THE TRAP.THE TRAP.
The trap was of the kind called by the boys a box-trap. It is in the form of a box, and the back part runs up high, to a point. The lid of the box has a string fastened to it, which string is carried up, over the high point, and thence down, and is fastened to an apparatus connected with the spindle.
The spindle is a slender rod of wood whichpasses through the end of the box into the interior. About half of the spindle is within the box and half without. There is a small notch in the outer part of the spindle, and another in the end of the box, a short distance above the spindle. There is a small bar of wood, with both ends sharpened, and made of such a length as just to reach from the notch in the end of the box, to the notch in the spindle. This bar is the apparatus to which the end of the string is fastened, as before described.
When the trap is to be set, the bar is fitted to the notches in such a manner as to catch in them, and then the weight of the lid, being sustained by the string, the lid is held up so that the squirrel can go in. The front of the box is attached to the lid, and rises with it, so that when the lid is raised a little the squirrel can creep directly in. The bait, which is generally a part of an ear of corn, is fastened to the end of the spindle, which is within the trap. The squirrel sees the bait, and creeps in to get it. He begins to nibble upon the corn. The ear is tied so firmly to the spindle that he can not get it away. In gnawing upon it to get off the corn, he finallydisengages the end of the spindle from the bar, by working the lower end of the bar out of its notch; this lets the string up, and of course the lid comes down, and the squirrel is shut in, a captive.
When the lid first comes down, it makes so loud a noise as to terrify the poor captive very much. He runs this way and that, around the interior of the box, wondering what has happened, and why he can not get out as he came in. He has no more appetite for the corn, but is in great distress at his sudden and unaccountable captivity.
After trying in vain on all sides to escape, by forcing his way, and finding that the box is too strong for him in every part, he finally concludes to gnaw out. He accordingly selects the part of the box where there is the widest crack, and where consequently the brightest light shines through. He selects this place, partly because he supposes that the box is thinnest there, and partly because he likes to work in the light.[A]
There was a squirrel in the trap whichPhonny had found. It was a large and handsome gray squirrel. He had been taken that morning. About an hour after the trap sprung upon him, he had begun to gnaw out, and he had got about half through the boards in the corner when Phonny found him. When Phonny shook the trap the squirrel clung to the bottom of it by his claws, so that Phonny did not shake him about much.
When Phonny had put the trap upon the great stone, he thought that he would lift up the lid a little way, and peep in. This is a very dangerous operation, for a squirrel will squeeze out through a very small aperture, and many a boy has lost a squirrel by the very means that he was taking to decide whether he had got one.
Phonny was aware of this danger, and so he was very careful. He raised the lid but very little, and looked under with the utmost caution. He saw two little round and very brilliant eyes peeping out at him.
“Yes, Wallace,” said he. “Yes, yes, here he is. I see his eyes.”
Wallace sat very composedly upon his horse, holding Phonny’s bridle, while Phonny was uttering these exclamations, without appearingto share the enthusiasm which Phonny felt, at all.
“He is here, Wallace,” said Phonny. “He is, truly.”
“I do not doubt it,” said Wallace, “but what are we to do about it?”
“Why—why—what would you do?” asked Phonny.
“I suppose that the best thing that we could do,” said Wallace, “is to ride along.”
“And leave the squirrel?” said Phonny, in a tone of surprise.
“Yes,” said Wallace. “I don’t see any thing else that we can do.”
“Why, he will gnaw out,” said Phonny. “He will gnaw out in half an hour. He has gnawed half through the board already. Espy ought to have tinned his trap.” So saying, Phonny stooped down and peeped into the trap again, through the crack under the lid.
“Who is Espy?” asked Wallace.
“Espy Ransom,” said Phonny. “He lives down by the mill. He is always setting traps for squirrels. I suppose that this road goes down to the mill, and that he came up here and set his trap. But it won’t do to leave thesquirrel here,” continued Phonny, looking at Wallace in a very earnest manner. “It never will do in the world.”
“What shall we do, then?” asked Wallace.
“Couldn’t we carry him down to Espy?” said Phonny.
“I don’t think that we have any right to carry him away. It is not our squirrel, and it may be that it is not Espy’s.”
Phonny seemed perplexed. After a moment’s pause he added, “Couldn’t we go down and tell Espy that there is a squirrel in his trap?”
“Yes,” said Wallace, “that we can do.”
Phonny stooped down and peeped into the trap again.
“The rogue,” said he. “The moment that I am gone, he will go to gnawing again, I suppose, and so get out and run away. What a little fool he is.”
“Do you think he is a fool for trying to gnaw out of that trap?” asked Wallace.
“Why no,”—said Phonny, “but I wish he wouldn’t do it. We will go down quick and tell Espy.”
So Phonny came back to the place whereWallace had remained in the road, holding the horses. Phonny let down the bars, and Wallace went through with the horses. Phonny immediately put the bars up again, took the bridle of his own horse from Wallace’s hands, threw it up over the horse’s head, and then by the help of a large log which lay by the side of the road, he mounted. He did all this in a hurried manner, and ended with saying:
“Now, Cousin Wallace, let’s push on. I don’t think it’s more than half a mile to the mill.”
