 Chapter 21 and 22 of BEAUTIFUL JOE This reading by Alice and Hester of Athens, Georgia. BEAUTIFUL JOE by Marshall Saunders, Chapter 21, Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Harry. Mr. Maxwell wore a coat with loose pockets, and while he was speaking he rested on his crutches and began to slap them with his hands. No, there's nothing here today, he said. I think I emptied my pockets before I went to the meeting. Just as he said that, there was a loud squeal. Oh, my guinea pig! He exclaimed. I forgot him! And he pulled out a little spotted creature a few inches long. Poor Deary, did I hurt you? And he soothed it very tenderly. I stood and looked at Mr. Maxwell, for I had never seen anyone like him. He had thick curly hair and a white face, and he looked just like a girl. While I was staring at him, something peeped up out of one of his pockets and ran out its tongue at me so fast that I could scarcely see it and then drew back again. I was thunderstruck. I had never seen such a creature before. It was long and thin like a boy's cane and of a bright green color like grass, and it had a queer, shiny eyes, but its tongue was the strangest part of it. It came and went like lightning. I was uneasy about it and began to bark. What's the matter, Joe? Said Mrs. Wood, the pig won't hurt you. But it wasn't the pig I was afraid of, and I kept on barking. And all the time, that strange, live thing kept sticking up its head and putting out its tongue at me, and neither of them noticed it. It's getting on toward six, said Mrs. Wood. We must be going home. Come, Mr. Maxwell. The young man put the guinea pig in his pocket, picked up his crutches, and we started down the sunny village street. He left his guinea pig at his boarding house as he went by, and he said nothing about the other creature, so I knew he did not know it was there. I was very much taken with Mr. Maxwell. He seemed so bright and happy, in spite of his lameness, which kept him from running about like other young men. He looked a little older than Miss Laura in one day, a week or two later, when they were sitting on the veranda, I heard him tell her that he was just nineteen. He told her, too, that his lameness made him love animals. They never laughed at him or slighted him or got impatient because he could not walk quickly. They were always good to him, and he said he loved all animals while he liked very few people. On this day, as he was limping along, he said to Mrs. Wood, I am getting more absentminded every day. Have you heard of my latest escapade? No, she said. I am glad, he replied. I was afraid it would be all over the village by this time. I went to church last Sunday with my poor guinea pig in my pocket. He hasn't been well, and I was attending to him before church and put him in there to get warm and forgot about him. Unfortunately, I was late, and the back seats were all full, so I had to sit farther up than I usually do. During the first hymn, I happened to strike Piggy against the side of the seat. Such an ear-splitting squeal, he said up, it sounded as if I was murdering him. The people stared and stared, and I had to leave the church overwhelmed with confusion. Mrs. Wood and Mrs. Laura laughed, and then they got talking about other matters that were not so interesting to me, so I did not listen. But I kept close to Mrs. Laura, for I was afraid that green thing might hurt her. I wondered very much what its name was. I don't think I should have feared it so much if I had known what it was. There's something to matter with Joe, said Miss Laura when we got into the lane. What is it, dear old fellow? She put down her little hand and I licked it and wished so much that I could speak. Sometimes I wished very much that I had the gift of speech, and then at other times I see how little it would profit me and how many foolish things I should often say, and I don't believe human beings would love animals as well if they could speak. When we reached the house, we got a joyful surprise. There was a trunk standing on the veranda, and as soon as Mrs. Wood saw it, she gave a little shriek, my dear boy. Mr. Harry was there, sure enough, and stepped out through the open door. He took his mother in his arms and kissed her, then he shook hands with Mrs. Laura and Mr. Maxwell, who seemed to be an old friend of his. They all sat down on the veranda and talked, and I lay at Mrs. Laura's feet and looked at Mr. Harry. He was such a handsome young man and had such a noble face. He was older and graver-looking than when I saw him last, and he had a light brown mustache that he did not have when he was in Fairport. He seemed very fond of his mother and of Mrs. Laura, and however grave his face might be when he was looking at Mr. Maxwell, it always lighted up when he turned to them. What dog is that? He said at last with a puzzled face and pointing to me. Why, Harry, exclaimed Mrs. Laura, don't you know, beautiful Joe, that you rescued from that wretched milkman? Is it possible? He said that this well-conditioned creature is the bundle of dirty skin and bones that we nursed in Fairport. Come here, sir. Do you remember me? Indeed, I did remember him, and I licked his hands and looked up gratefully into his face. You are almost handsome now, he said, caressing me with a firm kind hand and of a solid build, too. You look like a fighter, but I suppose you wouldn't let him fight, even if he wanted to, Laura. And he smiled and glanced at her. No, she said, I don't think I should, but he can fight when the occasion requires it. And she told him about our night with Jenkins. All the time she was speaking, Mr. Harry held me by the paws and stroked my body over and over again. When she finished, he put his head down to me and murmured, Good dog. And I saw that his eyes were red and shining. That's a capital story. We must have it at the Band of Mercy, saying Mr. Maxwell, Mrs. Wood had gone to help prepare the tea, so the two young men were alone with Miss Laura. When they had done talking about me, she asked Mr. Harry a number of questions about his college life and his trip to New York, for he had not been studying all the time that he was away. What are you going to do with yourself, Gray, when your college course has ended? I asked Mr. Maxwell. I'm going to settle down right here, said Mr. Harry. What, be a farmer? Asked his friend. Yeah, why not? Nothing, only I imagined you would take a profession. The professions are overstocked and we have not farmers enough for the good of the country. There is nothing like farming to my mind. In no other employment have you a sure living. I do not like the cities, the heat and dust and crowds of people and buildings overtopping one another and the rush of living take my breath away. Suppose I did go to a city. I would sell out my share of the farm and have a few thousand dollars. You know, I am not an intellectual giant. I would never distinguish myself in any profession. I would be a poor lawyer or doctor living in the back street all the days of my life and never watch a tree or flower grow or tend to an animal or have a drive unless I pay for it. No thank you. I agree with President Elliott of Harvard. He says scarcely one person in ten thousand betters himself permanently by leaving his rural home and settling in a city. If one is a millionaire, city life is agreeable enough for one can always get away from it. I am beginning to think that it is a dangerous thing in more ways than one to be a millionaire. I believe the safety of the country lies in the hands of farmers, for they are seldom very poor or very rich. We stand between the two dangerous classes, the wealthy and the paupers. But most farmers lead such a dog's life, say it Mr. Maxwell. So they do. Farming isn't made one half as attractive as it should be, say it Mr. Hairy. Mr. Maxwell smiled. Attractive farming, just sketch an outline of that will you Gray? In the first place, say it Mr. Hairy. I would like to tear out of the heart of the farmer the thing that is as firmly implanted in him as it is in the heart of his city brother. The thing that is doing more harm to our nation than anything else under the sun. What is that? Ask Mr. Maxwell curiously. The thirst for gold. The farmer wants to get rich and he works so hard to do it that he wears himself out soul and body and the young people around him get so disgusted with that way of getting rich that they go off to the cities to find some other way, or at least to enjoy themselves for I don't think many young people are animated by a desire to heap up money. Mr. Maxwell looked amused. There is certainly a great exodus from country places cityward. He said, what would be your plan for checking it? I would make the farm so pleasant that you couldn't hire the boys and girls to leave it. I would have them work and work hard too, but when their work was over, I would let them have some fun. That is what they go to the city for. They want amusement in society and to get into some kind of crowd when their work is done. The young men and young women want to get together, as is only natural. Now that could be done in the country. If farmers would be contented with smaller profits and smaller farms, their houses could be nearer together. Their children would have opportunities of social intercourse. There could be societies and clubs, and that would tend to a distribution of literature. A farmer ought to take five or six papers and two or three magazines. He would find it would pay him in the long run, and there ought to be a law made compelling him to go to the post office once a day. Mr. Maxwell burst out laughing. And another to make him mend his roads as well as mend his ways. I tell you, Gray, the bad roads would put an