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Beautiful Joe

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

By MARSHALL SAUNDERS

Author of

My Spanish Sailor," " Charles and His Lamb,

" Daisy," etc.

WITH AN INTRODUCTION
By HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH

Op Youth's Companion

Philadelphia

CHARLES H. BANES

1420 Chestnut St.

1897

A m:

Entered, according to Act of Congress

in the year 1893, by the

AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress

at Washington

caw Of KiSW iOKK '-fl

F588ri

dU^p

TO

GEORGE THORNDIKE ANGELL

PRESIDENT OF THE AMEKICAM HUMANE EDUCATION SOCIETV

THE MASSACHUSETTS SOCIETY FOR THE P:iEVENTION

OF CRUELTY TO ANIMALS, AND THE PARENT

AMERICAN BAND OF MERCY

19 MILK ST., BOSTON

)( THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICAIEO
BY THE AUTHOR.

■fi^;>

PREFACE

BEAUTIFUL JOE is a real dog, and "Beautiful
Joe " is his real name. He belonged during
the first part of his life to a cruel master,
who mutilated him in the manner described in the
story. He was rescued from him. and is now living
in a happy home with pleasant surroundings, and
enjoys a wide local celebrity.

'^he character of Laura is drawn from life, and
to the smallest detail is truthfully depicted. The
Morris family has its counterparts in real life, and
nearly all of the incidents of the story are founded
on fact. — The Author.

INTRODUCTION

The wonderfully successful book, entitled
"Black Beauty," came like a living voice out of
the animal kingdom. But it spake for the horse,
and made other books necessary ; it led the way.
After the ready welcome that it received, and the
good it has accomplished and is doing, it fol-
lowed naturally that some one should be inspired
to write a book to interpret the life of a dog to the
humane feeling of the world. Such a story we
have in " Beautiful Joe."

The story speaks not for the dog alone, but for
the whole animal kingdom. Through it we enter
the animal world, and are made to see as animals
see, and to feel as animals feel. The sympathetic
sight of the author, in this interpretation, is ethi-
cally the strong feature of the book.

Such books as this is one of the needs of our
progressive system of education. The day-school,
the Sunday-school, and all libraries for the young,
demand the influence that shall teach the reader
how to live in sympathy with the animal world ;
how to understand the languages of the creatures
that we have long been accustomed to call ' 'dumb, ' *
and the sign language of the lower orders of these

» INTRODUCTION

dependent beings. The church owes it to her
mission to preach and to teach the enforcement of
the "bird's nest commandment;" the principle
recognized by Moses in the Hebrew world, and
echoed by Cowper in English poetry, and Burns
in the " Meadow Mouse," and by our own Long-
fellow in songs of many keys.

Kindness to the animal kingdom is the first, or
a first principle in the growth of true philanthropy.
Young Lincoln once waded across a half-frozen
river to rescue a dog, and stopped in a walk with
a statesman to put back a bird that had fallen out
of its nest. Such a heart was trained to be a
leader of men, and to be crucified for a cause.
The conscience that runs to the call of an animal
in distress is girding itself with power to do manly
work in the world.

The story of " Beautiful Joe" awakens an in-
tense interest, and sustains it through a series of
vivid incidents and episodes, each of which is a
lesson. The story merits the widest circulation,
and the universal reading and response accorded
to " Black Beauty." To circulate it is to do good;
to help the human heart as well as the creatures
of quick feelings and simple language.

When, as one of the committee to examine the
manuscripts offered for prizes to the Humane
Society, I read the story, I felt that the writer had
a higher motive than to compete for a prize ; that
the story was a stream of sympathy that flowed
from the heart ; that it was genuine ; that it only
needed a publisher who should be able to com-

INTRODUCTION 9

mand a wide influence, to make its merits known,
to give it a strong educational mission.

I am pleased that the manuscript has found such
a publisher, and am sure that the issue of the story
will honor the Publication Society. In the devel-
opment of the book, I believe that the humane
cause has stood above any speculative thought or
interest. The book comes because it is called for ;
the times demand it. I think that the publishers
have a right to ask for a little unselfish service on
the part of the public in helping to give it a circu-
lation commensurate with its opportunity, need,
and influence.

Hezekiah Butterworth.

( Of the committee of readers of the prize
stories offered to the Bicmane Society.)

Boston, Mass., Dec, 1893.

CONTENTS

Chapter page

I. Only a Cur 13

II. The Cruel Milkman 20

III. My Kind Deliverer and Miss Laura 25

IV. The Morris Boys Add to My Name . 31
V. My New Home and a Selfish Lady . 37

VI. The Fox Terrier Billy 51

VII. Training a Puppy 59

VIII. A Ruined Dog 64

IX. The Parrot Bella 70

X. Billy's Training Continued .... 78

XI. Goldfish and Canaries 86

XII. Malta the Cat 98

XIII. The Beginning of an Adventure . . 106

XIV. How We Caught THE Burglar . . .118
XV. Our Journey to Riverdale 128

XVI. DiNGLLY Farm 142

XVII. Mr. Wood and his Horses 150

11

1 2 CONTENTS

Chapter pagh

XVIII. Mrs. Wood's Poultry 159

XIX. A Band of Mercy 166

XX. Stories About Animals 175

XXI. Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Harry . . . 190
XXIL What Happened at the Tea Table . 199

XXIII. Trapping Wild Animals 208

XXIV. The Rabbit and the Hen 218

XXV. A Happy Horse 229

XXVI. The Box of Money 240

XXVII. A Neglected Stable 251

XXVIII. The End of the Englishman .... 262

XXIX. A Talk About Sheep 271

XXX. A Jealous Ox 285

XXXI. In the Cow Stable 295

XXXII. Our Return Home 303

XXXIII. Performing Animals 3^4

XXXIV. A Fire in Fairport 3^6

XXXV. Billy and the Italian 333

XXXVI. Dandy the Tramp 339

XXXVII. The End of My Story 35^

Beautiful Joe

CHAPTER I

ONLY A CUR

\ name is Beautiful Joe, and 1 am a
brown dog of medium size. I am not
called Beautiful Joe because I am a
beauty. f»Ir. Morris, the clergyman, in whose
family 1 have lived for the last twelve years, says
that he thinks I must be called Beautiful Joe for
the same reason that his grandfather, down South,
called a very ugly colored slave-lad Cupid, and
his mother Venus.

I do not know what he means by that, but
when he says it, people always look at me and
smile. 1 know that I am not beautiful, and I
know thai I am not a thoroughbred. I am only
a cur.

When my mistress went every year to register
me and pay my tax, and the man in the office
asked what breed I was, she said part fox-terrier
and part bull-terrier ; but he always put me down
a cur. I don't think she hked having him call
me a cur ; still, I have heard her say that she pre-
ferred curs, for they have more character than

13

14 BEAUTIFUL JOE

well-bred dogs. Her father said that she hked
ugly dogs for the same reason that a nobleman at
the court of a certain king did — namely, that no
one else would.

I am an old dog now, and am writing, or
rather getting a friend to write, the story of my
life. I have seen my mistress laughing and cry-
ing over a little book that she says is a story of a
horse's life, and sometimes she puts the book
down close to my nose to let me see the pictures.

I love my dear mistress ; I can say no more
than that ; I love her better than any one else in
the world ; and I think it will please her if I write
the story of a dog's life. She loves dumb animals,
and it always grieves her to see them treated
cruelly.

I have heard her say that if all the boys and
girls in the world were to rise up and say that there
should be no more cruelty to animals, they could
put a stop to it. Perhaps it will help a little if I
tell a story. I am fond of boys and girls, and
though I have seen many cruel men and women,
I have seen few cruel children. I think the more
stories there are written about dumb animals, the
better it will be for us.

In telling my story, I think I had better begin
at the first and come right on to the end. I was
born in a stable on the outskirts of a small town in
Maine called Fairport. The first thing I remem-
ber was lying close to my mother and being very
snug and warm. The next thing I remember was
being always hungry. I had a number of brothers

ONLY A CUR 15

and sisters — six in all — and my mother never
had enough milk for us. She was always half
starved herself, so she could not feed us properly.

I am very unwilling to say much about my
early life. I have lived so long in a family where
there is never a harsh word spoken, and where no
one thinks of ill-treating anybody or anything,
that it seems almost wrong even to think or speak
of such a matter as hurting a poor dumb beast.

The man that owned my mother was a milk-
man. He kept one horse and three cows, and he
had a shaky old cart that he used to put his milk
cans in. I don't think there can be a worse man
in the world than that milkman. It makes me shud-
der now to think of him. His name was Jenkins,
and I am glad to think that he is getting punished
now for his cruelty to poor dumb animals and to
human beings. If you think it is wrong that I
am glad, you must remember that I am only a
dog.

The first notice that he took of me when I was
a little puppy, just able to stagger about, was to
give me a kick that sent me into a corner of the
stable. He used to beat and starve my mother.
I have seen him use his heavy whip to punish her
till her body was covered with blood. When I
got older I asked her why she did not run away.
She said she did not wish to ; but I soon found
out that the reason she did not run away, was
because she loved Jenkins. Cruel and savage as
he was, she yet loved him, and I believe she
would have laid down her life for him.

1 6 BEAUTIFUL JOE

Now that I am old, I know that there are more
men in the world like Jenkins. They are not
crazy, they are not drunkards ; they simply seem
to be possessed with a spirit of wickedness. There
are well-to-do people, yes, and rich people, who
will treat animals, and even httle children, with
such terrible cruelty, that one cannot even men-
tion the things that they are guilty of.

One reason for Jenkins' cruelty was his idleness.
After he went his rounds in the morning with his
milk cans, he had nothing to do till late in the
afternoon but take care of his stable and yard. If
he had kept them neat, and groomed his horse,
and cleaned the cows, and dug up the garden, it
would have taken up all his time ; but he never
tidied the place at all, till his yard and stable got
so littered up with things he threw down that he
could not make his way about.

His house and stable stood in the middle of a
large field, and they were at some distance from
the road. Passers-by could not see how untidy
the place was. Occasionally, a man came to look
at the premises, and see that they were in good
order, but Jenkins always knew when to expect
him, and had things cleaned up a little.

I used to wish that some of the people that took
milk from him would come and look at his cows.
In the spring and summer he drove them out to
pasture, but during the winter they stood all the
time in the dirty, dark stable, where the chinks in
the wall were so big that the snow swept through
almost in drifts. The ground was always muddy

ONLY A CUR 17

and wet ; there was only one small window on the
north side, where the sun only shone in for a
short time in the afternoon.

They were very unhappy cows, but they stood
patiently and never complained, though sometimes
I know they must have nearly frozen in the bitter
winds that blew through the stable on winter
nights. They were lean and poor, and were
never in good health. Besides being cold they
were fed on very poor food,

Jenkins used to come home nearly every after-
noon with a great tub in the back of his cart that
was full of what he called "peelings," It was
kitchen stuff that he asked the cooks at the differ-
ent houses where he delivered milk, to save for
him. They threw rotten vegetables, fruit parings,
and scraps from the table into a tub, and gave
them to him at the end of a few days. A sour,
nasty mess it always was, and not fit to give any
creature.

Sometimes, when he had not many ' ' peelings,
he would go to town and get a load of decayed
vegetables, that grocers were glad to have him
take off their hands.

This food, together with poor hay, made the
cows give very poor milk, and Jenkins used to put
some white powder in it, to give it " body," as he
said.

Once a very sad thing happened about the milk,
that no one knew about but Jenkins and his wife.
She was a poor, unhappy creature, very frightened
at her husband, and not daring to speak much to

15 BEAUTIFUL JOE

him. She was not a clean woman, and I never
saw a worse-looking house than she kept.

She used to do very queer things, that I know
now no housekeeper should do. I have seen her
catch up the broom to pound potatoes in the
pot. She pounded with the handle, and the broom
v\^ould fly up and down in the air, dropping dust into
the pot where the potatoes were. Her pan of
soft-mixed bread she often left uncovered in the
kitchen, and sometimes the hens walked in and
sat in it.

The children used to play in mud puddles
about the door. It Avas the youngest of them that
sickened with some kind of fever early in the
spring, before Jenkins began driving the cows out
to pasture. The child was very ill, and Mrs. Jen-
kins wanted to send for a doctor, but her husband
Vvould not let her. They made a bed in the kitchen,
close to the stove, and Mrs. Jenkins nursed the
child as best she could. She did all her work near
by, and I saw her several times wiping the child's
face with the cloth that she used for washing her
milk pans.

Nobody knew outside the family that the little
girl was ill. Jenkins had such a bad name, that
none of the neighbors Vv^ould visit them. By-and-
by the child got well, and a week or two later Jen-
kins came home with quite a frightened face, and
told his wife that the- husband of one of his cus-
tomers was very ill with typhoid fever.

After a time the gentleman died, and the cook
told Jenkins that the doctor wondered how he could

ONLY A CUR 19

have taken the fever, for there was not a case in
town.

There was a widow left with three orphans, and
they never knew that they had to blame a dirty,
careless milkman for taking a kind husband and
father from them.

CHAPTER II

THE CRUEL MILKMAN

HAVE said that Jenkins spent most of
his days in idleness. He had to start
out very early in the morning, in order
to supply his customers with milk for breakfast.
Oh, how ugly he used to be, when he came into
the stable on cold winter mornings, before the sun
was up.

He would hang his lantern on a hook, and get
his milking stool, and if the cows did not step
aside just to suit him, he would seize a broom or
fork, and beat them cruelly.

My mother and I slept on a heap of straw in the
corner of the stable, and when she heard his step
in the morning she always roused me, so that we
could run out-doors as soon as he opened the stable
door. He always aimed a kick at us as we passed,
but my mother taught me how to dodge him.

After he finished milking, he took the pails of
milk up to the house for Mrs. Jenkins to strain and
put in the cans, and he came back and harnessed
his horse to the cart. His horse was called Toby,
and a poor, miserable, broken-down creature he

THE CRUEL MILKMAN 21

was. He was weak in the knees, and weak in the
back, and weak all over, and Jenkins had to beat
him all the time, to make him go. He had been
a cab horse, and his mouth had been jerked, and
twisted, and sawed at, till one would think there
could be no feeling left in it ; still I have seen him
wince and curl up his lip when Jenkins thrust in
the frosty bit on a winter's morning.

Poor old Toby ! I used to lie on my straw some-
times and wonder he did not cry out with pain. Cold
and half starved he always was in the winter time,
and often with raw sores on his body that Jenkins
would try to hide by putting bits of cloth under
the harness. But Toby never murmured, and he
never tried to kick and bite, and he minded the
least word from Jenkins, and if he swore at him,
Toby would start back, or step up quickly, he was
so anxious to please him.

After Jenkins put him in the cart, and took in
the cans, he set out on his rounds. My mother,
whose name was Jess, always went with him. I
used to ask her why she followed such a brute of
a man, and she would hang her head, and say
that sometimes she got a bone from the different
houses they stopped at. But that was not the whole
reason. She liked Jenkins so much, that she
wanted to be with him.

I had not her sweet and patient disposition, and
I would not go with her. I watched her out of
sight, and then ran up to the house to see if Mrs.
Jenkins had any scraps for me. I nearly always
got something, for she pitied me, and often gave

2 2 BEAUTIFUL JOE

me a kind word or look with the bits of food that
she threw to me.

When Jenkins come home, I often coaxed
mother to run about and see some of the neighbors'
dogs with me. But she never would, and I would
not leave her. So, from morning to night we had to
sneak about, keeping out of Jenkins' way as much
as we could, and yet trying to keep him in sight.
He always sauntered about with a pipe in his
mouth, and his hands in his pockets, growling first
at his wife and children, and then at his dumb
creatures,

I have not told what became of my brothers
and sisters. One rainy day, when we were eight
weeks old, Jenkins, followed by two or three of
his ragged, dirty children, came into the stable
and looked at us. Then he began to swear
because we were so ugly, and said if we had been
good-looking, he might have sold some of us.
Mother watched him anxiously, and fearing some
danger to her puppies, ran and jumped in
the middle of us, and looked pleadingly up
at him.

It only made him swear the more. He took
one pup after another, and right there, before his
children and my poor distracted mother, put an
end to their lives. Some of them he seized by
the legs and knocked against the stalls, till their
brains were dashed out, others he killed with a
fork. It was very terrible. My mother ran up
and down the stable, screaming with pain, and I
lay weak and trembling, and expecting every

THE CRUEL MILKMAN 23

instant that my turn would come next. I don't
know why he spared me. I was the only one left.

His children cried, and he sent them out of the
stable and went out himself. Mother picked up
all the puppies and brought them to our nest in
the straw and licked them, and tried to bring them
back to life ; but it was of no use ; they were
quite dead. We had them in our corner of the
stable for some days, till Jenkins discovered them,
and swearing horribly at us, he took his stable fork
and threw them out in the yard, and put some
earth over them.

My mother never seemed the same after this.
She was weak and miserable, and though she was
only four years old, she seemed like an old dog.
This was on account of the poor food she
had been fed on. She could nof run after
Jenkins, and she lay on our heap of straw, only
turning over with her nose the scraps of food I
brought her to eat. One day she licked me
gently, wagged her tail, and died.

As I sat by her, feeling lonely and miserable,
Jenkins came into the stable. I could not bear to
look at him. He had killed my mother. There
she lay, a little, gaunt, scarred creature, starved
and v\^orried to death by him. Her mouth was
half open, her eyes were staring. She would
never again look kindly at me, or curl up to me at
night to keep me warm. Oh, how I hated her
murderer ! But I sat quietly, even when he went
up and turned her over with his foot to see if she
was reallv dead. I think he was a little sorry, for

24 BEAUTIFUL JOE

he turned scornfully toward me and said, "She
was worth two of you ; why didn't you go instead ?' '

Still I kept quiet till he walked up to me and
kicked at me. My heart was nearly broken, and I
could stand no more. I flew at him and gave
him a savage bite on the ankle.

"Oho," he said, "so you are going to be a
fighter, are you ? I'll fix you for that." His face
was red and furious. He seized me by the back
of the neck and carried me out to the yard where
a log lay on the ground. "Bill," he called to
one of his children, "bring me the hatchet."

He laid my head on the log and pressed one
hand on my struggling body. I was now a year
old and a full-sized dog. There was a quick,
dreadful pain, and he had cut off my ear, not in
the way thdy cut puppies' ears, but close to my
head, so close that he cut off some of the skin be-
yond it. Then he cut of the other ear, and, turn-
ing me swiftly round, cut off my tail close to my
body.