While Wallace and Phonny were taking their ride, as described in the last chapter, Stuyvesant and Beechnut were plowing.
Beechnut told Stuyvesant that he was ready to yoke up, as he called it, as soon as the horses had gone.
“Well,” said Stuyvesant, “I will come. I have got to go up to my room a minute first.”
So Stuyvesant went up to his room, feeling in his pockets as he ascended the stairs, to find the keys of his trunk. When he reached his room, he kneeled down before his trunk and unlocked it.
He raised the lid and began to take out the things. He took them out very carefully, and laid them in order upon a table which was near the trunk. There were clothes of various kinds, some books, and several parcels, put up neatly in paper. Stuyvesant stopped at one of these parcels, which seemed to be of anirregular shape, and began to feel of what it contained through the paper.
“What is this?” said he to himself. “I wonder what it can be. Oh, I remember now, it is my watch-compass.”
What Stuyvesant called his watch-compass, was a small pocket-compass made in the form of a watch. It was in a very pretty brass case, about as large as a lady’s watch, and it had a little handle at the side, to fasten a watch-ribbon to. Stuyvesant’s uncle had given him this compass a great many years before. Stuyvesant had kept it very carefully in his drawer at home, intending when he should go into the country to take it with him, supposing that it would be useful to him in the woods. His sister had given him a black ribbon to fasten to the handle. The ribbon was long enough to go round Stuyvesant’s neck, while the compass was in his waistcoat pocket.
Stuyvesant untied the string, which was around the paper that contained his compass, and took it off. He then wound up this string into a neat sort of coil, somewhat in the manner in which fishing-lines are put up when for sale in shops. He put this coil of twine, together with the paper, upon the table. Helooked at the compass a moment to see which was north in his chamber, and then putting the compass itself in his pocket, he passed the ribbon round his neck, and afterward went on taking the things out of his trunk.
When he came pretty near to the bottom of his trunk, he said to himself,
“Ah! here it is.”
At the same moment he took out a garment, which seemed to be a sort of frock. It was made of brown linen. He laid it aside upon a chair, and then began to put the things back into his trunk again. He laid them all in very carefully, each in its own place. When all were in, he shut down the lid of the trunk, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. Then he took the frock from the chair, and opening it, put it on.
It was made somewhat like a cartman’s frock. Stuyvesant had had it made by the seamstress at his mother’s house, in New York, before he came away. He was a very neat and tidy boy about his dress, and always felt uncomfortable if his clothes were soiled or torn. He concluded, therefore, that if he had a good, strong, serviceable frock to put onover his other clothes, it would be very convenient for him at Franconia.
As soon as his frock was on, he hastened down stairs and went out to the barn in search of Beechnut. He found him yoking up the cattle.
“Why, Stuyvesant,” said Beechnut, when he saw him, “that is a capital frock that you have got. How much did it cost?”
“I don’t know,” said Stuyvesant; “Mary made it for me.”
“Who is Mary?” asked Beechnut.
“She is the seamstress,” said Stuyvesant. “She lives at our house in New York.”
“Do you have a seamstress there all the time?” said Beechnut.
“Yes,” said Stuyvesant.
“And her name is Mary,” said Beechnut.
“Yes,” said Stuyvesant.
“Well, I wish she would take it into her head to make me such a frock as that,” said Beechnut.
During this conversation, Beechnut had been busily employed in yoking up the oxen. Stuyvesant looked on, watching the operations carefully, in order to see how the work of yoking up was done. He wished to seewhether the process was such that he could learn to yoke up oxen himself; or whether any thing that was required was beyond his strength.
“Canboysyoke up cattle?” said Stuyvesant at length.
“It takes a pretty stout boy,” said Beechnut.
“Could a boy as stout as I am do it?” asked Stuyvesant.
“It would be rather hard work for you,” said Beechnut, “the yoke is pretty heavy.”
The yoke was indeed quite heavy, and it was necessary to lift it—one end at a time—over the necks of the oxen. Stuyvesant observed that the oxen were fastened to the yoke, by means of bows shaped like the letter U. These bows were passed up under the necks of the oxen. The ends of them came up through the yokes and were fastened there by little pegs, which Beechnut called keys. There was a ring in the middle of the yoke on the under side to fasten the chain to, by which the cattle were to draw.
When the oxen were yoked, Beechnut drove them to the corner of the yard, where there was a drag with a plow upon it. Beechnut put an axe also upon the drag.
“What do you want an axe for,” asked Stuyvesant, “in going to plow?”
“We always take an axe,” said Beechnut, “when we go away to work. We are pretty sure to want it for something or other.”
Beechnut then gave Stuyvesant a goad stick, and told him that he might drive. Stuyvesant had observed very attentively what Beechnut had done in driving, and the gestures which he had made, and the calls which he had used, in speaking to the oxen, and though he had never attempted to drive such a team before, he succeeded quite well. His success, however, was partly owing to the sagacity of the oxen, who knew very well where they were to go and what they were to do.
