SUDDENLY THE LITTLE FELLOW TURNED.SUDDENLY THE LITTLE FELLOW TURNED.
He ran faster and faster. As he drew near the sugar house he heard a great commotion. For a moment he stopped. If Horatio had done something terrible and they had caught him perhaps it would be dangerous to interfere. The next moment he rushed on. Horatio was his friend and he would save his life if possible, unless——. He did not think any further, but flew on. As he dashed into the cane yard he saw crowds gathering and men running with axes and clubs. Others had guns and cane knives, and all were crowding toward the big doors of the sugar house, that were now thrown open. Inside he heard shouts, mingled with Horatio's fierce growls. His friend was still alive.
Without pausing he rushed through the doors and saw a circle of negro men gathered about the big wooden trough where the Bear was a prisoner, snapping and growling and trying to get free. The little pickaninny who, in spite of his fright, had slept all night in the corner, was there, too, and the men with axes and other weapons had entered with Bo. There was not a second to be lost.
"Wait!" screamed Bo; "wait!" And tearing through the astonished crowd he thrust the violin into Horatio's hands.
"Play!" he shouted. "Play for your worthless life!"
Horatio did not need to be told again. He reached for the violin and bow, and sitting in the now solid sugar struck the strings wildly.
"Rooster in de chicken coop, crowin' foh day;Horses in de stable goin' 'Nay, nay, nay;'Ducks in de yard goin' 'Quack, quack, quack!'Guineas in de tree tops, goin' 'Rack-pot-rack!'"
Horatio fiddled furiously, while Bo shouted and sang and the crowd joined in. They all knew this song, and as they sang they forgot all else. Axes and guns and clubs were dropped as young and old fell into the swing of the music.
"Keemo, kimo, kilgo, kayro;Fleero, fliro, flav-o-ray;Rop strop, periwinkle, little yaller nigger,Cum a rop strop bottle till de break—of—day!"
You could hear the noise for a mile. They danced and shouted and sang, and work was forgotten. After a long time, when they were tired out, Bo took one of the axes and carefully broke the now solid sugar away from Ratio's feet and set him free. Then they brought water and washed his hind paws and he danced for them.
After dinner, when the friends started out on their journey, the crowd followed them for nearly a mile. When all were gone Horatio turned to Bo and said:—
"I am glad you came just as you did, Bo."
"I should rather think you would be," said Bo, grimly.
"Because," continued Horatio, "if you hadn't I might have damaged some of those fellows, and I know you wouldn't have liked that, Bosephus." He looked at the little boy very humbly as he said this, expecting a severe lecture. But the little boy made no reply, and down in his heart the big Bear at that moment made a solemn and good resolve.
Music 1st Line
"Oh, we're down in the land where the jasmine blows,And the cypress waves and the orange grows,
Music 2nd Line
And the song bird nests in the climbing rose—And all the girls are beautiful, and milk and honey flows."
HORATIO paused in his playing and looked at Bosephus, who was ready to sing another stanza.
"Look here, Bo," he said gravely, "that sounds very pretty and may be very good poetry and true enough, but I wouldn't get to singing too much about jasmine and song birds and climbing roses if I were you, and especially girls. You are only a little boy, and besides, I can't see that there is any difference in girls, except that some are plump and some are not, and that isn't any difference to me, now," and the Bear sighed and strummed on his violin gently.
"Oh, pshaw, Ratio! There's lots of difference. Some girls are yellow and sour as a lemon, while some are as pink and sweet and blooming as a creole rose"——
"Bosephus," interrupted the Bear gravely, "you've got a touch of the swamp fever. Let me see your tongue!"
Bo stuck out his tongue.
"My tongue's all right," he grinned. "That kind of fever's in the heart."
Horatio looked alarmed.
"You must take something for it right away, Bo," he declared. "I can't have you singing silly songs about jasmine and cypress and girls in milk and honey. You know we haven't seen any honey since we left Arkansaw, and I'd travel all the way back there on foot to rob one good honey tree. I'm getting tired of so much of this stuff they call sugar and cane and the like."
