THE POISONED PET.
It was my good fortune the other day to attend a picnic in the country. A lady friend insisted on tacking her pet boy to me on that occasion. As she couldn’t go herself she wanted me to have an eye to “sonney,” and see that he didn’t come in contact with poison-oak. She assured me he was a good boy and would mind me as if I was his father! I didn’t pine for the pet’s company, but could not very well refuse her request. So he went with me.
I very soon found out he was one of those smart children, who, by a strange freak of nature, are placed in possession of an impudence that prompts them to believe they know more at the age of eight than your average adult.
My will and his wishes soon clashed.
Then the thought entered my head that his mother misrepresented “sonney’s” obedient nature. “If this is the obedience that an offspringmanifests to a father,” I mentally murmured, “it were better to be destitute of the offspring.” The boy sauced me. He even went so far as to call me names anything but flattering, while I was sitting in the presence of a young lady I most ardently adored. “Go on, sonney!” I said to myself savagely, “go on, precocious youth, there are no raging bears in this suburban park to tear the flesh from the bones of mouthy children who ‘sauce’ their betters, as did the animals in the days of prophets; but nature in other ways has made provision for such as you, and has sprinkled a few shrubs around here that can pile the flesh on to a person’s bones to an alarming degree, if they get a fair chance.”
After that I paid no attention to him. He ran at will, browsed through the vines like a hungry deer, and burrowed into the very heart of the poison-oak and ivy, with as little fear as a quail retiring to roost. He enjoyed himself immensely; so he informed me in the evening. I am glad he did, for he is having a quiet time of it now. I saw him this morning, and his face was as full of expression as a Christmas puddingnew rolled from the cloth. I think my lady friend will not be over-anxious to appoint me guardian over her dutiful son at another picnic. In the interests of art I have made a sketch of “sonney” as he appeared this morning, striving to recognize me by my voice, which he failed to do, however, being deaf as he was blind.
HAVING A QUIET TIME.
HAVING A QUIET TIME.
HAVING A QUIET TIME.