the walks
and beds. "Surely some one must have left the door open at night,"
thought the master. He accordingly took care to see that it was
closed.

Again, however, he found that the ass had visited the garden.

The next night, curious to know how this had happened, he watched
from a window overlooking the yard. At first he kept a light
burning near him. The ass, however, remained quietly at his stall.
After a time, to enable him to see the better, he had it removed,
when what was his surprise to see the supposed stupid donkey come
out of the shed, go to the door, and, rearing himself on his
hind-legs, unfasten the upper bolt of the door with his nose. This
done, he next withdrew the lower bolt; then lifted the latch, and
walked into the garden. He was not long engaged in his foraging
expedition, and soon returned with a bunch of carrots in his mouth.
Placing them in his shed, he went back and carefully closed the
door and began at his ease to munch the provender he had so
adroitly got possession of.

The owner, suspecting that people would not believe his story,
invited several of his neighbours to witness the performance of the
ass. Not till the light, however, had been taken away, would the
creature commence his operations, evidently conscious that he was
doing wrong.

A lock was afterwards put on the door, which completely baffled the
ingenuity of the cunning animal.



"OLD MUSTARD": A TALE OF THE WESTERN PIONEERS

By E. W. Frentz

When Grandmother Lane was a little girl her father came in one day
and said, "Wife, it is all settled at last. I have sold the farm.
Next week we will start West. There is a large company going from
here, and we must try to get ready to go with them."

Little Mary, as grandmother was then called, heard the news with
great delight, because she knew it would mean a long, long journey,
lasting months, and carrying them into a new country, where there
was never any cold weather and where great crops could be raised
without much hard work, and there would always be plenty to eat.
Besides, her family was not going alone, but many other families
whom they knew were going at the same time, so that she would have
some of her playmates with her all the way.

It was a wonderful sight when the great day came at last, and the
long wagon-train set out. In all there were more than forty wagons,
some drawn by four or six horses, and some by as many as eight big
oxen. And such strange wagons! They were more like little houses on
wheels, only instead of a roof there was a high frame overhead made
of hoops, and covered with canvas, so it made a sort of tent to
ride in by day, if you wished, and to sleep in at night. And from
these hoops hung all sorts of things--hams and pieces of bacon,
strips of dried pumpkin, pans to cook in, and clothes. Underneath
the big wagon, outside, swung the great kettles, in which the
larger things were cooked, and axes, and ropes and chains for
pulling the wagons out when they got stuck in the mud.

To little Mary it was all new and delightful. The big wagons
squeaked and groaned and swayed from side to side till the hams
hanging from the frame overhead would swing back and forth like the
pendulum of a clock. There were the shouts of the men to the horses
and oxen, the barking of the dogs that ran along the side of the
trail, the sharp cracking of the drivers' whips, and the
_ting-tang_ of the iron kettles swinging against each other.
And always they were passing through places that were new and
seeing things that were fresh and strange.

The wagon of Mr. Harding--that was grandmother's father--was drawn
by four oxen, but of them, known as Jerry, began to show signs of
sickness when they had been on the road a few days. The men gave
him medicine and doctored him all they could, but he seemed to grow
weaker all the time instead of better, and one morning, when they
went to yoke the oxen to the wagon, they found him dead.

For a day or two they went on with only three oxen. Then Mr.
Harding met a trader who was willing to sell him a pet ox that he
called "Old Mustard," to take the place of Jerry.

It was a very funny-looking ox, indeed, not like any that Mary or
anybody in her family had ever seen before. He had a very large,
round head, with shaggy hair matted on top, and on his back was a
large hump. In color he was a dirty yellow all over. That is why
the trader called him Mustard.

"He isn't very pretty," said the trader, "but he is strong and
good-natured, and will pull more than any ox of his size that I
ever saw. Besides, he will get on with less grass and less water.
He is a half-buffalo--he shows that in his huge head and shoulders.
For this reason he will be worth more to you than any scout or
watch-dog; he can smell Indians a mile away, and will fight them on
sight." Mr. Harding did not quite like to buy so strange an animal,
but he must get another ox somewhere, and so he took Old Mustard.

By the end of the first day he was very glad he had done so, for
the funny-looking yellow creature took its place at the tongue of
the cart and pulled steadily and well. And every day after that he
did his work faithfully, and seemed never to be sick or to feel
tired.

By the end of the fourth week the wagon-train had entered a country
where the Indians were known to be on the war-path, and trouble was
expected. They even found the remains of three partly burned
wagons.

Great care was now taken to send scouts ahead during the day and to
prepare the camp for defense at night.

The first thing that was done as soon as the stop was made for the
night was to "park" all the wagons, as they called it. The big
ox-carts were placed in a great circle and chained one to another.
Sometimes the cattle were picketed outside, to graze, with men
armed with guns to watch them, and sometimes they were driven
inside. But always the camp-fires were built in the circle, and
round them the different families gathered to cook and eat their
supper.

One night, when the wagons had been parked and every one had eaten
supper and gone to sleep, Old Mustard began to act very strangely.
At first he tossed his head and blew hard through his nostrils;
then he began to move about uneasily as far as his rope would let
him, and to snort and paw the ground.

When one of the guards went near him he turned upon him a pair of
eyes that were bright green and shiny. At last Mr. Harding happened
to think what the trader had told him.

"Do you suppose it can be that he scents Indians?" he asked one of
the other men.

"It may be," he said. "It is sure that he is excited over
something. Perhaps we had better be on the safe side and wake the
men."

Quietly Mr. Harding went from wagon to wagon, rousing the sleepers.
He had hardly finished when Old Mustard, with a terrible roar,
snapped the rope that held him, dashed to the edge of the circle,
leaped a cart-tongue, and thundered away into the darkness. Almost
instantly there came a scream and then the rushing charge of Indian
riders.

They were met by the men of the party, now all prepared for them
and protected by the circle of wagons. And finding that their
attack had been discovered too soon, the Indians drew off after the
first rush.

By the earliest flush of daylight a searching-party went out from
camp. It came upon poor Old Mustard grazing about, and not far away
lay an Indian trampled into the dust. The Indian was the foremost
of the band that was quietly creeping up on the camp when Old
Mustard had scented them, and not only given warning, but surprised
and killed the leader.



CARLO, THE SOLDIERS' DOG

By General Rush C. Hawkins

The Ninth New York Volunteers was organized in April, 1861, in the
City of New York. Two of the companies were made up of men from
outside the city. C was composed of men from Hoboken and Paterson,
New Jersey, and G marched into the regimental headquarters fully
organized from the town of Fort Lee in that State. With this last
named company came Carlo, the subject of this sketch.

When he joined the regiment, he had passed beyond the period of
puppyhood and was in the full flush of dogly beauty. He was large,
not very large,--would probably have turned the scales at about
fifty pounds. His build was decidedly "stocky," and, as horsey men
would say, his feet were well under him; his chest was broad and
full, back straight, color a warm dark brindle, nose and lips very
black, while he had a broad, full forehead and a wonderful pair of
large, round, soft, dark-brown eyes. Add to this description an air
of supreme, well-bred dignity, and you have an idea of one of the
noblest animals that ever lived.

His origin was obscure; one camp reunion asserted that he was born
on board of a merchant ship while his mother was making a passage
from Calcutta to New York; and another told of a beautiful mastiff
living somewhere in the State of New Jersey that had the honor of
bringing him into the world. It would be very interesting to know
something of the parentage of our hero, but since the facts
surrounding his birth are unattainable, we must content ourselves
with telling a portion of a simple story of a good and noble life.
It may be safe to assert that he was not a native American; if he
had been, he would have provided himself with the regulation
genealogical tree and family coat-of-arms.

During the first part of his term of service, Carlo was very loyal
to his company, marched, messed, and slept with it; but he was not
above picking up, here and there, from the mess tents of the other
companies a tid-bit, now and then, which proved acceptable to a
well-appointed digestion.

His first turn on guard was performed as a member of the detail
from Co. G, and always afterward, in the performance of that duty,
he was most faithful. No matter who else might be late, he was ever
on time when the call for guard mount was sounded, ready to go out
with his own particular squad. At first, he would march back to
company quarters with the old detail, but, as soon as he came to
realize the value and importance of guard duty, he made up his mind
that his place was at the guard tent and on the patrol beat, where
he could be of the greatest service in watching the movements of
the enemy.

In the performance of his duties as a member of the guard he was
very conscientious and ever on the alert. No stray pig, wandering
sheep, or silly calf could pass in front of his part of the line
without being investigated by him. It is possible that his
vigilance in investigating intruding meats was sharpened by the
hope of substantial recognition in the way of a stray rib extracted
from the marauding offender whose ignorance of army customs in time
of war had brought it too near our lines.

As a rule, Carlo, what with his guard duties and other purely
routine items, managed to dispose of the day until dress parade. At
that time he appeared at his best, and became the regimental dog.

No officer or soldier connected with the command more fully
appreciated "The pomp and circumstance of great and glorious war"
than he. As the band marched out to take position previous to
playing for the companies to assemble, he would place himself
alongside the drum-major, and, when the signal for marching was
given, would move off with stately and solemn tread, with head well
up, looking straight to the front. Upon those great occasions, he
fully realized the dignity of his position, and woe betide any
unhappy other dog that happened to get in front of the marching
band. When upon the parade field, he became, next to the colonel,
the commanding officer, and ever regarded himself as the regulator
of the conduct of those careless and frivolous dogs, that go
about the world like street urchins, having no character for
respectability or position in society to sustain.

Of those careless ne'er-do-wells the company had accumulated a very
large following. As a rule, they were harmless and companionable,
and were always on hand ready for a free lunch. It was only on
dress parade that they made themselves over-officious. Each company
was attended to the parade ground by its particular family of
canine companions, and, when all of them had assembled, the second
battalion of the regiment would make itself known by a great
variety of jumpings, caperings, barks of joy, and cries of delight.
To this unseasonable hilarity Carlo seriously objected, and his
actions plainly told the story of his disgust at the conduct of the
silly members of his race. He usually remained a passive observer
until the exercise in the manual of arms, at which particular
period in the ceremonies, the caperings and the barkings would
become quite unendurable. Our hero would then assume the character
of a preserver of the peace. He would make for the nearest group of
revellers, and, in as many seconds, give a half dozen or more of
them vigorous shakes, which would set them to howling, and warn the
others of the thoughtless tribe of an impending danger. Immediately
the offenders would all scamper to another part of the field, and
remain quiet until the dress parade was over. This duty was
self-imposed and faithfully performed upon many occasions.

After the parade was dismissed Carlo would march back to quarters
with his own company, where he would remain until the last daily
distributions of rations, whereupon, after having disposed of his
share, he would start out upon a tour of regimental inspection,
making friendly calls at various company quarters and by taps
turning up at the headquarters of the guard. His duties ended for
the day, he would enjoy his well-earned rest until reveille, unless
some event of an unusual nature, occurring during the night,
disturbed his repose and demanded his attention.