Then he let me go and stood looking at me as
I rolled on the ground and yelped in agony. He
was in such a passion that he did not think that
people passing by on the road might hear me

CHAPTER III

MY KIND DELIVERER AND MISS LAURA

HERE was a young man going by on a
bicycle. He heard my screams, and
springing off his bicycle, came hurrying
up the path, and stood among us before Jenkins
caught sight of him.

In the midst of my pain, I heard him say fiercely,
" What have you been doing to that dog ? "

"I've been cuttin' his ears for fightin', my
young gentleman," said Jenkins. "There is no
law to prevent that, is there ? ' '

' ' And there is no law to prevent my giving you
a beating," said the young man, angrily. In a
trice he had seized Jenkins by the throat, and was
pounding him with all his might. Mrs. Jenkins
came and stood at the house door, crying, but
making no effort to help her husband.

" Bring me a towel," the young man cried to
her, after he had stretched Jenkins, bruised and
frightened, on the ground. She snatched off her
apron, and ran down with it, and the young man
wrapped me in it, and taking me carefully in his
arms, walked down the path to the gate. There

26 BEAUTIFUL JOE

were some little boys standing there, watching
him, their mouths wide open with astonishment.
" Sonny," he said to the largest of them, " if you
will come behind and carry this dog, I will give
you a quarter."

The boy took me, and we set out. I was all
smothered up in a cloth, and moaning with pain,
but still I looked out occasionally to see which way
we were going. We took the road to the town
and stopped in front of a house on Washington
Street. The young man leaned his bicycle up
against the house, took a quarter from his pocket
and put it in the boy's hand, and lifting me gently
in his arms, went up a lane leading to the back of
the house.

There was a small stable there. He went into
it, put me down on the floor and uncovered my
body. Some boys were playing about the stable,
and I heard them say, in horrified tones, "Oh,
Cousin Harry, what is the matter with that dog ? ' '
" Hush," he said. " Don't make a fuss. You,
Jack, go down to the kitchen and ask Tvlary for a
basin of warm water and a sponge, and don't let
your mother or Laura hear you."

A few minutes later, the young man had bathed
my bleeding ears and tail, and had rubbed some-
thing on them that was cool and pleasant, and
had bandaged them firmly with strips of cotton.
I felt much better and was able to look about m.e.

I was in a small stable, that was evidently not
used for a stable, but mxore for a play-room. There
were various kinds of toys scattered about, and a

MY KIND DELIVERER AND MISS LAURA 27

swing and bar, such as boys love to twist about on,
in two different corners. In a box against the
wall was a guinea pig, looking at me in an in-
terested way. This guinea pig's name was Jeff,
and he and I became good friends. A long-haired
French rabbit was hopping about, and a tame
white rat was perched on the shoulder of one of
the boys, and kept his foothold there, no mattei
how suddenly the boy moved. There were so
many boys, and the stable was so small, that I sup-
pose he was afraid he would get stepped on if he
went on the floor. He stared hard at me with his
little, red eyes, and never even glanced at a queer-
looking, gray cat that was watching me, too, from
her bed in the back of the vacant horse stall. Out
in the sunny yard, some pigeons were pecking at
grain, and a spaniel lay asleep in a corner.

I had never seen anything like this before, and
my wonder at it almost drove the pain away.
Mother and I always chased rats and birds, and
once we killed a kitten. While I was puzzling
over it, one of the boys cried out, "Here is
Laura ! ' '

' ' Take that rag out of the way, ' ' said Mr. Harry,
kicking aside the old apron I had been wrapped
in, and that was stained with my blood. One of
the boys stuffed it into a barrel, and then they all
looked toward the house.

A young girl, holding up one hand to shade her
eyes from the sun, was coming up the walk that
led from the house to the stable. I thought then
that I never had seen such a beautiful g-irl, and I

28 BEAUTIFUL JOE

think so still. She was tall and slender, and had
lovely brown eyes and brown hair, and a sweet
smile, and just to look at her was enough to make
one love her. I stood in the stable door, staring
at her with all my might.

"Why, what a funny dog," she said, and
stopped short to looked at me. Up to this, I had
not thought what a queer-looking sight I must be.
Now I twisted round my head, saw the white band-
age on my tail, and knowing I was not a fit spec-
tacle for a pretty young lady like that, I slunk
into a corner.

' ' Poor doggie, have I hurt your feelings ? ' ' she
said, and with a sweet smile at the boys, she passed
by them and came up to the guinea pig's box, be-
hind which I had taken refuge. "What is the
matter with your head, good dog ? ' ' she said,
curiously, as she stooped over me.

" He has a cold in it," said one of the boys
with a laugh ; " so we put a nightcap on." She
drew back, and turned very pale. " Cousin
Harry, there are drops of blood on this cotton.
Who Kas hurt this dog ? ' '

' ' Dear Laura, ' ' and the young man coming up,
laid his hand on her shoulder, "he got hurt, and
I have been bandaging him."

' ' Who hurt him ? "

" I had rather not tell you."

"But I wish to know." Her voice was as
gentle as ever, but she spoke so decidedly that
the young man was obliged to tell her everything.
All the time he was speaking, she kept touching

MY KIND DELIVERER AND MISS LAURA 2g

me gently with her fingers. When he had fin-
ished his account of rescuing me from Jenkins,
she said, quietly :

' ' You will have the man punished ? ' '
"What is the use ? That won't stop him from
being cruel."

" It will put a check on his cruelty."
" I don't think it would do any good," said the
young man, doggedly.

" Cousin Harry I " and the young girl stood up
very straight and tall, her brown eyes flashing,
and one hand pointing at me ; " will you let that
pass ? That animal has been wronged, it looks
to you to right it. The coward who has maimed
it for life should be punished. A child has a
voice to tell its wrong — a poor, dumb creature
must suffer in silence ; in bitter, bitter silence.
And," eagerly, as the young man tried to inter-
rupt her, ' ' you are doing the man himself an
injustice. If he is bad enough to ill-treat his dog,
he will ill-treat his wife and children. If he is
checked and punished now for his cruelty, he may
reform. And even if his wicked heart is not
changed, he will be obliged to treat them with
outward kindness, through fear of punishment. ' '

The young man looked convinced, and almost
as ashamed as if he had been the one to crop my
ears. " What do you want me to do ? " he said,
slowly, and looking sheepishly at the boys who
were staring open-mouthed at him and the young
girl.

The girl pulled a little watch from her belt. ' ' I

2,0 BEAUTIFUL JOE

want you to report that man immediately. It is
now five o'clock. I will go down to the pohce
station with you, if you like. ' '

"Very well," he said, his face brightening,
and together they went off to the house.

CHAPTER TV

THE MORRIS BOYS ADD TO MY NAME

HE boys watched them out of sight, then
one of them, whose name I afterward
!f^ffi!5fliM| learned was Jack, and who came next
to Miss Laura in age, gave a low whistle and said,
" Doesn't the old lady come out strong when any
one or anything gets abused? I'll never forget
the day she found me setting Jim on that black
cat of the Wilsons. She scolded me, and then
she cried, till I didn't know where to look. Plague
on it, how was I going to know he'd kill the old
cat ? I only wanted to drive it out of the yard.
Come on, let's look at the dog."

They all came and bent over me, as I lay
on the floor in my corner. I wasn't much used
to boys, and I didn't know how they would
treat me. But I soon found by the way they
handled me and talked to me, that they knew
a good deal about dogs, and were accustomed
to treat them kindly. It seemed very strange
to have them pat me, and call me "good
dog." No one had ever said that to me before
to-day.

32 BEAUTIFUL JOE

' ' He' s not much of a beauty, is he ? " said one
of the boys, whom they called Tom.

" Not by a long shot," said Jack Morris, with a
laugh. "Not any nearer the beauty mark than
yourself, Tom."

Tom flew at him, and they had a scuffle.
The other boys paid no attention to them, but
went on looking at me. One of them, a little boy
with eyes like Miss Laura's, said, "What did
Cousin Harry say the dog's name was ? "

"Joe," answered another boy. "The little
chap that carried him home told him."

" We might call him ' Ugly Joe ' then," said a
lad with a round, fat face, and laughing eyes. I
wondered very much who this boy was, and, later
on, I found out that he was another of Miss
Laura's brothers, and his name was Ned. There
seemed to be no end to the Morris boys.

"I don't think Laura would like that," said
Jack Morris, suddenly coming up behind him.
'He was very hot, and was breathing fast, but his
manner was as cool as if he had never left the
group about me. He had beaten Tom, who was
sitting on a box, ruefully surveying a hole in his
jacket. "You see," he went on, gaspingly, "if
you call him ' Ugly Joe,' her ladyship will say that
you are wounding the dear dog's feelings.
' Beautiful Joe, ' would be more to her liking.

A shout went up from the boys. I didn't won-
der that they laughed. Plain-looking I naturally
was ; but I must have been hideous in those
bandag-es.

THE MORRIS BOYS ADD TO MY NAME 33

" ' Beautiful Joe,' then let it be ! " they cried.
" Let us go and tell mother, and ask her to give
us something for our beauty to eat."

They all trooped out of the stable, and I was
very sorry, for when they were with me, I did not
mind so much the tingling in my ears, and the
terrible pain in my back. They soon brought me
some nice food, but I could not touch it ; so they
went away to their play, and I lay in the box they
put me in, trembling. with pain, and wishing that
the pretty young lady was there, to stroke me with
her gentle fingers.

By-and-by it got dark. The boys finished their
play, and went into the house, and I saw lights
twinkhng in the windows. I felt lonely and mis-
erable in this strange place. I would not have
gone back to Jenkins' for the world, still it was
the only home I had known, and though I felt
that I should be happy here, I had not yet gotten
used to the change. Then the pain all through my
body was dreadful. My head seemed to be on
fire, and there were sharp, darting pains up and
down my backbone. I did not dare to howl, lest
I should make the big dog, Jim, angry. He was
sleeping in a kennel, out in the yard.

The stable was very quiet. Up in the loft
above, some rabbits that I had heard running
about had now gone to sleep. The guinea pig
was nestling in the corner of his box, and the cat
and the tame rat had scampered into the house
long ago.

At last I could bear the pain no longer. I sat

34 BEAUTIFUL JOE

up in my box and looked about me. I felt as if
I was going to die, and, though I was very weak,
there was something inside me that made me feel
as if I wanted to crawl away somewhere out of
sight. I slunk out into the yard, and along the
stable wall, where there was a thick clump of rasp-
berry bushes. I crept in among them and lay
down in the damp earth. I tried to scratch off
my bandages, but they were fastened on too
firmly, and I could not do it. I thought about
my poor mother, and wished she was here to lick
my sore ears. Though she was so unhappy her-
self, she never wanted to see me suffer. If I had
not disobeyed her, I would not now be suffering
so much pain. She had told me again and again
not to snap at Jenkins, for it made him worse.

In the midst of my trouble I heard a soft voice
calling, "Joe ! Joe ! " It was Miss Laura's voice,
but I felt as if there were weights on my paws, and
I could not go to her.

" Joe ! Joe ! " she said, again. She was going
up the walk to the stable, holding up a lighted
lamp in her hand. She had on a white dress, and
I watched her till she disappeared in the stable.
She did .not stay long in there. She came out
and stood on the gravel. "Joe, Joe, Beautiful
Joe, where are you ? You are hiding somewhere,
but I shall find you." Then she came right to
the spot where I was. " Poor doggie," she said,
stooping down and patting me. " Are you very
miserable, and did you crawl away to die ? I
have had dog's to do that before, but I am not

THE MORRIS BOYS ADD TO MY NAME 35

going to let you die, Joe." And she set her lamp
on the ground, and took me in her arms.

I was very thin then, not nearly so fat as I am
now, still I was quite an armful for her. But she
did not seem to find me heavy. She took me
right into the house, through the back door, and
down a long flight of steps, across a hall, and into
a snug kitchen.

"For the land sakes, Miss Laura," said a
woman who was bending over a stove, " what
have you got there ? ' '

"A poor sick dog, Mary," said Miss Laura,
seating herself on a chair. "Will you please
warm a little milk for him ? And have you a box
or a basket down here that he can lie in ? "

' ' I guess so, ' ' said the woman ; ' ' but he' s awful
dirty; you're not going to let him sleep in the
house, are you ? "

" Only for to-night. He is very ill. A dread-
ful thing happened to him, Mary." And, Miss
Laura went on to tell her how my ears had been
cut off.

"Oh, that's the dog the boys were talking
about," said the woman. "Poor creature, he's
welcome to all I can do for him." . She opened a
closet door, and brought out a box, and folded a
piece of blanket for me to lie on. Then she
heated some milk in a saucepan, and poured it in
a saucer, and watched me while Miss Laura went
upstairs to get a little bottle of something that
would make me sleep. They poured a few drops
of this medicine into the milk and offered it to me.

36 BEAUTIFUL JOE

I lapped a little, but I could not finish it, even
though Miss Laura coaxed me very gently to do
so. She dipped her finger in the milk and held it
out to me, and though I did not want it, I could
not be ungrateful enough to refuse to lick her fin-
ger as often as she offered it to me. After the
milk was gone, Mary lifted up my box, and car-
ried me into the washroom that was off the
kitchen.

I soon fell sound asleep, and could not rouse
myself through the night, even though I both
smelled and heard some one coming near me
several times. The next morning I found out
that it was Miss Laura. Whenever there was a
sick animal in the house, no matter if it was only
the tame rat, she would get up two or three times
in the night, to see if there was anything she could
do to make it more comfortable.

CHAPTER V

MY NEW HOME AND A SELFISH LADY

DON'T believe that a dog could have
fallen into a happier home than I did.
In a week, thanks to good nursing, .good
food, and kind words, I was almost well. Mr.
Harry washed and dressed my sore ears and tail
every day till he went home, and one day, he and
the boys gave me a bath out in the stable. They
carried out a tub of warm water and stood me i;i
it. I had never been washed before in my life,
and it felt very queer. Miss Laura stood by laugh-
ing and encouraging me not to mind the streams
of water trickling all over me. I couldn't help
wondering what Jenkins would have said if he
could have seen me in that tub.

That reminds me to say, that two days after I
arrived at the Morrises', Jack, followed by all the
other boys, came running into the stable. He had
a newspaper in his hand, and with a great deal of
laughing and joking, read this to me :

'' Fairport Daily News, June 3d. In the police
court this morning, James Jenkins, for cruelly tor-
turing and mutilating a dog, fined ten dollars and
costs."

38 BEAUTIFUL JOE

Then he said, "What do you think of that,
Joe ? Five dollars apiece for your ears and your
tail thrown in. That's all they're worth in the
eyes of the law. Jenkins has had his fun and
you'll go through life worth about three-quarters of
a dog. I'd lash rascals like that. Tie them up
and flog them till they were scarred and mutilated
a little bit themselves. Just wait till I'm president.
But there's some more, old fellow. Listen : ' Our
reporter visited the house of the above-mentioned
Jenkins, and found a most deplorable state of
affairs. The house, yard and stable were inde-
scribably filthy. His horse bears the marks of
ill-usage, and is in an emaciated condition. His
cows are plastered up with mud and filth, and are
covered with vermin. Where is our health in-
spector, that he does not exercise a more watchful
supervision over establishments of this kind ? To
allow milk from an unclean place like this to be
sold in the town, is endangering the health of its
inhabitants. Upon inquiry, it was found that the
man Jenkins bears a very bad character. Steps
are being taken to have his wife and children
removed from him.' "

Jack threw the paper into my box, and he and
the other boys gave three cheers for the Daily News
and then ran away. How glad I was ! It did not
matter so much for me, for I had escaped him, but
now that it had been found out what a cruel man
he was, there would be a restraint upon him, and
poor Toby and the cows would have a happier time.

I was going to tell about the Morris family.

MY NEW HOME AND A SELFISH LADY 39

There were Mr. Morris, who was a clergyman and
preached in a church in Fairport ; Mrs. Morris,
his wife ; Miss Laura, who was the eldest of the
family ; then Jack, Ned, Carl, and Willie. I think
one reason why they were such a good family was
because Mrs. Morris was such a good woman.
She loved her husband and children, and did
everything she could to make them happy.

Mr. Morris was a very busy man and rarely
interfered in household affairs. Mrs. Morris was
the one who said what was to be done and what
was not to be done. Even then, when I was a
young dog, I used to think that she was very wise.
There was never any noise or confusion in the
house, and though there was a great deal of work
to be done, everything went on smoothly and
pleasantly, and no one ever got angry and scolded
as they did in the Jenkins family.

Mrs. Morris was very particular about money
matters. Whenever the boys came to her for
money to get such things as candy and ice cream,
expensive toys, and other things that boys often
crave, she asked them why they wanted them. If
it was for some selfish reason, she said, firmly :
" No, my children ; we are not rich people, and we
must save our money for your education. I can-
not buy you foolish things."

If they asked her for money for books or some-
thing to make their pet animals more comfortable,
or for their outdoor games, she gave it to them
willingly. Her ideas about the bringing up of
children I cannot explain as clearly as she can her-

40 BEAUTIFUL JOE

self, SO I will give part of a conversation that she
had with a lady who was calling on her shortly
after I came to Washington Street.

I happened to be in the house at the time.
Indeed, I used to spend the greater part of my
time in the house. Jack ore day looked at me,
and exclaimed : " Why does that dog stalk about,
first after one and then after another, looking at us
with such solemn eyes ?' '

I wished that I could speak to tell him that I
had so long been used to seeing animals kicked
about and trodden upon, that I could not get used
to the change. It seemed too good to be true. I
could scarcely believe that dumb animals had
rights ; but while it lasted, and human beings were
so kind to me, I wanted to be with them all the
time. Miss Laura understood. She drew my
head up to her lap, and put her face down to me :
" You like to be with us, don't you, Joe ? Stay in
the house as much as you like. Jack doesn't mind,
though he speaks so sharply. When you get tired
of us go out in the garden and have a romp with
Jim."

But I must return to the conversation I referred
to. It was one fine June day, and Mrs. Morris
was sewing in a rocking-chair by the window. I
was beside her, sitting on a hassock, so that I could
look out into the street. Dogs love variety and
excitement, and like to see what is going on out-
doors as well as human beings. A carriage drove
up to the door, and a finely-dressed lady got out
and came up the steps.

MY NEW HOME AND A SELFISH LADY 4I

Mrs. Morris seemed glad to see her, and called
her Mrs. Montague. I was pleased with her, for
she had some kind of perfume about her that I
liked to smell. So I went and sat on the hearth
rug quite near her.

They had a little talk about things I did not
understand and then the lady's eyes fell on me.
She looked at me through a bit of glass that was
hanging by a chain from her neck, and pulled away
her beautiful dress lest I should touch it.