"Why they have honey here, Ratio, too. I haven't seen any bee trees, but I've seen plenty of bees. I suppose they are in hives—boxes that people keep for them to live in."
"Where do they have those boxes, Bo?"
"Well, in their yards mostly; generally out by the back fence."
"Could we rob them?"
"Well, I shouldn't like to try it."
The Bear walked along some distance in silence. The boy was also thinking and singing softly to himself. He was very happy. Presently he looked up and saw just ahead, in a field near the road, a tree loaded with oranges.
"Look, Ratio!" he said. "Don't you wish we had some of those?"
The Bear looked up and began to lick out his tongue.
"Climb over and get some, Bo," he said eagerly.
"Not much. I haven't forgotten the roasting ears and the watermelon we got from old man Todd in Arkansaw. We might go to the house and ask for some.
"Nonsense, Bosephus. Watch me!"
He handed Bo the fiddle, and running lightly to the hedge cleared it at a bound.
"Fine!" shouted Bo.
Horatio, without pausing, hurried over to the tree.
"Funny they should leave those oranges so late," thought the little boy as he watched him.
Swinging himself to the first limb, the Bear shook off a lot of the fine yellow fruit, and climbing down, gathered in his arms all he could carry. As he did so there came a loud barking of dogs, and without looking behind him he started to run. He dropped a few of the oranges, but kept straight on, the two huge dogs that had appeared getting closer and closer. As he reached the hedge he once more made a grand leap, but the oranges prevented him doing so well as before. His foot caught in the top branches and he rolled over and over in the dusty road, the oranges flying in every direction. The dogs behind the hedge barked and raged.
Horatio rose, dusty and panting, but triumphant.
"You see, Bo," he said, "what it is to be brave. You can fill your pockets now with these delicious oranges."
He picked up one as he spoke, and brushing off the dust, bit it in half cheerfully. Then Bo, who was watching him, saw a strange thing take place. The half orange flew out of the Bear's mouth as from a popgun, and his face became so distorted that the boy thought his friend was having a spasm. Suddenly he whirled, and making a rush at the fallen oranges, began to kick them in every direction, coughing and spitting every second. The two dogs looking over the hedge stopped barking to enjoy the fun. One of the oranges rolled to Bo's feet. He picked it up and smelled it. Then rubbing it on his coat he bit into it. It was not a large bite, but it was enough. The tears rolled from his eyes and every tooth in his head jumped. Such a mixture of stinging sour and bitter he had never dreamed of. It grabbed him by the throat and shook him until his bones cracked. The top of his head seemed coming loose, and his ears fairly snapped. Then he realized what Horatio must be suffering, and laughed in spite of himself.
FLEW OUT OF HIS MOUTH AS FROM A POP GUN.FLEW OUT OF HIS MOUTH AS FROM A POP GUN.
"They are mock oranges, Ratio," he shouted, "and they are mocking us for stealing them!"
Horatio had seated himself by the roadside and was snorting and clawing at his tongue.
"I must have some honey, Bo," he said, "to take away that dreadful taste. You must find me some honey, Bo."
"You see, Ratio," said the little boy, "it doesn't pay to take things."
"Bosephus," said the Bear, "a man who will plant a tree like that so near the road deceives wilfully and should be punished."
They walked along slowly, the two dogs barking after them from behind the hedge.
Just beyond the next bend in the road a beautiful plantation came into view. They turned into the cane yard and immediately the workhands surrounded them. Horatio felt better by this time, and they began a performance. First Bo sang and then Horatio gave a gymnastic exhibition. Then at last Bo sang a closing verse as follows:—
Music 3rd Line
"Now our little show is ended, and we hope you think it splendid,And we trust we've not offended or displeased you anywhere,
Music 4th Line
You have paid us to be funny, and we thank you for the money,But I'd like a little honey for the Old—Black—Bear.