During the first year of his service in the field, Carlo was very
fortunate. He had shared in all the transportations by water, in
all the marchings, skirmishes, and battles, without receiving a
scratch or having a day's illness. But his good fortune was soon to
end, for it was ordained that, like other brave defenders, he was
to suffer in the great cause for which all were risking their
lives.

The morning of April 18, 1862, my brigade, then stationed at
Roanoke Island, embarked upon the steamer _Ocean Wave_ for an
expedition up the Elizabeth River, the object of which was to
destroy the locks of the Dismal Swamp canal in order to prevent
several imaginary iron-clads from getting into Albemarle Sound.

Among the first to embark was the ever ready and faithful Carlo,
and the next morning, when his companions disembarked near
Elizabeth City, he was one of the first to land, and, during the
whole of the long and dreary march of thirty miles to Camden Court
House, lasting from three o'clock in the morning until one in the
afternoon, he was ever on the alert, but keeping close to his
regiment. The field of battle was reached; the engagement, in which
his command met with a great loss, commenced and ended, and, when
the particulars of the disaster were inventoried, it was
ascertained that a Confederate bullet had taken the rudimentary
claw from Carlo's left fore-leg. This was his first wound, and he
bore it like a hero without a whine or even a limp. A private of
Co. G, who first noticed the wound, exclaimed: "Ah, Carlo, what a
pity you are not an officer! If you were, the loss of that claw
would give you sixty days' leave and a brigadier general's
commission at the end of it." That was about the time that
generals' commissions had become very plentiful in the Department
of North Carolina.

The command re-embarked, and reached Roanoke Island the morning
after the engagement, in time for the regulation "Hospital or Sick
Call," which that day brought together an unusual number of
patients, and among them Carlo, who was asked to join the waiting
line by one of the wounded men. When his turn came to be inspected
by the attending surgeon, he was told to hold up the wounded leg,
which he readily did, and then followed the washing, the
application of simple cerate, and the bandaging, with a
considerable show of interest and probable satisfaction.

Thereafter, there was no occasion to ask him to attend the
surgeon's inspection. Each morning, as soon as the bugle call was
sounded, he would take his place in line with the other patients,
advance in his turn, and receive the usual treatment. This habit
continued until the wound was healed.

Always, after this, to every friendly greeting, he would respond by
holding up the wounded leg for inspection, and he acted as though
he thought that everybody was interested in the honorable scar that
told the story of patriotic duty faithfully performed.

Later on, for some reason known to himself, Carlo transferred his
special allegiance to Co. K. and maintained close connection with
that company until the end of his term of service. He was regarded
by its members as a member of the company mess, and was treated as
one of them. But, notwithstanding his special attachments, there
can be no reasonable doubt about his having considered himself a
member of the regiment, clothed with certain powers and
responsibilities. At the end of his term he was fitted with a
uniform--trousers, jacket, and fez, and, thus dressed, he marched
up Broadway, immediately behind the band. He was soon after
mustered out of the service, and received an honorable discharge,
not signed with written characters, but attested by the good-will
of every member of the regiment.



A BRAVE DOG

By Sir Samuel W. Baker

When I was a boy, my grandfather frequently told a story concerning
a dog which he knew, as a more than ordinary example of the
fidelity so frequently exhibited by the race. This animal was a
mastiff that belonged to an intimate friend, to whom it was a
constant companion. It was an enormous specimen of that well-known
breed, which is not generally celebrated for any peculiar
intelligence, but is chiefly remarkable for size and strength. This
dog had been brought up by its master from puppyhood, and as the
proprietor was a single man, there had been no division of
affection, as there would have been had the dog belonged to a
family of several members. Turk regarded nobody but his owner. (I
shall now honour Turk by the masculine gender.)

Whenever Mr. Prideaux went out for a walk, Turk was sure to be near
his heels. Street dogs would bark and snarl at the giant as his
massive form attracted their attention, but Turk seldom
condescended to notice such vulgar demonstrations; he was a
noble-looking creature, somewhat resembling a small lioness; but
although he was gentle and quiet in disposition, he had upon
several occasions been provoked beyond endurance, and his attack
had been nearly always fatal to his assailants. He slept at night
outside his master's door, and no sentry could be more alert upon
his watch than the faithful dog, who had apparently only one
ambition--to protect, and to accompany his owner.

Mr. Prideaux had a dinner-party. He never invited ladies, but
simply entertained his friends as a bachelor; his dinners were but
secondary to the quality of his guests, however, who were always
men of reputation either in the literary world, or in the modern
annals of society. The dog Turk was invariably present, and usually
stretched his huge form upon the hearth-rug.

It was a cold night in winter, when Mr. Prideaux's friends were
talking after dinner, that the conversation turned upon the subject
of dogs. Almost every person had an anecdote to relate, and my own
grandfather being present, had no doubt added his mite to the
collection, when Turk suddenly awoke from a sound sleep, and having
stretched himself until he appeared to be awake to the situation,
walked up to his master's side, and rested his large head upon the
table.

"Ha ha, Turk!" exclaimed Mr. Prideaux, "you must have heard our
arguments about the dogs, so you have put in an appearance."

"And a magnificent specimen he is!" remarked my grandfather; "but
although a mastiff is the largest and most imposing of the race, I
do not think it is as sensible as many others."

"As a rule you are right," replied his master, "because they are
generally chained up as watch-dogs, and have not the intimate
association with human beings which is so great an advantage to
house-dogs; but Turk has been my constant companion from the first
month of his existence, and his intelligence is very remarkable. He
understands most things that I say, if they are connected with
himself; he will often lie upon the rug with his large eyes fixed
upon me as though searching my inward thoughts, and he will
frequently be aware instinctively that I wish to go out; upon such
times he will fetch my hat, cane, or gloves, whichever may be at
hand, and wait for me at the front door. He will take a letter or
any other token to several houses of my acquaintance, and wait for
a reply; and he can perform a variety of actions that would imply a
share of reason seldom possessed by other dogs."

A smile of incredulity upon several faces was at once perceived by
Mr. Prideaux, who immediately took a guinea from his pocket, and
addressed his dog. "Here, Turk! they won't believe in you! ... take
this guinea to No.--,--Street, to Mr.--, and bring me a receipt."

The dog wagged his huge tail with evident pleasure, and the guinea
having been placed in his mouth, he hastened towards the door; this
being opened, he was admitted through the front entrance to the
street. It was a miserable night; the wind was blowing the sleet
and rain against the windows; the gutters were running with muddy
water, and the weather was exactly that which is expressed by the
common term, "not fit to turn a dog out in;" nevertheless, Turk had
started upon his mission in the howling gale and darkness, while
the front door was once more closed against the blast.

The party were comfortably seated around the fire, and much
interested in the success or failure of the dog's adventure.

"How long will it be before we may expect Turk's return?" inquired
an incredulous guest.

"The house to which I have sent him is about a mile and a half
distant, therefore if there is no delay when he barks for admission
at the door, and my friend is not absent from home, he should
return in about three-quarters of an hour with an acknowledgment.
If, on the other hand, he cannot gain admission, he may wait for
any length of time," replied his master.

Bets were exchanged among the company--some supported the dog's
chances of success, while others were against him.

The evening wore away; the allotted time was exceeded, and a whole
hour had passed, but no dog had returned. Fresh bets were made, but
the odds were against the dog. His master was still hopeful....
"I must tell you," said Mr. Prideaux, "that Turk frequently
carries notes for me, and as he knows the house well, he certainly
will not make a mistake; perhaps my friend may be dining out,
in which case Turk will probably wait for a longer time"....
Two hours passed ... the storm was raging. Mr. Prideaux
himself went to the front door, which flew open before a fierce
gust the instant that the lock was turned. The clouds were
rushing past a moon but faintly visible at short intervals,
and the gutters were clogged with masses of half-melted snow.
"Poor Turk!" muttered his master, "this is indeed a wretched night
for you.... Perhaps they have kept you in the warm kitchen,
and will not allow you to return in such fearful weather."

When Mr. Prideaux returned to his guests he could not conceal his
disappointment. "Ha!" exclaimed one who had betted against the dog,
"I never doubted his sagacity. With a guinea in his mouth, he has
probably gone into some house of entertainment where dogs are
supplied with dinner and a warm bed, instead of shivering in a
winter's gale!"

Jokes were made by the winners of bets at the absent dog's expense,
but his master was anxious and annoyed. The various bets were paid
by the losers, and poor Turk's reputation had suffered severely....
It was long past midnight: the guests were departed, the storm
was raging, and violent gusts occasionally shook the house....
Mr. Prideaux was alone in his study, and he poked the fire until it
blazed and roared up the chimney....

"What can have become of that dog?" exclaimed his master to himself,
now really anxious; "I hope they kept him; ... most likely they
would not send him back upon such a dreadful night."

Mr. Prideaux's study was close to the front door, and his acute
attention was suddenly directed to a violent shaking and
scratching, accompanied by a prolonged whine. In an instant he ran
into the hall, and unlocked the entrance door.... A mass of
filth and mud entered.... This was Turk!

The dog seemed dreadfully fatigued, and was shivering with wet and
cold. His usually clean coat was thick with mire, as though he had
been dragged through deep mud. He wagged his tail when he heard his
master's voice, but appeared dejected and ill.

Mr. Prideaux had rung the bell, and the servants, who were equally
interested as their master in Turk's failure to perform his
mission, had attended the summons. The dog was taken downstairs,
and immediately placed in a large tub of hot water, in which he was
accustomed to be bathed. It was now discovered that in addition to
mud and dirt, which almost concealed his coat, he was besmeared
with blood!

Mr. Prideaux himself sponged his favourite with hot soap and water,
and, to his astonishment, he perceived wounds of a serious nature:
the dog's throat was badly torn, his back and breast were deeply
bitten, and there could be no doubt that he had been worried by a
pack of dogs. This was a strange occurrence, that Turk should be
discomfited!

He was now washed clean, and was being rubbed dry with a thick
towel while he stood upon a blanket before the kitchen fire....
"Why, Turk, old boy, what has been the matter? Tell us all about
it, poor old man!" exclaimed his master.

The dog was now thoroughly warmed, and he panted with the heat of
the kitchen fire; he opened his mouth, ... _and the guinea which
he had received in trust dropped on the kitchen floor_!...

"There is some mystery in this," said Mr. Prideaux, "which I
will endeavour to discover to-morrow.... He has been set upon by
strange dogs, and rather than lose the guinea, he has allowed
himself to be half killed without once opening his mouth in
self-defence! Poor Turk!" continued his master, "you must have lost
your way, old man, in the darkness and storm; most likely confused
after the unequal fight. What an example you have given us wretched
humans in being steadfast to a trust!"