I did not care any longer for the perfume, and
went away and sat very straight and stiff at Mrs.
Morris' feet. The lady's eyes still followed me.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Morris," she said;
"but that is a very queer-looking dog you have
there."

"Yes," said Mrs. Morris, cjuietly ; "he is not
a handsome dog."

. "And he is a new one, isn't he?" said Mrs.
Montague.

"Yes."

" And that makes "

"Two dogs, a cat, fifteen or twenty rabbits, a
rat, about a dozen canaries, and two dozen gold-
fish, I don't know how many pigeons, a few ban-
tams, a guinea pig, and — well, I don't think
there is anything more."

They both laughed, and Mrs. Montague said :
"You have quite a menagerie. My father would
never allow one of his children to keep a pet ani-
mal. He said it would make his girls rough and
noisy to romp about the house with cats, and his

42 BEAUTIFUL JOE

boys would look like rowdies if they went about
with dogs at their heels."

" I have never found that it made my children
more rough to play with their pets," said Mrs.
Morris.

" No, I should think not," said the lady, lan-
guidly. "Your boys are the most gentlemanly
lads in Fairport, and as for Laura, she is a perfect
little lady. I like so much to have them come and
see Charlie. They wake him up, and yet don't
make him naughty."

"They enjoyed their last visit very much,"
said Mrs. ]\Iorris. "By the way, I have heard
them talking about getting Charlie a dog."

' ' Oh ! ' ' cried the lady, with a little shudder,
' ' beg them not to. I cannot sanction that. I hate
dogs."

"Why do you hate them?" asked Mrs. Mor-
ris, gently.

' ' They are such dirty things ; they always smell
and have vermin on them."

"A dog," said Mrs. Morris, "is something
like a child. If you want it clean and pleasant,
you have got to keep it so. This dog's skin is as
clean as yours or mine. Hold still, Joe," and she
brushed the hair on my back the wrong way, and
showed Mrs. Montague how pink and free from
dust my skin was.

Mrs. Montague looked at me more kindly, and
even held out the tips of her fingers to me. I did
not lick them. I only smelled them, and she drew
her hand back again.

MY NEW HOME AND A SELFISH LADY 43

" You have never been brought in contact with
the lower creation as I have," said Mrs. Morris ;
"just let me tell you, in a few words, what a help
dumb animals have been to me in the up-bringing
of my children — my .boys, especially. When I
was a young married woman, going about the
slums of New York with my husband, I used to
come home and look at my two babies as they lay
in their little cots, and say to him, ' What are we
going to do to keep these children from selfishness
— the curse of the world ?'

" 'Get them to do something for somebody
outside themselves,' he always said. And I have
tried to act on that principle. Laura is naturally
unselfish. With her tiny, baby fingers, she would
take food from her own mouth and put it into
Jack's, if we did not watch her. I have never
had any trouble with her. But the boys were born
selfish, tiresomely, disgustingly selfish. They were
good boys in many ways. As they grew older,
they were respectful, obedient, they were not
untidy, and not particularly rough, but their one
thought was for themselves — each one for himself,
and they used to quarrel with each other in regard
to their rights. While we were in New York, we
had only a small, back yard. When we came
here, I said, ' I am going to try an experiment.'
We got this house because it had a large garden,
and a stable that would do for the boys to play in.
Then I got them together, and had a little serious
talk. I said I was not pleased with the way in
which they were living. They did nothing for any

44 BEAUTIFUL JOE

one but themselves from morning to night. If I
asked them to do an errand for me, it was done
unwilhngly. Of course, I knew they had their
school for a part of the day, but they had a good
deal of leisure time when they might do something
for some one else. I asked them if they thought
they were going to make real, manly Christian boys
at this rate, and they said no. Then I asked them
what we should do about it. They all said, ' You
tell us mother, and we'll do as you say.' I pro-
posed a series of tasks. Each one to do something
for somebody, outside and apart from himself,
every day of his life. They all agreed to this, and
told me to allot the tasks. If I could have afforded
it, I would have gotten a horse and cow, and had
them take charge of them ; but I could not do
that, so I invested in a pair of rabbits for Jack, a
pair of canaries for Carl, pigeons for Ned, and
bantams for Willie. I brought these creatures
home, put them into their hands, and told them to
provide for them. They were delighted with my
choice, and it was very amusing to see them scurry-
ing about to provide food and shelter for their pets,
and hear their consultations with other boys. The
end of it all is, that I am perfectly satisfied with
my experiment. My boys, in caring for these
dumb creatures, have become unselfish and thought-
ful. They had rather go to school without their
own breakfast than have the inmates of the stable
go hungry. They are getting a humane education,
a heart education, added to the intellectual educa-
tion of their schools. Then it keeps them at home.

MY NEW HOME AND A SELFISH LADY 45

I used to be worried with the hngering about street
corners, the dawdling around with other boys, and
the idle, often worse than idle, talk indulged in.
Now they have something to do, they are men of
business. They are always hammering^and pound-
ing at boxes and partitions out there in the stable,
or cleaning up, and if they are sent out on an
errand, they do it and come right home. I don't
mean to say that we have deprived them of liberty.
They have their days for base-ball, and foot-ball,
and excursions to the woods, but they have so much
to do at home, that they won't go away unless for
a specific purpose."

While Mrs. Morris was talking, her visitor
leaned forward in her chair, and listened atten-
tively. When she finished, Mrs. Montague said,
quietly, " Thank you, I am glad that you told me
this. I shall get Charlie a dog."

" I am glad to hear you say that," replied Mrs.
Morris. " It will be a good thing for your little
boy. I should not wish my boys to be without a
good, faithful dog. A child can learn many a
lesson from a dog. This one," pointing to me,
"might be held up as an example to many a
human being. He is patient, quiet, and obedient.
My husband says that he reminds him of three
w^ords in the Bible — ' through much tribulation.' "

" Why does he say that ? " asked Mrs. Mon-
tague, curiously.

" Because he came to us from a very unhappy
home." And Mrs. Morris went on to tell her
friend what she knew of my early days.

46 BEAUTIFUL JOE

When she stopped, Mrs. Montague's face was
shocked and pained. "How dreadful to think
that there are such creatures as that man Jenkins
in the world. And you say that he has a wife and
children. Mrs. Morris, tell me plainly, are there
many such unhappy homes in Fairport ? ' '

Mrs. Morris hesitated for a minute, then she
said, earnestly: "My dear friend, if you could
see all the wickedness, and cruelty, and vileness,
that is practised in this httle town of ours in one
night, you could not rest in your bed."

Mrs. Montague looked dazed. "I did not
dream that it was as bad as that, ' ' she said. ' ' Are
we worse than other towns ? ' '

" No ; not worse, but bad enough. Over and
over again the saying is true, one-half the world
does not know how the other half hves. How
can all this misery touch you ? You live in your
lovely house out of the town. When you come in,
you drive about, do your shopping, make calls,
and go home again. You never visit the poorer
streets. The people from them never come to
you. You are rich, your people before you were
rich, you live in a state of isolation."

' ' But that is not right, ' ' said the lady in a wail-
ing voice. "I have been thinking about this
matter lately. I read a great deal la the papers
about the misery of the lower classes, and I think
we richer ones ought to do something to help them.
Mrs. Morris, what can I do ? "

The tears came in Mrs. Morris' eyes. She
looked at the little, frail lady, and said, simply :

MY NEW HOME AND A SELFISH LADY 47

" Dear Mrs. Montague, I think the root of the
whole matter hes in this. The Lord made us all
one family. We are all brothers and sisters. The
lowest woman is your sister and my sister. The
man lying in the gutter is our brother. What
should we do to help these members of our com-
mon family, who are not as well off as we are ?
We should share our last crust with them. You
and I, but for God's grace in placing us in differ-
ent surroundings, might be in their places. I
think it is wicked neglect, criminal neglect in us
to ignore this fact."

" It is, it is," said Mrs. Montague, in a despair-
ing voice. "I can't help feeling it. Tell me
something I can do to help some one."

Mrs. Morris sank back in her chair, her face
very sad, and yet with something like pleasure in
her eyes as she looked at her caller. "Your
washerwoman," she said, "has a drunken hus-
band and a cripple boy. I have often seen her
standing over her tub, washing your delicate
muslins and laces, and dropping tears into the
water.

' ' I will never send her anything more — she
shall not be troubled," said Mrs. Montague,
hastily.

Mrs. Morris could not help smiling. " I have
not made myself clear. It is not the washing that
troubles her ; it is her husband who beats her, and
her boy who worries her. If you and I take our
work from her, she will have that much less money
to depend upon, and will suffer in consequence.

48 BEAUTIFUL JOE

She is a hard-working and capable woman, and
makes a fair hving. I would not advise you to
give her money, for her husband would find it out,
and take it from her. It is sympathy that she
wants. If you could visit her occasionally, and
show that you are interested in her, by talking or
reading to her poor foolish boy or showing him a
picture-book, you have no idea how grateful she
would be to you, and how it would cheer her on
her dreary way."

•' I will go to see her to-morrow," said Mrs.
Montague. "Can you think of any one else I
could visit ?"

" A great many, " said Mrs. Morris; "but I
don't think you had better undertake too much at
once. I will give you the addresses of three or four
poor families, where an occasional visit would do
untold good. That is, it will do them good if you
treat them as you do your richer friends. Don't
give them too much money, or too many presents,
till you find out what they need. Try to feel inter-
ested in them. Find out their ways of living, and
what they are going to do with their children, and
help them to get situations for them if you can.
And be sure to remember that poverty does not
always take away one's self-respect."

" I will, I will," said Mrs. Montague, eagerly.
"When can you give me these addresses ? "

Mrs. Morris smiled again, and, taking a piece
of paper and a pencil from her work basket,
wrote a few lines and handed them to Mrs.
Montague.

MY NEW HOME AND A SELFISH LADY 49

The lady got up to take her leave. ' ' And in
regard to the dog," said Mrs. Morris, following
her to the door, ' ' if you decide to allow Charlie
to have one, you had better let him come in and
have a talk with my boys about it. They seem
to know all the dogs that are for sale in the
town."

" Thank you ; I shall be most happy to do so.
He shall have his dog. When can you have
him ? ' '

" To-morrow, the next day, any day at all. It
makes no difference to me. Let him spend an
afternoon and evening with the boys, if you do
not object."

"It will give me much pleasure," and the
little lady bowed and smiled, and after stooping
down to pat me, tripped down the steps, and got
into her carriage and drove away.

Airs. Morris stood looking after her with a
beaming face, and I began to think that I should
like Mrs. Montague, too, if I knew her long enough.
Two days later I was quite sure I should, for I had
a proof that she really liked me. When her little
boy Charlie came to the house, he brought some-
thing for me done up in white paper. Mrs.
Morris opened it, and there was a handsome,
nickel-plated collar, with my name on it — Beauti-
ful Joe. Wasn't I pleased! They took off the
little shabby leather strap that the boys had given
me w^hen I came, and fastened on my new collar,
and then Mrs. Morris held me up to a glass to
look at myself. I felt so happy. Up to this time

50 BEAUTIFUL JOE

I had felt a little ashamed of my cropped ears and
docked tail, but now that I had a fine new collar
I could hold up my head with any dog.

"Dear old Joe," said Mrs. Morris, pressing
my head tightly between her hands. " You did a
good thing the other day in helping me to start
that little woman out of her selfish way of living,"

I did not know about that, but I knew that 1
felt very grateful to Mrs. Montague for my new
collar, and ever afterward, v/hen I met her in the
street, I stopped and looked at her. Sometimes
she saw me and stopped her carriage to speak to
me ; but I always wagged my tail, or rather my
body, for I had no tail to wag, whenever I saw her,
whether she saw me or not.

Her son got a beautiful Irish setter, called
"Brisk." He had a silky coat and soft brown
eyes, and his young master seemed very fond of
him.

CHAPTER VI

THE FOX TERRIER BILLY

IHEN I came to the iVIorrises, I knew noth-
ing about the proper way of bringing up
a puppy. I once heard of a httle boy
whose sister beat him so much that he said he was
brought up by hand ; so I think as Jenkins kicked
me so much, I may say that I was brought up by
foot.

Shortly after my arrival in my new home, I
had a chance of seeing how one should bring up
a little puppy.

One day I was sitting beside Miss Laura in the
parlor, when the door opened and Jack came in.
One of his hands was laid over the other, and he
said to his sister, " Guess what I've got here."

"A bird," she said.

"No."

' ' A rat. ' '

"No."

" A mouse."

" No — a pup."

"Oh, Jack," she said, reprovingly; for she
thought he v/as telling a story.

$2 BEAUTIFUL JOE

He opened his hands and there lay the tiniest
morsel of a fox terrier puppy that I ever saw. He
was white, with black and tan markings. His
body was pure white, his tail black, with a dash
of tan ; his ears black, and his face evenly marked
with black and tan. We could not tell the color
of his eyes, as they were not open. Later on, they
turned out to be a pretty brown. His nose was
pale pink, and when he got older, it became jet
black.

"Why, Jack !" exclaimed Miss Laura, "his
eyes aren't open ; why did you take him from his
mother ? ' '

"She's dead," said Jack. "Poisoned — left
her pups to run about the yard for a little exercise.
Some brute had thrown over a piece of poisoned
meat, and she ate it. Four of the pups died.
This is the only one left. Mr. Robinson says his
man doesn't understand raising pups without their
mothers, and as he is going away, he wants us to
have it, for we always had such luck in nursing
sick animals."

Mr. Robinson I knew was a friend of the Mor-
rises, and a gentleman who was fond of fancy
stock, and imported a great deal of it from Eng-
land. If this puppy came from him, it was sure
to be good one.

Miss Laura took the tiny creature, and went
upstairs very thoughtfully. I followed her, and
watched her get a little basket and line it with cot-
ton wool. She put the puppy in it and looked aC
him. Though it was midsummer, and the house

THE FOX TERRIER BILLY 53

seemed very warm lo me, the little creature was
shivering, and making a low murmuring noise.
She pulled the wool all over him and put the win-
dow down, and set nis basket in the sun.

Then she went to the kitchen and got some
warm milk. She dipped her finger in it, and offered
it to the puppy, but he went nosing about it in a
stupid way, and wouldn't touch it. ' ' Too young, ' '
Miss Laura said. She got a little piece of muslin,
put some bread in it, tied a string round it, and
dipped it in the milk. When she put this to the
puppy's mouth, he sucked it greedily. He acted
as if he was starving, but Miss Laura only let him
have a little. '

Every few hours for the rest of the day, she gave
him some more milk, and I heard the boys say
that for many nights she got up once or twice and
heated milk over a lamp for him. One night the
milk got cold before he took it, and he swelled up
and became so ill that Miss Laura had to rouse
her mother and get some hot water to plunge him
in. That made him well again, and no one seemed
to think it was a great deal of trouble to take for
a creature that was nothing but a dog.

He fully repaid them for all his care, for he
turned out to be one of the prettiest and most lov-
able dogs that I ever saw. They called him Billy,
and the two events of his early life were the open-
ing of his eyes and the swallowing of his muslin
rag. The rag did not seem to hurt him ; but Miss
Laura said that, as he had got so strong and so
greedy, he must learn to eat like other dogs.

54 BEAUTIFUL JOE

He was very amusing when he was a puppy.
He was full of tricks, and he crept about in a
mischievous Avay when one did not know he was
near. He was a very small puppy and used to
climb inside Miss Laura's Jersey sleeve up to her
shoulder when he was six weeks old. One day,
when the whole family was in the parlor, Mr. Mor-
ris suddenly flung aside his newspaper, and began
jumping up and down. Mrs. Morris was very
much alarmed, and cried out, " My dear William,
what is the matter ? ' '

"There's a rat up my leg," he said, shaking
it violently. Just then little Billy fell out on the
floor and lay on his back looking up at Mr. Morris
with a surprised face. He had felt cold and
thought it would be warm inside Mr. Morris'
trouser's leg.

However, Billy never did any real mischief,
thanks to Miss Laura's training. She began to
punish him just as soon as he began to tear and
worry things. The first thing he attacked was
Mr. Morris' felt hat. The wind blew it down the
hall one day, and Billy came along and began to
try it with his teeth. I dare say it felt good to
them, for a puppy is very like a baby and loves
something to bite.

Miss Laura found him, and he rolled his eyes
at her quite innocently, not knowing that he was
doing wrong. She took the hat away, and point-
ing from it to him, said, " Bad Billy ! " Then she
gave him two or three slaps with a bootlace. She
never struck a little doer with her hand or a stick.

THE FOX TERRIER BILLY 55

She said clubs were for big dogs and switches for
Httle dogs, if one had to use them. The best way-
was to scold them, for a good dog feels a severe
scolding as much as a whipping.

Billy was very much ashamed of himself.
Nothing would induce him even to look at a hat
again. But he thought it was no harm to worry-
other things. He attacked one thing after another,
the rugs on the floor, curtains, anything flying or
fluttering, and Miss Laura patiently scolded him
for each one, till at last it dawned upon him that
he must not worry anything but a bone. Then
he got to be a very good dog.

There was one thing that Miss Laura was very
particular about, and that was to have him fed
regularly. We both got three meals a day. We
were never allowed to go into the dining room,
and while the family was at the table, we lay in
the hall outside and watched what was going on.

Dogs take a great interest in what any one gets
to eat. It was quite exciting to see the Morrises
passing each other different dishes, and to smell
the nice, hot food. Billy often wished that he
could get up on the table. He said that he would
make things fly. When he was growing, he
hardly ever got enough to eat. I used to tell him
that he would kill himself if he could eat all he
wanted to.

As soon as meals were over, Billy and I scam-
pered after Miss Laura to the kitchen. We each
had our own plate for food. Mary the cook often
laughed at Miss Laura, because she would not

56 BEAUTIFUL JOE

let her dogs ' ' dish ' ' together. Miss Laura said
that if she did, the larger one would get more
than his share, and the little one would starve.

It was quite a sight to see Billy eat. He
spread his legs apart to steady himself, and gob-
bled at his food like a duck. When he finished
he always looked up for more, and Miss Laura
would shake her head and say : ' ' No, Billy ;
better longing than loathing. I believe that
a great many little dogs are killed by over-
feeding. ' '

I often heard the Morrises speak of the foolish
way in which some people stuffed their pets with
food, and either kill them by it or keep them in
continual ill health. A case occurred in our
neighborhood while Billy was a puppy. Some
people, called Dobson, who lived only a few doors
from the Morrises, had a fine bay mare and a little
colt called Sam. They were very proud of this
colt, and Mr. Dobson had promised it to his son
James. One day Mr. Dobson asked Mr. Morris
to come in and see the colt, and I went, too. I
watched Mr. Morris while he examined it. It was
a pretty little creature, and I did not wonder that
they thought so much of it.