end to all these fine schemes of yours. Imagine farmers calling on each other on a dark evening after a spring freshet. I can see them mirrored and bogged, and the house a mile ahead of them. That is true, said Mr. Harry. The road question is a serious one. Do you know how Father and I settle it? No, said Mr. Maxwell. We got so tired of the whole business, and the farmers around here spent so much time in discussing the art of road making as to whether it should be viewed from the engineering point of view or the farmer's practical point of view, and whether we would require this number of stump extractors or that number, and how many shovels and crushers and ditches would be necessary to keep our roads in order, and so on that we simply withdrew. We keep our own roads in order once a year Father gets a gang of men and tackles every section of the road that borders upon our land, and our roads are the best around here. I wish the government would take up this matter of making roads and settle it. If we had good, smooth country roads, such as they have in some parts of Europe, we would be able to travel comfortably over them all through the year, and our drought animals would last longer, for they would not have to expend so much energy in drawing their loads. End of Chapter 21, Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Harry. Chapter 22. What happened at the Tea Table? From my station under Ms. Laura's chair, I could see that all the time Mr. Harry was speaking, Mr. Maxwell, although he spoke rather as if he was laughing at him, was yet glancing at him admiringly. When Mr. Harry was silent, he exclaimed, You are right, you are right, Gray, with your smooth highways and plenty of schools and churches and libraries and meetings for young people, you would make country life a paradise. And I tell you what you would do, too. You would empty the slums of the cities. It is the slowness and dullness of country life, and not their poverty alone, that keep the poor in dirty lanes and tenement houses. They want stir and amusement, too, poor souls, when their day's work is over. I believe they would come to the country if it were made more pleasant for them. That is another question, say, Mr. Harry. A burning question in my mind. The labor and capital one. When I was in New York, Maxwell, I was in a hospital, and saw a number of men who had been day laborers. Some of them were old and feeble, and others were young men, broken down in the prime of life. Their limbs were shrunken and drawn. They had been digging in the earth and working on high buildings and confined in dingy basements, and had done all kinds of hard labor for other men. They had given their lives and strength for others, and this was the end of it, to die poor and forsaken. I looked at them, and they reminded me of the martyrs of old, ground down, living from hand to mouth, separated from their families in many cases. They had had a bitter lot. They had never had a chance to get away from their fate, and had to work till they dropped. I tell you, there is something wrong. We don't do enough for the people that slave and toil for us. We should take better care of them. We should not herd them together like cattle, and when we get rich, we should carry them along with us, and give them part of our grains, for without them we would be as poor as they are. Good Harry, I'm with you there. Said a voice behind him, and looking around, we saw Mr. Wood standing in the doorway, gazing down proudly at his stepson. Mr. Henry smiled, and getting up, said, won't you have my chair, sir? No, thank you. Your mother wishes us to come to tea. There are muffins, and you know they won't improve with keeping. They all went to the dining room, and I followed them. On the way, Mr. Wood said, right on top of that talk of yours, Harry, I've got to tell you of another person who was going to Boston to live. Who is it? Said Mr. Harry. Lazy Dan Wilson. I've been to see him this afternoon. You know, his wife is sick, and they're half-starved. He says he is going to the city, for he hates to chop wood and work, and he thinks maybe he'll get some light job there. Mr. Harry looked grave, and Mr. Maxwell said he will starve. That's what he will do. Precisely, said Mr. Wood, spreading out his hard brown hands as he sat down at the table. I don't know why it is, but the present generation has a marvelous way of skimming around any kind of work with their hands. They'll work their brains till they ain't got any more backbone than a caterpillar. But, as for manual labor, it's old timey and out of fashion. I wonder how these farms would've ever been carved out of the backwoods if the old Puritans had sat down on the rocks with their noses on a lot of books and tried to figure out just how little work they could do and yet exist. Now, Father, said Mrs. Wood, you were trying to insinuate that the present generation is lazy, and I'm sure it isn't. Look at Harry. He works as hard as you do. Isn't that like a woman? Said Mr. Wood with a good-natured laugh. The present generation consists of her son and the past of her husband. I don't think all our young people are lazy, Hattie, but how in creation, unless the Lord rains down a few farmers, are we going to support all our young lawyers and doctors? They say the world is getting healthier and better, but we've got to fight a little more and raise some more criminals, and we've got to take to eating pies and donuts for breakfast again, or some of our young sprouts from the colleges will go a-begging. You don't mean to undervalue the advantages of a good education, do you, Mr. Wood? Said Mr. Maxwell. No, no. Look at Henry there. Isn't he pegging away at his studies with my hearty approval? And he's going to be nothing but a plain common farmer. But he'll be a better one than I've been, though, because he's got a trained mind. I found out when he was a lad going to the village school, he'd lay out his little garden by geometry and dig his ditches by algebra. Education's a help to any man. What I'm trying to get at is this, that in some way or other, we're running more to brains and less to hard work than our forefathers did. Mr. Wood was beating on the table with his forefinger while he talked, and everyone was laughing at him. When you've quite finished speechifying, John, said Mrs. Wood, perhaps you'll serve the berries and pass the cream and sugar. Do you get yellow cream like this in the village, Mr. Maxwell? No, Mrs. Wood, he said. Ours is a much paler yellow. And then there was a great tankling of china and passing of dishes and talking and laughing, and no one noticed that I was not in my usual place in the hall. I could not get over my dread of the green creature, and I had crept under the table, so that if it came out and frightened Miss Laura, I could jump up and catch it. When tea was half over, she gave a little cry. I sprang up on her lap, and there, gliding over the table toward her, was the wicked looking green thing. I stepped on the table and had it by the middle before it could get to her. My hind legs were in a dish of jelly, and my front ones were in a plate of cake, and I was very uncomfortable. The tail of the green thing hung in a milk picture, and its tongue was still going at me, but I held it firmly and quite still. Drop it, drop it! cried Miss Laura in tones of distress, and Mr. Maxwell struck me on the back, so I let the thing go, and stood sheepishly looking about me. Mr. Wood was leaning back in his chair, laughing with all his might, and Mrs. Wood was staring at her untidy table with a rather long face. Miss Laura told me to jump on the floor, and then she helped her aunt to take the spoiled things off the table. I felt that I had done wrong, so I slunk out into the hall. Mr. Maxwell was sitting on the lounge, tearing his handkerchief and strips, and tying them around the creature where my teeth had stuck in them. I had been careful not to hurt it much, for I knew it was a pet of his, but he did not know that and scowled at me, saying, You rascal, you've hurt my poor snake terribly. I felt so badly to hear this that I went and stood with my head in a corner. I had almost rather be whipped than scolded. After a while, Mr. Maxwell went back into the room, and they all went on with their tea. I could hear Mr. Wood's loud, cheery voice. The dog did it quite right. A snake is mostly a poisonous creature, and his instinct told him to protect his mistress. Where is he? Joe! Joe! I would not move till Miss Laura came and spoke to me. Dear old dog, she whispered. You knew the snake was there all the time, didn't you? Her words made me feel better, and I followed her to the dining room, where Mr. Wood made me sit beside him and eat scraps from his hand all through the meal. Mr. Maxwell had gotten over his ill humor and was chatting in a lively way. Good Joe, he said. I was cross to you, and I beg your pardon. It always riles me to have any of my pets injured. You didn't know my poor snake was only after something to eat. Mrs. Wood has pinned him in my pocket, so he won't come out again. Do you know where I got that snake, Mrs. Wood? No, she said. You never told me. It was across the river by Blue Ridge, he said. One day last summer, I was out rowing and, getting very hot, tied my boat in the shade of a big tree. Some village boys were in the woods, and hearing a great noise, I went to see what it was all about. They were the band of mercy boys, and finding a country boy beating a snake to death, they were remonstrating with him for his cruelty, telling him that some kinds of snakes were a help to the farmer, and destroyed large numbers of field mice and other vermin. The boy was obstinate. He had found the snake, and he insisted upon