Turk was wonderfully better after his warm bath. He lapped up a
large bowl of good thick soup mixed with bread, and in half an hour
was comfortably asleep upon his thick rug by his master's bedroom
door....

Upon the following morning the storm had cleared away, and a
bright sky had succeeded to the gloom of the preceding night.

Immediately after breakfast, Mr. Prideaux, accompanied by his dog
(who was, although rather stiff, not much the worse for the rough
treatment he had received), started for a walk towards the house to
which he had directed Turk upon the previous evening. He was
anxious to discover whether his friend had been absent, as he
concluded that the dog might have been waiting for admittance, and
had been perhaps attacked by some dogs belonging to the house, or
its neighbours'.

The master and Turk had walked for nearly a mile, and had just
turned the corner of a street when, as they passed a butcher's shop
upon the right hand, a large brindled mastiff rushed from the
shop-door, and flew at Turk with unprovoked ferocity.

"Call your dog off!" shouted Mr. Prideaux to the butcher, who
surveyed the attack with impudent satisfaction.... "Call him
off, or my dog will kill him!" continued Mr. Prideaux.

The usually docile Turk had rushed to meet his assailant with a
fury that was extraordinary. With a growl like that of a lion, he
quickly seized his antagonist by the throat; rearing upon his hind
legs, he exerted his tremendous strength, and in a fierce struggle
of only a few seconds, he threw the brindled dog upon its back. It
was in vain that Mr. Prideaux endeavoured to call him off, the rage
of his favourite was quite ungovernable; he never for an instant
relaxed his hold, but with the strength of a wild beast of prey,
Turk shook the head of the butcher's dog to the right and left
until it struck each time heavily against the pavement ... The
butcher attempted to interfere, and lashed him with a huge whip.

"Stand clear! fair play! don't you strike my dog!" shouted Mr.
Prideaux. "Your dog was the first to attack!"

In reply to the whip, Turk had redoubled his fury, and, without
relinquishing his hold, he had now dragged the butcher's dog off
the pavement, and occasionally shaking the body as he pulled the
unresisting mass along the gutter, he drew it into the middle of
the street.

A large crowd had collected, which completely stopped the
thoroughfare. There were no police in those days, but only
watchmen, who were few and far between; even had they been present,
it is probable they would have joined in the amusement of a
dog-fight, which in that age of brutality was considered to be
sport....

"Fair play!" shouted the bystanders.... "Let 'em have it out!"
cried others, as they formed a circle around the dogs.... In
the meantime, Mr. Prideaux had seized Turk by his collar, while the
butcher was endeavouring to release the remains of his dog from the
infuriated and deadly grip....

At length Mr. Prideaux's voice and action appeared for a moment
to create a calm, and, snatching the opportunity, he, with the
assistance of a person in the crowd, held back his dog, as the
carcass of the butcher's dog was dragged away by the lately
insolent owner.... The dog was dead!

Turk's flanks were heaving with the intense exertion and excitement
of the fight, and he strained to escape from his master's hold to
once more attack the lifeless body of his late antagonist....
At length, by kind words and the caress of the well-known hand, his
fury was calmed down....

"Well, that's the most curious adventure I've ever had with a dog!"
exclaimed the butcher, who was now completely crestfallen....
"Why, that's the very dog! he is so--that's the very dog who came
by my shop late last night in the howling storm, and my dog Tiger
went at him and towzled him up completely. I never saw such a
cowardly cur; he wouldn't show any fight, although he was pretty
near as big as a costermonger's donkey; and there my dog Tiger
nearly eat half of him, and dragged the other half about the
gutter, till he looked more like an old door-mat than a dog; and I
thought he must have killed him ... and here he comes out as fresh
as paint to-day, and kills old Tiger clean off as though he'd been
only a biggish cat!"

"What do you say?" asked Mr. Prideaux ... "Was it your dog that
worried my poor dog last night, when he was upon a message of
trust? ... My friend, I thank you for this communication, but let
me inform you of the fact that my dog had _a guinea in his
mouth_ to carry to my friend, and rather than drop it he allowed
himself to be half killed by your savage Tiger. To-day he has
proved his courage, and your dog has discovered his mistake. This
is the guinea that he dropped from his mouth when he returned to me
after midnight, beaten and distressed!" said Mr. Prideaux, much
excited. "Here, Turk, old boy, take the guinea again, and come
along with me! you have had your revenge, and have given us all a
lesson." His master gave him the guinea in his mouth, and they
continued their walk.... It appeared, upon Mr. Prideaux's
arrival at his friend's house, that Turk had never been there;
probably after his defeat he had become so confused that he lost
his way in the heavy storm, and had at length regained the road
home some time after midnight, in the deplorable condition already
described.



UNCLE DICK'S ROLF

By Georgiana M. Craik

"I had been riding for five or six miles one pleasant afternoon. It
was a delicious afternoon, like the afternoon of an English summer
day. You always imagine it hotter out in Africa by a good deal than
it is in England, don't you? Well, so it is, in a general way, a
vast deal hotter; but every now and then, after the rains have
fallen and the wind comes blowing from the sea, we get a day as
much like one of our own best summer days as you ever felt
anywhere. This afternoon was just like an English summer afternoon,
with the fresh sweet breeze rustling amongst the green leaves, and
the great bright sea stretching out all blue and golden, and
meeting the blue sky miles and miles away.

"It wasn't very hot, but it was just hot enough to make the thought
of a swim delicious; so after I had been riding leisurely along for
some little time, shooting a bird or two as I went,--for I wanted
some bright feathers to send home to a little cousin that I had in
England,--I alighted from my horse, and, letting him loose to
graze, lay down for a quarter of an hour to cool myself, and then
began to make ready for my plunge.

"I was standing on a little ledge of cliff, some six or seven feet
above the sea. It was high tide, and the water at my feet was about
a fathom deep. 'I shall have a delightful swim,' thought to myself,
as I threw off my coat; and as just at that moment Rolf in a very
excited way flung himself upon me, evidently understanding the
meaning of the proceeding, and, as I thought, anxious to show his
sympathy with it, I repeated the remark aloud. 'Yes, we'll have a
delightful swim, you and I together,' I said. 'A grand swim, my old
lad'; and I clapped his back as I spoke, and encouraged him, as I
was in the habit of doing, to express his feelings without reserve.
But, rather to my surprise, instead of wagging his tail, and
wrinkling his nose, and performing any of his usual antics, the
creature only lifted up his face and began to whine. He had lain,
for the quarter of an hour while I had been resting, at the edge of
the little cliff, with his head dropped over it; but whether he had
been taking a sleep in that position, or had been amusing himself
by watching the waves, was more than I knew. He was a capital one
for sleeping even then, and generally made a point of snatching a
doze at every convenient opportunity; so I had naturally troubled
my head very little about him, taking it for granted that he was at
his usual occupation. But, whether he had been asleep before or
not, at any rate he was wide awake now, and, as it seemed to me, in
a very odd humor indeed.

"'What's the matter, old fellow?' I said to him, when he set up
this dismal howl. 'Don't you want to have a swim? Well, you needn't
unless you like, only _I_ mean to have one; so down with you,
and let me get my clothes off.' But, instead of getting down, the
creature began to conduct himself in the most incomprehensible way,
first seizing me by the trousers with his teeth and pulling me to
the edge of the rock, as if he wanted me to plunge in dressed as I
was; then catching me again and dragging me back, much as though I
was a big rat that he was trying to worry; and this pantomime, I
declare, he went through three separate times, barking and whining
all the while, till I began to think he was going out of his mind.

"Well, God forgive me! but at last I got into a passion with the
beast. I couldn't conceive what he meant. For two or three minutes
I tried to pacify him, and as long as I took no more steps to get
my clothes off he was willing to be pacified; but the instant I
fell to undressing myself again he was on me once more, pulling me
this way and that, hanging on my arms, slobbering over me, howling
with his mouth up in the air. And so at last I lost my temper, and
I snatched up my gun and struck him with the butt-end of it. My
poor Rolf!" said Uncle Pick, all at once, with a falter in his
voice; and he stopped abruptly, and stooped down and laid his hand
on the great black head.

"He was quieter after I had struck him," said Uncle Dick, after a
little pause. "For a few moments he lay quite still at my feet, and
I had begun to think that his crazy fit was over, and that he was
going to give me no more trouble, when all at once, just as I had
got ready to jump into the water, the creature sprang to his feet
and flung himself upon me again. He threw himself with all his
might upon my breast and drove me backwards, howling So wildly that
many a time since, boys, I have thought I must have been no better
than a blind, perverse fool, not to have guessed what the trouble
was; but the fact is, I was a conceited young fellow (as most young
fellows are), and because I imagined the poor beast was trying for
some reason of his own to get his own way, I thought it was my
business to teach him that he was not to get his own way, but that
I was to get mine; and so I beat him down somehow,--I don't like to
think of it now; I struck him again three or four times with the
end of my gun, till at last I got myself freed from him.

"He gave a cry when he fell back. I call it a cry, for it was more
like something human than a dog's howl,--something so wild and
pathetic that, angry as I was, it startled me, and I almost think,
if time enough had been given me, I would have made some last
attempt then to understand what the creature meant; but I had no
time after that. I was standing a few feet in from the water, and
as soon as I had shaken him off he went to the edge of the bit of
cliff, and stood there for a moment till I came up to him, and
then--just as in another second I should have jumped into the
sea--my brave dog, my noble dog, gave one last whine and one look
into my face, and took the leap before me. And then, boys, in
another instant I saw what he had meant. He had scarcely touched
the water when I saw a crocodile slip like lightning from a sunny
ledge of the cliff, and grip him by the hinder legs.

"You know that I had my gun close at hand, and in the whole course
of my life I never was so glad to have my gun beside me. It was
loaded, too, and a revolver. I caught it up, and fired into the
water. I fired three times, and two of the shots went into the
brute's head. One missed him, and the first seemed not to harm him
much, but the third hit him in some vital place, I hope,--some
sensitive place, at any rate, for the hideous jaws started wide.
Then, with my gun in my hand still, I began with all my might to
shout out, 'Rolf!" I couldn't leave my post, for the brute, though
he had let Rolf go, and had dived for a moment, might make another
spring, and I didn't dare to take my eyes off the spot where he had
gone down; but I called to my wounded beast with all my might, and
when he had struggled through the water and gained a moment's hold
of the rock, I jumped down and caught him, and somehow--I don't
know how--half carried and half dragged him up the little bit of
steep ascent, till we were safe on the top,--on the dry land again.
And then upon my word, I don't know what I did next, only I think,
as I looked at my darling's poor crushed limbs, with the blood
oozing from them, and heard his choking gasps for breath--I--I
forgot for a moment or two that I was a man at all, and burst out
crying like a child.