' ' When Mr. Morris went home his wife asked
him what he thought of it.

" I think," he said, "that it won't live long."

' ' Why, papa ! ' ' exclaimed Jack, who over-
heard the remark, "it is as fat as a seal."

' ' It would have a better chance for its life if
it were lean and scrawny," said Mr. Morris.

THE FOX TERRIER BILLY 57

"They are over-feeding it, and I told Mr. Dobson
so ; but he wasn't inclined to believe me."

Now, Mr. Morris had been brought up in the
country, and knew a great deal about animals, so I
was inclined to think he was right. And sure
enough, in a few days, we heard that the colt was
dead.

Poor James Dobson felt very badly. A num-
ber of the neighbors' boys went into see him, and
there he stood gazing at the dead colt, and looking
as if he wanted to cry. Jack was there and I was
at his heels, and though he said nothing for a
time, I knew he was angry with the Dobsons for
sacrificing the colt's life. Presently he said,
"You won't need to have that colt stuffed now
he's dead, Dobson."

" What do you mean ? Why do you say that ? ' '
asked the boy, peevishly.

" Because you stuffed him while he was alive,"
said Jack, saucily.

Then we had to run for all we were worth, for
the Dobson boy was after us, and as he was a big
fellow he would have whipped Jack soundly.

I must not forget to say that Billy was washed
regularly — once a week with nice-smelling soap,
and once a month with strong-smelling, disagree-
able, carbolic soap. He had his own towels and
wash cloths, and after being rubbed and scrubbed,
he was rolled in a blanket and put by the fire to
dry. Miss Laura said that a little dog that has
been petted and kept in the house, and has become
tender, should never be washed and allowed to

58 BEAUTIFUL JOE

run about with a wet coat, unless the weather way
very warm, for he would be sure to take cold.

Jim and I were more hardy than Billy, and we
took our baths in the sea. Every few days the
boys took us down to the shore, and we went in
swimming with them.

CHAPTER VII

TRAINING A PUPPY

ED, dear," said Miss Laura one day, "I
wish you would train Billy to follow and
retrieve. He is four months old now,
and I shall soon want to take him out in the
street."

"Very well, sister," said mischievous Ned;
and catching up a stick, he said, " Come out into
the garden, dogs."

Though he was brandishing his stick very
fiercely, I was not at all afraid of him ; and as for
Billy, he loved Ned.

The Morris garden was really not a garden,
but a large piece of ground with the grass worn
bare in many places, a few trees scattered about,
and some raspberry and currant bushes along the
fence. A lady who knew that Mr. Morris had
not a large salary, said one day when she was
looking out of the dining-room window, "My
dear Mrs. Morris, why don't you have this garden
dug up ? You could raise your own vegetables.
It would be so much cheaper than buying them."

Mrs. Morris laughed in great amusement.

59

6o BEAUTIFUL. JOE

" Think of the hens, and cats, and dogs, and rab-
bits, and, above all, the boys that I have. What
sort of a garden would there be, and do you think
it would be fair to take their playground from
them ? ' '

The lady said, " No, she did not think it would
be fair."

I am sure I don't know what the boys would
have done without this strip of ground. Many a
frolic and game they had there. In the present
case, Ned walked around and around it, with his
stick on his shoulder, Billy and I strolling after
him. Presently Billy made a dash aside to get
a bone. Ned turned around and said firmly, ' ' To
heel ! ' '

Billy looked at him innocently, not knowing
what he meant. "To heel!" exclaimed Ned
again. Billy thought he wanted to play, and
putting his head on his paws, he began to bark.
Ned laughed; still he kept saying " To heel ! ' ' He
would not say another word. He knew if he said
"Come here," or "Follow," or "Go behind," it
would confuse Billy.

Finally, as Ned kept saying the words over
and over, and pointing to me, it seemed to dawn
upon Billy that he wanted him to follow him. So
he came beside me, and together we followed Ned
around the garden, again and again.

Ned often looked behind with a pleased face,
and I felt so proud to think I was doing well ; but
suddenly I got dreadfully confused when he turned
around and said, " Hie out ! "

TRAINING A PUPPY 6l

The Morrises all used the same words in train-
ing their dogs, and I had heard Miss Laura say
this, but I had forgotten what it meant. ' ' Good
Joe," said Ned, turning around and patting me,
"you have forgotten. I wonder where Jim is?
He would help us."

He put his fingers in his mouth and blew a
shrill whistle, and soon Jim came trotting up the
lane from the street. He looked at us with his
large, intelligent eyes, and wagged his tail slowly,
as if to say, "Well, what do you want of me ? "

" Come and give me a hand at this training
business, old Sobersides," said Ned, with a laugh.
"It's too slow to do it alone. Now, young gentle-
men, attention ? To heel !" He began to march
around the garden again, and Jim and I followed
closely at his heels, while little Billy, seeing that
he could not get us to play with him, came lagging
behind.

Soon Ned turned around and said, " Hie out !"
Old Jim sprang ahead, and ran off in front as if
he was after something. Now I remembered what
' ' hie out ' ' meant. We were to have a lovely race
wherever we liked. Little Billy loved this. We
ran and scampered hither and thither, and Ned
watched us, laughing at our antics.

After tea, he called us out in the garden again,
and said he had something else to teach us. He
turned up a tub on the wooden platform at the back
door, and sat on it, and then called Jim to him.

He took a small leather strap from his pocket.
It had a nice, strong smell. We all Hcked it, and

62 BEAUTIFUL JOE

each dog wished to have it. ' ' No, Joe and Billy, ' '
said Ned, holding us both by our collars ; "you
wait a minute. Here, Jim."

Jim watched him very earnestly, and Ned threw
the strap half-way across the garden, and said,
"Fetch it."

Jim never moved till he heard the words,
"Fetch it." Then he ran swiftly, brought the
strap, and dropped it in Ned's hand. Ned sent
him after it two or three times, then he said to Jim,
" Lie down," and turned to me. " Here, Joe ; it
is your turn."

He threw the strap under the raspberry bushes,
then looked at me and said, " Fetch it." I knew
quite well what he meant, and ran joyfully after it.
I soon found it by the strong smell, but the queerest
thing happened when I got it in my mouth. I
began to gnaw it and play with it, and when Ned
called out, " Fetch it," I dropped it and ran toward
him. I was not obstinate, but I was stupid.

Ned pointed to the place where it was, and
spread out his empty hands. That helped me, and
I ran quickly and got it. He made me get it for
him several times. Sometimes I could not find it,
and sometimes I dropped it ; but he never stirred.
He sat still till I brought it to him.

After a while he tried Billy, but it soon got dark,
and we could not see, so he took Billy and went
into the house.

I stayed out with Jim for a while, and he asked
me if I knew why Ned had thrown a strap for us,
instead of a bone or somethins" hard.

TRAINING A PUPPY 63

Of course I did not know, so Jim told me it
was on his account. He was a bird dog, and was
never allowed to carry anything hard in his mouth,
because it would make him hard-mouthed, and he
would be apt to bite the birds when he was bring-
ing them back to any person who was shooting
with him. He said that he had been so carefully
trained that he could even carry three eggs af a
time in his mouth.

I said to him, "Jim, how is it that you never
go out shooting ? I have always heard that you
were a dog for that, and yet you never leave
home."

He hung his head a little, and said he did not
wish to go, and then, lor he was an honest dog, he
gave me the true reason.

CHAPTER VIII

A RUINED DOG

WAS a sporting dog," he said, bitterly,
" for the first three years of my life. I
belonged to a man who keeps a livery
stable here in Fairport, and he used to hire me out
to shooting parties.

"I was a favorite with all the gentlemen. I
was crazy with delight when I saw the guns
brought out, and would jump up and bite at them.
I loved to chase birds and rabbits, and even now
when the pigeons come near me, I tremble all
over and have to turn away lest I should seize
them. I used often to be in the woods from morn-
ing till night. I liked to have a hard search after
a bird after it had been shot, and to be praised for
bringing it out without biting or injuring it.

" I never got lost, for I am one of those dogs
that can always tell where human beings are. I
did not smell them. I would be too far away for
that, but if my master was standing in some place
and I took a long round through the woods, I knew
exactly where he was, and could make a short cut
back to him without returning in my tracks.

64

A RUINED DOG 65

' ' But I must tell you about my trouble. One
Saturday afternoon a party of young men came to
get me. They had a dog with them, a cocker
spaniel called Bob, but they wanted another. For
some reason or other, my master was very unwill-
ing to have me go. However, he at last consented,
and they put me in the back of the wagon with
Bob and the lunch baskets, and we drove off into
^he country. This Bob was a happy, merry-looking
dog, and as we went along, he told me of the fine
time we should have next day. The young men
would shoot a little, then they would get out their
baskets and have something to eat and drink, and
would play cards and go to sleep under the trees>
and we would be able to help ourselves to legs and
wings of chickens, and anything we hked from the
baskets.

' ' I did not like this at all. I was used to work-
ing hard through the week, and I liked to spend
my Sundays quietly at home. However, I said
nothing.

"That night we slept at a country hotel, and
drove the next morning to the banks of a small
lake where the young men were told there would
be plenty of wild ducks. They were in no hurry
to begin their sport. They sat down in the sun
on some flat rocks at the water's edge, and said
they would have something to drink before setting
to v.ork. They got out some of the bottles from
the wagon, and began to take long drinks from
them. Then they got quarrelsome and mischiev-
ous, and seemed to forget all about their shooting.

66 BEAUTIFUL JOE

One of them proposed to have some fun with the
dogs. They tied us both to a tree, and throwing
a stick in the water, told us to get it. Of course
we struggled and tried to get free, and chafed our
necks with the rope.

' ' After a time one of them began to swear at
me, and say that he believed I was gun-shy. He
staggered to the wagon and got out his fowling
piece, and said he was going to try me.

' ' He loaded it, went to a little distance, and was
going to fire, when the young man who owned Bob
said he wasn't going to have his dog's legs shot
off, and coming up he unfastened him and took
him away. You can imagine my feelings, as I
stood there tied to the tree, with that stranger point-
ing his gun directly at me. He fired close to me
a number of times — over my head and under my
T3ody. The earth was cut up all around me. I
was terribly frightened, and howled and begged
to be freed.

' ' The other young men, who were sitting laugh-
ing at me, thought it such good fun that they got
their guns, too. I never wish to spend such a ter-
rible hour again. I was sure they would kill me.
I dare say they would have done so, for they were
all quite drunk by this time, if something had not
happened.

" Poor Bob, who was almost as frightened as I
was, and who lay shivering under the wagon, was
killed by a shot by his own master, whose hand
was the most unsteady of all. He gave one loud
howl, kicked convulsively, then turned over on

A RUINED DOG 6/

his side and lay quite still. It sobered them all.
They ran up to him, but he was quite dead. They
sat for a while quite silent, then they threw the
rest of the bottles into the lake, dug a shallow
grave for Bob, and putting me in the wagon drove
slowly back to town. They were not bad young
men. I don't think they meant to hurt me, or to
kill Bob. It was the nasty stuff in the bottles that
took away their reason.

" I was never the same dog again. I was quite
deaf in my right ear, and though I strove against
it, I was so terribly afraid of even the sight of a
gun that I would run and hide myself whenever
one was shown to me. My master was very angry
with those young men, and it seemed as if he
could not bear the sight of me. One day he took
me very kindly and brought me here, and asked
Mr. Morris if he did not want a good-natured dog
to play with the children.

"I have a happy home here and I love the
Morris boys ; but I often wish that I could keep
from putting my tail between my legs and running
home every time I hear the sound of a gun."

" Never mind that, Jim," I said. "You should
not fret over a thing for which you are not to
blame. I am sure you must be glad for one
reason that you have left your old life."

' ' What is that ? " he said.
"On account of the birds. You know Miss
Laura thinks it is wrong to kill the pretty creatures
that fly about the woods."

"So it is," he said, unless one kills them at

68 BEAUTIFUL JOE

once. I have often felt angry with men for only
half kiUing a bird. I hated to pick up the little,
warm body, and see the bright eye looking so re-
proachfully at me, and feel the flutter of life. We
animals, or rather the most of us, kill mercifully.
It is only human beings who butcher their prey,
and seem, some of them, to rejoice in their agony.
I used to be eager to kill birds and rabbits, but I
did not want to keep them before me long after
they were dead. I often stop in the street and
look up at fine ladies' bonnets, and wonder how
they can wear little dead birds in such dreadful
positions. Some of them have their heads twisted
under their wings and over their shoulders, and
looking toward their tails, and their eyes are so
horrible that I wish I could take those ladies into
the woods and let them see how easy and pretty a
hve bird is, and how unlike the stuffed creatures
they wear. Have you ever had a good run in the
woods, Joe ? "

" No, never," I said.

" Some day I will take you, and now it is late
and I must go to bed. Are you going to sleep in
the kennel with me, or in the stable ? ' '

"I think I will sleep with you, Jim. Dogs
like company, you know, as well as human
beings." I curled up in the straw beside him,
and soon we were fast asleep.

I have known a good many dogs, but I don't
think I ever saw such a good one as Jim. He
was gentle and kind, and so sensitive that a hard
word hurt him more than a blow. He was a great

A RUINED DOG 69

pet with Mrs. Morris, and as he had been so well
trained, he was able to make himself very useful
to her.

When she went shopping, he often carried a
parcel in his mouth for her. He would never
drop it nor leave it anywhere. One day, she drop-
ped her purse without knowing it, and Jim picked
it up, and brought it home in his mouth. She did
not notice him, for he always walked behind her,
When she got to her own door, she missed the
purse, and turning around saw it in Jim's mouth.

Another day, a lady gave Jack Morris a canary
cage as a present for Carl. He was bringing it
home, when one of the little seed boxes fell out.
Jim picked it up and carried it a long way, before
Jack discovered it.

CHAPTER IX

THE PARROT BELLA

OFTEN used to hear the Morrises speak
about vessels that ran between Fair-
port and a place called the West
Indies, carrying cargoes of lumber and fish, and
bringing home molasses, spices, fruit, and other
things. On one of these vessels, called the
' ' Mary Jane, ' ' was a cabin boy, who was a
friend of the Morris boys, and often brought
them presents.

One day, after I had been with the Morrises'
for some months, this boy arrived at the house
with a bunch of green bananas in one hand, and
a parrot in the other. The boys were delighted
with the parrot, and called their mother to see
what a pretty bird she was.

Mrs. Morris seemed very much touched by
the boy's thoughtfulness in bringing a present
such a long distance to her boys, and thanked
him warmly. The cabin boy became very shy,
and all he could say was, " Go way ! " over and
over again, in a very awkward manner.

Mrs. Morris smiled, and left him with the boys.

THE PARROT BELLA 7 1

I think that she thought he would be more com-
fortable with them.

Jack put me up on the table to look at the par-
rot. The boy held her by a string tied around
one of her legs. She was a gray parrot with a few
red feathers in her tail, and she had bright eyes,
and a very knowing air.

" The boy said he had been careful to buy a
young one that could not speak, for he knew the
Morris boys would not want one chattering foreign
gibberish, nor yet one that would swear. He had
kept her in his bunk in the ship, and had spent all
his leisure time in teaching her to talk. Then
he looked at her anxiously, and said, " Show off
now, can't ye ? "

I didn't know what he meant by all this, until
afterward. I had never heard of such a thing
as birds talking. I stood on the table staring
hard at her, and she stared hard at me. I was
just thinking that I would not like to have her
sharp little beak fastened in my skin, when I
heard some one say, " Beautiful Joe." The voice
seemed to come from the room, but I knew all the
voices there, and this was one I had never heard
before, so I thought I must be mistaken, and it
was some one in the hall. I struggled to get
away from Jack to run and see who it was. But
he held me fast, and laughed with all his might.
I looked at the other boys and they were laughing,
too. Presently, I heard again, "Beautiful Joe,
Beautiful Joe." The sound was close by, and yet
it did not come from the cabin boy, for he

72 BEAUTIFUL JOE

was all doubled up laughing, his face as red as
a beet.

" It's the parrot, Joe ! " cried Ned. " Look at
her, you gaby." I did look at her, and with her
head on one side, and the sauciest air in the
world, she was saying : ' ' Beau-ti-ful Joe, Beau-ti-
ful Joe !"

I had never heard a bird talk before, and I
felt so sheepish that I tried to get down and hide
myself under the table. Then she began to laugh
at me. "Ha, ha, ha, good dog — sic 'em, boy.
Rats, rats ! Beau-ti-ful Joe, Beau-ti-ful Joe," she
cried, rattling off the words as fast as she could.

I never felt so queer before in my life, and the
boys were just roaring with delight at my puzzled
face. Then the parrot began calling for Jim :
" Where's Jim, where' s good old Jim ? Poor old
dog. Give him a bone."

The boys brought Jim in the parlor, and when he
heard her funny, little, cracked voice calling him,
he nearly went crazy : ' ' Jimmy, Jimmy, James
Augustus ! " she said, which was Jim's long name.

He made a dash out of the room, and the boys
screamed so that Mr. Morris came down from his
study to see what the noise meant. As soon as
the parrot saw him, she would not utter another
word. The boys told him though what she had
been saying, and he seemed much amused to
think that the cabin boy should have remembered
so many sayings his boys made use of, and taught
them to the parrot. "Clever Polly," he said,
kindly ; "good Polly."

THE PARROT BELLA 73

The cabin boy looked at him shyly, and Jack,
who was a very sharp boy, said quickly, "Is not
that what you call her, Henry ? ' '

"No," said the boy ; "I call her Bell, short
for Bellzebub."

" I beg your pardon," said Jack, very politely.

"Bell — short for Bellzebub," repeated the
boy. "Ye see, I thought ye'd like a name from
the Bible, bein' a minister's sons. I hadn't my
Bible with me on this cruise, savin' yer presence,
an' I couldn't think of any girls' names out of it,
but Eve or Queen of Sheba, an' they didn't seem
very fit, so I asked one of me mates, an' he says,
for his part he guessed Bellzebub was as pretty a
girl's name as any, so I guv her that. 'Twould
'a been better to let you name her, but ye see
'twouldn't 'a been handy not to call her somethin',
where I was teachin' her every day."

Jack turned away and walked to the window,
his face a deep scarlet. I heard him mutter,
"Beelzebub, prince of devils," so I suppose the
cabin boy had given his bird a bad name.

Mr. Morris looked kindly at the cabin boy.
• ' Do you ever call the parrot by her whole name ? ' *

"No, sir," he replied; "I always give her
Bell, but she calls herself Bella."