his right to kill it, and they were having a rather lively time when I appeared. I persuaded them to make the snake over to me. Apparently, it was already dead. Thinking it might revive, I put it on some grass in the bow of my boat. It lay there motionless for a long time. I picked up my oars and started for home. I had got halfway across the river when I turned around, and saw that the snake was gone. It had just dropped into the water, and was swimming toward the bank we had left. I turned and followed it. It swam slowly, and with evident pain, lifting its head every few seconds high above the water to see which way it was going. On reaching the bank, it coiled itself up, throwing up blood and water. I took it up carefully, carried it home, and nursed it. It soon got better, and has been a pet of mine ever since. After tea was over, and Mrs. Wood and Ms. Laura had helped Adele finish the work, they all gathered in the parlor. The day had been quite warm, but now a cold wind had sprung up, and Mr. Wood said that it was blowing up rain. Mrs. Wood said she thought a fire would be pleasant, so they lighted the sticks of wood in the open grate, and all sat round the blazing fire. Mr. Maxwell tried to get me to make friends with the little snake that he held in his hands toward the blaze, and now that I knew it was harmless, I was not afraid of it, but it did not light me and put out its funny little tongue whenever I looked at it. By and by, the rain began to strike against the windows, and Mr. Maxwell said, This is just the night for a story. Tell us something out of your experience, won't you, Mr. Wood? What shall I tell you? He said, good-humoredly. He was sitting between his wife and Mr. Harry, and had his hand on Mr. Harry's knee. Something about animals, said Mr. Maxwell. We seem to be on that subject today. Well, said Mr. Wood, I'll talk about something that has been running in my head for many a day. There is a good deal of talk nowadays about kindness to domestic animals, but I do not hear too much about kindness to wild ones. The same creator formed them both. I do not see why you should not protect one as well as the other. I have no more right to torture a bear than a cow. Our wild animals around here are getting pretty well killed off, but there are lots and other places. I used to be fond of hunting when I was a boy, but I've got rather disgusted with killing these late years, and unless the wild creatures ran out in our streets, I would lift no hand to them. Shall I tell you some of the sport we had when I was a youngster? Yes, yes. They all exclaimed. End of Chapter 22. What happened at the tea table? Chapters 23 and 24 of Beautiful Joe. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Allison Hester of Athens, Georgia. Beautiful Joe by Marshall Saunders. Chapter 23. Trapping Wild Animals. Well, Mr. Wood began. I was brought up, as y'all know, in the eastern part of Maine, and we often used to go over into New Brunswick for our sport. Moose were our best game. Did you ever see one, Laura? No, Uncle, she said. Well, when I was a boy, there was no more beautiful sight to me in the world than a moose with his dusky hide and long legs and branching antlers and shoulders standing higher than horses. Their legs are so long that they can't eat close to the ground. They browse on the tops of plants and the tender shoots of leaves and trees. They walk among the thick underbrush, carrying their horns adroitly to prevent their catching in the branches. And they step so well and aim so true that you'll scarcely hear a twig fall as they go. They're a timid creature, except at times. Then they'll attack with hooves and antlers, whatever comes in their way. They hate mosquitoes. And when they're tormented by them, it's just as well to be careful about approaching them. Like all other creatures, the Lord has put into them a wonderful amount of sense. And when a female moose has her one or two phones, she goes into the deepest part of the forest or swims to islands and large lakes till they are able to look out for themselves. Well, we used to like to catch a moose and we had different ways of doing it. One way was to snare them. We'd make a loop and a rope and hide it on the ground under the dead leaves in one of their paths. This was connected with a young sapling whose top was bent down. When the moose stepped on it, the loop would release the sapling and up it would bang, catching him by the leg. These snares were always set deep in the woods and we couldn't visit them very often. Sometimes the moose would be there for days, raging and tearing around and scratching the skin off his legs. That was cruel. I wouldn't catch a moose in that way now for a hundred dollars. Another way was to hunt them on snowshoes with dogs. In February and March, the snow was deep and would carry men and dogs. Moose don't go together in herds. In the summer, they wander about over the forest and in the autumn, they come together in small groups and select a hundred or two of acres where there is plenty of heavy undergrowth and to which they usually confine themselves. They do this so that their tracks won't tell their enemies where they are. Any of these places where there were several moose, we called a moose yard. We went through the woods till we got on to the tracks of some of the animals belonging to it. Then the dog smelled them and went ahead to start them. If I shut my eyes now, I can see one of our moose hunts. The moose was running and plunging through the snow crust and occasionally rising up and striking at the dogs that hang on to his bleeding flanks and legs. The hunter's rifle's going crack, crack, crack. Sometimes killing or wounding dogs as well as moose. That too was cruel. Two other ways we had of hunting moose, calling and stalking. The calling was done in this way. We took a bit of birch bark and rolled it up in the shape of a horn. We took this horn and started out either on a bright moonlit night or just an evening or early in the morning. The man who carried the horn hit himself and then began to make a lowing sound like a female moose. He had to do it pretty well to deceive them. Away in the distance, some moose would hear it and with ants or in grunts would start off to come to it. If a young male moose was coming, he'd mind his steps. I can assure you on account of fear of the old ones. But if he was an old fella, you'd hear him stepping out bravely and wrapping his horns against the trees and plunging into any water that came in his way. When he got pretty near, he'd stop to listen and then the caller had to be very careful and put his trumpet down close to the ground so as to make a lower sound. If the moose felt doubtful, he'd turn. If not, he'd come on and unlucky for him if he did for he got a warm reception either from the rifles in our hands as we lay head near the caller or from some of the party stationed at a distance. In stalking, we crept on them the way a cat creeps on a mouse. In the daytime, a moose is usually lying down. We'd find their tracks in places where they'd been nipping off the ends of branches and twigs and follow them up. They'd easily take the scent of man and we'd have to keep well to the leeward. Sometimes we'd come upon them lying down but if in walking along we'd broken a twig or made the slightest noise. They'd think it was one of their mortal enemies, a bear creeping on them and they'd be up and away. Their sense of hearing is very keen but they're not so quick to see. A fox is like that too. His eyes aren't equal to his nose. Stalking is the most merciful way to kill a moose. Then they haven't the fright and suffering of the chase. I don't see why they need to be killed at all, said Mrs. Wood. If I knew that forest back of the mountains was full of wild creatures, I think I'd be glad of it and not want to hunt them. That is, if they were harmless and beautiful creatures like the deer. You're a woman, said Mr. Wood. And women are more merciful than men. Men want to kill and slay. They're like the Englishmen who said what a fine day it is. Let's go out and kill something. Please tell us some more about the dogs that helped you catch the moose, uncle, said Miss Laura. I was sitting up very straight beside her listening to every word Mr. Wood said and she was fondling my head. Well, Laura, when we camped out on the snow and slept on spruce bowels while we were after the moose, the dogs used to be a great comfort to us. They slept at our feet and kept us warm. Poor brutes. They mostly had a rough time of it. They enjoyed the running and chasing as much as we did. But when it came to broken ribs and sore heads, it was another matter. Then the porcupines bothered them. Our dogs would never learn to let them alone. If they were going through the woods where there was no signs of moose and found a porcupine, they'd kill it. The quills would get in their mouths and necks and chests and we'd have to gag them and take bullet molds or nippers or whatever we had. Sometimes our jackknives and pull out the nasty things. If we got hold of the dogs at once, we could pull out the quills with our fingers. Sometimes the quills had worked in and the dogs would go home and lie by the fire with running sores till they worked out. I've seen quills work right through dogs. Go in one side and come out on the other. Poor brutes, said Mrs. Wood. I wonder you took them. We once lost a valuable hound while moose hunting, said Mr. Wood. The moose struck him with his hoof and the dog was terribly injured and laying in the woods for days till a neighbor of ours who was looking for timber found him and brought him home on his shoulders. Wasn't there rejoicing among us boys to see old line coming back? We took