"Boys, you don't know what it is to feel that a living creature has
tried to give up his life for you, even though the creature is only
a soulless dog. Do you think I had another friend in the world who
would have done what Rolf had done for me? If I had, I did not know
it. And then when I thought that it was while he had been trying to
save my life that I had taken up my gun and struck him! There are
some things, my lads, that a man does without meaning any harm by
them, which yet, when he sees them by the light of after events, he
can never bear to look back upon without a sort of agony; and those
blows I gave to Rolf are of that sort. _He_ forgave them,--my
noble dog; but I have never forgiven myself for them to this hour.
When I saw him lying before me, with his blood trickling out upon
the sand, I think I would have given my right hand to save his
life. And well I might, too, for he had done ten times more than
that to save mine.

"He licked the tears off my cheeks, my poor old fellow; I remember
that. We looked a strange pair, I dare say, as we lay on the ground
together, with our heads side by side. It's a noble old head still,
isn't it, boys? (I don't mean mine, but this big one down here. All
right, Rolf! We're only talking of your beauty, my lad.) It's as
grand a head as ever a dog had. I had his picture taken after I
came home. I've had him painted more than once, but somehow I don't
think the painters have ever seen quite into the bottom of his
heart. At least, I fancy that if I were a painter I could make
something better of him than any of them have done yet. Perhaps
it's only a notion of mine, but, to tell the truth, I've only a
dozen times or so in my life seen a painting of a grand dog that
looks quite right. But I'm wandering from my story, though, indeed,
my story is almost at an end.

"When I had come to my senses a little, I had to try to get my poor
Rolf moved. We were a long way from any house, and the creature
couldn't walk a step. I tore up my shirt, and bound his wounds as
well as I could, and then I got my clothes on, and called to my
horse, and in some way, as gently as I could,--though it was no
easy thing to do it,--I got him and myself together upon the
horse's back, and we began our ride. There was a village about four
or five miles off, and I made for that. It was a long, hard jolt
for a poor fellow with both his hindlegs broken, but he bore it as
patiently as if he had been a Christian. I never spoke to him but,
panting as he was, he was ready to lick my hands and look lovingly
up into my face. I've wondered since, many a time, what he could
have thought about it all; and the only thing I am sure of is that
he never thought much of the thing that he himself had done. That
seemed, I know, all natural and simple to him; I don't believe that
he has ever understood to this day what anybody wondered at in it,
or made a hero of him for. For the noblest people are the people
who are noble without knowing it; and the same rule, I fancy, holds
good, too, for dogs.

"I got him to a resting-place at last, after a weary ride, and then
I had his wounds dressed; but it was weeks before he could stand
upon his feet again, and when at last he began to walk he limped,
and he has gone on limping ever since. The bone of one leg was so
crushed that it couldn't be set properly, and so that limb is
shorter than the other three. _He_ doesn't mind it much, I
dare say,--I don't think he ever did,--but it has been a pathetic
lameness to me, boys. It's all an old story now, you know," said
Uncle Dick, abruptly, "but it's one of those things that a man
doesn't forget, and that it would be a shame to him if he ever
_could_ forget as long as his life lasts."

Uncle Dick stooped down again as he ceased to speak, and Rolf,
disturbed by the silence, raised his head to look about him. As his
master had said, it was a grand old head still, though the eyes
were growing dim now with age. Uncle Dick laid his hand upon it,
and the bushy tail began to wag. It had wagged at the touch of that
hand for many a long day.

"We've been together for fifteen years. He's getting old now," said
Uncle Dick.



SCRAP

By Lucia Chamberlain

At the gray end of the afternoon the regiment of twelve companies
went through Monterey on its way to the summer camp, a mile out on
the salt-meadows; and it was here that Scrap joined it.

He did not tag at the heels of the boys who tagged the last
company, or rush out with the other dogs who barked at the band;
but he appeared somehow independent of any surroundings, and
marched, ears alert, stump tail erect, one foot in front of the
tall first lieutenant who walked on the wing of Company A.

The lieutenant was self-conscious and so fresh to the service that
his shoulder-straps hurt him. He failed to see Scrap, who was very
small and very yellow, until, in quickening step, he stumbled over
him and all but measured his long length. He aimed an accurate kick
that sent Scrap flying, surprised but not vindictive, to the side
lines, where he considered, his head cocked. With the scratched ear
pricked and the bitten ear flat, he passed the regiment in review
until Company K, with old Muldoon, sergeant on the flank, came by.

As lean, as mongrel, as tough, and as scarred as Scrap, he carried
his wiry body with a devil-may-care assurance, in which Scrap may
have recognized a kindred spirit. He decided in a flash. He made a
dart and fell in abreast the sergeant of Company K. Muldoon saw and
growled at him.

"Gr-r-r-r!" said Scrap, not ill-naturedly, and fell back a pace.
But he did not slink. He had the secret of success. He kept as
close as he could and yet escape Muldoon's boot. With his head
high, ears stiff, tail up, he stepped out to the music.

Muldoon looked back with a threat that sent Scrap retreating, heels
over ears. The sergeant was satisfied that the dog had gone; but
when camp was reached and ranks were broken he found himself
confronted by a disreputable yellow cur with a ragged ear cocked
over his nose.

"Well, I'm domned!" said Muldoon. His heart, probably the toughest
thing about him, was touched by this fearless persistence.

"Ar-ren't ye afraid o' nothin', ye little scrap?" he said. Scrap,
answering the first name he had ever known, barked shrilly.

"What's that dog doing here?" said the tall lieutenant of Company
A, disapprovingly.

"I'm afther kickin' him out, sor," explained Muldoon, and, upon the
lieutenant's departure, was seen retreating in the direction of the
cook-tent, with the meager and expectant Scrap inconspicuously at
his heels.

He went to sleep at taps in Muldoon's tent, curled up inside
Muldoon's cartridge-belt; but at reveille the next morning the
sergeant missed him. Between drill and drill Muldoon sought
diligently, with insinuations as to the character of dog-stealers
that were near to precipitating personal conflict. He found the
stray finally, in Company B street, leaping for bones amid the
applause of the habitants.

Arraigned collectively as thieves, Company B declared that the dog
had strayed in and remained only because he could not be kicked
out. But their pride in the height of his leaps was too evidently
the pride of possession; and Muldoon, after vain attempts to catch
the excited Scrap, who was eager only for bones, retired with
threats of some vague disaster to befall Company B the next day if
_his_ dog were not returned.

The responsibility, with its consequences, was taken out of Company
B's hands by Scrap's departure from their lines immediately after
supper. He was not seen to go. He slid away silently, among the
broken shadows of the tents. Company B reviled Muldoon. Scrap spent
the night in a bugler's cape, among a wilderness of brasses, and
reappeared the next morning at guard mount, deftly following the
stately maneuvers of the band.

"Talk about a dorg's gratitude!" said the sergeant of Company B,
bitterly, remembering Scrap's entertainment of the previous
evening.

"I'm on to his game!" muttered old Muldoon. "Don't ye see, ye
fool, he don't belong to any _wan_ of us. He belongs to the
crowd--to the regiment. That's what he's tryin' to show us. He's
what that Frinchman down in F calls a--a mascot; and, be jabers, he
moves like a soldier!"

The regiment's enthusiasm for Scrap, as voiced by Muldoon,
was not extended to the commanding officer, who felt that the
impressiveness of guard mount was detracted from by Scrap's
deployments. Also the tall lieutenant of Company A disliked the
sensation of being accompanied in his social excursions among
ladies who had driven out to band practise by a lawless yellow pup
with a bitten ear. The lieutenant, good fellow at bottom, was yet a
bit of a snob, and he would have preferred the colonel's foolish
Newfoundland to the spirited but unregenerate Scrap.

But the privates and "non-coms" judged by the spirit, and bid for
the favor of their favorite, and lost money at canteen on the next
company to be distinguished as Scrap's temporary entertainers. He
was cordial, even demonstrative, but royally impartial, devoting a
day to a company with a method that was military. He had personal
friends,--Muldoon for one, the cook for another,--but there was no
man in the regiment who could expect Scrap to run to his whistle.

Yet independent as he was of individuals, he obeyed regimental
regulations like a soldier. He learned the guns and the bugles,
what actions were signified by certain sounds. He was up in the
morning with the roll of the drums. He was with every drill that
was informal enough not to require the presence of the commanding
officer, and during dress parade languished, lamenting, in
Muldoon's tent. Barking furiously, he was the most enthusiastic
spectator of target practise. He learned to find the straying balls
when the regimental nine practised during "release," and betrayed a
frantic desire to "retrieve" the shot that went crashing seaward
from the sullen-mouthed cannon on the shore. More than once he made
one of the company that crossed the lines at an unlawful hour to
spend a night among the crooked ways of Monterey.

The regiment was tiresome with tales of his tricks. The height of
his highest leap was registered in the mess, and the number of rats
that had died in his teeth were an ever increasing score in the
canteen. He was fairly aquiver with the mere excitement and
curiosity of living. There was no spot in the camp too secure or
too sacred for Scrap to penetrate. His invasions were without
impertinence; but the regiment was his, and he deposited dead rats
in the lieutenant's shoes as casually as he concealed bones in the
French horn; and slumbered in the major's hat-box with the same
equanimity with which he slept in Muldoon's jacket.

The major evicted Scrap violently, but, being a good-natured man,
said nothing to the colonel, who was not. But it happened, only a
day after the episode of the hat-box, that the colonel entered his
quarters to find the yellow mascot, fresh from a plunge in the surf
and a roll in the dirt, reposing on his overcoat.

To say that the colonel was angry would be weak; but, overwhelmed
as he was, he managed to find words and deeds. Scrap fled with a
sharp yelp as a boot-tree caught him just above the tail.

His exit did not fail to attract attention in the company street.
The men were uneasy, for the colonel was noticeably a man of action
as well as of temper. Their premonitions were fulfilled when at
assembly the next morning, an official announcement was read to the
attentive regiment. The colonel, who was a strategist as well as a
fighter, had considered the matter more calmly overnight. He was
annoyed by the multiplicity of Scrap's appearances at times and
places where he was officially a nuisance. He was more than annoyed
by the local paper's recent reference to "our crack yellow-dog
regiment." But he knew the strength of regimental sentiment
concerning Scrap and the military superstition of the mascot, and
he did not want to harrow the feelings of the "summer camp" by
detailing a firing squad. Therefore he left a loop-hole for Scrap's
escape alive. The announcement read: "All dogs found in camp not
wearing collars will be shot, by order of the commanding officer."

Now there were but two dogs in camp, and the colonel's wore a
collar. The regiment heard the order with consternation.