Horatio smiled when he heard this, and the planter who was listening sent one of the servants to the house. He came out soon with a piece of fresh honey on a plate. He offered it to Horatio, who handed Bo the violin, and seizing the plate,swallowed the honey at one gulp. This made the crowd shout and laugh, and then Bo shook hands with the planter and said good-bye, and all the darkies came up and wanted to shake hands, too. When he had shaken hands all around the little boy turned to look for Horatio. He was nowhere in sight. The others had not noticed him slip away.
Bo was troubled. When Horatio disappeared like that it meant mischief. He had promised reform as to pickaninnies, but Bo was never quite sure. He was about to ask the people to run in every direction in search of his comrade when there was a sudden commotion in the back door yard, and a moment later a black figure dashed through the gate with something under its arm. It was Horatio! The crowd of darkies took one look and scattered. The thing under Horatio's arm was a square, box looking affair, and out of it was streaming a black, living cloud.
"Bees!" shouted the people as they fled. "Bees! Bees!"
Bo understood instantly. The taste of honey had made Horatio greedy for more. He had gone in search of it and returned with hive and all. There was a clump of tall weeds just behind the little boy, and he dropped down into them. They hid him from view, and none too soon, for the Bear dashed past, snorting and striking at the swarm of stingers that not only covered him, but fiercely attacked everything in sight. Howls began to come from some of the hands that had failed to find shelter in time, and Bo, peeping out between the weeds, saw half a dozen darkies frantically trying to open the big door of the sugar house, which had been hastily closed by those within, while the angry bees were pelting furiously at the unfortunates.
THE BEAR DASHED PAST, SNORTING.THE BEAR DASHED PAST, SNORTING.
As for Horatio, he was coated with bees that were trying to sting through his thick fur. He did not mind them at first, butpresently they began to get near his eyes. With a snarl he dropped the hive and began to paw and strike with both hands. Then they swarmed about him worse than ever, and, half blinded, he began to run around and around with no regard as to direction. Every darky in sight fled like the wind. Some of them ran out of the gate and down the road, and without seeing them, perhaps, the Bear suddenly leaped the fence and set out in the same direction. Glancing back, they saw him coming and began to shriek and scatter into the fields.
Bo waited some minutes; then, noticing that the maddened insects were no longer buzzing viciously over him, he crept out and followed. He still held the violin and was glad enough to get away from the plantation. The bees had followed the fugitive, and the boy kept far enough behind to be out of danger. By and by he met bees coming back, but perhaps they were tired or thought he belonged to another crowd, for they did not molest him. A mile further on he found Horatio sitting in the road rocking and groaning and throwing dust on himself. His eyes and nose were swollen in great knots, and his ears were each puffed up like little balloons. The bees had left him, but his sorrow was at its height.
"Hello, Ratio! Having fun all alone?" asked Bo as he came up.
"Oh, Bo, this has been an awful day!" was the wailing reply. "First those terrible oranges and then these millions and millions of murderous bees. And now I am blind, Bo, and dying. Tell me, Bo, how do I look?"
"Oh, you look all right. Your nose looks like a big potato and your ears like two little ones. I can't tell you how your eyes are, for they don't show, but your whole skin looks as if it had been stuffed full of apples and put on in a hurry."
"Bo," said Horatio meekly, "did you bring the fiddle?"
HE FOUND HORATIO SITTING IN THE ROAD, ROCKING AND GROANING.HE FOUND HORATIO SITTING IN THE ROAD, ROCKING AND GROANING.
"Well, yes; I thought it might happen that we'd need it again."
Horatio put out his paw for it. The boy gave it to him and he ran the bow gently over the strings.
"Sing, Bo," he pleaded. "Sing that song about jasmine and cypress and climbing roses. It will soothe me. Sing about girls, too, if you want to, but leave out the oranges, Bo, and put in something else besides honey in the last line."
"Ratio," said Bo, "you've got a touch of the swamp fever. Let me see your tongue!"
"Oh, the sky is blue and the sun is high,And the days roll 'round, and the weeks go by——"
BO," interrupted Horatio, softly; "what's that over there on the bank that looks like a man all in a wad?"
The little boy was singing along through the sweet Louisiana afternoon, putting into his song whatever came into his head:—
"And I turn, and I look, and what do I see?Someone's left his bundle by a live oak tree."