care of him and he got well again. It was good sport to see the dogs when we were hunting a bear with them. Bears are good runners and when dogs get after them, there is a great skirmishing. They knit the bear behind and when they turn, the dogs run like mad for a hug from a bear means sure death to a dog. If they got a slap from his paws, over they'd go. Dogs new to the business were often killed by the bears. Were there many bears near your home, Mr. Wood? asked Mr. Maxwell. Lots of them, more than we wanted. They used to bother us fearfully about our sheep and cattle. I've often had to get up in the night and run out to the cattle. The bears would come out of the woods and jump on the young heifers and cows and strike them and beat them down and the cattle would roar as if the evil one had them. If the cattle were too far away from the house for us to hear them, the bears would worry them till they were dead. As for the sheep, they never made any resistance. They'd meekly run in a corner when they saw a bear coming and huddled together and he'd strike at them and scratch them with its claws and perhaps wound a dozen before he got one firmly. Then he'd seize it in his paws and walk off on its hind legs over fences and anything else that came in his way till he came to a nice retired spot. And there he'd sit down and skin that sheep just like a butcher. He'd gorge himself with the meat and in the morning we'd find the other sheep that he'd torn and we'd bow vengeance against that bear. He'd be almost sure to come back for more. So for a while after that we always put the sheep in the barn at night and set a trap by the remains of the one he had eaten. Everybody hated bears and they hadn't much pity for them. Still, they were only getting their meat as other wild animals do and we'd no right to set such cruel traps for them as the steel ones. They had a clog attached to them and had long sharp teeth. We'd put them on the ground and strode leaves over them and hung up some of the caucas left by the bear nearby. When he attempted to get his meat he would tread on the trap and the teeth would spring together and catch him by the leg. They always fought to get free. I once saw a bear that had been making a desperate effort to get away. His leg was broken. The skin and flesh were all torn away and he was held by the tendons. It was a foreleg that was caught and he would put his hind feet against the jaws of the trap and then draw by pressing with his feet till he would stretch those tendons to their utmost extent. I have known them to work away till they really pulled these tendons out of the foot and got off. It was a great event in our neighborhood when a bear was caught. Whoever caught him blew a horn and the men and boys came trooping together to see the sight. I've known them to blow that horn on a Sunday morning and I've seen the men turn their backs on the meeting house to go and see the bear. Was there no more merciful way of catching them than by this trap? Asked Miss Laura. Oh yes, by the deadfall. That is, by driving heavy sticks into the ground and making a box-like place. Open on one side where two logs were so arranged with the other heavy logs upon them that when the bear sees the bait the upper logs fell down and crushed him to death. Another way was to fix a bait in a certain place with cords tied to it, which cords were fastened to triggers of guns placed at a little distance. When the bear took the bait the guns went off and he shot himself. Sometimes it took a good many bullets to kill them. I remember one old fella that we put a leaven into before he killed over. It was one fall over on Pikes Hill. The snow had come earlier than usual and this old bear hadn't gotten into his den for his winter sleep. A lot of us started out after him. The hill was covered with beech trees and he'd been living all the fall on the nuts till he got as fat as butter. We took dogs and worried him and ran him from one place to another and shot at him till at last he dropped. We took his meat home and had his skin tanned for a sleigh row. One day I was in the woods and looking through the trees a spider bear. He was standing up on his hind legs snuffing in every direction and just about the time I inspired him he inspired me. I had no dog and no gun so I thought I had better be getting home to my dinner. I was a small boy then and the bear probably thinking I'd be a mouthful for him anyway began to come after me in a leisurely way. I can see myself now going through those woods. Hat gone, jacket flying, arms out, eyes rolling over my shoulder every little while to see if the bear was gaining on me. He was a benevolent looking old fella and his face seemed to say don't hurry little boy. He wasn't doing his prettiest and I soon got away from him but I made up my mind then that it was more fun to be the chaser than the chaste. Another time I was out in our cornfield and here in a rustling looked through the stalks and saw a brown bear with two cubs. She was slashing down the corn with her paws to get at the ears. She smelled me and getting frightened began to run. I had a dog with me this time and shouted and wrapped on the fence and set him on her. He jumped up and snapped at her flanks and every few instance she'd turn and give him a cuff. That would send him yards away. I followed her up and just back of the fog she and her cubs took into a tree. I sent my dog home and my father and some of the neighbors came. It had gotten dark by this time so we built a fire under the tree and watched all night and told stories to keep each other awake. Told morning we got sleepy and the fire burnt low and didn't that old bear and one cub drop right down among us and start off to the woods. That wake this up. We built the fire to keep watch so that the one cub still in the tree couldn't get away until daylight the mother bear hung around calling to the cub to come down. Did you let it go uncle? Asked Miss Lore. No my dear we shot it. How cruel! cried Mrs Wood. Yeah weren't we brutes? said her husband. But there was some excuse for us Hattie. The bear has ruined our farms. This kind of hunting that hunts and kills for the mere sake of slaughter is very different from that. I tell you what I have no patience with and that's these English folks that dress themselves up and take fine horses and packs of dogs and tear over the country after one little fox or rabbit. Bah is contemptible. Now if they were hunting cruel man eating tigers or animals that destroy property it would be a different thing. End of chapter 23 Trapping Wild Animals Chapter 24 The Rabbit and the Hen You had foxes up in Maine I suppose Mr Wood hadn't you? Asked Mr Maxwell. Heaps of them. I always want to laugh when I think of our foxes for they were so cute. Never a fox that I catch in a trap though I'd set a mini one. I'd take the caucus of some creature that had died a sheep for instance and put it in a field near the woods and the foxes would come and eat it. After they got accustomed to come and eat and no harm befell them they would be unsuspecting. So just before a snow storm I'd take a trap and put it in this spot. I'd handle it with gloves and I'd smoke it and rub burrows on it to take away the human smell and then the snow would come and cover it up and yet those foxes would know it was a trap and walk around it. It's a wonderful thing that sense of smell in animals if it is a sense of smell. Joe here has got a good bit of it. What kind of traps were they father? I asked Mr. Harry. Coral ones. Steel ones. They'd catch an animal by the leg and sometimes break the bone. The leg would bleed and below the jaws of the trap it would freeze. There being no circulation of blood those steel traps are an abomination. The people around here use one made on the same principle for catching rats. I wouldn't have them on my place for any money. I believe we've got to give an account for all the unnecessary suffering we put on animals. You'll have some to answer for John according to your own story. Said Mrs. Wood. I have suffered already. He said. Many a night I've lain on my bed and grown. When I thought of needless cruelties I'd put upon animals when I was a young, unthinking boy. And I was pretty carefully brought up too according to our light in those days. I often think that if I was cruel with all the instruction I had to be merciful. What can be expected of the children that get no good teaching at all when they're young? Tell us some more about the foxes, Mr. Wood. Said Mr. Max Whale. Well, we used to have a rare sport for hunting them with the fox hounds. I'd often go off for the day with my hounds. Sometimes early in the morning they'd find a track in the snow. The leader for scent would go back and forth to find out which way the fox was going. I can see him now. All the time he ran now one way and now another on the track of the fox. He was silent but kept his tail aloft wagging it as a signal to the hounds behind. He was leader in his scent but he did not like bloody dangerous fights. Buy and buy he would decide which way the fox had gone. Then his tail still kept high in the air would wag more violently. The rest followed him in single file going pretty slow so as to enable us to keep up to them. Buy and buy they would come to a place where the fox was sleeping for the day. As soon as he was disturbed he would leave his bed under some thick fur or spruce branches near the ground. This flung his fresh scent into the air. As soon as the hound snipped it they gave tongue in good earnest. It was a mixed deep baying that made the blood quicken in my veins. While in the excitement of his first fright the fox would run for a mile or two till he found it an easy matter to keep