"That'll fix it," said the colonel, comfortably.

"Suppose some one gets a collar?" suggested the major, with a hint
of hopefulness in his voice.

"I know my regiment," said the colonel. "There isn't enough money
in it three days before pay day to buy a button. They'll send him
out to-night."

Immediately after drill there was a council of war in Muldoon's
tent, Muldoon holding Scrap between his knees. Scrap's scratched
ear, which habitually stood cocked, flopped forlornly; his stump
tail drooped dismally. The atmosphere of anxiety oppressed his
sensitive spirit. He desired to play, and Muldoon only sat and
rolled his argumentative tongue. From this conference those who
had been present went about the business of the day with a
preternatural gloom that gradually permeated the regiment. The
business of the day was varied, since the next day was to be a
field day, with a review in the morning and cavalry maneuvers in
the afternoon.

All day Scrap was conspicuous in every quarter of the camp, but at
supper-time the lieutenant of Company A noted his absence from his
habitual place at the left of Muldoon in the men's mess-tent. The
lieutenant was annoyed by his own anxiety.

"Of course they'll get him out, sir?" he said to the major.

"Of course," the major assented, with more confidence than he felt.
The colonel was fairly irritable in his uncertainty over it.

Next morning the sentries, who had been most strictly enjoined to
vigilant observation, reported that no one had left camp that
night, though a man on beat four must have failed in an
extraordinary way to see a private crossing his line six feet in
front of him.

The muster failed to produce any rag-eared, stub-tailed,
eager-eyed, collarless yellow cub. Nor did the mess-call raise his
shrill bark in the vicinity of the cook's tent. The lieutenant felt
disappointed.

He thought that the regiment should at least have made some sort of
demonstration in Scrap's defense. It seemed a poor return for such
confidence and loyalty to be hustled out of the way on an official
threat.

It seemed to him the regiment was infernally light-hearted, as,
pipe-clay white and nickel bright in the morning sun, it swung out
of camp for the parade-ground, where the dog-carts and runabouts
and automobiles were gathering from Del Monte and the cottages
along the shore.

The sight of the twelve companies moving across the field with the
step of one warmed the cockles of the colonel's pride. The regiment
came to parade rest, and the band went swinging past their front,
past the reviewing-stand. As it wheeled into place, the colonel,
who had been speaking to the adjutant, who was the lieutenant of
Company A, bit his sentence in the middle, and glared at something
that moved, glittering, at the heels of the drum-major.

The colonel turned bright red. His glass fell out of his
eye-socket.

"What the devil is the matter with that dog?" he whispered softly.
And the adjutant, who had also seen and was suffocating, managed to
articulate, "Collars!"

The colonel put his glass back in his eye. His shoulders shook. He
coughed violently as he addressed the adjutant:

"Have that dog removed--no, let him alone--no, adjutant, bring him
here!"

So the adjutant, biting his lip, motioned Muldoon to fall out.

Tough old Muldoon tucked Scrap, struggling, squirming, glittering
like a hardware shop, under his arm, and saluted his commander,
while the review waited.

The colonel was blinking through his glass and trying not to grin.

"Sergeant, how many collars has that dog got on?"

"Thirteen, sor," said Muldoon.

"What for?" said the colonel, severely.

"Wan for each company, sor, an' wan for the band."



A FIRE-FIGHTER'S DOG

By Arthur Quiller-Couch

This is the story of a very distinguished member of the London Fire
Brigade--the dog Chance. It proves that the fascinations of fires
(and who that has witnessed a fire cannot own this fascination?)
extends even to the brute creation. In old Egypt, Herodotus tells
us, the cats used on the occasion of a conflagration to rush forth
from their burning homes, and then madly attempt to return again;
and the Egyptians, who worshipped the animals, had to form a ring
round to prevent their dashing past and sacrificing themselves to
the flames. This may, however, be due to the cat's notorious love
for home. In the case of the dog Chance another hypothesis has to
be searched for.

The animal formed his first acquaintance with the brigade by
following a fireman from a conflagration in Shoreditch to the
central station at Watling Street. Here, after he had been petted
for some time by the men, his master came for him and took him
home. But the dog quickly escaped and returned to the central
station on the very first opportunity. He was carried back,
returned, was carried back again, and again returned.

At this point his master--"like a mother whose son _will_ go
to sea"--abandoned the struggle and allowed him to follow his own
course. Henceforth for years he invariably went with the engine,
sometimes upon the carriage itself, sometimes under the horses'
legs; and always, when going uphill, running in advance, and
announcing by his bark the welcome news that the fire-engine was at
hand.

Arrived at the fire, he would amuse himself with pulling burning
logs of wood out of the flames with his mouth, firmly impressed
that he was rendering the greatest service, and clearly anxious to
show the laymen that he understood all about the business. Although
he had his legs broken half a dozen times, he remained faithful to
the profession he had so obstinately chosen. At last, having taken
a more serious hurt than usual, he was being nursed by the firemen
beside the hearth, when a "call" came. At the well-known sound of
the engine turning out, the poor old dog made a last effort to
climb upon it, and fell back--dead.

He was stuffed, and preserved at the station for some time. But
even in death he was destined to prove the friend of the brigade.
For, one of the engineers having committed suicide, the firemen
determined to raffle him for the benefit of the widow, and such was
his fame that he realized 123 pounds 10 shillings, 9 pence, or over
$615 in American money!



PLATO: THE STORY OF A CAT

By A. S. Downs

One day last summer a large handsome black cat walked gravely up
one side of Main street, crossed, and went half-way down the other.
He stopped at a house called The Den, went up the piazza steps, and
paused by an open window.

A lady sitting inside saw and spoke to him; but without taking any
notice, he put his paws on the sill, looked around the room as if
wondering if it would suit him, and finally gazed into her face.

After thinking a minute he went in, and from that hour took his
place as an important member of the family. Civil to all, he gives
his love only to the lady whom he first saw; and it is odd to see,
as he lies by the fire, how he listens to all conversation, but
raises his head only when she speaks, and drops it again when she
has finished, with a pleased air.

No other person in the house is so wise, for he alone never makes a
mistake. The hours he selects for his exercise are the sunniest;
the carpets he lies upon the softest, and he knows the moment he
enters the room whether his friend will let him lie in her lap, or
whether because of her best gown she will have none of him. No one
at The Den can tell how he came to be called Plato. It is a fact
that he answers to the name, and when asked if so known before he
came there, smiles wisely. "What matters it," the smile says, "how
I was called, or where I came from, since I am Plato, and am here?"

He dislikes noise, and entirely disapproves sweeping. A broom and
dustpan fill him with anxiety, and he seeks the soft cushions of
the big lounge; but when these in their turn are beaten and tossed
about, he retreats to the study-table. However, as soon as he
learned that once a week his favorite room was turned into chaos,
he sought another refuge, and refuses to get up that day until
noon.

Many were the speculations as to Plato's Christmas present. All
were satisfied with a rattan basket just large enough for him to
lie in, with a light open canopy, cushions of cardinal chintz, and
a cardinal satin bow to which was fastened a lovely card.

It was set down before Plato, and although it is probable it was
the first he had ever seen, he showed neither surprise nor
curiosity, but looked at it loftily as if such a retreat should
have been given him long ago, for could not any discerning person
see he was accustomed to luxury? He stepped in carefully and curled
himself gracefully upon the soft cushions, the glowing tints of
which were very becoming to his sable beauty.

It was soon seen that Plato was very fond of his basket, and was
unwilling to share it in the smallest degree. When little Bessie
put her doll in, "just to see if cardinal was becoming to her," he
looked so stern and walked so fiercely toward them that dolly's
heart sank within her, and Bessie said, "Please excuse us, Plato."
If balls and toys were carelessly dropped there he would push them
out without delay, and if visitors took up the basket to examine
it, he would fix his eyes upon them, thinking, "O yes, you would
pick pockets or steal the spoons if I did not watch you."

As his conduct can never be predicted, great was the curiosity when
one cold afternoon he was noticed walking up the avenue while a
miserable yellow kitten dragged herself after him. She was so thin
you could count her bones, and she had been so pulled and kicked
that there seemed to be nothing of her but length and--dirt.

When Lord Plato chooses, he enters the front doors, but as he waits
no man's pleasure, unless it pleases him first, he has a way of
getting in on his own account. Upon one of the shed doors is an
old-fashioned latch, which by jumping he can reach and lift with
his paw. Having opened the door, he pushed his poor yellow
straggler in and followed himself. She laid down at once on the
floor, and Plato began washing her with his rough tongue, while the
lookers-on assisted his hospitality by bringing a saucer of milk.
While she ate Plato rested, looking as pleased as if he were her
mother at her enjoyment. The luncheon finished, the washing was
resumed, and as the waif was now able to help, she soon looked more
respectable. But Plato had not finished his work of mercy. He
looked at the door leading to the parlor, then at her; and finally
bent down tenderly to her little torn ears, as if whispering, but
she would not move. Perhaps in all her wretched life she had never
been so comfortable, and believed in letting well enough alone.
Reason and persuasion alike useless, Plato concluded to try force
and, taking her by the back of the neck, carried her through the
house and dropped her close to his dainty cherished basket.

Then he appeared a little uncertain what to do. The basket was nice
and warm; he was tired and cold; it had been a present to him; the
street wanderer was dirty still; and the rug would be a softer bed
than she had ever known. Were these his thoughts, and was it
selfishness he conquered when at last he lifted the shivering
homeless creature into his own beautiful nest?



PETER: A CAT O' ONE TAIL

By Charles Morley

Peter, the admirable cat whose brief history I am about to relate,
appeared in the world on a terrible winter's night. A fierce
snowstorm was raging, the sleet was driving at a terrific rate
through the air, and the streets were banked up with snow-drifts.
All traffic had been stopped, the roar of London was hushed, and
every one who had the merest pretence of a fireside sought it on
this memorable occasion. It was a wild night in the city, a wild
night in the country, a wild night at sea, and certainly a most
unpropitious night for the birth of a cat, an animal which is
always associated with home and hearth. The fact remains that Peter
was born on the night of one of the most terrible storms on record.

Our chairs were drawn up to the fire, the tea-things were on
the table, and my mother was just about to try the strength
of the brew, when Ann Tibbits, our faithful and well-tried
maid-of-all-work, bounced into the room without knocking at the
door. Her cap was all awry, her hair was dishevelled, and she
gasped for breath as she addressed herself to my mother thus,
in spasms:

"Please--ma'am--the cat has put her kittens--in--your--bonnet!"

Such a breach of discipline had never been known before in our prim
household, where there was a place for everything, and everything
had a place.

My mother pushed her spectacles on to her forehead, and, looking
severely at Ann, said: "_Which_ one, Ann? My summer bonnet,
or--my winter bonnet?"