At length, after passing through one or two pairs of bars, they came to the field.
“Which is the easiest,” said Stuyvesant, “to drive the team or hold the plow?”
“That depends,” said Beechnut, “upon whether your capacity consists most in your strength or your skill.”
“Why so?” asked Stuyvesant.
“Because,” said Beechnut, “it requires more skill to drive, than to hold the plow, andmore strength to hold the plow, than to drive. I think, therefore, that you had better drive, for as between you and I, it is I that have the most strength, and you that have the most skill.”
Stuyvesant laughed.
“Why yououghtto have the most skill,” said Beechnut—“coming from such a great city.”
Beechnut took the plow off from the drag, and laid the drag on one side. He then attached the cattle to the plow. They were standing, when they did this, in the middle of one side of the field.
“Now,” said Beechnut, “we are going first straight through the middle of the field. Do you see that elm-tree, the other side of the fence?”
“I see a large tree,” said Stuyvesant.
“It is an elm,” said Beechnut.
“There is a great bird upon the top of it,” said Stuyvesant.
“Yes,” said Beechnut, “it is a crow. Now you must keep the oxen headed directly for that tree. Go as straight as you can, and I shall try to keep the plow straight behind you. The thing is to make a straight furrow.”
When all was ready, Stuyvesant gave the word to his oxen to move on, and they began to draw. Stuyvesant went on, keeping his eye alternately upon the oxen and upon the tree. He had some curiosity to look round and see how Beechnut was getting along with the furrow, but he recollected that his business was to drive, and so he gave his whole attention to his driving, in order that he might go as straight as possible across the field.
The crow flew away when he had got half across the field. He had a strong desire to know where she was going to fly to, but he did not look round to follow her in her flight. He went steadily on attending to his driving.
When he was about two thirds across the field, he saw a stump at a short distance before him, with a small hornet’s nest upon one side of it. His course would lead him, he saw, very near this nest. His first impulse was to stop the oxen and tell Beechnut about the hornet’s nest. He did in fact hesitate a moment, but he was instantly reassured by hearing Beechnut call out to him from behind, saying,
“Never mind the hornet’s nest, Stuyvesant. Drive the oxen right on. I don’t think the hornets will sting them.”
Stuyvesant perceived by this, that Beechnut thought only of the oxen, when he saw a hornet’s nest, and he concluded to follow his example in this respect. So he drove steadily on.
When they got to the end of the field the oxen stopped. Beechnut and Stuyvesant then looked round to see the furrow. It was very respectably straight.
“You have done very well,” said he, “and you will find it easier now, for one of the oxen will walk in the furrow, and that will guide him.”
So Stuyvesant brought the team around and then went back, one of the oxen in returning walking in the furrow which had been made before. In this manner they went back to the place from which they had first started.
“There,” said Beechnut, “now we have got our work well laid out. But before we plow any more, we must destroy that hornet’s nest, or else when we come to plow by that stump, the hornets will sting the oxen. I’llgo and get some straw. You may stay here and watch the oxen while I am gone.”
In a short time Beechnut came back, bringing his arms full of hay. He walked directly toward that part of the field where the hornet’s nest was, calling Stuyvesant to follow him. Stuyvesant did so. When he got near to the stump, he put the hay down upon the ground. He then advanced cautiously to the stump with a part of the hay in his arms This hay he put down at the foot of the stump, directly under the hornet’s nest, extending a portion of it outward so as to form a sort of train. He then went back and took up the remaining portion of the hay and held it in his hands.
“Now, Stuyvesant,” said Beechnut, “light a match and set fire to the train.”
Beechnut had previously given Stuyvesant a small paper containing a number of matches.
“How shall I light it?” asked Stuyvesant.
“Rub it upon a stone,” said Beechnut. “Find one that has been lying in the sun,” continued Beechnut, “and then the match will catch quicker, because the stone will be warm and dry.”
So Stuyvesant lighted a match by rubbingit upon a smooth stone which was lying upon the ground near by. He then cautiously approached the end of the train and set it on fire.
THE HORNET’S NEST.THE HORNET’S NEST.
Beechnut then came up immediately with the hay that he had in his hands, and placed it over and around the hornet’s nest, so as to envelop it entirely. He and Stuyvesant then retreated together to a safe distance, and there stood to watch the result.
A very dense white smoke immediately beganto come up through the hay. Presently the flame burst out, and in a few minutes the whole mass of the hay was in a bright blaze. Stuyvesant looked very earnestly to see if he could see any hornets, but he could not. At last, however, when the fire was burnt nearly down, he saw two. They were flying about the stump, apparently in great perplexity and distress. Stuyvesant pitied them, but as he did not see what he could do to help them, he told them that he thought they had better go and find some more hornets and build another nest somewhere. Then he and Beechnut went back to the plow.
Stuyvesant had quite a desire to try and hold the plow, after he had been driving the team about an hour, but he thought it was best not to ask. In fact he knew himself that it was best for him to learn one thing at a time. So he went on with his driving.