out of the way of the hounds. Then he conning creature would begin to bother them. He would mount to the top pole of a worm fence dividing the fields from the woods. He could trot along here quite a distance and then make a long jump into the woods. The hounds would come up but could not walk the fence and they would have difficulty in finding where the fox had left it. Then we saw general ship. The hounds scatted in all directions and made long detours into the woods and fields. As soon as the track was lost they ceased to bay but the instant a hound found it again he bade to give signal to the others. All would hurry to the spot and off they would go baying as they went. Then Mr. Fox would try a new trick. He would climb a leaning tree and then jump to the ground. This trick would soon be found out. Then he'd try another. He would make a circle of a quarter of a mile in circumference. By making a loop in his course he would come in behind the hounds and puzzle them between the scent of his first and following tracks. If the snow was deep the hounds had made a good track for him. Over this he could run easily and they would have to feel their way along for after he had gone around the circle a few times he would jump from the beaten path as far as he could and make off to the other cover in a straight line. Before this was done it was my plan to get near the circle taking care to approach it on the leeward side. If the Fox got a sniff of human scent he would leave his circle very quickly and make tracks fast to be out of danger. By the baying of the hounds the circle in which the race was kept up could easily be known. The last runs to get near enough to shoot had to be done when the hounds baying came from the side of the circle nearest me. For then the Fox would be on the opposite side farthest away. As soon as I got near enough to see the hounds when they passed I stopped. When they got on the opposite side I then kept a bright look out for the Fox. Sometimes when the brush was thick the sight of him would be indistinct. The shooting had to be quick. As soon as the report of the gun was hood the hounds ceased to bay and made for the spot. If the Fox was dead they enjoyed the scent of his blood. If only wounded they went after him with all speed. Sometimes he was overtaken and killed and sometimes he got into his burrow in the earth or in a hollow log or among the rocks. One day I remember when I was standing on the outside of the circle the Fox came in sight. I fired. He gave a shrill bark and came toward me. Then he stopped in the snow and fell dead in his tracks. I was a pretty good shot in those days. Poor little Fox said Miss Laura. I wish you had let him get away. Here's one that nearly got away. Said Mr. Wood. One winter's day I was chasing him with the hounds. There was crust on the snow and the Fox was light while the dogs were heavy. They ran along the Fox trotting newly on the top of the crust and the dogs breaking through. In every few minutes that Fox would stop and sit down to look at the dogs. They were in a fury and the wickedness of the Fox and teasing them made me laugh so much that I was very unwilling to shoot him. You said you're still traps for cruel things, Uncle. Said Miss Laura. Why didn't you have a deadfall for the Foxes as you had for the Bears? They were too cunning to go into deadfalls. There was a better way to catch them though. Foxes hate water and never go into it unless they are obliged to. So we used to find a place where a tree had fallen across the river and made a bridge for them to go back and forth on. Here we set snares with spring poles that would throw them into the river when they made struggles to get free and drown them. Did you ever hear of the Fox lore that wanted to cross a river and lay down on the bank pretending he was dead? And a countryman came along and thinking he had a prize. Threw him in his boat and rolled across when the Fox got up and ran away. Now, Uncle. Said Miss Laura. You're laughing at me. That couldn't be true. No, no. Said Mr. Wood Chalkling. But they're mighty cute at pretending they're dead. I went shot one in the morning, carried him a long way on my shoulders and started to skin him in the afternoon. When he turned around and bit me enough to draw blood. At another time, I dug one out of a hole in the ground. He feigned death. I took him up and threw him down at some distance. And he jumped up and ran away into the woods. What other animals did you catch when you were a boy? Asked Mr. Maxwell. Oh, a number. Otters and beavers. We caught them in deadfalls and in steel traps. The mink we usually took in deadfalls. Smaller, of course, than the ones we used for the beavers. The muskrat we caught in box traps, like a mousetrap. The wildcat we ran down like the lalps Sevilla. What kind of animal is that? Asked Mr. Maxwell. It is a lynx belonging to the cat species. They used to prowl about the country, killing hens, geese, and sometimes sheep. They'd fix their tushes in the sheep's neck and suck the blood. They did not think much of the sheep's flesh. We ran them down with dogs. They'd often run up trees and we'd shoot them. Then there were the rabbits we caught, mostly in snares. From muskrats, we'd put a paw snip or an apple on the spindle of a box trap. When we sned a rabbit, I always wanted to find it caught around the neck and strangled to death. If they got half through the snare and were caught around the body, oh, by the hind legs, they'd live for some time and they'd just cry like a child. I like shooting them better, just because I hated to hear their pitiful cries. It's a bad business. This of killing dumb creatures and the older I get, the more chicken-hearted I am about it. Chicken-hearted? I should think you are, said Mrs. Wood. Do you know, Laura, he won't even kill a falafel dinner. He gives one of his men to do it. Blast are the merciful, said Miss Laura, throwing her arms over her uncle's shoulders. I love you, dear Uncle John, because you are so kind to every living thing. I'm going to be kind to you now, said her uncle, and send you to bed. You look tired. Very well, she said with a smile. Then, bidding them all good night, she went upstairs. Mr. Wood turned to Mr. Maxwell. You're going to stay all night with us, aren't you? So Mrs. Wood says, replied the young man with a smile. Of course, she said. I couldn't think of letting you go back to the village such a night as this. It's raining cats and dogs. Oh, but I mustn't say that, or there'll be no getting you to stay. I'll go and prepare your old room next to Harry's. And she bustled away. The two young men went to the pantry for donuts and milk, and Mr. Wood stood gazing down at me. Good dog, he said. You look as if you sensed that talk tonight. Come, get a bone, then away to bed. He gave me a very large mutton bone, and I held it in my mouth and watched him opening the woodshed door. I love human beings, and the saddest time of day for me is when I have to be separated from them while they sleep. Now go to bed and rest well, beautiful Joe, said Mr. Wood. And if you hear any strange around the house, run out of bark. Don't be chasing wild animals in your sleep though. They say a dog is the only animal that dreams. I wonder whether it's true. Then he went into the house and shut the door. I had a sheep skin to lie on and a very good bed it made. I slept soundly for a long time. Then I waked up and found that instead of rain pattering against the roof and darkness everywhere, it was quite light. The rain was over and the moon was shining beautifully. I ran to the door and looked out. It was almost as light as day. The moon made it very bright around the house and farm buildings. And I could look all about and see that there was no one stirring. I took a turn around the yard and walked around to the side of the house to glance up at Ms. Laura's window. I always did this several times through the night just to see if she was quite safe. I was on my way back to bed when I saw two small white things moving away down the lane. I stood on the veranda and watched them. When I got nearer, I saw that there was a white rabbit hopping up the road followed by a white hen. It seemed to me a very strange thing for these creatures to be out this time of night. And why were they coming to Dingley Farm? This wasn't their home. I ran down on the road and stood in front of them. Just as soon as the hen saw me, she fluttered in front of the rabbit and spreading out her wings clucked angrily and acted as if she would pet my eyes. out if I came nearer. I saw that they were harmless creatures and remembering my adventure with the snake. I stepped aside. Besides that, I knew by their smell that they had been near Mr. Maxwell. So perhaps they were after him. They understood quite well that I would not hurt them and passed by me. The rabbit went ahead again and the hen fell behind. It seemed to me that the hen was sleepy and didn't like to be out so late at night and was only following the rabbit because she thought it was her duty. He was going along in a very queer fashion putting his nose to the ground and rising up on his hind legs and sniffing the air first on this side and then on the other. In his nose going, going all the time. He smelled all around the hails till he came to Mr. Maxwell's room at the back. It opened on the veranda by a glass door and the door stood ajar. The rabbit squeezed himself in and the hen stayed out. She watched for a while and when he didn't come back she flew upon the door and the hen stayed out. She watched for a while and when he didn't come back she flew upon the back of a chair that stood near the door and put her head under her wing. I went back to my bed for I knew