"What do you suppose is in that bundle, Bo?" asked the Bear, anxiously.
"Oh, I don't know. Old clothes, from the looks of it. The owner isn't far off.
"When a coat and vest and hat, and pair of trousers you espy,You can bet your bottom dollar there's a man close by."
Horatio looked in every direction. Then he walked over to the clothes.
"Why," said Bo, following; "I guess somebody's taking a swim. Come on, Ratio. Remember the honey and the oranges."
But the Bear was curious. He picked up the hat and set it on his head. Bo laughed lazily. Then Horatio laid down hisviolin and slipped one arm into the waistcoat, trying vainly to reach with the other. Bo good-naturedly helped him. The little boy felt in the humor for fun, and Horatio looked too comical.
"Better not put on the coat," said Bo. "It might not be big enough and if you tore it the owner would make us pay for it."
But Horatio was excited.
"Hurry, Bo! Help me on with it. How do I look, Bo? I think I'll dress this way all the time, hereafter. Is my hat becoming, Bo?"
"Oh, there was an Old Bear in a hat and a coat,"
sang Bo, but he got no further, for suddenly close by there was a loud yell, and without pausing to look behind Horatio made a wild dash in the other direction, followed by the little boy. Glancing back as they ran, Bo saw that they were pursued by a tall white man. He had paused only a second to slip on his boots and trousers, and was coming after them full speed. In one hand he carried a revolver, in the other Horatio's violin.
"Shed 'em!" he shouted. "Shed them clothes or I'll shoot!"
"Shed 'em!" echoed Bo. "Shed 'em, Horatio!"
The bear slipped off the coat and flung it behind him.
"Shed 'em!" shouted the man again, and the waistcoat followed.
"I won't give up the hat, Bo!" panted Horatio.
"HOW DO I LOOK, BO?""HOW DO I LOOK, BO?"
But Horatio was mistaken, for at that instant the world beneath his feet suddenly opened and he disappeared. Before the boy could check himself he plunged after the Bear and was struggling in the deep waters of a bayou that came to a level with the bank and was covered thickly and concealed by fallen leaves. Rising to the surface he found Horatio clinging to a fallen tree and the man, who had now overtaken them, holdingout a limb, which the little boy gladly seized. The hat had been already rescued.
"Well, you're a nice pair!" said their captor. "To run away with a man's clothes and then go headlong into the bayou and get his hat all wet! I'm glad you didn't have that fiddle, or you'd a-ruined it. I've bin wantin' a good fiddle a long time, an' this here looks like a good one. Come out o' that, now, an' we'll take a walk up toward the jail. I happen to be constable of this here community."
Bo groaned as he was dragged to shore. He did not mind the wetting, for the weather was warm, but now they had lost the violin and would be taken to jail. Of course they would lose all their money. Perhaps Horatio would be killed. The Bear only blinked and shook himself when he had been also towed to the bank and had scrambled out.
"I hope you won't take us to jail, sir," said Bo. "My Bear was mischievous, but he didn't mean any harm, and I have a little money I'll give you if you'll return us the violin and let us go."
"You come along with me!" answered the man, sternly. "It'll take more money than you've got to pay your fine, an' as fer that chap, we don't want no bears roamin' loose aroun' here. March on ahead there, an' don't try none o' your tricks."
The constable cocked his revolver, and boy and Bear hurriedly started in the direction of the village that showed above the trees about a mile further on.
Bo was afraid to speak to their captor again, and as he never talked with Horatio except when they were alone, they marched along disconsolately and in silence. Now and then the man strummed on the violin and chuckled to himself.
"SHED THEM CLOTHES OR I'LL SHOOT!""SHED THEM CLOTHES OR I'LL SHOOT!"
When they got to the village everybody came out to look at them. The man called out his story as they went along, andthe people laughed and jeered. Heretofore the friends had entered Louisiana villages in triumph. Now, for the first time, they came dishonored and disgraced. Poor Horatio looked very downcast. He knew that he was to blame for it all.