When it was about a quarter before twelve, Beechnut said that it was time to go in. So he unhooked the chain from the yoke, and leaving the plow, the drag, the axe and the chain in the field, he let the oxen go. They immediately ran off into a copse of trees and bushes, which bordered the road on one side.
“Why, Beechnut!” said Stuyvesant, “the oxen are running away.”
“No,” said Beechnut, “they are only going down to drink. There is a brook down there where they go to drink when they are at work in this field.”
Oxen appear to possess mental qualifications of a certain kind in a very high degree. They are especially remarkable for their sagacity in finding good places to drink in the fields and pastures where they feed or are employed at work, and for their good memory in recollecting where they are. An ox may be kept away from a particular field or pasture quite a long time, and yet know exactly where to go to find water to drink when he is admitted to it again.
Stuyvesant looked at the oxen as they went down the path, and then proposed to follow them.
“Let us go and see,” said he.
OXEN DRINKING.OXEN DRINKING.
So he and Beechnut walked along after the oxen. They found a narrow, but very pretty road, or rather path, overhung with trees and bushes, which led down to the water. The road terminated at a broad and shallow place in the stream, where the sand was yellow andthe water very clear. The oxen went out into the water, and then put their heads down to drink. Presently they stopped, first one and then the other, and stood a moment considering whether they wanted any more. Finding that they did not, they turned round in the water, and then came slowly out to the land. They walked up the bank, and finally emerging from the wood at the place where they had entered it, they went toward home.
When they reached the house the cattle went straight through the yard, toward the barn. Beechnut and Stuyvesant followed them. Beechnut was going to get them some hay. Stuyvesant went in with Beechnut and stood below on the barn floor, while Beechnut went up the ladder to pitch the hay down.
During all the time that Beechnut and Stuyvesant had been coming up from the field, conversation had been going on between them, about various subjects connected with farming. Stuyvesant asked Beechnut if Phonny could drive oxen pretty well.
“Prettywell,” said Beechnut.
“Does he like to drive?” asked Stuyvesant.
“He likes to begin to drive,” said Beechnut.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Stuyvesant.
“Why, when there is any driving to be done,” replied Beechnut, “he thinks that he shall like it, and he wants to take a goad stick and begin. But he very soon gets tired of it, and goes away. You seem to have more perseverance. In fact, you seem to have a great deal of perseverance, which I think is very strange, considering that you are a city boy.”
Stuyvesant laughed.
“City boys,” continued Beechnut, “I have always heard said, are good for nothing at all.”
“But you said, a little while ago,” replied Stuyvesant, “that city boys had a great deal of skill.”
“Yes,” said Beechnut, “they are bright enough, but they have generally no steadiness or perseverance. They go from one thing to another, following the whim of the moment. The reason of that is, that living in cities, they are brought up without having any thing to do.”
“They can go of errands,” said Stuyvesant.
“Yes,” said Beechnut, “they can go of errands, but there are not many errands to be done, so they are brought up in idleness. Country boys, on the other hand, generally have a great deal to do. They have to go for the cows, and catch the horses, and drive oxen, and a thousand other things, and so they are brought up in industry.”
“Is Phonny brought up in industry?” asked Stuyvesant.
“Hardly,” said Beechnut. “In fact he is scarcely old enough yet to do much work.”
“He is as old as I am,” said Stuyvesant.
“True,” said Beechnut, “but he does not seem to have as much discretion. Do you see that long shed out there, projecting from the barn?”
This was said just at the time when Beechnut and Stuyvesant were passing through the gate which led into the yard, and the barns and sheds were just coming into view.
“The one with that square hole by the side of the door?” asked Stuyvesant.
“Yes,” said Beechnut, “that was Phonny’s hen house. He bought some hens, and wasgoing to be a great poulterer. He was going to have I don’t know how many eggs and chickens,—but finally he got tired of his brood, and neglected them, and at last wanted to sell them to me. I bought them day before yesterday.”
“How many hens are there?” asked Stuyvesant.
“About a dozen,” said Beechnut. “I gave him a dollar and a half for the whole stock. I looked into his hen-house when I bought him out, and found it all in sad condition. I have not had time to put it in order yet.”
“I will put it in order,” said Stuyvesant.
“Will you?” said Beechnut.
“Yes,” said Stuyvesant, “and I should like to buy the hens of you, if I were only going to stay here long enough.”
“I don’t think it is worth while for you to buy them,” said Beechnut, “but I should like to have you take charge of them. I would pay you by giving you a share of the eggs.”
“What could I do with the eggs?” asked Stuyvesant.
“Why you could sell them, or give them away, just as you pleased. You might givethem to Mrs. Henry, or sell them to her, or sell them to me. If you will take the whole care of them while you are here, I will give you one third of the eggs, after all expenses are paid.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Stuyvesant.
“Why, if we have to buy any grain, for instance, to give the hens, we must sell eggs enough first to pay for the grain, and after that, you shall have one third of the eggs that are left.”
Stuyvesant was much pleased with this proposal, and was just about to say that he accepted it, when his attention was suddenly turned away from the subject, by hearing a loud call from Phonny, who just then came running round a corner, with a box-trap under his arm, shouting out,
“Stuyvesant! Stuyvesant! Look here! I’ve got a gray squirrel;—a beautiful, large gray squirrel.”