they would do no harm. Early in the morning when I was walking around the hails I heard a great shouting and laughing from Mr. Maxwell's room. He and Harry had just discovered the hen and the rabbit and Mr. Harry was calling another to come and look at them. The rabbit had slept on the foot of the bed. Mr. Harry was chatting Mr. Maxwell very much and was telling him that anyone who entertained him was in for a traveling menagerie. They had a great deal of fun over it and Mr. Maxwell said that he had had that pretty white hen pecked for a long time in Boston. Once when she had some little chickens a frightened rabbit that was being chased by a dog ran into the yard. In his terror he got right under the hen's wings and she sheltered him and pecked at the dog's eyes and kept him off till help came. The rabbit belonged to a neighbor's boy and Mr. Maxwell bought it from him. From the day the hen protected him she became his friend and followed him everywhere. I did not wonder that the rabbit wanted to see his master. There was something about that young man that made dumb animals just delight in him. When Mrs. Wood mentioned this to him he said I don't know why they should seem to fascinate them. You love them she said and they know it that is the reason. End of Chapter 24 The Rabbit and the Hen Chapter 25 and 26 of Beautiful Joe This is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information order volunteer LibriVox.org This reading by Allison Hester of Athens, Georgia Beautiful Joe by Marshall Saunders Chapter 25 A Happy Horse For a good while after I went to Dingley Farm I was very shy of the horses for I was afraid they might kick me thinking that I was a bad doll like Bruno. However I still had such good faces and looked at me so kindly that I was beginning to get over my fear of them. Fleetfoot, Mr. Harry's Colt was my favorite and one afternoon when Mr. Harry and Ms. Laura were going out to see him I followed them. Fleetfoot was amusing himself by rolling over and over on the grass under a tree Mr. Harry he gave a shrill whinny and running to him began nosing about his pockets Wait a bit said Mr. Harry holding him by the forelock Let me introduce you to this young lady Ms. Laura Morris I want you to make her a bow He gave the Colt some sign and immediately he began to paw the ground and shake his head Mr. Harry laughed and went on Here is her dog Joe I want you to like him too Come here Joe I was not at all afraid for I knew Mr. Harry would not let him hurt me so I stood in front of him and for the first time had a good look at him They called him the Colt but he was really a full grown horse and had already been put to work He was of a dark chestnut color and had a well shaped body and a long handsome head and I never saw in the head of a man or beast a more beautiful pair of eyes than that Colt had large full brown eyes they were that he turned on me almost as a person would all over as if to say Are you a good dog and will you treat me kindly or are you a bad one like Bruno and will you chase me and snap at my heels and worry me so that I shall want to kick you I looked at him very earnestly and wagged my body and lifted myself on my hind legs toward him he seemed pleased and put down his nose to sniff at me and then we were friends and such good friends for next to Jim and Billy I have loved Fleetfoot Mr. Harry pulled some lumps of sugar out of his pocket and giving them to Miss Laura told her to put them on the palm of her hand and hold it out flat toward Fleetfoot The Colt ate the sugar and all the time eyed her with his quiet observing glance that made her exclaim What a wise looking Colt He is like an old horse said Mr. Harry when he hears a sudden noise he stops and looks all about him to find an explanation He has been well trained said Miss Laura I have brought him up carefully Mr. Harry really he has been treated more like a dog than a Colt He follows me about the farm and smells everything I handle and seems to want to know the reason of things Your mother says replied Miss Laura that she found you both asleep on the lawn one day last summer and the Colt's head was on your arm Mr. Harry smiled and threw his arm over the Colt's neck We've been comrades haven't we Fleetfoot I've been almost ashamed of his devotion He has followed me to the village and he always wants to go fishing with me He's four years old now so we ought to get over those Coltish ways I've driven him a good deal We're going out in the buggy Just for a short drive back of the river to collect some money for Father I'll be home long before tea time Yes, I should like to go said Miss Laura I will go to the house and get my hat Come on Fleetfoot said Mr. Harry and he led the way from the pasture the Colt following behind me I waited about the veranda and in a short time Mr. Harry drove up to the front door The buggy was black and shining and Fleetfoot had on a silver mounted harness that made him look very fine He stood gently switching his long tail to keep the flies away and with his head turned to see who was going to get into the buggy I stood by him and as soon as he saw that Laura and Mr. Harry had seated themselves he acted as if he wanted to be off Mr. Harry spoke to him and the way he went I racing down the lane by his side so happy to thank he was my friend he liked having me beside him and every few seconds put down his head toward me Animals can tell each other things without saying word when Fleetfoot gave his head a little pulse in a certain way I knew that he wanted to have a race he had a beautiful even gate and went very swiftly Mr. Harry kept speaking to him to check him you don't like him to go too fast do you said Miss Laura no he returned I think we could make a better answer of him if we liked but father and I don't go in for fast horses there is too much said about fast trotters and race horses on some of the farms around here the people have gone mad on breeding fast horses an old farmer out in the country had a common cart horse that he suddenly found out had great powers of speed and endurance he sold him to a speculator for a big price if the people who give all their time to it can't raise fast horses I don't see how the farmers can a fast horse on a farm is a ruination to the boys for it starts them racing and bedding father says he is going to offer a prize for the fastest walker that can be bred in New Hampshire that Dutchman of ours heavy as he is is a fair walker and cleave and pacer can each walk four and a half miles an hour why do you lay such stress on their walking fast asked Ms. Laura because so much of the farm work must be done at a walk plowing teeming and drawing produce to the market and going up and down hills even for the cities it is good to have fast walkers trotting on city pavements is very hard on the stray horses if they are allowed to go at a quick walk their legs will keep strong much longer it is shameful the way horses are used up in big cities our pavements are so bad that cab horses are used up in three years in many ways we are a great deal better off in this new country than the people in Europe but we are not in respect of cab horses for in London and Paris they last five years I have seen horses drop down dead in New York just from hard usage poor brutes there is a better time coming for them though when electricity is more fully developed we will see some wonderful changes as it is last year in different places about 30,000 horses were released from those abominable horse cars by having electricity introduced on the roads well fleet but do you want another spin alright my boy go ahead away we went again along a bit of level road fleet had no check rain on his beautiful neck and when he trotted he could hold his head in an easy natural position with his wonderful eyes and flowing mane and tail and his glossy reddish brown body I thought he was the handsomest horse I had ever seen he loved to go fast and when Mr. Harry spoke to him to slow up again he tossed his head with impatience but he was too sweet tempered to disobey and all the years I have known fleet foot I have never once seen him refuse to do as his master told him you have forgotten your whip haven't you Harry I heard Miss Laura say as we jogged slowly along and I ran by buggy panting and with my tongue hanging out I never used one saying Mr. Harry if I saw any man lay one on fleet foot I'd knock him down his voice was so severe that I glanced up into the buggy he looked just as he did the day that he stretched Jenkins on the ground and gave him a beating I am so glad you don't said Miss Laura you are like the Russians many of them control their horses by their voices and call them such pretty names but you have to use a whip for some horses don't you cousin Harry yes Laura there are many vicious horses that can't be controlled otherwise and then with many horses one requires a whip in case of necessity for urging them forward I suppose fleet foot never balks said Miss Laura no replied Mr. Harry Dutchman does sometimes and we have two cures for him both equally good we take up a forefoot and strike his shoe two or three times with a stone the operation always interests him greatly and he usually starts if he doesn't go for that we pass a line around his four legs at the knee joint and then go in front of him and draw on the line father won't let the men use a whip unless they are driven to it fleet foot has had a happy life hasn't he said Miss Laura looking admiringly at him how did he get to like you so much Harry I broke him in after a fashion of my own father gave him to me and the first time I saw him on his feet I finally put my hands on him his mother was rather shy of me for we hadn't had her long and it