"Bella," repeated Mr. Morris; "that is a very
pretty name. If you keep her, boys, I think you
had better stick to that,"

"Yes, father," they all said; and then Mr.
Morris started to go back to his study. On the
doorsill he paused to ask the cabin boy when

74 BEAUTIFUL JOE

his ship sailed. Finding that it was to be in a few
days, he took out his pocket-book and wrote some-
thing in it. The next day he asked Jack to go to
town with him, and when they came home. Jack
said that his father had bought an oil-skin coat for
Henry Smith, and a handsome Bible, in which
they were all to write their names.

After Mr. Morris left the room, the door opened
and Miss Laura came in. She knew nothing about
the parrot and was very much surprised to see it.
Seating herself at the table, she held out her hands
to it. She was so fond of pets of all kinds, that
she never thought of being afraid of them. At
the same time, she never laid her hand suddenly
on any animal. She held out her fingers and
talked gently, so that if it wished to come to her
it could. She looked at the parrot as if she loved
it, and the queer little thing walked right up and
nestled its head against the lace in the front of her
dress. "Pretty lady," she said, in a cracked
whisper, "give Bella a kiss."

The boys were so pleased with this and set up
such a shout, that their mother came into the room
and said they had better take the parrot out to the
stable. Bella seem to enjoy the fun. ' ' Come on,
boys," she screamed, as Henry Smith lifted her
on his finger. " Ha, ha, ha — come on, let's have
some fun. Where's the guinea pig? Where's
Davy, the rat? Where's pussy? Pussy, pussy,
come here. Pussy, pussy, dear, pretty puss."

Her voice was shrill and distinct, and very
like the voice of an old woman who came to the

THE PARROT BELLA 75

house for rags and bones. I followed her out to
the stable, and stayed there until she noticed me
and screamed out, "Ha, Joe, Beautiful Joe!
Where's your tail ? Who cut your ears off ? "

I don't think it was kind in the cabin boy to
teach her this, and I think she knew it teased me,
for she said it over and over again, and laughed
and chuckled with delight. I left her and did not
see her till the next day, when the boys had got
a fine, large cage for her.

The place for her cage was by one of the hall
windows ; but everybody in the house got so fond
of her that she was moved about from one room
to another.

She hated her cage, and used to put her head
close to the bars and plead, " Let Bella out ; Bella
will be a good girl. Bella won't run away."

After a time the Morrises did let her out, and
she kept her word and never tried to get away.
Jack put a little handle on her cage door so
that she could open and shut it herself, and
it was very amusing to hear her say in the
morning, "Clear the track, children! Bella's
going to take a walk," and see her turn the
handle with her claw and come out into the room.
She was a very clever bird, and I have never seen
any creature but a human being that could reason
as she did. She was so petted and talked to that
she got to know a great many words, and on one
occasion she saved the Morrises from being
robbed.

It was in the winter time. The family was

76 BEAUTIFUL JOE

having tea in the dining room at the back of the
house, and Billy and I were lying in the hall watch-
ing what was going on. There was no one in the
front of the house. The hall lamp was lighted,
and the hall door closed, but not locked. Some
sneak thieves, who had been doing a great deal of
mischief in Fairport, crept up the steps and into
the house, and, opening the door of the hall closet,
laid their hands on the boys' winter overcoats.

They thought no one saw them, but they were
mistaken. Bella had been having a nap upstairs,
and had not come down when the tea bell rang.
Now she was hopping down on her way to the
dining room, and hearing the slight noise below,
• topped and looked through the railing. Any pet
:reature that lives in a nice family hates a dirty,
shabby person. Bella knew that those beggar
boys had no business in that closet.

"Bad boys!" she screamed, angrily. "Get
out — get out ! Here, Joe, Joe, Beautiful Joe.
Come quick. Billy, Billy, rats — Hie out, Jim, sic
'em boys. Where's the police. Call the police !"

Billy and I sprang up and pushed open the
door leading to the front hall. The thieves in a
terrible fright were just rushing down the front
steps. One of them got away, but the other fell,
and I caught him by the coat, till Mr. Morris ran
and put his hand on his shoulder.

He was a young fellow about Jack's age, but
not one-half so manly, and he was sniffling and
scolding about "that pesky parrot." Mr. Morris
made him come back into the house, and had a

THE PARROT BELLA 'JJ

talk with him. He found out that he was a poor,
ignorant lad, half starved by a drunken father.
He and his brother stole clothes, and sent them to
his sister in Boston, who sold them and returned
part of the money.

Mr. Morris asked him if he would not like to
get his living in an honest way, and he said
he had tried to, but no one would employ him.
Mr. Morris told him to go home and take leave
of his father and get his brother and bring
him to Washington street the next day. He told
him plainly that if he did not he would send a
policeman after him.

The boy begged Mr. Morris not to do that, and
early the next morning he appeared with his
brother. Mrs. Morris gave them a good breakfast
and fitted them out with clothes, and they were
sent off in the train to one of her brothers, who
was a kind farmer in the country, and who had
been telegraphed to that these boys were coming,
and wished to be provided with situations where
they would have a chance to make honest men of
themselves.

8o BEAUTIFUL JOE

throwing sticks in the water for two Newfoundland
dogs. Suddenly a quarrel sprang up between the
dogs. They were both powerful creatures, and
fairly matched as regarded size. It was terrible
to hear their fierce growling, and to see the way
in which they tore at each other's throats. I
looked at Miss Laura. If she had said a word, I
would have run in and helped the dog that was
getting the worst of it. But she told me to keep
back, and ran on herself.

The boys were throwing water on the dogs,
and pulling their tails, and hurling stones at them,
but they could not separate them. Their heads
seemed locked together, and they went back and
forth over the stones, the boys crowding around
them, shouting, and beating, and kicking at
them.

"Stand back, boys," said Miss Laura ; "I'll
stop them«" She pulled a Httle parcel from her
purse, bent over the dogs, scattered a powder on
their noses, and the next instant the dogs were
yards apart, nearly sneezing their heads off.

"I say. Missis, what did you do? What's
that stuff? Whew, it's pepper!" the boys
exclaimed.

Miss Laura sat down on a flat rock, and looked
at them with a very pale face. " Oh, boys," she
said, "why did you make those dogs fight ? It is
so cruel. They were playing happily till you set
them on each other. Just see how they have torn
their handsome coats, and how the blood is drip-
ping from them."

billy's training continued • 8 1

" 'Taint my fault," said one of the lads, sul-
lenly. ' ' Jim Jones there said his dog could lick my
dog, and I said he couldn't — and he couldn't,
nuther."

"Yes, he could," cried the other boy ; "and
if you say he couldn't, I'll smash your head."

The two boys began sidling up to each other with
clenched fists, and a third boy, who had a mis-
chievous face, seized the paper that had had the
pepper in it, and running up to them shook it
in their faces.

There was enough left to put all thoughts of
fighting out of their heads. They began to cough,
and choke, and splutter, and finally found them-
selves beside the dogs, where the four of them had
a lively time.

The other boys yelled with delight, and pointed
their fingers at them. "A sneezing concert.
Thank you, gentlemen. Angcore, angcore f

Miss Laura laughed too, she could not
help it, and even Billy and I curled up our
lips. After a while they sobered down, and
then finding that the boys hadn't a handker-
chief between them. Miss Laura took her own
soft one, and dipping it in a spring of fresh
water near by, wiped the red eyes of the
sneezers.

Their ill humor had gone, and when she turned
to leave them, and said, coaxingly, "You won't
make those dogs fight any more, will you ? ' ' they
said, "No, sirree. Bob."

Miss Laura went slowly home, and ever after-

8o BEAUTIFUL JOE

throwing sticks in the water for two Newfoundland
dogs. Suddenly a quarrel sprang up between the
dogs. They were both powerful creatures, and
fairly matched as regarded size. It was terrible
to hear their fierce growling, and to see the way
in which they tore at each other's throats. I
looked at Miss Laura. If she had said a word, I
would have run in and helped the dog that was
getting the worst of it. But she told me to keep
back, and ran on herself.

The boys were throwing water on the dogs,
and pulling their tails, and hurling stones at them,
but they could not separate them. Their heads
seemed locked together, and they went back and
forth over the stones, the boys crowding around
them, shouting, and beating, and kicking at
them.

"Stand back, boys," said Miss Laura ; "I'll
stop them/' She pulled a little parcel from her
purse, bent over the dogs, scattered a powder on
their noses, and the next instant the dogs were
yards apart, nearly sneezing their heads off.

"I say, Missis, what did you do? What's
that stuff? Whew, it's pepper!" the boys
exclaimed.

Miss Laura sat down on a flat rock, and looked
at them with a very pale face. "Oh, boys," she
said, " why did you make those dogs fight ? It is
so cruel. They were playing happily till you set
them on each other. Just see how they have torn
their handsome coats, and how the blood is drip-
ping from them."

billy's training continued • 8 1

" 'Taint my fault," said one of the lads, sul-
lenly. ' ' Jim Jones there said his dog could lick my
dog, and I said he couldn't — and he couldn't,
nuther."

"Yes, he could," cried the other boy ; "and
if you say he couldn't, I'll smash your head."

The two boys began sidling up to each other with
clenched fists, and a third boy, who had a mis-
chievous face, seized the paper that had had the
pepper in it, and running up to them shook it
in their faces.

There was enough left to put all thoughts of
fighting out of their heads. They began to cough,
and choke, and splutter, and finally found them-
selves beside the dogs, where the four of them had
a lively time.

The other boys yelled with delight, and pointed
their fingers at them. "A sneezing concert.
Thank you, gentlemen. Angcore, angcore f

Miss Laura laughed too, she could not
help it, and even Billy and I curled up our
lips. After a while they sobered down, and
then finding that the boys hadn't a handker-
chief between them. Miss Laura took her own
soft one, and dipping it in a spring of fresh
water near by, wiped the red eyes of the
sneezers.

Their ill humor had gone, and when she turned
to leave them, and said, coaxingly, "You won't
make those dogs fight any more, will you ? ' ' they
said, "No, sirree, Bob."

Miss Laura went slowly home, and ever after-

6

82 BEAUTIFUL JOE

ward when she met any of those boys, they called
her ' ' Miss Pepper. ' '

When we got home we found Willie curled up
by the window in the hall, reading a book. He
was too fond of reading, and his mother often told
him to put away his book and run about with the
other boys. This afternoon Miss Laura laid her
hand on his shoulder and said, " I was going to
give the dogs a little gamie of ball, but I'm rather
tired."

" Gammon and spinach," he replied, shaking
off her hand, " you're always tired."

She sat down in a hall chair and looked at him.
Then she began to tell him about the dog fight.
He was much interested, and the book slipped to
the floor. When she finished he said, " You're a
daisy every day. Go now and rest yourself."
Then snatching the balls from her, he called us
and ran down to the basement. But he was not
quick enough though to escape her arm. She
caught him to her and kissed him repeatedly. He
was the baby and pet of the family, and he loved
her dearly, though he spoke impatiently to her
oftener than either of the other boys.

We had a grand game with Willie. Miss Laura
had trained us to do all kinds of things with balls
— jumping for them, playing hide-and-seek, and
catching them.

Billy could do more things than I could. One
thing he did which I thought was very clever.
He played ball by himself. He was so crazy about
ball play that he could never get enough of it.

billy's training continued 83

Miss Laura played all she could with him, but she
had to help her mother with the sewing and the
housework, and do lessons with her father, for she
was only seventeen years old, and had not left off
studying. So Billy would take his ball and go
off by himself. Sometimes he rolled it over the
floor, and sometimes he threw it in the air and
pushed it through the staircase railings to the hall
below. He always listened till he heard it drop,
then he ran down and brought it back and pushed
it through again. He did this till he was tired,
and then he brought the ball and laid it at Miss
Laura's feet.

We both had been taught a number of tricks.
We could sneeze and cough, and be dead dogs,
and say our prayers, and stand on our heads, and
mount a ladder and say the alphabet, — this was
the hardest of all, and it took Aliss Laura a long
time to teach us. We never began till a book was
laid before us. Then we stared at it, and Miss
Laura said, " Begin, Joe and Billy — say A."

For A, we gave a little squeal. B was louder.
C was louder still. We barked for some letters,
and growled for others. We always turned a
summersault for S. When we got to Z, we gave
the book a push and had a frolic around the
room.

When any one came in, and Miss Laura had
us show off any of our tricks, the remark always
was, " What clever dogs. They are not like other
dogs."

That was a mistake. Billy and I were not any

84 BEAUTIFUL JOE

brighter than many a miserable cur that skulked
about the streets of Fairport. It was kindness and
patience that did it all. When I was with Jenkins
he thought I was a very stupid dog. He would
have laughed at the idea of any one teaching me
anything. But I was only sullen and obstinate,
because I was kicked about so much. If he had
been kind to me, I would have done anything for
him.

I loved to wait on Miss Laura and Mrs. Morris,
and they taught both Billy and me to make our-
selves useful about the house. Mrs. Morris didn't
hke going up and down the three long staircases,
and sometimes we just raced up and down, waiting
on her.

How often I have heard her go into the hall
and say, "Please send me down a clean duster,
Laura. Joe, you get it." I would run gayly up
the steps, and then would come Billy's turn.
' ' Billy, I have forgotten my keys. Go get them. ' '

After a time we began to know the names of
different articles, and where they were kept, and
could get them ourselves. On sweeping days we
worked very hard, and enjoyed the fun. If Mrs.
Morris was too far away to call to Mary for what she
wanted, she wrote the name on a piece of paper,
and told us to take it to her.

Billy always took the letters from the postman,
and carried the morning paper up to Mr. Morris's
study, and I always put away the clean clothes.
After they were mended, Mrs. Morris folded each
article and gave it to me, mentioning the name of

billy's training continued 85

the owner, so that I could lay it on his bed. There
was no need for her to tell me the names. I knew
by the smell. All human beings have a strong
smell to a dog, even though they mayn't notice it
themselves. Mrs. Morris never knew how she
bothered me by giving away Miss Laura's clothes
to poor people. Once, I followed her track all
through the town, and at last found it was only a
pair of her boots on a ragged child in the gutter.

I must say a word about Billy's tail before I
close this chapter. It is the custom to cut the
ends of fox terrier's tails, but leave their ears un-
touched. Billy came to Miss Laura so young that
his tail had not been cut off, and she would not
have it done.

One day Mr. Robinson came in to see him,
and he said, " You have made a fine-looking dog
of him, but his appearance is ruined by the length
of his tail."

"Mr. Robinson," said Mrs. Morris, patting
little Billy, who lay on her lap, " don't you think
that this little dog has a beautifully proportioned
body ? ' '

"Yes, I do," said the gentleman. "His
points are all correct, save that one."

"But," she said, " if our Creator made that
beautiful little body, don't you think he is wise
enough to know what length of tail would be in
proportion to it ? "

Mr. Robinson would not answer her. He only
laughed and said that he thought she and Miss
Laura were both ' ' cranks.

CHAPTER XI

GOLDFISH AND CANARIES

HE Morris boys were all different. Jack
was bright and clever, Ned was a wag,
Willie was a book-worm, and Carl was
a born trader.

He was always exchanging toys and books with
his schoolmates, and they never got the better of
him in a bargain. He said that when he grew up
he was going to be a merchant, and he had already
begun to carry on a trade in canaries and goldfish.
He was very fond of what he called "his yellow
pets," yet he never kept a pair of birds or a gold-
fish, if he had a good offer for them.

He slept alone in a large, sunny room at the
top of the house. By his own request, it was
barely furnished, and there he raised his canaries
and kept his goldfish.

He was not fond of having visitors coming to
his room, because, he said, they frightened the
canaries. After Mrs. Morris made his bed in the
morning, the door was closed, and no one was
supposed to go in till he came from school. Once
Billy and I followed him upstairs without his know-

86

GOLDFISH AND CANARIES 8/

ing it, but as soon as he saw us he sent us down
in a great hurry.

One day Bella walked into his room to inspect
the canaries. She was quite a spoiled bird by this
time, and I heard Carl telling the family afterward
that it was as good as a play to see Miss Bella
strutting in with her breast stuck out, and her little,
conceited air, and hear her say, shrilly, " Good
morning, birds, good morning ! How do you do,
Carl ? Glad to see you, boy.-"

"Well, I'm not glad to see you," he said,
decidedly, "and don't you ever come up here
again. You'd frighten my canaries to death."
And he sent her flying downstairs.

How cross she was ! She came shrieking to
Miss Laura. " Bella loves birds. Bella wouldn't
hurt birds. Carl's a bad boy."

Miss Laura petted and soothed her, telling her
to go find Davy, and he would play with her. Bella
and the rat were great friends. It was very funny
to see them going about the house together. From
the very first she had liked him, and coaxed him
into her cage, where he soon became quite at
home, — so much so that he always slept there.
About nine o'clock every evening, if he was not
with her, she went all over the house, crying :
" Davy ! Davy ! time to go to bed. Come sleep
in Bella's cage."

He was very fond of the nice sweet cakes she
got to eat, but she never could get him to eat coffee
grounds — the food she liked best.

Miss Laura spoke to Carl about Bella, and told

88 BEAUTIFUL JOE

him he had hurt her feehngs, so he petted her
a httle to make up for it. Then his mother
told him that she thought he was making a
mistake in keeping his canaries so much to
themselves. They had become so timid, that
when she went into the room they were un-
easy till she left it. She told him that petted
birds or animals are sociable and like com-
pany, unless they are kept by themselves, when
they become shy. She advised him to let the
other boys go into the room, and occasionally to
bring some of his pretty singers downstairs,
where all the family could enjoy seeing and
hearing them, and where they would get used
to other people besides himself.

Carl looked thoughtful, and his mother went
on to say that there was no one in the house, not
even the cat, that would harm his birds.

' ' You might even charge admission for a day
or two," said Jack, gravely, " and introduce us to
them, and make a little money."

Carl was rather annoyed at this, but his mother
calmed him by showing him a letter she had just
gotten from one of her brothers, asking her to let
one of her boys spend his Christmas holidays in
the country with him.

" I want you to go, Carl," she said.

He was very much pleased, but looked sober
when he thought of his pets. " Laura and I will
take care of them," said his mother, "and start
the new management of them."

" Very well," said Carl, " I will go then ; I've

GOLDFISH AND CANARIES 89

no young ones now, so you will not find them
much trouble."

I thought it was a great deal of trouble to take
care of them. The first morning after Carl left,
Billy, and Bella, and Davy, and I followed Miss
Laura upstairs. She made us sit in a row by the
door, lest we should startle the canaries. She had
a great many things to do. First, the canaries
had their baths. They had to get them at the
same time every morning. Miss Laura filled the
little white dishes with water and put them in
the cages, and then came and sat on a stool by
the door. Bella, and Billy, and Davy climbed
into her lap, and I stood close by her. It was so
funny to watch those canaries. They put their
heads on one side and looked first at their little
baths and then at us. They knew we were stran-
gers. Finally, as we were all very quiet, they got
into the water ; and what a good time they had,
fluttering their wings and splashing, and cleaning
themselves so nicely.