It is necessary in this chapter to return to Phonny and Wallace, in order to explain how Phonny succeeded in getting his squirrel.
He was quite in haste, as he went on after leaving the squirrel, in order to get down to the mill where Espy lived, before the squirrel should have gnawed out. The road, he was quite confident, led to the mill.
“I should like to buy the squirrel, if Espy will sell him,” said Phonny.
“Do you think that your mother would be willing?” asked Wallace.
“Why yes,” said Phonny, “certainly. What objection could she have?”
“None, only the trouble that it would occasion her,” replied Wallace.
“Oh, it would not make her any trouble,” said Phonny. “I should take care of it myself.”
“It would not make her much trouble, Iknow,” said Wallace, “if you were only considerate and careful. As it is I think it may make her a great deal.”
“No,” said Phonny, “I don’t think that it will make her any trouble at all.”
“Where shall you keep your squirrel?” asked Wallace.
“In a cage, in the back room,” said Phonny, promptly.
“Have you got a cage?” asked Wallace.
“No,” said Phonny, “but I can make one.”
“I think that in making a cage,” replied Wallace, “you would have to give other people a great deal of trouble. You would be inquiring all about the house, for tools, and boards, and wire,—that is unless you keep your tools and materials for such kind of work, in better order than boys usually do.”
Phonny was silent. His thoughts reverted to a certain room in one of the out-buildings, which he called his shop, and used for that purpose, and which was, as he well knew, at this time in a state of great confusion.
“Then,” continued Wallace, “you will leave the doors open, going and coming, to see your squirrel, and to feed him.”
“No,” said Phonny, “I am very sure that I shall not leave the doors open.”
“And then,” continued Wallace, “after a time you will get a little tired of your squirrel, and will forget to feed him, and so your mother or somebody in the house, must have the care of reminding you of it.”
“Oh, no,” said Phonny, “I should not forget to feed him, I am sure.”
“Did not you forget to feed your hens?” asked Wallace.
“Why—yes,” said Phonny, hesitatingly, “but that is a different thing.”
“Then, besides,” said Wallace, “you will have to go and beg some money of your mother to buy the squirrel with. For I suppose you have not saved any of your own, from your allowance. It is very seldom that boys of your age have self-control enough to lay up any money.”
As Wallace said these words Phonny, who had been riding along, with the bridle and his little riding stick both in his right hand, now shifted them into his left, and then putting his right hand into his left vest pocket, he drew out a little wallet. He then extended his hand with the wallet in it to Wallace saying,
“Look in there.”
Wallace took the wallet, opened it as he rode along, and found that there was a quarter of a dollar in one of the pockets.
“Is that your money?” said Wallace.
“Yes,” said Phonny.
“Then you are not near as much of a boy as I thought you were. To be able to save money, so as to have a stock on hand for any unexpected emergency, is one of the greatest proofs of manliness. I had no idea that you were so much of a man.”
Phonny laughed. At first Wallace supposed that this laugh only expressed the pleasure which Phonny felt at having deserved these praises, but as he gave back the wallet into Phonny’s hands, he perceived a very mysterious expression upon his countenance.
“That’s the money,” said Phonny, “that my mother just gave me for my next fortnight’s allowance.”
“Then you have had no opportunity to spend it at all?”
“No,” said Phonny.
Phonny thought that he was sinking himself in his cousin’s estimation by this avowal,but he was in fact raising himself very much by evincing so much honesty.
“He is not willing to receive commendation that he knows he does not deserve,” thought Wallace to himself. “That is a good sign. That is a great deal better trait of character than to be able to lay up money.”
Wallace thought this to himself as he rode along. He did not, however, express the thought, but went on a minute or two in silence. At length he said,
“So, then, you have got money enough to buy the squirrel?”
“Yes,” said Phonny, “if a quarter is enough.”
“It is enough,” said Wallace, “I have no doubt. So that one difficulty is disposed of. As to the second difficulty,” he continued, “that is, troubling the family about making the cage, we can dispose of that very easily, too, for I can help you about that myself. What shall we do about the third, leaving the doors open and making a noise when you go back and forth to feed him?”
“Oh, I will promise not to do that,” said Phonny.
“Promise!” repeated Wallace, in a tone of incredulity.
“Yes,” said Phonny, “I’ll promise, positively.”
“Is it safe to rely on boys’ promises about here?” said Wallace. “They would not be considered very good security in Wall Street, in New York.”
“I don’t know,” said Phonny; “I always keepmypromises.”
“Are you willing to agree, that if you make any noise or disturbance in the family with your squirrel, that he is to be forfeited?”
“Forfeited!” said Phonny, “how do you mean?”
“Why, given up to me, to dispose of as I please,” said Wallace.
“And what should you do with him?” asked Phonny.
“I don’t know,” said Wallace. “I should dispose of him in some way, so that he should not be the means of any more trouble. Perhaps I should give him away; perhaps I should open the cage and let him run.”
“Then I think you ought to pay me what I gave for him,” said Phonny.