made him shy too so I soon left him the next time I stroked him the next time I put my arm around him soon he acted like a big dog I could lead him about a strap and I made a little halter and bridle for him I didn't see why I shouldn't train him a little while he was young and manageable I think it is cruel to let cults run till one has to employ severity in mastering them of course I did not let him do much work cults are like boys a boy shouldn't do a man's work but he had exercised every day and I trained him to draw a light cart behind him I used to do all kinds of things to accustom him to unusual sounds father talked a good deal to me about rarity a great horse tamer and it put ideas into my head he said he once saw Rary come on stage in Boston with a timid horse that he was going to accustom to a loud noise first a bugle was blown then some louder instrument and so on so there was a whole brass band going Rary reassured the animal and it was not afraid you like horses better than any other animals don't you Harry ask Miss Laura I believe I do though I am very fond of that dog of yours I think I know more about horses than dogs have you noticed scant very much oh yes I often watch her she is such an amusing little creature she's the most interesting one we've got that is after Fleetfoot father got her from a man who couldn't manage her he came to us with a legion of bad tricks father has taken solid comfort though in breaking her of them she is his pet among our stock I suppose you know that horses more than any other animals are creatures of habit if they do a thing once they will do it again when she came to us she had a trick of biting at a person who gave her oats she would do this without fail so father put a little stick under his arm she would bite he would give her a wrap over the nose she soon got tired of biting and gave it up sometimes now you'll see her make a snap at father as if she was going to bite and then look under his arm to see if the stick is there he cured some of her tricks in one way and some in another one bad one she has was to start for the stable the minute one of the traces was unfastened when we were unharnessing she pulled father over once and another time she ran the shaft of the sulky clean through the barn door the next time father brought her in he got ready for her he twisted the lines around his hands and the minute she began to bolt he gave a tremendous jerk that pulled her back upon her haunches and shouted whoa it cured her and she never started again till he gave her the word often now you'll see her throw her head back when she is being unhitched he only did it once yet she remembers if we had the training of scamp she'd be a very different animal it's nearly all in the bringing up of a cult whether it will turn out vicious or gentle if anyone were to strike fleet foot he would not know what it meant he has been brought up differently from scamp she was probably trained by some brutal man who inspired her with distrust of the human species she never bites an animal and seems attached to all the other horses she loves fleet foot and cleave and pacer those three are her favorites I love to go for drives with cleave and pacer said miss laura they are so steady and good uncle says they are the most trusty horses he has he has told me about the thing you had who said those two horses knew more than most humans that was old david saying mister harry when we had him he was courting a widow who lived over in hoitville about once a fortnight he'd ask her father for one of the horses to go over and see her he always stayed pretty late and on the way home he'd tie the reins to the whip stock and go to sleep and never wake up till he'd leave or pacer whichever one he happened to have would draw up in the barnyard they would pass any brigs they happened to meet and turn out a little for a man if davids wasn't asleep he could always tell by the difference in their gate which they were passing they'd go quickly past a man and much slower with more of a turn out if it was a team but I dare say father told you this he has a great stock of horse and I'm almost as bad you will have to cry halt when we bore you you never do replied miss lora I love to talk about animals I think the best story about cleave and pacer is the one that uncle told me last evening I don't think you were there it was about stealing the oats cleave and pacer never steal said mister harry don't you mean scamp she's the thief no it was pacer that stole he got out of his box uncle says and found two bags of oats and he took one in his teeth and dropped it before cleave and ate the other himself and uncle was so amused that he let them eat a long time and stood and watched them that was a clever trick said mister harry father must have forgotten to tell me those two horses have been mates ever since I can remember and I believe if they were separated they'd pine away and die you have noticed how low the partitions are between the boxes and the horse table father says you wouldn't put a lot of people in separate boxes in a room where they couldn't see each other and horses are just as kind of company as we are cleave and pacer are always nosing each other a horse has a long memory father has had horses recognize him that he has been parted from for twenty years speaking of their memories reminds me of another good story about pacer that I never heard till yesterday and that I would not talk about to anyone but you and mother father wouldn't write me about it for he will never put a line on paper where anyone's reputation is concerned end of chapter twenty five a happy horse chapter twenty six the box of money this story saying Mr. Harry is about one of the hired men we had last winter whose name was Jacobs he was a cunning fellow with a hang dog look and a great cleverness at stealing farm produce from father on the sly and selling it he was doing perfectly well what he was doing and was wondering what would be the best way to deal with him when one day something happened that brought matters to a climax father had to go to Sudbury for farming tools and took pacer and the cutter there are two ways of going there one the Sudbury road and the other the old post road which is longer and seldom used on this occasion father took the post road it wasn't deep and he wanted to inquire after an old man who had been robbed and half frightened to death a few days before he was a miserable old creature known as miser Gerald and he lived alone with his daughter he had saved a little money that he kept in a box under his bed when father got near the place he was astonished to see by pacer's actions that he had been on this road before and recently too father is so sharp about horses that they never do a thing that he doesn't attach meaning to so he let the rains hang a little loose and kept his eye on pacer the horse went along the road and seeing father didn't direct him turned into the lane leading to the house there was an old red gate at the end of it and he stopped in front of it and waited for father to get out then he passed through and instead of going up to the house turned around and stood with his head toward the road father never said a word but he was doing a lot of thinking he went into the house and found the old man sitting over the fire rubbing his hands and half crying about the few poor dollars that he said he had stolen from him father had never seen him before but he knew he had the name of being half silly and questioned him as much as he liked he could make nothing of him the daughter said that they had gone to bed at dark the night her father was robbed she slept upstairs and he down below about ten o'clock she heard him scream and running down the stairs she found him sitting up in bed and the window wide open he said a man had sprung in upon him stuffed the bed clothes into his mouth and dragging his box from under the bed had made off with it she ran to the door and looked out there was no one to be seen it was dark and snowing a little so no traces of footsteps were to be perceived in the morning father found that the neighbors were dropping in to bear the old man company so he drove on to Sudbury and then returned home when he got back he said Jacobs was hanging around the stable in a nervous kind of way and said he wanted to speak to him father said very good but put the horse in first Jacobs unhitched and father sighed on one of the stable benches and watched him till he came lounging along with a straw in his mouth and said he'd made up his mind to go west and he'd like to set off at once father said again very good but first he had a little account to settle with him and he took out of his pocket a paper where he had jotted down as far as he could every quart of oats and every bag of grain and every quarter of a dollar of market and money that Jacobs had defrauded him of father said the fellow turned all the colors of the rainbow for he thought he had covered up his tracks so cleverly that he would never be found out then father said sit down Jacobs for I have got to have a long talk with you he had him there about an hour and when he finished the fellow was completely broken down and when he told him there were just two courses in life for a young man to take and he had gotten on the wrong one he was a young smart fellow and if he turned around right now there was a chance for him if he didn't there was nothing but the state's prison ahead of him for he didn't think he was going to go and cheat all the world and never be found out father said he'd give him all the help that he tried to be an honest man then he tore up the paper instead there was an end of his indebtedness to him Jacobs is only a young