When they got to the court room they found that the Justice of the Peace was away fishing, so they were lodged in jail for the night. It was only a little one room affair, with two small iron-barred windows, quite high from the ground. Boys climbed up and looked through these windows and threw stones and coal in at Horatio, who huddled in a corner. By and by the officer came with a plate of supper for Bo. He drove the boys away and left the friends together. There was no supper for the Bear, so the little boy divided with him.
"Bo," said Horatio, tearfully, "it was my fault. They'll let you go, and, and—I hope they'll give you my skin, Bo."
Then they went to sleep.
Early next morning there was a crowd around the jail. The Justice had returned and the people wanted to see the fun. The friends were hustled into court by the constable, the crowd stepping back to let Horatio pass. The justice was rather a young man and had a good-natured face, which made Bo more hopeful. But when they heard the constable make his charge against them, both lost heart. They were accused of stealing and damages and a lot of other things that they could not understand. The Justice listened and then turned to the prisoners.
"What have you to say for yourselves?" he asked, looking straight at Bo. At first the little boy tried to speak and could not. The court room was still—every one waiting to hear what he was about to say. All at once an idea came to him.
"Please, sir," he trembled, "if you will let my Bear have the violin we will plead our case together."
"What violin? What does the boy mean?" asked the Justice, turning to the constable.
"Oh, an ole fiddle they dropped when they took my clothes. I lef' it down 't the house this morning."
Bo's heart sank. It was their only chance. He was about to give up when suddenly there came another gleam of hope, though very faint. Wheeling quickly toward the sorrow stricken Bear he shouted:—
"Perform for them, Horatio! Perform!"
The words acted on Horatio like a shock of electricity. He straightened up with a snort that caused the crowd to fall back, knocking each other over like dominos. Then he made a bound into the open space and stood on his head. Then with a spring backward he landed on his feet, and waved a bow to the Justice! Another bound and he was walking on his hands and then, after another bow to the Court, he turned a series of somersaults so rapidly that he looked like a great wheel! When he landed on his feet this time, and bowed once more to the Court, the crowd broke out into a mighty cheer of applause.
"Order!" shouted the Justice. "Order!"
It grew still, and the little boy looked at the Court anxiously.
"Please, Your Honor," he said humbly, "that's our case."
"Case!" roared the Justice. "Well, I should say that was a case of fits and revolution."
At this the crowd cheered again until they were rapped to order by the Court.
"I sentence you," he said solemnly, and looking sternly at Horatio, "to sudden and disagreeable death!"
He paused, and Horatio staggered against Bo, who was very pale.
A CASE OF FITS AND REVOLUTION.A CASE OF FITS AND REVOLUTION.
"To sudden death," continued the Court, "if I catch yourunning off and falling in the water with any more of my officer's clothes. And I now fine you, for the first offense, a performance on the common for the whole town! Court is adjourned! Show begins at once! Constable, bring that fiddle!"
With a wild shout the people poured outside. Many scrambled over each other to get near Bosephus and the wonderful Bear, and when the violin was brought and the show had begun every soul in the village was gathered on the common.
That night, when all was over, the little boy and the Bear were the guests of the Justice, who owned a fine plantation adjoining the village. During the evening he had a long talk with Bo, and seemed greatly impressed with the little boy's natural ability and shrewdness. When they parted next morning he said:—
"Remember, if you ever feel like giving up travel, come back here and I'll send you to school and college and make a man of you."
"I'll remember," said Bo, as they shook hands. A crowd had gathered to see the travellers off. The constable was among them, and as they disappeared around a bend in the road he waved and shouted with the rest.
"Bosephus," said Horatio gravely, "I hope you don't think of deserting me. Remember how many close places I have helped you out of. This last was a little the closest of all, Bosephus, and I shudder to think where you might have been today if it had not been for me."
"That's so," said the little boy solemnly. "I don't suppose they'd have even given me your skin, Ratio."
"Sitting on a bank where the bull frogs dream—Sitting on the shore of a deep, deep stream—Sitting on a log and waiting for a bite—Bound to catch our supper, if we fish—all—night."