“No,” said Wallace, “because I don’t takehim for any advantage to myself, but only to prevent your allowing him to make trouble. If you make noise and disturbance with him, it is your fault, and you lose the squirrel as the penalty for it. If you do your duty and make no trouble with him, then he would not be forfeited.”
“Well,” said Phonny, “I agree to that. But perhaps you will say that I make a disturbance with him when I don’t.”
“We will have an umpire, then,” said Wallace.
“What is an umpire?” asked Phonny.
“Somebody to decide when there is a dispute,” replied Wallace. “Who shall be the umpire?”
“Beechnut,” said Phonny.
“Agreed,” said Wallace.
“And now there is one point more,” he continued, “and that is, perhaps you will neglect to feed him, and then we shall be uncomfortable, for fear that the squirrel is suffering.”
“No,” said Phonny, shaking his head; “I shall certainly feed him every day, and sometimes twice a day.”
“Are you willing to agree to forfeit him, if you fail to feed him?”
“Why—I don’t know,” said Phonny. “But I certainly shall feed him, I know I shall.”
“Then there will be no harm in agreeing to forfeit him if you fail,” rejoined Wallace; “for if you certainly do feed him, then your agreement to forfeit him will be a dead letter.”
“But I might accidentally omit to feed him some one day,” said Phonny. “I might be sick, or I might be gone away, and I might ask Stuyvesant to feed him, and he forget it, and then I should lose my squirrel entirely.”
“No,” said Wallace, “you are not to forfeit him except forneglect. It must be a real and inexcusable neglect on your part, Beechnut being judge.”
“Well,” said Phonny, “I agree to it.”
“And I will give you three warnings,” said Wallace, “both for making trouble and disturbance with your squirrel, and for neglecting to feed him. After the third warning, he is forfeited, and I am to do what I please with him.”
“Well,” said Phonny, “I agree to it.”
A short time after this conversation, the road in which Wallace and Phonny were riding emerged from the wood, and therewas opened before them the prospect of a wide and beautiful valley. A short distance before them down the valley, there was a stream with a mill. By the side of the mill, under some large spreading elms, was a red house, which Phonny said was the one where Espy lived.
They rode on rapidly, intending to go to the house and inquire for Espy. Just before reaching the place, however, Phonny’s attention was arrested by his seeing some boys fishing on the bank of the stream, just below the mill. It was at a place where the road lay along the bank of the stream, at a little distance from it. The stream was very broad at this place, and the water quite deep and clear. The ground was smooth and green between the road and the water, and there were large trees on the bank overshadowing the shore, so that it was a very pleasant place.[B]
There were two boys standing upon the bank in one place fishing. Two other boys were near the water at a little distance, trying to make a dog jump in, by throwing in sticks and stones.
Just as Wallace and Phonny came along,one of the boys who was fishing, called out in a loud and authoritative tone to one of those who were trying to make the dog jump in, saying,
“Hey-e-e, there! Oliver, don’t throw sticks into the water; you scare away all the fish.”
“Ned!” said Phonny, calling out to the boy who was fishing.
The boy looked round, without, however, moving his fishing-pole.
“Is Espy down there anywhere?” said Phonny.
Here the boy turned his head again toward the water, without directly answering Phonny, though he called out at the same time in an audible voice,
“Espy!”
In answer apparently to his call, a boy came suddenly out of a little thicket which was near the water, just below where Ned was fishing, and asked Ned what he wanted.
“There’s a fellow out here in the road,” said Ned, “calling for you.”
Hearing this, the boy came out of the thicket entirely, and scrambled up the bank. He stood at the top of the bank, looking toward Wallace and Phonny, but did not advance.His hand was extended toward a branch of the tree which he had taken hold of to help him in climbing up the bank. He continued to keep hold of this tree, showing by his attitude that he did not mean to come any farther.
He was in fact a little awed at the sight of Wallace, who was a stranger to him. He did not know whether he was wanted for any good purpose, or was going to be called to account for some of his misdeeds.
“Come here a minute,” said Phonny.
Espy did not move.
“Is that your trap up in the woods?” asked Phonny.
“Yes,” said Espy.
“There is a squirrel in it,” rejoined Phonny, “and I want to buy him.”
Hearing this, the boys who had been playing with the dog began to move up toward Wallace and Phonny. Espy himself taking his hand down from the tree, came forward a few steps. Wallace and Phonny too advanced a little with their horses toward the stream, and thus the whole party came nearer together.
“There is a squirrel in your trap,” repeatedPhonny, “if he has not gnawed out;—and I want to buy him. What will you sell him for?”
“What kind of a squirrel is it?” asked Espy.
“I don’t know,” said Phonny. “I couldn’t see any thing but his eyes.”
“If it’s a gray squirrel,” said Espy, “he is worth a quarter. If it’s a red squirrel you may have him for four pence—
“Or for nothing at all,” continued Espy, after a moment’s pause, “just as you please.”
Wallace laughed.
“What will you sell him for just as he is,” asked Wallace, “and we take the risk of his being red or gray?”
“Don’t you know which it is?” asked Espy.