Then they got up on their perches and sat in
the sun, shaking themselves and picking at their
feathers.

Miss Laura cleaned each cage, and gave each
bird some mixed rape and canary seed. I heard
Carl tell her before he left not to give them much
hemp seed, for that was too fattening. He was
very careful about their food. During the sum-
mer I had often seen him taking up nice green
things to them : celery, chickweed, tender cab-
bage, peaches, apples, pears, bananas ; and now

9© BEAUTIFUL JOE

at Christmas time, he had green stuff growing in
pots on the window ledge.

Besides that he gave them crumbs of coarse
bread, crackers, lumps of sugar, cuttle-fish to peck
at, and a number of other things. Miss Laura
did everything just as he told her ; but I think she
talked to the birds more than he did. She was
very particular about their drinking water, and
washed out the little glass cups that held it most
carefully.

After the canaries were clean and comfortable,
Miss Laura set their cages in the sun, and turned
to the goldfish. They were in large glass globes
on the window-seat. She took a long-handled tin
cup, and dipped out the fish from one into a basin
of water. Then she washed the globe thoroughly
and put the fish back, and scattered wafers of fish
food on the top. The fish came up and snapped
at it, and acted as if they were glad to get it.
She did each globe and then her work was over
for one morning.

She went away for a while, but every few hours
through the day she ran up to Carl' s room to see
how the fish and canaries were getting on. If the
room was too chilly she turned on more heat ; but
she did not keep it too warm, for that would make
the birds tender.

After a time the canaries got to know her, and
hopped gayly around their cages, and chirped and
sang whenever they saw her coming. Then she
began to take some of them downstairs, and to let
them out of their cages for an hour or two every

GOLDFISH AND CANARIES 9 1

day. They were very happy Httle creatures, and
chased each other about the room, and flew on
Miss Laura's head, and pecked saucily at her face
as she sat sewing and watching them. They
were not at all afraid of me nor of Billy, and it
was quite a sight to see them hopping up to Bella.
She looked so large beside them.

One little bird became ill while Carl was away,
and Miss Laura had to give it a great deal of at-
tention. She gave it plenty of hemp seed to
make it fat, and very often the yolk of a hard-
boiled egg, and kept a nail in its drinking water,
and gave it a few drops of alcohol in its bath
every morning to keep it from taking cold. The
moment the bird finished taking its bath. Miss
Laura took the dish from the cage, for the alcohol
made the water poisonous. Then vermin came
on it, and she had to write to Carl to ask him what
to do. He told her to hang a muslin bag full of
sulphur over the swing, so that the bird would
dust it down on her feathers. That cured the
little thing, and when Carl came home, he found
it quite well again. One day, just after he got
back, Mrs. Montague drove up to the house with
a canary cage carefully done up in a shawl. She
said that a bad-tempered housemaid, in cleaning
the cage that morning, had gotten angry with the
bird and struck it, breaking its leg. She was
very much annoyed with the girl for her cruelty,
and had dismissed her, and now she wanted Carl
to take her bird and nurse it, as she knew nothing
about canaries.

92 BEAUTIFUL JOE

Carl had just come in from school. He threw
down his books, took the shawl from the cage
and looked in. The poor little canary was sitting
in a corner. It eyes were half shut, one leg hung
loose, and it was making faint chirps of distress.

Carl was very much interested in it. He got
Mrs. Montague to help him, and together they
split matches, tore up strips of muslin, and ban-
daged the broken leg. He put the little bird back
in the cage, and it seemed more comfortable.
"I think he will do now," he said to Mrs. Mon-
tague, "but hadn't you better leave him with me
for a few days ? ' '

She gladly agreed to this and went away, after
teUing him that the bird's name was Dick.

The next morning at the breakfast table, I
heard Carl telling his mother that as soon as he
woke up he sprang out of bed and went to see
how his canary was. During the night, poor,
foohsh Dick had picked off the splints from his
leg, and now it was as bad as ever. ' ' I shall
have to perform a surgical operation," he said.

I did not know what he meant, so I watched
him when, after breakfast, he brought the bird
down to his mother's room. She held it while he
took a pair of sharp scissors, and cut its leg right
off a Httle way above the broken place. Then he
put some vasehne on the tiny stump, bound it up,
and left Dick in his mother's care. All the morn-
ing, as she sat sewing, she watched him to see
that he did not pick the bandage away.

When Carl came home, Dick was so much

GOLDFISH AND CANARIES 93

better that he had managed to fly up on his
perch, and was eating seeds quite gayly. " Poor
Dick I " said Carl, "leg and a stump!" Dick
imitated him in a few little chirps, "A leg and
a stump I ' '

"Why, he is saying it too," exclaimed Carl,
and burst out laughing.

Dick seemed cheerful enough, but it was very
pitiful to see him dragging his poor little stump
around the cage, and resting it against the perch
to keep him from falling. _ When Mrs. Montague
came the next day, she could not bear to look at
him. "Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "I cannot
take that disfigured bird home."

I could not help thinking how different she
was from Miss Laura, who loved any creature all
the more for having some blemish about it.
"What shall I do?" said Mrs. Montague. "I
miss my little bird so much. I shall have to get a
new one. Carl, will you sell me one ? "

"I will give you one, Mrs. Montague," said
the boy, eagerly. " I would like to do so."

Mrs. Morris looked pleased to hear Carl say
this. She used to fear sometimes, that in his love
for making money, he would become selfish.

Mrs. Montague was very kind to the Morris
family, a:id Carl seemed quite pleased to do her a
favor. He took her up to his room, and let her
choose the bird she liked best. She took a hand-
some, yellow one, called Barry. He was a good
singer, and a great favorite of Carl's. The boy
put him in the cage, wrapped it up well, for it was

94 BEAUTIFUL JOE

a cold, snowy day, and carried it out to Mrs. Mon-
tague's sleigh.

She gave him a pleasant smile, and drove
away, and Carl ran up the steps into the house.
"It's all right, mother," he said, giving Mrs.
Morris a hearty, boyish kiss, as she stood waiting
for him. " I don't mind letting her have it."

"But you expected to sell that one, didn't
you ? ' ' she asked.

"Mrs. Smith said maybe she'd take it when
she came home from Boston, but I dare say she'd
change her mind and get one there."

" How much were you going to ask for him ? "

"Well, I wouldn't sell Barry for less than ten
dollars, or rather, I wouldn't have sold him," and
he ran out to the stable.

Mrs. Morris sat on the hall chair, patting me
as I rubbed against her, in rather an absent-
minded way. Then she got up and went into her
husband's study, and told him what Carl had
done.

Mr. Morris seemed very pleased to hear about
it, but when his wife asked him to do something to
make up the loss to the boy, he said: "I had
rather not do that. To encourage a child to do a
kind action, and then to reward him for it, is not
always a sound principle to go upon."

But Carl did not go without his reward. That
evening, Mrs. Montague's coachman brought a
note to the house addressed to Mr. Carl Morris.
He read it aloud to the family.

My Dear Carl : I am charmed with my little

GOLDFISH AND CANARIES 95

bird, and he has whispered to me one of the
secrets of your room. You want fifteen dollars
very much to buy something for it. I am sure y6u
won't be offended with an old friend for supplying
you the means to get this something.

Ada Montague.

"Just the thing for my stationary tank for the
goldfish," exclaimed Carl. "I've wanted it for a
long time ; — it isn't good to keep them in globes ;
but how in the world did she find out ? I've never
told any one."

Mrs. Morris smiled, and said, "Barry must
have told her," as she took the money from Carl
to put away for him.

Mrs. Montague got to be very fond of her new
pet. She took care of him herself, and I have
heard her tell Mrs. Morris most wonderful stories
about him — stories so wonderful that I should say
they were not true if I did not how intelligent
dumb creatures get to be under kind treatment.

She only kept him in his cage at night, and
when she began looking for him at bedtime to put
him there, he always hid himself. She would
search a short time, and then sit down, and he
always came out of his hiding-place, chirping in a
saucy way to make her look at him.

She said that he seemed to take delight in teas-
ing her. Once when he was in the drawing-room
with her, she was called away to speak to some
one at the telephone. When she came back, she
found that one of the servants had come into the
room and left the door open leading to a veranda.

96 BEAUTIFUL JOE

The trees outside were full of yellow birds, and
she was in despair, thinking that Barry had flown
out with them. She looked out, but could not see
him. Then, lest he had not left the room, she
got a chair and carried it about, standing on it to
examine the walls, and see if Barry was hidden
among the pictures and bric-a-brac. But no Barry
was there. She at last sank down, exhausted, on a
sofa. She heard a wicked, little peep, and look-
ing up, saw Barry sitting on one of the rounds of
the chair that she had been carrying about to look
for him. He had been there all the time. She
was so glad to see him, that she never thought of
scolding him.

He was never allowed to fly about the dining
room during meals, and the table maid drove him
out before she set the table. It always annoyed
him, and he perched on the staircase, watching the
door through the railings. If it was left open for an
instant, he flew in. One evening, before tea, he
did this. There was a chocolate cake on the side-
board, and he liked the look of it so much that
he began to peck at it. Mrs. Montague happened
to come in, and drove him back to the hall.

While she was having tea that evening, with
her husband and little boy, Barry flew into the
room again. Mrs. Montague told Charlie to send
him out, but her husband said, "Wait, he is
looking for something."

He was on the sideboard, peering into every
dish, and trying to look under the covers. " He
is after the chocolate cake," exclaimed Mrs. Mon-

GOLDFISH AND CANARIES 97

tague. " Here, Charlie, put this on the staircase
for him."

She cut off a little scrap, and when Charlie
took it to the hall, Barry flew after him, and ate
it up.

As for poor, little, lame Dick, Carl never sold
him, and he became a family pet. His cage hung
in the parlor, and from morning till night his cheer-
ful voice was heard, chirping and singing as if he
had not a trouble in the world. They took great
care of him. He was never allowed to be too hot
or too cold. Everybody gave him a cheerful word
in passing his cage, and if his singing was too
loud, they gave him a little mirror to look at him-
self in. He loved this m.irror, and often stood
before it for an hour at a time.

CHAPTER XII

MALTA. THE CAT

HE first time I had a good look at the
Morris cat, I thought she was the queer-
est-looking animal I had ever seen.
She was dark gray — just the color of a mouse. Her
eyes were a yellowish green, and for the first few
days I was at the Morrises' they looked very un-
kindly at me. Then she got over her dislike and
we became very good friends. She was a beautiful
cat, and so gentle and affectionate that the whole
family loved her.

She was three years old, and she had come to
Fairport in a vessel with some sailors, who had
gotten her in a far-away place. Her name was
Malta, and she was called a maltese cat.

I have seen a great many cats, but I never
saw one as kind as Malta. Once she had some
little kittens and they all died. It almost broke
her heart. She cried and cried about the
house till it made one feel sad to hear her.
Then she ran away to the woods. She came
back with a little squirrel in her mouth, and
putting it in her basket, she nursed it like a

MALTA, THE CAT 99

mother, till it grew old enough to run away from •
her.

She was a very knowing cat, and always came
when she was called. Miss Laura used to wear a
little silver whistle that she blew when she wanted
any of her pets. It was a shrill whistle, and we
could her it a long way from home. I have seen
her standing at the back door whistling for Malta,
and the pretty creature's head would appear some-
where— always high up, for she was a great
climber, and she would come running along the
top of the fence, saying, "Meow, meow," in a
funny, short way.

Miss Laura would pet her, or give her some-
thing to cat, or walk around the garden carrying
her on her shoulder. Malta was a most affection-
ate cat, and if Miss Laura would not let her lick
her face, she licked her hair with her little, rough
tongue. Often Malta lay by the fire, licking my
coat or little Billy's, to show her affection for us.

Mary, the cook, was very fond of cats, and
used to keep Malta in the kitchen as much as she
could, but nothing would make her stay down there
if there was any music going on upstairs. The
Morris pets were all fond of music. As soon as
Miss Laura sat down to the piano to sing or play,
we came from all parts of the house. Malta cried
to get upstairs, Davy scampered through the hall,
and Bella hurried after him. If I was outdoors I
ran in the house, and Jim got on a box and looked
through the window.

Davy's place was on Miss Laura's shoulder,

lOO BEAUTIFUL JOE

his pink nose run in the curls at the back of her
neck. I sat under the piano beside Malta and
Bella, and we never stirred till the music was
over ; then we went quietly away,

Malta was a beautiful cat — there was no doubt
about it. While I was with Jenkins I thought cats
were vermin, like rats, and I chased them every
chance I got. Mrs. Jenkins had a cat, a gaunt,
long-legged, yellow creature, that ran whenever
we looked at it.

Malta had been so kindly treated that she never
ran from any one, except from strange dogs. She
knew they would be likely to hurt her. If they
came upon her suddenly, she faced them, and she
was a pretty good fighter when she was put to it.
I once saw her having a brush with a big mastiff
that lived a few blocks from us, and giving him
a good fright, which just served him right.

I was shut up in the parlor. Some one had
closed the door, and I could not get out. I was
watching Malta from the window, as she daintily
picked her way across the muddy street. She was
such a soft, pretty, amiable-looking cat. She
didn't look that way, though, when the mastiff
rushed out of the alleyway at her.

She sprang back and glared at him like a little,
fierce tiger. Her tail was enormous. Her eyes
were like balls of fire, and she was spitting and
snarling, as if to say, " If you touch me, I'll tear
you to pieces ! "

The dog, big as he was, did not dare attack her.
He walked around and around, like a great.

MALTA, THE CAT lOl

clumsy elephant, and she turned her small body-
as he turned his, and kept up a dreadful hissing
and spitting. Suddenly I saw a Spitz dog hurrying
down the street. He was going to help the mas-
tiff, and Malta would be badly hurt. I had barked
and no one had come to let me out, so I sprang
through the window.

Just then there was a change. Malta had seen
the second dog, and she knew she must get rid of
the mastiff. With an agile bound she sprang on
his back, dug her sharp claws in, till he put his
tail between his legs and ran up the street, howling
with pain. She rode a little way, then sprang off,
and ran up the lane to the stable.

I was very angry and wanted to fight some-
thing, so I pitched into the Spitz dog. He was a
snarly, cross-grained creature, no friend to Jim and
me, and he would have been only too glad of a
chance to help kill Malta.

I gave him one of the worst beatings he ever
had. I don't suppose it was quite right for me to
do it, for Miss Laura says dogs should never fight ;
but he had worried Malta before, and he had no
business to do it. She belonged to our family.
Jim and I never worried his cat. I had been
longing to give him a shaking for some time, and
now I felt for his throat through his thick hair,
and dragged him all around the street. Then I
let him go, and he was a civil dog ever afterward.

Malta was very grateful, and licked a little
place where the Spitz bit me. I did not get
scolded for the broken window. Mary had seen

I02 BEAUTIFUL JOE

me from the kitchen window, and told Mrs.
Morris that I had gone to help Malta.

Malta was a very wise cat. She knew quite
well that she must not harm the parrot nor the
canaries, and she never tried to catch them, even
though she was left alone in the room with them.

I have seen her lying in the sun, blinking
sleepily, and listening with great pleasure to Dick's
singing. Miss Laura even taught her not to hunt
the birds outside.

For a long time she had tried to get it into
Malta's head that it was cruel to catch the little
sparrows that came about the door, and just after
I came, she succeeded in doing so.

Malta was so fond of Miss Laura, that when-
ever she caught a bird, she came and laid it at her
feet. Miss Laura always picked up the little, dead
creature, pitied it and stroked it, and scolded Malta
till she crept into a corner. Then Miss Laura put
the bird on a limb of a tree, and Malta watched
her attentively from her corner.

One day Miss Laura stood at the window,
looking out into the garden. Malta was lying on
the platform, staring at the sparrows that were
picking up crumbs from the ground. She trem-
bled, and half rose every few minutes, as if to go
after them. Then she lay down again. She vvas
trying very hard not to creep on them. Presently
a neighbor's cat came stealing along the fence,
keeping one eye on Malta and the other on the
sparrows. Malta was so angry ! She sprang up
and chased her away, and then came back to the

MALTA, THE CAT I03

platform, where she lay down again and waited
for the sparrows to come back. For a long time
she stayed there, and never once tried to catch
them.

Miss Laura was so pleased. She went to the
door, and said, softly, "Come here, Malta."

The cat put up her tail, and, meowing gently,
came into the house. Miss Laura took her up in
her arms, and going down to the kitchen, asked
Mary to give her a saucer of her very sweetest
milk for the best cat in the United States of
America.

Malta got great praise for this, and I never
knew of her catching a bird afterward. She was
well fed in the house, and had no need to hurt
such harmless creatures.

She was very fond of her home, and never
went far away, as Jim and I did. Once, when
Willie was going to spend a few weeks with a little
friend who lived fifty miles from Fairport, he took
it into his head that Malta should go with him.
His mother told him that cats did not like to go
away from home ; but he said he would be good
to her, and begged so hard to take her, that at
last his mother consented.

He had been a few days in this place, when
he wrote home to say that Malta had run away.
She had seemed very unhappy, and though he had
kept her with him all the time, she had acted as
if she wanted to get away.

When the letter was read to Mr. Morris, he
said, " Malta is on her wav home. Cats have a

I04 BEAUTIFUL JOE

wonderful cleverness in finding their way to their
own dwelling. She will be very tired. Let us go
out and meet her."

Willie had gone to this place in a coach. Mr.
Morris got a buggy and took Miss Laura and me
with him, and we started out. We went slowly
along the road. Every little while Miss Laura
blew her whistle, and called, ' ' Malta, Malta, ' '
and I barked as loudly as I could. Mr. Morris
drove for several hours, then we stopped at a
house, had dinner, and then set out again. We
were going through a thick wood, where there was
a pretty straight road, when I saw a small, dark
creature away ahead, trotting toward us. It was
Malta. I gave a joyful bark, but she did not know
me, and plunged into the wood.

I ran in after her, barking and yelping, and
Miss Laura blew her whistle as loudly as she
could. Soon there was a little gray head peeping
at us from the bushes, and Malta bounded out,
gave me a look of surprise and then leaped into
the buggy on Miss Laura's lap.

What a happy cat she was I She purred with
delight, and licked Miss Laura's gloves over and
over again. Then she ate the food they had
brought, and went sound asleep. She was very
thin, and for several days after getting home she
slept the most of the time.