fellow 23 or there about and father says he sobbed like a baby then without looking at him father gave an account of his afternoon's drive just as if he was talking to himself he said that Pacer never to his knowledge had been on that road before and that he seemed perfectly familiar with it and that he stopped and turned already to leave again quickly instead of going up to the door and how he looked over his shoulder and started on a run down the lane the minute father's foot was in the cutter again in the course of his remarks father mentioned the fact that on Monday the evening that the robbery was committed Jacobs had borrowed Pacer to go to the junction but had come in with the horse and looking as if he had been driven a much longer distance than that father said that when he got done Jacobs had sunk down all in a heap on the stable floor with his hands over his face father left him to have it out with himself and went to the house the next morning Jacobs looked the same as usual and went about with the other men doing his work but saying nothing about going west late in the afternoon a farmer going by held father and asked if he had heard the news old miser Gerald's box had been left on his doorstep sometime through the night and he found it in the morning the money was all there but the old fellow was so cute that he wouldn't tell anyone how much it was the neighbors had persuaded him to bank it and he was coming to town the next morning with it and that night some of them were going to help him mount guard over it father told the men at milking time and he said Jacobs looked as unconscious as possible however from that day there was a change in him he never told father in so many words that he'd resolved to be an honest man but his actions spoke for him he had been a kind of sullen unwilling fellow but now he turned handy and obliging and it was a real trial to father to part with him miss Laura was intensely interested in this story where is he now cousin Harry she asked eagerly what became of him Mr. Harry laughed in such an amusement that I stared up at him and even Fleetfoot turned his head around to see what the joke was we were going very slowly up a long steep hill and in the clear steel air we could hear every word spoken in the buggy the last part of the story is the best to my mind said Mr. Harry and as romantic as even a girl could desire the affair of the stolen box was much talked about along Sudbury way and Miss Gerald got to be considered quite a desirable young person among some of the youth near there though she is a frowsy headed creature as neat in her personal attire as a young girl should be among her suitors was Jacobs he cut out a blacksmith and a painter and several young farmers and father said he never in his life had such a time to keep a straight face as when Jacobs came to him this spring and said he was going to marry old Miser Gerald's daughter he wanted to quit father's employ and he thanked him in a real manly way for the manner which he had always treated him well Jacobs left and mother says that father would sit and speculate about him as to whether he had fallen in love with Eliza Gerald or whether he was determined to regain possession of the box and was going to do it honestly or whether he was sorry for having frightened the old man into a greater degree of imbecility and was marrying the girl so that he could take care of him or whether it was something else and so on and so on he had a dozen theories and then mother says he would burst out laughing and say it was one of the cutest tricks he had ever heard of in the end Jacobs got married and father and mother went to the wedding father gave the bride groom a yoke of oxen and mother gave the bride a lot of household linen and I believe they're as happy as the day is long Jacobs makes his wife Comer here and he waits on the old man as if he was his son and he is improving the farm that was going to rack and ruin and I hear he is going to building new house Harry exclaimed miss Laura can't you take me to see them yes indeed mother often drives over to take them little things and we'll go to sometime I'd like to see Jacobs myself now that he is a decent fellow strange to say though he hadn't the best of character no one has ever suspected him of the robbery and he's been cunning enough never to say a word about it father says Jacobs is like all the rest of us there's a mixture of good and evil in him and sometimes one predominates and sometimes the other but we must get on and not talk here all day get up fleet foot where did you say we were going asked miss Laura as we crossed over the bridge to the river a little way back here in the woods he replied there's an Englishman on a small clearing that he calls pen hollow father loaned him some money three years ago and he won't pay either interest or principal I think I've heard of him said miss Laura isn't he the man whom the boys call Lord Chesterfield the same one he's a queer specimen of a man father has always stood up for him he has a great liking for the English says we ought to be as ready to help an Englishman as an American for we spring from common stock Oh, not Englishman only said miss Laura warmly Chinaman and Negroes and everybody there ought to be a brotherhood of nations Harry yes miss enthusiasm I suppose there ought to be and looking up I could see that Mr. Harry was gazing admiringly into his cousin's face please tell me some more about the Englishman said miss Laura there isn't much to tell he lives alone only coming occasionally to the village for supplies and though he is poorer than poverty he despises every soul within a 10 mile radius of him and looks upon us as no better than an order of thrifty well-trained lower animals why is that ask miss Laura in surprise he is a gentleman Laura and we are only common people my father can't hand a lady in and out of a carriage as Lord Chesterfield can nor can he make so grand about nor does he put on evening dress for a late dinner and we never go to the opera nor to the theater and know nothing of polite society nor can we tell exactly whom our great great grandfather spring from I tell you there is a gulf between us and that Englishman wider than the one young courtesus leaped into miss Laura was laughing merrily how funny that sounds Harry so he despises you and she glanced at her good-looking cousin in his handsome buggy and well-kept horse and then burst into another merry peel of laughter Mr. Harry he laughed too it does seem absurd sometimes when I pass him jogging along to town in his rickety old cart and look at his pale cruel face and know that he is a broken down gambler and a man of the world and yet considers himself infinitely superior to me a young man in the prime of life with a good constitution and happy prospects it makes me turn away to hide a smile by this time we had left the river and the meadows far behind us and we were passing through a thick wood the road was narrow and very broken and bleak foot was obliged to pick his way carefully why does the Englishman live in this out-of-the-way place if he is so fond of city life ask miss Laura I don't know said Mr. Harry father is afraid that he has committed some misdeed and is in hiding but we say nothing about it we have not seen him for some weeks and to tell the truth this trip is as much to see what has become of him as to make a demand upon him for the money as he lives alone he might lie there ill and no one would know anything about it the last time that we knew of his coming to the village was to draw quite a sum of money from the bank annoyed father for he said to pay his debts I think as relatives in England supply him with funds here we are at the entrance to the mansion of Penn Hollow I must get out and open the gate that will admit us to the winding avenue we had arrived in front of some bars which were laid across an opening in the snake fence that ran along one side of the road I sat down and looked about it was a strange lonely place the trees almost met overhead and it was very dim and quiet the sun could only send little struggling beams through the branches there was a muddy pool of water before the bars that Mr. Harry was letting down and he got his feet wet in it confound that Englishman he said backing out of the water and wiping his boots on the grass he hasn't even the gumption enough to throw down a load of stone there drive in Laura and I'll put up the bars Fleet Foot took us through the opening and then Mr. Harry jumped into the buggy and took up the reins again we had to go very slowly up a narrow rough road the bushes scratched and scraped against the buggy and Mr. Harry looked very much annoyed no man liveth to himself said Miss Laura softly this man's carelessness is giving you trouble why doesn't he cut these branches that overhang the road he can't do it because his abominable laziness won't let him said Mr. Harry I'd like to be behind him for a week and I'd make him step a little faster we have arrived at last thank goodness there was a small grass clearing in the midst of the woods chips and bits of wood were littered about and across the clearing was a roughly built house of unpainted boards the front door was propped open by a stick some of the panes of glass and the windows were broken and the whole house had a melancholy dilapidated look I thought that I had never seen such a sad looking place it seems as if there was no one about said Mr. Harry with a puzzled face Baron must be away will you hold Fleetfoot Laura while I go in and see he drew the buggy up near a small log building that had evidently been used for a stable and I lay down beside it and watched Miss Laura end of chapter 26 the box of money