“No,” said Wallace, “Ido not. I did not go near the cage, and Phonny did not open it. He says he could only see his eyes.”
“And his nose,” said Phonny, “I saw his nose,—but I don’t know at all, what kind of a squirrel it is.”
“You may have him for eighteen cents,” said Espy.
“But perhaps he has gnawed out,” said Phonny. “He was gnawing out as fast as he could when we saw him.”
“Why, if he has gnawed out,” said Espy, “you will not have anything to pay, of course; because then you won’t get him.
“Or,” continued Espy, “you may have him for ten cents, and you take the risk of his gnawing out. You give me ten cents now, and you may have him if he is there, red or gray. If he is not there, I keep the ten cents, and you get nothing.”
“Well,” said Phonny. “Would you, Wallace?”
“I don’t know,” said Wallace. “You must decide. There is considerable risk. I can’t judge.”
“I have not got any ten cents,” said Phonny—“only a quarter of a dollar.”
“Oh, I can pay,” said Wallace, “and then you can pay me some other time.”
“Well,” said Phonny, “I believe I will take him.”
“You must lend me the trap,” said Phonny, again addressing Espy,—“to carry the squirrel home in, and I will bring it back here some day.”
“Well,” said Espy.
So Wallace took a ten cent piece from his pocket, and gave it to Espy, and then he and Phonny rode away.
“Now,” said Phonny, “we must go ahead.”
They rode on rapidly for some time. At length, on ascending a hill, they were obliged to slacken their pace a little.
“If it should prove to be a gray squirrel,” said Phonny, “what a capital bargain I shall have made. A squirrel worth a quarter of a dollar, for ten cents.”
“I don’t see why a gray squirrel is so much more valuable than a red one,” said Wallace. “Is gray considered prettier than red?”
“Oh, it is not his color,” said Phonny, “it is the shape and size. The gray squirrels are a great deal larger, and then, they have a beautiful bushy tail, that lays all the time over their back, and curls up at the end, like a plume. The red squirrels are very small.”
“Besides,” continued Phonny, “they are not red exactly. They are a kind of reddish brown, so that they are not very pretty, even in color. I am afraid that my squirrel will be a red one.”
“I am afraid so, too,” said Wallace.
“The red squirrels are altogether the most common,” said Phonny.
“There are the bars,” said Wallace, “now we shall soon see.”
They had arrived in fact, at the bars. Phonny jumped off his horse and gave Wallace the bridle, and then went to take down the bars. As soon as he had got them down, he left Wallace to go through with the horses, at his leisure, and he himself ran off toward the rock where he had left the trap, to see what sort of a squirrel he had.
Wallace went through the bars in a deliberate manner, as it was in fact necessary to do in conducting two horses, and then dismounted, intending to put the bars up. He had just got off his horse when he saw Phonny coming from the direction of the place where the trap had been left, with a countenance expressive of great surprise and concern.
“Wallace,” exclaimed Phonny, “the squirrel has gone, trap and all.”
“Has it?” said Wallace.
“Yes,” said Phonny; “I left it on that rock, and it is gone.”
So saying Phonny ran to the place and puthis foot upon the rock, looking up to Wallace, and added,
“There is the very identical spot where I put it, and now it is gone.”
Wallace seemed at a loss what to think.
“Somebody must have taken him away,” said he.
“Hark!” said Phonny.
Wallace and Phonny listened. They heard the voices of some boys in the woods.
“There they are now,” said Phonny.
“Mount the horse,” said Wallace, “and we will go and see.”
Phonny mounted his horse as expeditiously as possible, and he and Wallace rode off through the woods in the direction of the voices. They followed a path which led down a sort of glen, and after riding a short distance they saw the boys before them, standing in a little open space among the trees. The boys had stopped to see who was coming.
There were three boys, one large and two small. The large boy had the trap under his arm.
“Halloa!” said Phonny, calling out aloud to the boys, “stop carrying off that trap.”
The boys did not answer.
“I have bought that squirrel,” said Phonny, “you must give him to me.”
“No,” said the great boy; “it belongs to Espy, and I am going to keep it for him.”
“Hush,” said Wallace, in a low tone to Phonny; “Iwill speak to him.”
Then calling out aloud again, he said, “We have just been down to Espy’s and have bought the squirrel, and have now come to take him home.”
The boy did not move from the place where he stood, and he showed very plainly by his countenance and his manner, that he did not mean to give the squirrel up. Presently they heard him mutter to the small boys,
“I don’t believe they have bought him, and they shan’t have him.”
“Let us go down and take the squirrel away from them,” said Phonny, in a low tone to Wallace; “I don’t believe they will give him up, unless we do.”
“We can not do that,” said Wallace. “We might take the trap away, perhaps, but they would first open the trap and let the squirrel go.”
“What shall we do, then?” asked Phonny.
Wallace did not answer this question, directly,but called out again to the boy who held the trap, saying,
“We found the squirrel here in the woods, and then went down to tell Espy, and we bought the squirrel of him. But we can’t carry him home very well on horseback, at least till we get out of the woods, because the road is so steep and rough. Now if you will carry him down the road for us, till we get out of the woods, I will give you six cents.”