THE little boy was holding a long cane pole that he had cut as they came along, on the small end of which he had fastened a hook and line, baited with a lively worm. The Bear was leaning back against a tree and watching him lazily.
"Bo," said he presently, "I shouldn't wonder if that singing of yours scared the fish all away."
"I wouldn't say that to you, Ratio. I know if you'd wake up and take the fiddle and play some they'd walk right out on the bank."
The Bear laughed sleepily. He was in a comfortable position and the warm afternoon sun was soothing. He hummed some negro lines he had heard:—
"When yo' wan' to ketch fish yo' mus' jes' set an' wait—When yo' wan' to ketch fish yo' must spit on yo' bait—When yo' wan' to ketch fish yo' mus' git across de tide,For dey's alw'ys bettah fishin' on de oth—ah—side."
"I shouldn't wonder if you were right, Ratio," assented Bo, anxiously. "It does look better over there, only there's no wayto get across except this slippery looking, rotten old log, and I don't feel much like trying that."
"Walk out on it a little way, Bo," said Horatio, getting interested, "and throw your line over there by that cypress snag. That looks like a good place."
Bosephus rose cautiously, and, balancing himself with the long cane pole, edged his way a few inches at a time toward the middle of the stream, pausing every little way to be sure that the log showed no sign of yielding. He could swim, but he did not wish for a wetting, and besides there were a good many alligators in these Louisiana waters and some very fierce snapping turtles. He had heard the negroes say that alligators were particularly fond of boys, and that snapping turtles never let go till it thundered. He had no wish to furnish supper for an alligator and there were no signs of a thunder storm. Hence he advanced with great prudence. When he had nearly reached the centre Horatio called to him.
"Try it from there, Bo! Your line's long enough to reach!"
The little boy steadied himself by a limb that projected from the log and swung his line in the direction the Bear had indicated. Then he waited, holding his breath almost, and watching his float, which lay silently on the water. Horatio was watching, too, with half closed eyes, and now and then giving instructions.
"Pull it a little more to the right, Bo—nearer that root," he whispered.
Bosephus obeyed, but the float still lay silently on the water.
"Draw it a little toward you, Bo; sometimes when they think its going away they make a rush for it."
Again the little boy did as directed, but without result.
"Lift out your bait and see if it's all right. Now fling it a little further toward the bank."
Bo lifted out the bait, which was still lively and untouched, and flung it far over toward the other shore. Then he waited in silence once more, but there was no sign of even so much as a nibble.
"Oh, pshaw, Ratio!" he said at last impatiently. "I don't believe you know anything about fishing. Either that or there are no fish in here—one of the two."
He had turned his head toward the Bear as he spoke and was not looking at his float. All at once the Bear sat straight up, pointing at the water.
"Your cork's gone!" he shouted. "You've got one! Pull, Bo, pull!"
The little boy turned so quickly that he almost lost his balance and could not immediately obey. Horatio was wild with excitement.
"Why don't you pull?" he howled. "Do you expect him to climb up your pole? Are you waiting for him to make his toilet before he appears? Well, talk about fishermen!"
Bosephus was struggling madly to follow instructions. He was holding to the dead limb like grim death and pulling fiercely at the pole with one hand. The fish must be a large one, for it swung furiously from side to side, but could not be brought to the surface. Horatio on the bank was still shouting and dancing violently.
"You'll lose him!" he yelled; "you'll never in the world land him that way. You ought to go fishing for tin fish in a tub! Just let me out there; I'll show you how to fish!" and Horatio made a rush toward the log on which Bo was standing.
"PULL, BO, PULL!""PULL, BO, PULL!"
"Go back! Go back!" screamed the little boy. "It won't hold us both!" But the Bear was too much excited by this timeto heed any caution. He hurried to the centre of the log and seizing the pole from Bo's hand gave a fierce pull. The fish swung clear of the water and far out on the bank, but the strain on their support was too great. There was a loud cracking sound, and before they knew what had happened both were struggling in the water.
"Help! Help!" howled Horatio. "I'm drowning!"