Malta did not like dogs, but she was very good
to cats. One day, when there was no one about
and the garden was very quiet, I saw her go steal-
ing into the stable, and come out again, followed

MALTA, THE CAT I05

by a sore-eyed, starved-looking cat, that had been
deserted by some people that lived in the next
street. She led this cat up to her catnip bed, and
watched her kindly, while she rolled and rubbed
herself in it. Then Malta had a roll in it herself,
and they both went back to the stable.

Catnip is a favorite plant with cats, and Miss
Laura always kept some of it growing for Malta.

For a long time this sick cat had a home in
the stable. Malta carried her food every day,
and after a time Miss Laura found out about her,
and did what she could to make her well. In
time she got to be a strong, sturdy-looking cat,
and Miss La«ura got a home for her with an invalid
lady.

It was nothing new for the Morrises to feed
deserted cats. Some summers, Mrs. Morris said
that she had a dozen to take care of. Careless
and cruel people would go away for the summer,
shutting up their houses, and making no provision
for the poor cats that had been allowed to sit
snugly by the fire all winter. At last, Mrs. Morris
got into the habit of putting a little notice in the
Fairport paper, asking people who were going
away for the summer to provide for their cats dur-
their absence.

CHAPTER XIII

THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE

HE first winter I was at the Morrises', I
had an adventure. It was a week
before Christmas, and we were having
cold, frosty weather. Not much snow had fallen,
but there was plenty of skating, and the boys were
off every day with their skates on a little lake near
Fairport.

Jim and I often went with them, and we had
great fun scampering over the ice after them, and
slipping at every step.

On this Saturday night we had just gotten
home. It was quite dark outside, and there was a
cold wind blowing, so when we came in the front
door, and saw the red light from the big hall stove
and the blazing fire in the parlor they looked very
cheerful.

I was quite sorry for Jim that he had to go out
to his kennel. However, he said he didn't mind.
The boys got a plate of nice, warm meat for him
and a bowl of milk, and carried them out, and
afterward he went to sleep. Jim's kennel was a
very snug one. Being a spaniel, he was not a

i©6

THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE I07

very large dog, but his kennel was as roomy as if
he was a great Dane. He told me that Mr. Morris
and the boys made it, and he liked it very much,
because it was large enough for him to get up in
the night and stretch himself, when he got tired of
lying in one position.

It was raised a little from the ground, and it
had a thick layer of straw over the floor. Above
was a broad shelf, wide enough for him to lie on,
and covered with an old catskin sleigh robe. Jim
always slept here in cold weather, because it was
farther away from the ground.

To return to this December evening. I can
remember yet how hungry I was. I could scarcely
lie still till Miss Laura finished her tea. Mrs.
Morris, knowing that her boys would be very hun-
gry, had Mary broil some beefsteak and roast some
potatoes for them ; and didn't they smell good !

They ate all the steak and potatoes. It didn't
matter to me, for I wouldn't have gotten any if
they had been left. Mrs. Morris could not afford
to give to the dogs good meat that she had gotten
for her children, so she used to get the butcher to
send her liver, and bones, and tough meat, and
Mary cooked them, and made soup and broth,
and mixed porridge with them for us.

We never got meat three times a day. Miss
Laura said it was all very well to feed hunting
dogs on meat, but dogs that are kept about a house
get ill if they are fed too well. So we had meat
only once a day, and bread and milk, porridge,
or dos: biscuits, for our other meals.

Io8 BEAUTIFUL JOE

I made a dreadful noise when I was eating.
Ever since Jenkins cut my ears off, I had had
trouble in breathing. The flaps had kept the wind
and dust from the inside of my ears. Now that
they were gone my head was stuffed up all the
time. The cold weather made me worse, and
sometimes I had such trouble to get my breath
that it seemed as if I would choke. If I had
opened my mouth, and breathed through it, as I
have seen some people doing, I would have been
more comfortable, but dogs always like to breathe
through their noses.

" You have taken more cold, ' ' said Miss Laura,
this night, as she put my plate of food on the floor
for me. ' ' Finish your meat, and then come and sit
by the fire with me. What ! do you want more ?' '

I gave a little bark, so she filled my plate for
the second time. Miss Laura never allowed any
one to meddle with us when we w ere eating. One
day she found Willie teasing me by snatching at
a bone that I was gnawing. "Willie," she said,
" what would you do if you were just sitting down
to the table feeling very hungry, and just as you
began to eat your meat and potatoes, I would come
along and snatch the plate from you ? ' '

" I don't know what I'd do,'" he said, laugh-
ingly ; "but I'd want to wallop you."

"Well," she said, "I'm afraid that Joe will
' wallop ' you some day if you worry him about
his food, for even a gentle dog will sometimes snap
at any one who disturbs him at his meals ; so you
had better not try his patience too far."

THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE IO9

Willie never teased me after that, and I was
very glad, for two or three times I had been
tempted to snarl at him.

After I finished my tea, I followed Miss Laura
upstairs. She took up a book and sat down in a
low chair, and I lay down on the hearth rug beside
her.

"Do you know, Joe," she said with a smile,
"why you scratch with your paws when you lie
down, as if to make yourself a hollow bed, and
turn around a great many tim.es before you lie
down ? ' '

Of course I did not know, so I only stared at
her. "Years and years ago," she went on, gaz-
ing down at me, "there weren't any dogs Hving
in people's houses, as you are, Joe. They were
all wild creatures running about the woods. They
always scratched among the leaves to make a com-
fortable bed for themselves, and the habit has
come down to you, Joe, for you are descended
from them."

This sounded very interesting, and I think she
was going to tell me some more about my wild
forefathers, but just then the rest of the family
came in.

I always thought that this was the snuggest time
of the day — when the family all sat around the fire
— Mrs. Morris sewing, the boys reading or study-
ing, and Mr. Morris with his head buried in a news-
paper, and Billy and I on the floor at their feet.

This evening I was feeling very drowsy, and
had almost dropped asleep, when Ned gave me a

no BEAUTIFUL JOE

push with his foot. He was a great tease, and he
dehghted in getting me to make a simpleton of
myself. I tried to keep my eyes on the fire, but I
could not, and just had to turn and look at him.

He was holding his book up between himself
and his mother, and was opening his mouth as wide
as he could and throwing back his head, pretend-
ing to howl.

For the life of me I could not help giving a
loud howl. Mrs. Morris looked up and said,
" Bad Joe, keep still."

The boys were all laughing behind their books,
for they knew what Ned was doing. Presently he
started off again, and I was just beginning another
howl that might have made Mrs. Morris send me
out of the room, when the door opened, and a
young girl called Bessie Drury came in.

She had a cap on and a shawl thrown over her
shoulders, and she had just run across the street
from her father's house. "Oh, Mrs. Morris,"
she said, ' ' will you let Laura come over and stay
with me to-night ? Mamma has just gotten a tele-
gram from Bangor, saying that her aunt, Mrs. Cole,
is very ill, and she wants to see her, and papa is
going to take her there by to-night's train, and she
is afraid I will be lonely if I don't have Laura."

' ' Can you not come and spend the night
here ? ' ' said Mrs. Morris.

" No, thank you ; I think mamma would rather
have me stay in our house."

"Very well," said Mrs. Morris, " I think Laura
would like to go."

THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE III

" Yes, indeed," said Miss Laura, smiling at her
friend. " I will come over in half an hour."

"Thank you, so much," said Miss Bessie.
And she hurried away.

After she left, Mr. Morris looked up from his
paper. "There will be some one in the house
besides those two girls ? "

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Morris; "Mrs. Drury
has her old nurse, who has been with her for
twenty years, and there are two maids besides,
and Donald, the coachman, who sleeps over the
stable. So they are well protected."

"Very good," said Mr. Morris. And he went
back to his paper.

Of course dumb animals do not understand all
that they hear spoken of ; but I think human beings
would be astonished if they knew how much we can
gather from their looks and voices. I knew that
Mr. Morris did not quite like the idea of having
his daughter go to the Drury' s when the master
and mistress of the house were away, so I made
up my mind that I would go with her.

When she came down stairs with her little
satchel on her arm, I got up and stood beside her.
"Dear, old Joe," she said, "you must not
come."

I pushed myself out the door beside her after
she had kissed her mother and father and the boys.
"Go back, Joe," she said, firmly.

I had to step back then, but I cried and whined,
and she looked at me in astonishment. " I will
be back in the morning, Joe," she said, gently;

112 BEAUTIFUL JOE

" don't squeal in that way," Then she shut the
door and went out.

I felt dreadfully, I walked up and down the
floor and ran to the window, and howled without
having to look at Ned. Mrs. Morris peered over
her glasses at me in utter surprise. " Boys," she
said, "did you ever see Joe act in that way
before ? ' '

" No, mother," they all said.

Mr. Morris was looking at me very intently.
He had always taken more notice of me than any
other creature about the house, and I was very
fond of him. "Now I ran up and put my paws on
his knees.

"Mother," he said, turning to his wife, "let
the dog go.

"Very well," she said, in a puzzled way.
"Jack, just run over with him, and tell Mrs.
Drury how he is acting, and that I will be very
much obliged if she will let him stay all night with
Laura."

Jack sprang up, seized his cap, and raced
down the front steps, across the street, through the
gate, and up the gravelled walk, where the little
stones were all hard and fast in the frost.

The Drurys lived in a large, white house, with
trees all around it, and a garden at the back.
They were rich people and had a great deal of
company. Through the summer I had often seen
carriages at the door, and ladies and gentlemen
in light clothes walking over the lawn, and some-
times I smelled nice things they were having to eat.

THE BEGINNING 07 AN ADVENTURE II3

They did not keep any dogs, nor pets of any kind,
so Jim and I never had an excuse to call there.

Jack and I were soon at the front door, and he
rang the bell and gave me in charge of the maid
who opened it. The girl listened to his message
for Mrs. Drury, then she walked upstairs, smiling
and looking at me over her shoulder.

There was a trunk in the upper hall, and an
elderly w^oman was putting things in it. A lady
stood watching her, and when she saw me, she
gave a little scream, "Oh, nurse I look at that
horrid dog ! Where did he come from ? Put him
out, Susan."

I stood quite still, and the girl who had
brought me upstairs, gave her Jack's message.

"Certainly, certainly," said the lady, when
the maid finished speaking. " If he is one of the
Morris dogs, he is sure to be a well-behaved one.
Tell the little boy to thank his mamma for letting
Laura come over, and say that we will keep the
dog with pleasure. Now, nurse, we must hurry ;
the cab will be here in five minutes."

I w^alked softly into a front room, and there I
found my dear Miss Laura. Miss Bessie was with
her, and they were cramming things into a port-
manteau. They both ran out to find out how I
came there, and just then a gentleman came hur-
riedly upstairs, and said the cab had come.

There was a scene of great confusion and hurry,
but in a few minutes it was all over. The cab had
rolled away, and the house was quiet.

"Nurse, you must be tired, you' had better go

114 BEAUTIFUL JOE

to bed," said Miss Bessie, turning to the elderly-
woman, as we all stood in the hall. " Susan, will
you bring some supper to the dining-room, for Miss
Morris and me ? What will you have, Laura ? * *

" What are you going to have ? " asked Miss
Laura, with a smile.

" Hot chocolate and tea biscuits."

' ' Then I will have the same. ' '

" Bring some cake too, Susan, said Miss Bessie,
' ' and something for the dog. I dare say he would
like some of that turkey that was left from dinner. ' '

If I had had any ears I would have pricked
them up at this, for I was very fond of fowl, and
I never got any at the Morrises', unless it might
be a stray bone or two.

What fun we had over our supper ! The two
girls sat at the big dining table, and sipped their
chocolate, and laughed and talked, and I had the
skeleton of a whole turkey on a newspaper that
Susan spread on the carpet.

I was very careful not to drag it about, and
Miss Bessie laughed at me till the tears came in
her eyes. " That dog is a gentleman," she said;
" see how he holds bones on the paper with his
paws, and strips the meat off with his teeth. Oh,
Joe, Joe, you are a funny dog ! And you are hav-
ing a funny supper. I have heard of quail on
toast, but I never heard of turkey on newspaper.

"Hadn't we better go to bed?" said Miss
Laura, when the hall clock struck eleven.

"Yes, I suppose we had," said Miss Bessie.
" Where is this animal to sleep ? ' '

THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE II 5

" I don't know," said Miss Laura ; "he sleeps
in the stable at home, or in the kennel with Jim."

" Suppose Susan makes him a nice bed by the
kitchen stove?" said Miss Bessie.

Susan made the bed, but I was not willing to
sleep in it. I barked so loudly when they shut
me up alone, that they had to let me go upstairs
with them.

Miss Laura was almost angry with me, but I
could not help it. I had come over there to
protect her, and I wasn't going to leave her, if I
could help it.

Miss Bessie had a handsomely furnished room,
with a soft carpet on the floor, and pretty curtains
at the windows. There were two single beds in
it, and the two girls dragged them close together,
so that they could talk after they got in bed.

Before Miss Bessie put out the light, she told
Miss Laura not to be alarmed if she heard any one
walking about in the night, for the nurse was
sleeping across the hall from them, and she would
probably come in once or twice to see if they were
sleeping comfortably.

The two girls talked for a long time, and then
they fell asleep. Just before Miss Laura dropped
ofif, she forgave me, and put down her hand for
me to Hck as I lay on a fur rug close by her bed.

I was very tired, and I had a very soft and
pleasant bed, so I soon fell into a heavy sleep.
But I waked up at the slightest noise. Once Miss
Laura turned in bed, and another time Miss Bessie
laughed in her sleep, and again, there were queer

Il6 BEAUTIFUL JOE

crackling noises in the frosty limbs of the trees
outside, that made me start up quickly out of my
sleep.

There was a big clock in the hall, and every
time it struck I waked up. Once, just after it had
struck some hour, I jumped up out of a sound nap.
I had been dreaming about my early home. Jen-
kins was after me with a whip, and my limbs were
quivering and trembling as if I had been trying to
get away from him.

I sprang up and shook myself. Then I took a
turn around the room. The two girls were breath-
ing gently ; I could scarcely hear them. I
walked to the door and looked out into the hall.
There was a dim light burning there. The door
of the nurse's room stood open. I went quietly
to it and looked in. She was breathing heavily
and muttering in her sleep.

I went back to my rug and tried to go to sleep,
but I could not. Such an uneasy feeling was
upon me that I had to keep walking about. I
went out into the hall again and stood at the head
of the staircase. I thought I would take a walk
through the lower hall, and then go to bed
again.

The Drurys' carpets were all like velvet, and
my paws did not make a rattling on them as they
did on the oil cloth at the Morrises'. I crept
down the stairs like a cat, and walked along the
lower hall, smelling under all the doors, listening
as I went. There was no night light burning
down here, and it was quite dark, but if there had

THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE 11/

been . any strange person about I would have
smelled him.

I was surprised when I got near the farther end
of the hall, to see a tiny gleam of light shine for
an instant from under the dining-room door. Then
it went away again. The dining-room was the
place to eat. Surely none of the people in the
house would be there after the supper we had.

I went and sniffed under the door. There
was a smell there ; a strong smell like beggars and
poor people. It smelled like Jenkins. It was
Jenkins.

M

CHAPTER XIV

HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR

I HAT was the wretch doing in the house
with my dear Miss Laura ? I thought I
would go crazy. I scratched at the
door, and barked and yelped. I sprang up on it,
and though I was quite a heavy dog by this time,
I felt as light as a feather.

It seemed to me that I would go mad if I could
not get that door open. Every few seconds I
stopped and put my head down to the doorsill to
listen. There was a rushing about inside the
room, and a chair fell over, and some one seemed
to be getting out of the window.

This made me worse than ever. I did not
stop to think that I was only a medium-sized dog,
and that Jenkins would probably kill me, if he got
his hands on me. I was so furious that I thought
only of getting hold of him.

In the midst of the noise that I made, there
was a screaming and a rushing to and fro upstairs.
I ran up and down the hall, and half-way up the
steps and back again. I did not want Miss Laura
to come down, but how was I to make her under-

HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR 1 19

Stand ? There she was, in her white gown, lean-
ing over the raiHng, and holding back her long
hair, her face a picture of surprise and alarm.

"The dog has gone mad," screamed Miss
Bessie. ' ' Nurse, pour a pitcher of water on him. ' '
The nurse was more sensible. She ran down-
stairs, her night-cap flying, and a blanket that she
had seized from her bed, trailing behind her.
"There are thieves in the house," she shouted at
the top of her voice, "and the dog has found it
out."

She did not go near the dining-room door, but
threw open the front one, crying, "Policeman!
Policeman ! help, help, thieves, murder ! "

Such a screaming as that old woman made !
She was worse than I was. I dashed by her, out
through the hall door, and away down to the gate,
where I heard some one running, I gave a few
loud yelps to call Jim, and leaped the gate as the
man before me had done.

There was something savage in me that night.
I think it must have been the smell of Jenkins. I
felt as if I could tear him to pieces. I have never
felt so wicked since. I was hunting him, as he
had hunted me and my mother, and the thought
gave me pleasure.

Old Jim soon caught up with me, and I gave
him a push with my nose, to let him know I was
glad he had come. We rushed swiftly on, and at
the corner caught up with the miserable man who
was running away from us.

I gave an angry growl, and jumping up, bit at

i20 BEAUTIFUL JOE

his leg. He turned around, and though it was not
a very bright night, there was hght enough for me
to see the ugly face of my old master.

He seemed so angry to think that Jim and I
dared to snap at him. He caught up a handful
of stones, and with some bad words threw them
at us. Just then, away in front of us, was a queer
whistle, and then another one like it behind us.
Jenkins made a strange noise in his throat, and
started to run down a side street, away from the
direction of the two whistles.

I was afraid that he was going to get away, and
though I could not hold him, I kept springing up
on him, and once I tripped him up. Oh, how
furious he was ! He kicked me against the side
of a wall, and gave me two or three hard blows
with a stick that he caught up, and kept throwing
stones at me.

I would not give up, though I could scarcely
see him for the blood that was running over my
eyes. Old Jim got so angry whenever Jenkins
touched me, that he ran up behind and nipped
his calves, to make him turn on him.

Soon Jenkins came to a high wall, where he
stopped, and with a hurried look behind, began to
climb over it. The wall was too high for me to
jump. He was going to escape. What shall I
do ? I barked as loudly as I could for some one
to come, and then sprang up and held him by the
leg as he was getting over.