"The one with the fur lining, ma'am."

"And a most comfortable bonnet to live in, I'm sure!" replied my
mother sarcastically, as much as to say that she wished all cats
had such a choice under the circumstances. "Another cat would have
chosen the one with the lace and the violets, out of sheer
perverseness. But there--I _knew_ I could depend on a cat
which had been trained in _my_ house."

My mother poured out a cup of tea, betraying no agitation
as she dropped two lumps of sugar into the cup--her customary
allowance--and helped herself to cream. In a minute or two,
however, she took up her knitting, and I noticed that two stitches
in succession were dropped, a sure sign that she was perturbed in
spirit. Suddenly my mother turned her eyes to the fire.

"_How many_, Ann?" she continued, addressing our faithful
servant, who still remained standing at the table awaiting her
orders.

"Seven, ma'am."

"_Seven!_" cried my mother. "Seven--it's outrageous. Why, my
bonnet wouldn't hold 'em!"

"Three in the bonnet, ma'am, and two in your new m-u-f-f!"

"My new muff!" cried my mother. "I _knew_ you were keeping
something back." And the stitches dropped fast and furious. "That's
only _five_, Ann," she continued, looking up from her work.
"Where are the other two? I insist upon knowing."

"In the Alaska tail boa, ma'am," responded Ann, timidly.

Slowly my mother's wrath evaporated, and her features settled down
to their ordinary aspect of composure.

"Well," she said, "it might have been worse. She might have put
them in my silk dress. But there--it is evident that something must
be done. I'm a kind woman, I hope, but I'm not going to be
responsible for seven young and tender kittens. Ann Tibbits,
England expects every woman to do her duty!"

"_All?_ asked Ann.

"_Four_," replied my mother.

"Now?" asked Ann.

"The sooner the better," said my mother.

At this moment a sudden blast shook every window in the house,
which seemed to be in momentary danger of a total collapse.

"Not fit to turn a dog out," murmured my mother. "Not fit to turn a
dog out. Ugh! how cold it is, and here am I condemning to death
four poor little kittens on a night like this--to snatch them away
from their warm mother, my muff, and Alaska tail, and dip them in a
bucket of ice-cold water. And yet they must go; but, Ann, I've an
idea--WARM the water. They shall leave the world comfortably.
They'll never know it."

The faithful, unemotional Ann carried out her instructions. Peter
was one of the three kittens which were born in my mother's
fur-lined bonnet, and the white marks on his body always remind me
of the terrible snowstorm in the midst of which he sounded his
first mew.

After several weeks the liberty which our cat Cordelia had taken
with my mother's finery was forgotten, and the household had
settled down into its usual humdrum routine. Tibbits had made the
new arrivals a bed in the little box-room, and the doctor declared
that Mrs. Cordelia was doing as well as could be expected. Every
morning we had asked the usual question: "How is Cordelia?" "Quite
well, thank you." "And the kittens?" "Also quite well." In due
course Ann brought the welcome news that the three kittens had
opened their eyes, and the kid glove was at once detached from the
knocker of the front door. It was on the morning after they had
obtained their blessed sight that I was invited by Tibbits to go
downstairs and take my choice. I went down, but I could see nothing
of the kittens; there was only Cordelia, with tail twisting, eyes
aflame, and whiskers bristling, wheeling round and round a number
of straw cases in which champagne had once been packed. Lo! one of
the cases began to walk. The movement caught Cordelia's eye, and
she knocked it over with her paw. A fluffy, chubby kitten,
consisting of a black body with a patch of white on it, was
revealed. The little one so captivated my fancy that I put him in
my pocket, and without more ado took him upstairs, and publicly
announced my determination to claim him as my property.

"What shall we name it?" asked my mother.

"Fiz," said one, alluding to the empty champagne cases,--a
suggestion which was at once overruled, as we were a temperate
family and little given to sparkling liquids. "Pop" was also voted
against, not only as being vulgar, but as going to the other
extreme, and leading people to suppose that we were extensively
addicted to ginger-ale.

"I think, my dears, as Peter was born on a--" My mother's speech
was interrupted by an exultant "Cock-a-doodle-do."

"That horrid fowl again!" exclaimed my mother.

The cock in question was the property of a neighbor, and was a most
annoying bird. Even my kitten was disturbed by the defiant note.
"_M-e-w?_" said he, in a meek interrogative, as much as to
say, "What _is_ that dreadful noise?"

"Cock-a-doodle-do," cried the bird again.

"Mew," replied the kitten, this time with a note of anger in his
voice. "COCK-A-DOODLE," screamed the bird, evidently in a violent
temper. "Mew," said the kitten again, in a tone of remonstrance.
The remaining syllable of his war-cry and the kitten's reply were
cut short by my mother, who put her fingers to her ears, and said:

"And the cock crowed thrice. My dears, I have it!"

"What, mother?"

"We'll call him PETER." cried the family.

"Peter Gray?"

"Peter Simple?"

"Peter the Great?"

"No," replied my mother, with a humorous twinkle, "Peter the
Apostle," pointing to the Family Bible, which was always kept on a
little occasional table in a corner of the sitting-room. "And let
Peter be a living warning against fibbing, my dears, whether on a
small scale or a large one."

A bowl of water was then placed on the table and, having sprinkled
a shower upon his devoted back, I as his proprietor, looking at him
closely, cried:

"Arise, Peter; obey thy master."

In the middle of my exhortations, however, Cordelia jumped on the
table, took little Peter by the scruff of his neck, and carried him
back to the nursery.

The day came when I put Peter into the pocket of my overcoat, and
took him away to his new home. I had the greatest confidence in
him, being a firm believer in the doctrine of heredity. His father
I never knew, but his grandfather bore a great reputation for
courage, as was indicated on his tombstone, the inscription on
which ran as follows:

   Here lies LEAR. Aged about 8 years. A Tom Cat killed in
   single combat with Tom the Templar whilst defending his
   hearth and home. England expects every cat to do his
   duty.

His mother Cordelia was of an affectionate nature, caring little
for the chase, indifferent to birds (except sparrows), temperate in
the matter of fish, timid of dogs, a kind mother, and had never
been known to scratch a child. I believed then that there was every
possibility of Peter's inheriting the admirable qualities of his
relatives. The world into which he was introduced contained a large
assortment of curios which I had bought in many a salesroom, such
as bits of old oak, bits of armor, bits of china, bits of tapestry,
and innumerable odds and ends which had taken my fancy. Picture,
then, Peter drinking his milk from a Crown Derby dish which I had
placed in a corner between the toes of a gentleman skeleton whom
Time had stained a tobacco brown. The Crown Derby dish and the
skeleton were, like the rest of my furniture, "bargains." At this
period of his life Peter resembled a series of irregular circles,
such as a geometrician might have made in an absent moment: two
round eyes, one round head, and one round body. I regarded him much
as a young mother would her first baby, for he was my first pet. I
watched him lest he should get into danger; I conversed with him in
a strange jargon, which I called cats' language; I played with him
constantly, and introduced him to a black hole behind the
skeleton's left heel, which was supposed to be the home of mice. He
kept a close watch on the black hole, and one day, which is never
to be forgotten, he caught his first mouse. It was a very little
one, but it clung to Peter's nose and made it bleed. Regardless of
the pain, Peter marched up to me, tail in air, and laid the
half-dead mouse at my feet, with a look in his eyes which said
plainly enough, "Shades of Caesar! I claim a Triumph, master."

He returned to the black hole again, and mewed piteously for more.
Peter was very green, as you will understand, but he soon
discovered that mewing kept the mice away, and having taken the
lesson to heart, preserved silence for the future. The mouse-hunts
occupied but a small portion of Peter's time. He was full of queer
pranks, which youth and high spirits suggested to him. He took a
delight in tumbling down the stairs; he hid himself in the mouth of
a lion whose head was one of my chief treasures; he tilted against
a dragon candlestick like a young St. George; he burnt his budding
whiskers in an attempt to discover the source of the flame in the
wick of the candle. He became, too, a great connoisseur of vases,
ornaments, and pictures, sitting before them and examining them for
an hour at a time. He was also very much given to voyages of
discovery, dark continents having a peculiar fascination for him.
Even the lion's mouth had no terror for him. I once produced him
from the interior of a brand-new top hat like a conjurer an
omelette. Again, we were very much surprised at breakfast one
morning to see Peter walk out of a rabbit-pie in which he had
secreted himself.

I used to let my canary fly about the room, and Peter chased him.
The canary flew to an old helmet on a shelf, and thus baffled
Peter. The canary seemed to know this, for when Peter was in the
room he always flew to the helmet and sang in peace. If he perched
elsewhere there was a chase. The linnet's cage I placed on the
window-sill in sunny weather, and Peter took great interest in him.
He could not see the musician, but he heard the music, and tried
every means he knew to discover its source.

At last he peeped through a little hole at the back of the cage,
and when he saw the bird he was quite satisfied, and made no
attempt to disturb it.

In the matter of eating and drinking Peter was inclined to
vegetarianism, being fond of beet-root and cabbage, but he soon
took to carnal habits, always liking his food to be divided into
three portions, consisting of greens, potatoes, and meat. In
addition to such food as we gave him he by no means despised any
delicacies he could discover on his own account. For instance he
cleaned out a pot of glycerine. Having tilted the lid up, he pulled
out the pins from a pincushion, but was saved in time; he was
curious about a powder-box, and came mewing downstairs a Peter in
white; he did not despise the birds out of a hat; he lost his
temper when he saw his rival in the looking-glass, and was beside
himself with rage when the glass swung round and he saw only a
plain board. His most curious experience was his first glimpse of
the moon, which he saw from our bit of back garden. He was rooted
to the ground with wonder at the amazing sight, and we called him
in vain. The only reply was a melancholy, love-stricken mew which
went to my heart.

       *       *       *       *       *

So Peter rejoiced in the days of his youth, and there was no end to
his frolics. But do not think for a moment that his education was
neglected, especially in the invaluable matters of manners and
deportment, both of which are so essential to advancement in life.
I taught him to sit at table; to enter a room with grace, and to
leave it with dignity. Indeed, I spared no trouble, and Peter
became as rigorous as a Chesterfield in the proper observance of
all such matters. I can give you no better example of Peter's
extensive knowledge of what was right and wrong in the ceremonial
side of life than by telling you that when he felt an irrepressible
sneeze forming he trotted out of the room and sneezed outside. When
Peter played, too, he played gently, and did not disturb his elders
by obtrusive attentions. He never required to be told twice to do a
thing. Once was enough for Peter. Then again in the matter of
breakages he was as virtuous a kitten as ever lived. I had thirty
precious blue china vases on my sideboard, and through this fragile
maze Peter always wound in and out without moving a vase. His
virtues in this respect were well known to my servants, who never
accused Peter of breaking the milk-jug, or the cups and saucers, I
can assure you. Like the best of human beings, he had his faults,
but upon these it would be impertinent to touch more than lightly.