“Well,” said the boy, “I will.”
He immediately began to come toward Wallace and Phonny, so as to go back with them into the road which they were to take. Wallace and Phonny led the way, and he followed. As soon as he came within convenient distance for talking, Phonny asked him what sort of a squirrel it was.
“A gray squirrel,” said he. “The prettiest gray squirrel that ever I saw.”
Phonny was very much elated at hearing this intelligence, and wanted to get off his horse at once, and take a peep at the squirrel; but Wallace advised him to do no such thing. In due time the whole party got out of the woods. Wallace gave the boy his six cents, and the boy handed the trap up toPhonny. Phonny held it upon the pommel of the saddle, directly before him. He found that the squirrel had gnawed through the board so as to get his nose out, but he could not gnaw any more, now that the box was all the time in motion. So he gave it up in despair, and remained crouched down in a corner of the trap during the remainder of the ride, wondering all the time what the people outside were doing with him.
“You managed that boy finely,” said Phonny. “He is one of the worst boys in town.”
“It is generally best,” said Wallace, “in dealing with people, to contrive some way to make it for their interest to do what you want, rather than to quarrel with them about it.”
For the rest of the way, Phonny rode on without meeting with any difficulty, and arrived at home, with his squirrel all safe, just at the time when Beechnut and Stuyvesant were talking about the poultry.
As soon as Phonny had told Stuyvesant about his squirrel and had lifted up the lid of the trap a little, so as to allow him to peep in and see, he said that he was going in to show the squirrel to the people in the house, and especially to Malleville. He accordingly hurried away with the box under his arm. Stuyvesant went back toward the barn.
Phonny hastened along to the house. From the yard he went into a shed through a great door. He walked along the platform in the shed, and at the end of the platform he went up three steps, to a door leading into the back kitchen. He passed through this back kitchen into the front kitchen, hurrying forward as he went, and leaving all the doors open.
Dorothy was at work at a table ironing.
“Dorothy,” said Phonny, “I’ve got a squirrel—a beautiful squirrel. If I had time I would stop and show him to you.”
“I wish you had time to shut the doors,” said Dorothy.
“In a minute,” said Phonny, “I am coming back in a minute, and then I will.”
So saying Phonny went into a sort of hall or entry which passed through the house, and which had doors in it leading to the principal rooms. There was a staircase here. Phonny supposed that Malleville was up in his mother’s chamber. So he stood at the foot of the stairs and began to call her with a loud voice.
“Malleville!” said he, “Malleville! Where are you? Come and see my squirrel.”
Presently a door opened above, and Phonny heard some one stepping out.
“Malleville,” said Phonny, “is that you?”
“No,” said a voice above, “it is Wallace. I have come to give you your first warning.”
“Why, I only wanted to show my squirrel to Malleville,” said Phonny.
“You are making a great disturbance,” said Wallace, “and besides, though I don’tknowany thing about it, I presume that you came in a noisy manner through the kitchen and left all the doors open there.”
“Well,” said Phonny, “I will be still.”
So Phonny turned round and went away on tiptoe. When he got into the kitchen, he first shut the doors, and then carried the trap to Dorothy, and let her peep through the hole which the squirrel had gnawed and see the squirrel inside.
“Do you see him?” asked Phonny.
“I see the tip of his tail,” said Dorothy, “curling over. The whole squirrel is there somewhere, I’ve no doubt.”
Phonny then went out again to find Stuyvesant. He was careful to walk softly and to shut all the doors after him.
He found Stuyvesant and Beechnut in the barn. Beechnut was raking up the loose hay which had been pitched down upon the barn floor, and Stuyvesant was standing beside him.
“Beechnut,” said Phonny, “just look at my squirrel. You can peep through this little hole where he was trying to gnaw out.”
Phonny held the trap up and Beechnut peeped through the hole.
“Yes,” said he, “I see the top of his head His name is Frink.”
“Frink?” repeated Phonny, “how do you know?”
“I think that must be his name,” said Beechnut. “If you don’t believe it, try and see if you can make him answer to any other name. If you can I’ll give it up.”
“Nonsense, Beechnut,” said Phonny. “That is only some of your fun. But Frink will be a very good name for him, nevertheless. Only I was going to call him Bunny.”
“I don’t think his name is Bunny,” said Beechnut. “I knew Bunny. He was a squirrel that belonged to Rodolphus. He got away and ran off into the woods, but I don’t think that this is the same one.”
“I’ll call him Frink,” said Phonny. “But what would you do with him if you were in my place?”
“Me?” said Beechnut.
“Yes,” said Phonny.
“Well, I think,” said Beechnut, stopping his work a moment, and leaning on his rake, and drawing a long breath, as if what he was about to say was the result of very anxious deliberation, “I think that on the whole, if that squirrel were mine, I should put two large baskets up in the barn-chamber, and send him into the woods this fall to get beechnuts,and hazelnuts, and fill the baskets. One basket for beechnuts and one for hazelnuts, and I would give him a month to fill them.”