"Hold to the end of the log!" shouted Bo. "I'll swim ashore and tow you in with the pole!"
He struck out as he spoke and in a few strokes was near enough to seize some bushes that overhung the water. Suddenly he heard Horatio give forth a scream so wild that he whirled about to look. Then he saw something that made him turn cold. In a half circle, a few feet away from where Horatio was clinging to the end of the broken log for dear life, there had risen from the water a number of long, black, ugly heads. A drove of alligators!
"Bo! Bo!" shrieked the wretched Bear. "They're after me! They'll eat me alive—skin and all! Save me! Save me!"
The little boy swung himself to the shore and dashed up the bank. His first thought had been to seize the fishing pole and with it to drag Horatio to safety. But at that instant his eye fell on the violin. He had learned to play very well himself during the last few weeks and he remembered the night of the panther dance in the Arkansaw woods. He snatched up the instrument and struck the bow across the strings.
"Sing, Horatio!" he shouted. "It's your turn to sing!" and Bosephus broke out into a song that after the first line the Bear joined as if he never expected to sing again on earth.
Music 1st Line
"Oh, there was an Old Bear went out for a swim,And the alligators came just to take a look at him,
"OH, THERE WAS AN OLD BEAR WENT OUT FOR A SWIM.""OH, THERE WAS AN OLD BEAR WENT OUT FOR A SWIM."
Music 2nd Line
And the Bear was glad to see 'em, and he wanted them to stay,And he sang a song to please 'em so they wouldn't go away."
As the music rolled out on the water there rose to the surface another half circle of dark objects. The Bear shut his eyes and his voice grew faint. They were snapping turtles.
"Stop, Bo!" he wailed. "It's no use. It only brings more of 'em, and new kinds."
"No, no; go on," whispered Bo, who had crept down quite to the water's edge. "Now—ready! sing!"
Music 3rd Line
"Then 'tis 'Gator, Alligator, we expect to see you later,If you really have to leave us—if you can't remain to tea—
Music 4th Line
Then 'tis Turtle, Mr. Turtle, you will notice we are fertile,In providing entertainment for our com—pa—nee."
New arrivals appeared constantly until the water and logs and stumps by the water's edge were alive with listening creatures. Still remembering the panther dance the boy called in a whisper to Horatio:—
"Softly now; sing it again."
They repeated the song, letting their voices and music gradually blend into the whispering of the trees. Bo sang with closed eyes, but the watching Bear saw the listening circle of heads sink lower and lower so gently that he could not be sure when the water had closed over them. From roots and logs and stumps dark forms slid noiselessly into the stream and disappeared. The music died away and ceased. Horatio looked at the little boy eagerly.
"HELP! HELP!""HELP! HELP!"
"Quick, the pole, Bo," he called softly. "They're all gone."
A moment later he was holding on to the cane pole with teeth and claws and being towed to shore. As he marched up the bank he picked up the large fish that was still flopping at the end of the line.
"Very fine, Bosephus," he said, holding it up. "You wouldn't have had that fish for supper if it hadn't been for me, Bosephus."
"Going back to Arkansaw as fast as we can go—Never mind the winter time—never mind the snow,For the weather's not so chilly as the Louisiana law,And we'll feel a good deal safer in the Ar—kan—saw."
IT had happened in this way. The afternoon before Christmas had come and the little boy and the Bear had been talking over a Christmas dinner for the next day.
"Bosephus," Horatio had said, "we must have something extra. I should like a real old-fashioned dinner. One such as I used to have; but, of course, that is all over now." And there was an untamed, regretful look in his eyes.
"Ratio," said Bo, "we have got a lot of money—nearly two hundred dollars. We can afford to have something good. I will buy a duck and a turkey and maybe some pies. We'll take a holiday and eat from morning till night if we feel like it."
The Bear smiled at this thought and touched the strings of the violin.
"Oh, we'll buy a tender turkey, and we'll buy a youthful duck,And some pies, perhaps, and cookies, and some doughnuts, just for luck,And we'll take our Christmas dinner where the balmy breezes stray,And we'll spread it in the sunshine and we'll eat—all—day."