Peter was partial to Fridays, because Fridays were devoted to
cleaning up. If you have ever watched a woman washing the kitchen
floor, you will have noticed that she completes one patch before
she proceeds with the next, as if she took pride in each patch,
regarding it as a picture. It was Peter's delight to sit and watch
this domestic operation; and no sooner was the woman's back turned
towards a fresh portion of her territory than Peter ran all over
the freshly washed patch and impressed it with the seal of his
paws, just as an explorer would indicate a great annexation by a
series of flags. That was a mere frolic. It was about this time
that I discovered Peter's power as a performing cat. I tied a
hare's foot to a piece of string and dangled it before Peter's
eyes. I hid the hare's foot in strange places. I flung it
downstairs. I threw it upstairs. The hare's foot never failed to
attract him. We used to roll on the floor together; we played
hide-and-seek together. I noticed that he had a habit of lying on
his back with his tail out, his head back, and his paws crossed. By
degrees I taught him to assume this attitude at the word of
command, so that when I said, "Die, Peter!" Peter turned on his
back and became rigid until he received permission to live again.

I also taught him to talk in mews at the word of command. I hear
some genial critic exclaim that this cannot be true. I decline to
argue with any critic that ever lived, and repeat, fearlessly, and
in measured terms, that Peter talked to _me._ Of course he
would not drop into conversation with the first person who bade him
"good-morning," but I assert again that Peter and I held many
conversations together by means of the "mew," used with a score of
inflections, often delicately shaded, each of which conveyed its
meaning to me.

Peter took to reading, too, quite easily, and sat up with
eye-glasses on his nose and a paper between his paws. It was, as
you may well imagine, a red-letter day with me when Peter said his
prayers for the first time; and I was better pleased when he put
his little paws up and lifted his eyes up to the ceiling than with
any other of his accomplishments, though they were more appreciated
by unthinking friends. It was all very well to place a mouse at my
feet and thus play to the gallery, but I felt that Peter's thirst
for applause might be his ruin.

       *       *       *       *       *

When the summer came, and the London pavements began to quake with
heat, I determined to fly to the country. As delights are doubled
when shared with those we care for, I determined to take Peter with
me, so I packed him up in a specially constructed travelling saloon
of his own, to wit, a flannel-lined basket containing all the
necessary comforts for the journey, such as air-holes and
feeding-bottles, and off we started in the highest of spirits.
Peter found a new world opened to him, and the thousand and one
beauties of the country fascinated us both. We were the guests of a
burly farmer, who lived in a queer old house, half timber and half
brick, with low-ceilinged rooms. The general living-room was the
capacious kitchen, which looked mighty picturesque. Oak panels ran
half-way up to the ceiling; the pots and pans were ranged neatly in
an open cupboard, pleasantly suggestive of good fare and plenty of
it. There were flowers in red pots in the windows, and my bedroom
was a picture of coolness and cleanliness.

Amid these pleasant surroundings Peter soon made himself very
happy, and became a great friend of a cat called Jack, who took him
under his charge and showed him the ways of the country. Jack was a
favorite on the farm. He was certainly given to roving, and did not
always "come home to tea." As a mouser he had few equals in the
countryside, and one evening when we were telling stories by the
fireside the farmer told me that Jack had despatched no less than
four hundred mice from one hay-rick.

Jack was a disciple of Isaak Walton. He would crouch on a mossy
knoll by the edge of the river, and sometimes was successful in
capturing a small trout. The farmer was himself a great fisherman.
Jack was a study while the preparations were in progress, and, all
intent, would follow close at his master's heels. He would crouch
among the rushes whilst the tackle was being adjusted, and
anxiously scan the water as the fly drifted along the surface. He
took a keen delight in the sport, and when a fish was negotiating
the bait he always purred loudly in anticipation of the feast in
prospect. The trout landed and the line re-cast, he would seize his
prey, and with stealthy gait slink off with his prize, leaving the
old farmer to discover his loss when he might. Together Jack and
Peter roamed over the meadow lands, and the poultry-run was an
object of great interest to them. Together they fought the rats,
and together they would lie in wait for the thrush and the
blackbird,--I am happy to say in vain. The farmer told me that in
his youth Jack once took up his residence in the hollow of an old
oak, where he lived on the furred and feathered game. At last he
returned home. For hours he wandered about his old home, fearful of
discovery, now crouching amongst the flower-beds, and now flying in
terror at the sound of the hall clock. At last he ventured into the
kitchen, entering by the window and creeping to the kitchen hearth,
where he dozed off to the music of the cricket, to be welcomed like
another Prodigal Son.

Alas! these delights were cut short, for Peter and I were soon
compelled to pack up our traps and proceed to the seaside for
professional purposes. Peter was not fond of the sea. When I took
him out yachting he was compelled to call for the steward; and one
day when exploring the rocks at low water, gazing with rapture at
his own charming face as it was reflected in the glassy surface of
a deep pool, an inquiring young lobster nipped his tail, and the
shore rang with piteous calls for help. Peter has never cared for
the sea since then, and so deeply was the disaster impressed upon
him that I have known him reject a choice bit of meat which
happened to have a few grains of salt on it. It wafted him back to
the ocean, the lobster, and the steward. What powers of imagination
were Peter's!

       *       *       *       *       *

As these memoirs cover a period of seven or eight years, and as
space is limited, my readers will kindly consent to take a seat on
the convenient carpet of the magician, and be wafted gently to the
next station on the road without further question. This is a
pleasant byway in suburban London, greatly frequented by
organ-grinders, travelling bears, German bands, and peripatetic
white mice. This road is always associated in my mind with the
mysterious disappearance of Peter. We had often laughed at the odd
old lady who lived two doors higher up, for the anxiety which she
displayed when any of her pets were missing. It was our turn now.

This same old lady was very fond of her cats, and had nine of them
at the time I am writing of. Every morning when the weather was
warm, she and her cats would come out and unconsciously form a
succession of tableaux for our amusement. A rug was spread out
under the pear tree in the middle of the tiny lawn, a great
basket-chair was placed in the middle of this rug, and, these
preparations having been made, the old lady, who was very stout,
and always wore a monster poke bonnet and a shapeless black silk
dress, came out, followed by her nine cats, and took possession of
the basket-chair. A little maid then appeared with a tray, on which
were nine little blue china saucers and a jug of milk. The nine
little saucers were ranged in a semicircle, and filled with milk,
whereupon the old lady cried out, "Who says breakfast, dearies? Who
says breakfast--breakfast?" This invitation was immediately
responded to by the nine cats. When they had done the old lady
cried, "Who says washee, dearies? Washee, washee, washee?"
Whereupon the nine cats sat on their haunches and proceeded to make
their toilettes. The requirements of cleanliness having been
satisfied, and the nine basins having been taken away by the little
maid, the old lady shouted out, "Who says play, dearies? Playee,
playee, playee?" holding out her arms, and calling out, "Dido Dums,
Dido Dums, come here, deary," when a fine Persian cat jumped on to
her right shoulder. "Now Diddles Doddles, Diddles Doddles," and
another Persian cat jumped on to her left shoulder. "Tootsy
Wootsy," she called once more, and a black cat scrambled up to the
crown of the poke bonnet. And one by one they were summoned by some
endearing diminutive, until the nine cats had taken possession of
every possible coign of vantage which was offered by the old lady's
capacious person. There they sat, waving their tails to and fro,
evidently very pleased by their mistress's little attentions. Mrs.
Mee was not very popular in the neighborhood, except with the
milkman and the butcher. The cats'-meat-man, indeed, who supplied
various families in our road, positively hated her--so I gathered
from our servant,--and had been heard to say _sotto voce_ in
unguarded moments, "Ha! ha! I'll be revenged." It was not
unnatural, as the cats were fed on mutton cutlets and fresh milk,
and cats' meat was at a discount. About three weeks before Peter
disappeared, Mrs. Mee, in the short space of three or four days,
had lost no less than five cats by a violent death, and five little
graves had been dug, marked by five little tombstones, and the five
dead cats had been laid in their last resting-places by the hands
of the old lady herself. A funeral is not generally amusing, but I
could not restrain a smile when I saw my eccentric old neighbor
follow the remains of her dead pets, which were reverently carried
on the tea-tray by the little serving-maid, the old lady herself
leading the way, ringing a muffled peal with the dinner-bell, the
remaining cats bringing up the rear, pondering over the fate of
their dead comrades.

It happened that three of these unfortunate victims had been found
on my doorstep. I felt very angry with the old lady, who blamed me
for the destruction of her pets, adducing the fact that they were
found dying on my doorsteps as proof conclusive. One morning I
received an anonymous postcard. Although it bore the Charing Cross
postmark, I felt sure it came from the old lady. It read as
follows:

   "The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold."

This was the last straw, for I felt that as regards the old lady's
cats I had behaved in a sympathetic and neighborly spirit. I
remember this post-card because the same afternoon that it came
Peter disappeared, and I began to fear that he had yielded to the
temptation of a poisoned pig's foot which had been found in my
garden stripped of its flesh. This was a delicacy which Peter had
never been able to resist, though why he should have preferred it
to the choice foods that were daily piled upon his plate I cannot
for the life of me say. We searched the neighborhood in vain, and
at last I determined to advertise. Accordingly I addressed an
advertisement to my favorite paper. It ran as follows:

  "COME BACK, PETER. Lost, stolen, strayed, or poisoned, a white
  and black cat called Peter, who left his friends at--on Monday
  afternoon last. Round his neck he wore a blue ribbon with the word
  PETER embroidered upon it in red silk. Before retiring to rest he
  always says his prayers. Dead or alive, a reward of Two Pounds is
  offered to any one who will restore him to his mourning friends."

I little knew what I was bringing on my devoted head. I had been
troubled enough before with dying cats, but now they were all
alive. Cats were brought to me in baskets, in boxes, in arms; Manx
cats and cats whose tails were missing for other than hereditary
reasons; lame cats, blind cats, cats with one eye, and cats who
squinted. Never before had I seen such an extraordinary collection.
My whole time was now taken up in interviewing callers with cats.

If the boys were bad before, they were a thousand times worse now.
Here is one example out of a score. He was a boy known as Pop, who
carried the laundry baskets.

"'Ave yer found yer cat yet?"

"No, we haven't."

"Did yer say it was a yaller 'un?"

"No, I didn't."

"What did I say, Hop?" continued Pop, triumphantly turning to a
one-legged friend who swept a crossing close by.

"Yer said, Pop, as it was a tortus," murmured the bashful Hop, who
had sheltered himself behind Pop.