Suddenly he paused in his singing and listened. They were coming out into an open space and there was a sound of a voice speaking. Somebody was talking in a foreign language that Bo did not understand, but the Bear trembled with eagerness.
"Bo," he whispered, "that's Italian. That's the way my first teacher talked. The one that abused me—and died."
The Bear licked out his tongue fiercely at this memory and pushed forward into the open, the little boy following. As they stepped out where they could see, Bosephus uttered an exclamation and Horatio a snort of surprise. By the roadside sat a dark-browed, villainous-looking Italian and before him stood a miserable half-starved bear cub, which he was trying to teach. He would speak a few words to it and then beat it fiercely with a heavy stick. The little bear cowered and trembled and could not obey. Horatio gave a low dangerous growl as Bo held him back. The Italian turned and saw them.
"What are you beating that cub for?" asked Bo, sternly.
The Italian looked at him evilly.
"Maka him grow an' dance an' playa fid, lika yo' bear," he said, sullenly. "Soa he maka da mun'."
"That won't do it. You can teach him better with kindness. Throw that stick away. Aren't you ashamed of yourself."
"Minda yo' own biz," was the insolent reply.
The little boy saw that it would not be safe to stay there any longer. The cub was whining pitifully and Horatio was becoming furious. He turned away, the Bear following reluctantly. When they had gone perhaps a half a mile Horatio paused.
"Let's camp here," he said. "This is a nice place and I'm tired."
Bosephus was tired, too. The day before Christmas with its merry preparation had been a big day among the plantations and the friends had reaped a harvest.
"All right, Ratio," he said, and they made preparations for the night, though it was still quite early.
"MAKA HIM GROW AN' DANCE AN' PLAY A 'FID'.""MAKA HIM GROW AN' DANCE AN' PLAY A 'FID'."
"Bo," said the Bear, reflectively, "Christmas always remindsme of when I was a little cub like that poor little fellow we saw back yonder. I was a Christmas present—by accident."
"A Christmas present by accident! How was that?"
"It was this way. I was always brave and adventurous, as you know. My folks lived in a very large tree and were all asleep for the winter except me. I stayed awake so as to run away and see the world. Well, I started out and I travelled and I travelled. It was all woods and I lost my way. By and by I got very tired and climbed up into a thick evergreen tree to rest. I suppose I went to sleep and some men who were out hunting for a Christmas tree must have picked out mine and tied the limbs together tight with cords and cut it down. Then I suppose they must have carried me home and set the tree up in its place and untied the cords, for the first I knew I was tumbling out on to a carpet in a big room, and a lot of children were screaming and running in every direction. I was bigger and some fatter than that cub we saw with the Italian—poor little fellow.
"I'd like to talk to that villain about five minutes alone," continued Horatio, grimly. "I'm sure I could interest him. I'd tell him about the man that used to beat me, and I might give him an imitation of what happened to him," and the big fellow rose and walked back and forth in excitement.
"But go on with your story, Ratio; what happened to you after you fell out of the Christmas tree?"
"Oh! the children tamed me and fed me till I got so big they were afraid of me, and then I ate up some young pigs and a calf and went away."
"You ran away, you mean. What happened then?"
"Well, I went quite a distance and fell in with a circus. I learned to dance there and stayed with them a while. But one day the young ibex came in to see me and they couldn't findanything of him after that except his horns, and seemed suspicious of me, so I went away again."
"Oh, Ratio!"
"Yes; I travelled and changed about a good deal till by and by I fell in with the Italian who promised to teach me to play the violin, and he did teach me some, as you know, but he wasn't kind to me, so I—I wore mourning for him a while, and went away again. Then I met up with you, and you taught me the second part of our tune, and we went into partnership and I reformed, and we've been together ever since. We've been in some pretty close places together, Bosephus, but I've always managed to pull us through safely, and you have behaved very nobly, too, at times, Bosephus—very nobly, indeed."
"Are you sure you have reformed, Horatio?"
Horatio swung the violin to his shoulder and drew the bow across the strings. Then he sang softly:—