"A tortus, that's it. A tortus, and Hop and _I's_ found it,
sir. We've got it here."

"You're wrong. My cat's _not_ a tortoise," I replied.

"Bless you, we know that, guv'nor. Just as if we didn't know Peter!
Ah! Peter was a cat as wants a lot of replacin', Peter does. But me
and Hop's got a tortus as is a wunner, guv'nor. A heap better nor
Peter. Poor old Peter! he's dead and gone. Be sure of that. This
'ere's a reg'lar bad road. A prize-winner, warn't 'e, Hoppy?" They
held up the prize-winner, who was _not_ a tortoise, and was
mangy.

"Look here, my boys, you can take her away. Now, be off. Quick
march!"

"Yer don't want it, guv'nor. Jest think agin. Why, 'ow will you get
along without a cat? The mice is 'orrible in this 'ere road. Come,
guv'nor, I'll tell you what I'll do. You shall 'ave a bargain,"
said Pop.

I insisted that the tortoise prize-winner should be taken away, and
the next day I stopped the advertisement and resigned myself to
despair. A week after Peter had disappeared I heard the voice of my
friend Pop at the door. "I say, mister, I've some noose. Come along
o' me. I think I've found 'im. Real. A blue ribbon round 'is neck
and says 'is prayers. Put on yer 'at and foller, foller, foller
me." Mr. Pop led the way along the road, and turned off to the
right, and we walked up another road until we reached a large house
which had been unoccupied for many months. The drains were up, and
two or three workmen were busy. Pop at once introduced me as "the
gent as was lookin' for his cat." "Have you seen a cat with a blue
ribbon round his neck?" I asked them, very dubious as to the
honesty of Pop's intention. "Well, sich a cat _'as_ bin 'ere
for some days," replied the workman to whom I had spoken. "He used
to come when we were gettin' our bit of dinner. But we never know'd
but wot it came from next door. You go upstairs to the first-floor
front, and you'll see a sight." On the top of the stairs was Peter,
who knew me at once, and began to purr and rub himself against my
legs in a most affectionate manner, as if to appease any outburst
of wrath on my part. I felt too pleased to be angry, and followed
Peter into the empty room, which was littered with paper and
rubbish, and the remains of forty or fifty mice lay strewn about
the floor. Peter looked up to me as if to say: "Not a bad bag--eh,
master?" In the corner of the room was a bit of sacking which Peter
had used as a bed. Pop explained to me that he had heard the men
talking about the funny cat that came and dined with them every
day. This conversation induced him to search the house, with the
happy result that Peter was restored to the bosom of his sorrowing
family, and Pop gave up the laundry basket, and invested the reward
in a small private business of his own.

       *       *       *       *       *

Peter and I have had many homes in London and in the country.
Together we have lived in flats, in hotels, in farm-houses, and in
lodgings for single gentlemen. In lodgings for single gentlemen we
had many strange experiences which would occupy too much time to
relate, and I will therefore touch but lightly upon this period of
Peter's career. Peter, being a gentlemanly cat, never quarrelled
with ladies, however hard they might be to please, and let them
gird at him as they would. For did not that gracious animal, when
Mrs. Nagsby was accusing him of stealing fowls, say--did he not
arch his bonny back and purr against Mrs. Nagsby's ankles and
endeavor to appease her? In her softer moods she did sometimes
relax, and even allowed Peter to sit by her side as she read the
paper. Peter was held responsible for every article that was lost
in Mrs. Nagsby's apartments, and the amount of money I paid to that
good lady for breakage in the course of six months would have
furnished a small cottage. Mrs. Nagsby was a widow, and the late
lamented Nagsby had supported her by his performances on the
euphonium. This instrument was kept in a case in Mrs. Nagsby's
little room, which was on the ground-floor back, and looked on to a
series of dingy walls. Mrs. Nagsby used to polish up the euphonium
every Saturday morning with a regularity which nothing prevented.
Did it not speak volumes for her affection for the late lamented?
On one of these Saturdays it happened that a German band stopped at
the front door. Mrs. Nagsby could never resist the seductive power
of brass music. She rushed upstairs to the first-floor front to
listen to the performance. Fate ordained it that Mrs. Nagsby should
leave the precious euphonium on the floor in her haste to hear the
band. Fate ordained it also that Peter should come down stairs at
this particular moment and wend his way to Mrs. Nagsby's parlor.
Fate also had ordained it that a mouse which lived in a hole behind
Mrs. Nagsby's easy-chair should issue at this particular moment for
a little bread-crumb expedition. Mrs. Nagsby was a careful
housekeeper, and finding no crumbs about, the mouse roamed into the
silent highway presented by the orifice of the euphonium. It was
natural enough that Peter should follow the mouse. Unfortunately,
Peter's progress was stopped, the girth of his body being too great
to admit him; and my door being open, I at once rushed to the
rescue, and found Peter with his head in the depths of the
euphonium, and making fierce struggles to vacate the position. Mrs.
Nagsby came downstairs and entered her parlor just as I succeeded
in extracting Peter from the musical instrument. Fiercely was I
reproached for Peter's escapade, and humbly did I make his
apologies, little knowing the secret of the plight from which I had
rescued him. Having soothed my landlady, she at length took up the
euphonium and proceeded to apply her eye to the main orifice to see
if Peter had damaged it, handling the euphonium in the manner of a
telescope. I was thinking of the reproaches in prospect, when I was
startled by a loud shriek, to which the euphonium imparted a
metallic vibration, and Mrs. Nagsby dropped the instrument on to
the floor, the good lady herself following it with a thud. A wee
mouse scuttled across her face, disappeared behind the easy chair,
and doubtless rejoined his anxious family. Mrs. Nagsby recovered
after her maid-of-all-work and I had burnt a few sheets of brown
paper under her nostrils; but I had great difficulty in making the
peace.

In vain I pointed out that the responsibility did not remain with
me, or even with Peter. We agreed after some debate that it was the
German band, which was never afterwards patronized by Mrs. Nagsby.

I got into further trouble with Mrs. Nagsby owing to a greyhound
which I had bought at a sale. I had no character with him, for he
had no character. If Mrs. Nagsby had killed him with the meat
hatchet I would have held my peace, for never a day passed but King
Arthur took his name in vain. The first night I brought him home
Mrs. Nagsby gave me permission as a great favor to chain him to the
kitchen table. In the morning two of the table legs had been
mangled, and that is our reason why I called him King Arthur, of
the Round Table. The next night King Arthur was taken upstairs and
attached to the leg of my wash-stand. I was awakened out of my
beauty sleep by a horrible clamor which caused me to think that the
house had fallen in. I presently realized that King Arthur had
mistaken the water-jug for a dragon. In any case it was smashed to
bits, and the noise brought Mrs. Nagsby to my door in anger. I
should be sorry to say what King Arthur cost me in hard cash for
breakages and legs of mutton. Poor Peter! thou wast a saint when
compared with that fiend on four legs.

The _denouement_ came at last, and it arose from King Arthur's
fondness for the ladies. There was nothing remarkable in the
appearance of the old lady who was Mrs. Nagsby's favorite lodger,
who had held the rooms above mine for three years. Rut the lady had
a most beautiful sealskin jacket, trimmed with tails of sable. King
Arthur had unluckily a feminine affection for furs, and I never
dared to take him into any of the fashionable thoroughfares, as he
had a way of following the ladies, not for their own dear sakes,
but for the fur which they might happen to be wearing. Whether they
were only tippets or dyed rabbit-skins, it did not matter to King
Arthur.

Well, one unfortunate afternoon, I was leading my greyhound home. A
few yards in front of us was Mrs. Nagsby's first-floor lady, taking
the sun in all the glories of her sealskin jacket and sable tails.
To my horror I dropped the chain in taking a match-box out of my
pocket, and before I could take any steps to prevent him--_King
Arthur was coursing Mrs. Nagsby's first-floor lodger at his highest
rate of speed!!!_ King Arthur held on his course and literally
took the old lady aback, and began to tear those choice sable
tippets asunder. Nor was the base creature content to rest at the
sable tippets. Before I reached his victim his mouth was full of
sealskin. Let me pass on, merely saying that King Arthur was shot
that night in the mews at the back of Mrs. Nagsby's, a victim to
his own indiscretions.

And now I come to the fatal catastrophe which finally drove me and
Peter from the shelter of Mrs. Nagsby's roof. That lady had a set
of false teeth which she was in the habit of depositing on her
dressing-table when she went to bed. I had learned this from Sarah
when that damsel was in a confidential mood. Peter, I think I have
told you, slept in my room. One very warm night Mrs. Nagsby left
her door open, and her night light was burning as usual. I also
slept with my door open, and Peter, being hot like the rest of us,
left the room for a stroll, and visited Mrs. Nagsby's apartment.
Presently he came back with Mrs. Nagsby's teeth between his own--at
least I suppose so, for I found them on the hearth-rug when I
awoke. I was greatly amused, though a little puzzled to know how I
could replace them. After some reflection I went down to breakfast,
placed the trophy in a saucer, and showed it to Sarah, who screamed
and traitorously ran up and informed her mistress. Mrs. Nagsby came
down rampant, but of course speechless. I was thankful for this;
but the violent woman, after sputtering spasmodically, caught sight
of the missing article in the saucer, and, lost to all sense of
shame, replaced it in position and poured forth a torrent of the
most violent abuse.

Peter and I left.



JEFF THE INQUISITIVE

By General Rush C. Hawkins

Among the gunboats doing duty on the inland waters of North
Carolina in the early spring of 1862, which composed what Commodore
Goldsborough designated his "Pasteboard Fleet," was the
_Louisiana_, commanded by Commander Alexander Murray, who was
noted for his efficiency and good nature.

His treatment of his crew made him one of the most popular officers
in the whole fleet. He entered into all of their sports and
sympathized with the discomforts of forecastle life. He was fond of
animal pets, and always welcomed the arrival of a new one. At the
time of which I am writing, his ship carried quite a collection of
tame birds and four-footed favorites. Among them was a singular
little character, known as "Jeff." He was a perfectly black pig of
the "Racer Razor Back" order, which, at that time, were plentiful
in the coast sections of the more southern of the slave-holding
States. They were called "racers" because of their long legs,
slender bodies, and great capacity for running; and "Razor Backs"
on account of the prominence of the spinal column. The origin of
this particular species of the porcine tribe is unknown, but there
is a tradition to the effect that their progenitors were a part of
the drove that came to the coast of Florida with De Soto when he
started on the march which ended with the discovery of the
Mississippi River. History records the fact that a large number of
animals were brought from Spain for food, and that a considerable
number of them succeeded in getting away from the expedition soon
after the landing was effected.

Our particular specimen of this wandering tribe of natural
marauders was captur

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