I had such a grip, that I went over the wall
with him, and left Jim on the other side. Jenkins

HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR 121

fell on his face in the earth. Then he got up, and
with a look of deadly hatred on his face, pounced
upon me. If help had not come, I think he would
have dashed out my brains against the wall, as he
dashed out my poor little brothers' against the
horse's stall. But just then there was a running
sound. Two men came down the street and sprang
upon the wall, just where Jim was leaping up and
down and barking in distress,

I saw at once by their uniform and the clubs in
their hands, that they were policemen. In one
short instant they had hold of Jenkins. He gave
up then, but he stood snarling at me like an ugly
dog. "If it hadn't been for that cur, I'd never a

been caught. Why ," and he staggered back

and uttered a bad word, "it's me own dog."

" More shame to you," said one of the police-
men, sternly ; " what have you been up to at this
time of night, to have your own dog and a quiet
minister's spaniel dog a chasing you through the
street ? ' '

Jenkins began to swear and would not tell them
anything. There was a house in the garden, and
just at this minute some one opened a window and
called out : " Hallo, there, what are you doing?"

" We're catching a thief, sir," said one of the
policemen, "leastwise I think that's what he's
been up to. Could you throw us down a bit of
rope? We've no handcuffs here, and one of us
has to go to the lock-up and the other to WashLig-
V.on street, where there's a woman yelling blue
mu:der ; and hurry up, please, sir."

122 BEAUTIFUL JOE

The gentleman threw down a rope, and in twc
minutes Jenkins' wrists were tied together, and he
was walked through the gate, saying bad words as
fast as he could to the policeman who was leading
him. " Good dogs," said the other policeman to
Jim and me. Then he ran up the street and we
followed him.

As we hurried along Washington street, and
came near our house, we saw lights gleaming
through the darkness, and heard people running
to and fro. The nurse's shrieking had alarmed
the neighborhood. The Morris boys were all out
in the street only half clad and shivering with cold,
and the Drurys' coachman, with no hat on, and
his hair sticking up all over his head, was running
about with a lantern.

The neighbors' houses were all lighted up, and
a good many people were hanging out of their
windows and opening their doors, and calling to
each other to know what all this noise meant.

When the policeman appeared with Jim and
me at his heels, quite a crowd gathered around
him to hear his part of the story. Jim and I
dropped on the ground panting as hard as we
could, and with little streams of water running
from our tongues. We were both pretty well used
up. Jim's back was bleeding in several places
from the stones that Jenkins had thrown at him,
and I was a mass of bruises.

Presently we were discovered, and then what a
fuss was made over us. "Brave dogs! noble
dogs !" everybody said, and patted and praised

HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR 1 23

US. We were very proud and happy, and stood
up and wagged our tails, at least Jim did, and I
wagged what 1 could. Then they found what a
state we were in. Mrs. Morris cried, and catching
me up in her arms, ran in the house with me, and
Jack followed with old Jim.

We all went into the parlor. There was a
good fire there, and Miss Laura and Miss Bessie
were sitting over it. They sprang up when they
saw us, and right there in the parlor washed our
wounds, and made us lie down by the fire.

"You saved our silver, brave Joe," said Miss
Bessie; "just wait till my papa and mamma
come home, and see what they will say. Well,
Jack, what is the latest?" as the Morris boys
came trooping into the room.

"The policeman has been questioning your
nurse, and examining the dining-room, and has
gone down to the station to make his report, and
do you know what he has found out ? ' ' said Jack,
excitedly.

' ' No — what ? ' ' asked Miss Bessie.

"Why that villain was going to burn your
house."

Miss Bessie gave a little shriek. " Why, what
do you mean ? ' '

"Well," said Jack, "they think by what they
discovered, that he planned to pack his bag with
silver, and carry it off ; but just before he did so he
would pour oil around the room, and set fire to it,
so people would not find out that he had been
robbing you."

124 BEAUTIFUL JOE

"Why we might have all been burned to
death," said Miss Bessie. "He couldn't burn
the dining-room without setting fire to the rest of
the house.

" Certainly not," said Jack, that shows what a
villain he is."

" Do they know this for certain. Jack ? " asked
Miss Laura.

"Well, they suppose so; they found some
bottles of oil along with the bag he had for the
silver."

" How horrible ! You darling old Joe, perhaps
you saved our lives," and pretty Miss Bessie
kissed my ugly, swollen head. I could do noth-
ing but lick her httle hand, but always after that I
thought a great deal of her.

It is now some years since all this happened,
and I might as well tell the end of it. The next
day the Drurys came home, and everything was
found out about Jenkins. The night they left
Fairport he had been hanging about the station.
He knew just who were left in the house, for he
had once supplied them with milk, and knew all
about their family. He had no customers at this
time, for after Mr. Harry rescued me, and that
piece came out in the paper about him, he found
that no one would take milk from him. His wife
died, and some kind people put his children in an
asylum, and he was obliged to sell Toby and the
cows. Instead of learning a lesson from all this,
and leading a better hfe, he kept sinking lower.

He was, therefore, ready for any kind of mis-

HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR 12$

chief that turned up, and when he saw the Drurys
going away in the train, he thought he would steal
a bag of sih^er from their sideboard, then set fire
to the house, and run away and hide the silver.
After a time he would take it to some city and
sell it.

He was made to confess all this. Then for his
wickedness he was sent to prison for ten years,
and I hope he will get to'be a better man there,'
and be one after he comes out.

I was sore and stiff for a long time, and one
day Mrs. Drury came over to see me. She did
not love dogs as the Morrises did. She tried to,
but she could not.

Dogs can see fun in things as well as people
can, and I buried my muzzle in the hearth-rug, so
that she would not see how I was curling up my
lip and smiling at her.

"You — are — a — good — dog," she said, slowly.
"You are" — then she stopped, and could not
think of anything else to say to me. I got up and
stood in front of her, for a well-bred dog should
not lie down when a lady speaks to him. I wag-
ged my body a little, and I would gladly have said
something to help her out of her difficulty, but I
couldn't. If she had stroked me it might have
helped her ; but she didn't w^ant to touch me, and
I knew she didn't want me to touch her, so I just
stood looking at her,

"Mrs. Morris," she said, turning from me
with a puzzled face, " I don't like animals, and I
can't pretend to, for they always find me out ; but .

126 BEAUTIFUL JOE

can't you let that dog know that I shall feel eter-
nally grateful to him for saving not only our
property — for that is a trifle — but my darling
daughter from fright and annoyance, and a pos-
sible injury or loss of life ? "

" I think he understands," said Mrs. Morris.
" He is a very wise dog." And smiling in great
amusement, she called me to her and put my paws
on her lap. "Look at that lady, Joe. She is
pleased with you for driving Jenkins away from
her house. You remember Jenkins ? "

I barked angrily and limped to the window.

"How intelligent he is," said Mrs. Drury.
' ' My husband has sent to New York for a watch-
dog, and he says that from this on our house shall
never be without one. Now I must go. Your
dog is happy, Mrs. Morris, and I can do nothing
for him, except to say that I shall never forget
him, and I wish he would come over occasionally
to see us. Perhaps when we get our dog he will.
I shall tell my cook whenever she sees him to give
him something to eat. This is a souvenir for
Laura of that dreadful night. I feel under a deep
obligation to you, so I am sure you will allow her
to accept it." Then she gave Mrs. Morris a little
box and went away.

When Miss Laura came in, she opened the box,
and found in it a handsome diamond ring. On
the inside of it was engraved : ' ' Laura, in
memory of December 20th, 18 — . From her
grateful friend, Bessie."

The diamond was worth hundreds of dollars,

HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR 1 27

and Mrs. Morris told Miss Laura that she had
rather she would not wear it then, while she was
a young girl. It was not suitable for her, and she
knew Mrs. Drury did not expect her to do so.
She wished to give her a valuable present, and
this would always be worth a great deal of money.

CHAPTER XV

OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE

VERY Other summer, the Morris children
were sent to some place in the country,
so that they could have a change of air,
and see what country life was like. As there were
so many of them they usually went different ways.

The summ.er after I came to them, Jack and
Carl went to an uncle in Vermont, Miss Laura went
to another in New Hampshire, and Ned and Willie
went to visit a maiden aunt who lived in the White
Mountains.

Mr. and Mrs. Morris stayed at home. Fairport
was a lovely place in summer, and many people
came there to visit.

The children took some of their pets with them,
and the others they left at home for their mother
to take care of. She never allowed them to take
a pet animal anywhere, unless she knew it would
be perfectly welcome. " Don't let your pets be a
worry to other people," she often said to them,
' ' or they will dislike them and you too. ' '

Miss Laura went away earher than the others,

for she had run down through the spring, and was
128

OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE 1 29

pale and thin. One day, early in June, we set out.
I say " we," for after my adventure with Jenkins,
Miss Laura said that I should never be parted from
her. If any one invited her to come and see
them and didn't want me, she would stay at home.

The whole family went to the station to see us
off. They put a chain on my collar and took me
to the baggage office and got two tickets for me.
One was tied to my collar and the other Miss Laura
put in her purse. Then I was put in a baggage
car and chained in a corner. I heard Mr. Morris
say that as we were only going a short distance, it
was not worth while to get an express ticket for me.

There was a dreadful noise and bustle at the
station. Whistles were blowing and people were
rushing up and down the platform. Some men
were tumbling baggage so fast into the car where
I was, that I was afraid some of it would fall on
me.

For a few minutes Miss Laura stood by the door
and looked in, but soon the men had piled up so
many boxes and trunks that she could not see me.
Then she went away. Mr. Morris asked one of
the men to see that I did not get hurt, and I heard
some money rattle. Then he went away too.

It was the beginning of June and the weather
had suddenly become very hot. We had a long,
cold spring, and not being used to the heat, it
seemed very hard to bear.

Before the train started, the doors of the bag-
gage car were closed, and it became quite dark

inside. The darkness, and the heat, and the close

9

130 BEAUTIFUL JOE

smell, and the noise, as we went rushing along,
made me feel sick and frightened.

I did not dare to lie down, but sat up trembling
and wishing that we might soon come to Riverdale
Station. But we did not get there for some time,
and I was to have a great fright.

I was thinking of all the stories that I knew of
animals traveling. In February, the Drurys' New-
foundland watch-dog, Pluto, had arrived from New
York, and he told Jim and me that he had a miser-
able journey.

A gentleman friend of Mr. Drury' shad brought
him from New York. He saw him chained up in
his car, and he went into his Pullman, first tipping
the baggage-master handsomely to look after him.
Pluto said that the baggage-master had a very red
nose, and he was always getting drinks for himself
when they stopped at a station, but he never once
gave him a drink or anything to eat, from the time
they left New York till they got to Fairport. When
the train stopped there, and Pluto's chain was un-
fastened, he sprang out on the platform and nearly
knocked Mr. Drury down. He saw some snow
that had sifted through the station roof and he was
so thirsty that he began to lick it up. When the
snow was all gone, he jumped up and licked the
frost on the windows.

Mr. Drury' s friend was so angry. He found
the baggage-master, and said to him : " What did
you mean, by coming into my car every few hours,
to tell me that the dog was fed, and watered, and
comfortable ? I shall report you, ' '

OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE I3I

He went into the office at the station, and com-
plained of the man, and was told that he was a
drinking man, and was going to be dismissed.

I was not afraid of suffering like Pluto, because
it was only going to take us a few hours to get to
Riverdale. I found that we always went slowly
before we came in to a station, and one time when
we began to slacken speed I thought that surely we
must be at our journey's end. However, it was
not Riverdale. The car gave a kind of jump,
then there was a crashing sound ahead, and we
stopped.

I heard men shouting and running up and
down, and I wondered what had happened. It
was all dark and still in the car, and nobody came
in, but the noise kept up outside, and I knew some-
thing had gone wrong with the train. Perhaps
Miss Laura had got hurt. Something must have
happened to her or she would come to me.

I barked and pulled at my chain till my neck
was sore, but for a long, long time I was there
alone. The men running about outside must have
heard me. If ever I hear a man in trouble and
crying for help I go to him and see what he
wants.

After such a long time that it seemed to me it
must be the middle of the night, the door at the
end of the car opened, and a man looked in.
' ' This is all through baggage for New York, miss,
I heard him say ; " they wouldn't put your dog in
here."

"Yes, they did — I am sure this is the car," I

132 BEAUTIFUL JOE

heard in the voice I knew so well ; "and won't
you get him out, please? He must be terribly
frightened."

The man stooped down and unfastened my
chain, grumbUng to himself because I had not
been put in another car. "Some folks tumble a
dog round as if he was a junk of coal," he said,
patting me kindly.

I was nearly wild with delight to get with Miss
Laura again, but I had barked so much, and
pressed my neck so hard with my collar that my
voice was all gone. I fawned on her, and wagged
myself about, and opened and shut my mouth,
but no sound came out of it.

It made Miss Laura nervous. She tried to
laugh and cry at the same time, and then bit her
lip hard, and said : "Oh, Joe, don't."

"He's lost his bark, hasn't he?" said the
man, looking at me curiously.

" It is a wicked thing to confine an animal in a
dark and closed car," said Miss Laura, trying to
see her way down the steps through her tears.

The man put out his hand and helped her.
" He's not suffered much, miss," he said ; " don't
you distress yourself. Now if you'd been a brake-
man on a Chicago train, as I was a few years ago,
and seen the animals run in for the stock yards,
you might talk about cruelty. Cars that ought to
hold a certain number of pigs, or sheep, or cattle,
jammed full with twice as many, and half of 'em
thrown out choked and smothered to death. I've
seen a man running up and down, raging and

OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE 1 33

swearing because the railway people hadn't let
him get in to tend to his pigs on the road."

" Miss Laura turned and looked at the man
with a very white face. " Is it like that now ? "
she asked.

' ' No, no, ' ' he said, hastily. " It' s better now.
They've got new regulations about taking care
of the stock ; but mind you, miss, the cruelty to
animals isn't all done on the railways. There's a
great lot of dumb creatures suffering all round
everywhere, and if they could speak, 'twould be a
hard showing for some other people besides the
railway men."

He lifted his cap and hurried down the plat-
form, and Miss Laura, her face very much troubled,
picked her way among the bits of coal and wood
scattered about the platform, and went into the
waiting room of the little station.

She took me up to the filter and let some water
run in her hand, and gave it to me to lap. Then
she sat down and I leaned my head against her
knees, and she stroked my throat gently.

There were some people sitting about the room,
and, from their talk, I found out what had taken
place. There had been a freight train on a side
track at this station, waiting for us to get by. The
switchman had carelessly left the switch open after
this train went by, and when we came along after-
ward, our train, instead of running in by the plat-
form, went crashing into the freight train. If we
had been going fast, great damage might have
been done. As it was, our engine was smashed

134 BEAUTIFUL JOE

SO badly that it could not take us on ; the passen-
gers were frightened ; and we were having a tedi-
ous time waiting for another engine to come and
take us to Riverdale.

After the accident, the trainmen were so busy-
that Miss Laura could get no one to release me.

While I sat by her, I noticed an old gentleman
staring at us. He was such a queer-looking old
gentleman. He looked like a poodle. He had
bright brown eyes, and a pointed face, and a shock
of white hair that he shook every few minutes.
He sat with his hands clasped on the top of his
cane, and he scarcely took his eyes from Miss
Laura's face. Suddenly he jumped up and came
and sat down beside her.

"An ugly dog, that," he said, pointing to me.

Most young ladies would have resented this,
but Miss Laura only looked amused. " He seems
beautiful to me," she said, gently.

"H'm, because he's your dog," said the old
man, darting a sharp look at me. "What's the
matter with him ? ' '

"This is his first journey by rail, and he's a
little frightened.

"No wonder. Tiie Lord only knows the suf-
fering of animals in transportation," said the old
gentleman. "My dear young lady, if you could
see what I have seen, you'd never eat another bit
of meat all the days of your life."

Miss Laura wrinkled her forehead. " I know
— I have heard," she faltered. "It must be
terrible.

OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE I 3 J,

"Terrible — it's awful," said the gentleman.
"Think of the cattle on the western plains.
Choked with thirst in summer, and starved and
frozen in winter. Dehorned and goaded on to
trains and steamers. Tossed about and wounded
and suffering on voyages. Many of them dying
and being thrown into the sea. Others landed
sick and frightened. Some of them slaughtered
on docks and wharves to keep them from dropping
dead in their tracks. What kind of food does
their flesh make? It's rank poison. Three of
my family have died of cancer. I am a vege-
tarian."

The strange old gentleman darted from his
seat, and began to pace up and down the room.
I was very glad he had gone, for Miss Laura hated
to hear of cruelty of any kind, and her tears were
dropping thick and fast on my brown coat.

The gentleman had spoken very loudly, and
every one in the room had listened to what he
said. Among them, was a very young man, with
a cold, handsome face. He looked as if he was
annoyed that the older man should have made
Miss Laura cry.

"Don't you think, sir," he said, as the old
gentleman passed near him in walking up and
dov/n the floor, " that there is a great deal of mock
sentiment about this business of taking care of the
dumb creation ? They were made for us. They've
got to suffer and be killed to supply our wants.
The cattle and sheep, and other animals would
over-run the earth, if we didn't kill them."

136 BEAUTIFUL JOE

"Granted," said the old man, stopping right
in front of him. "Granted, young man, if you
take out that word suffer. The Lord made the
sheep, and the cattle, and the pigs. They are
his creatures just as much as we are. We can
kill them, but we've no right to make them
suffer. ' '

"But we can't help it, sir."

"Yes, we can, my young man. It's a possi-
ble thing to raise healthy stock, treat it kindly,
kill it mercifully, eat it decently. When men do
that I, for one, will cease to be a vegetarian.
You're only a boy. You haven't traveled as I
have. I've been from one end of this country to
the other. Up north, down south, and out west,
I've seen sights that made me shudder, and I tell
you the Lord will punish this great American
nation if it doesn't change its treatment of the
dumb animals committed to its care."

The young man looked thoughtful, and did
not reply. A very sweet faced old lady sitting
near him answered the old gentleman. I don't
think I have ever seen such a fine-looking old
lady as she was. Her hair was snowy white, and
her face was deeply wrinkled, yet she was tall and
stately, and her expression was as pleasing as my
dear Miss Laura's.

" I do not think we are a wicked nation," she
said, softly. "We are a younger nation than
many of the nations of the earth, and I think that
many of our sins arise from ignorance and
thoughtlessness."

OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE 1 37

"Yes, madame, yes, madame," said the fiery
old gentleman, staring hard at her. "I agree
with you there."

She smiled very pleasantly at him and went
on. "I, too, have been a traveler, and I have
talked to a great many wise and good people on
the subject of the cruel treatment of animals, and
I find that many of them have never thought
about it. They, themselves, never knowingly
ill-treat a dumb creature, and when they are told
stories of inhuman conduct, they say in surprise,
' Why, these things surely can't exist ! ' You see
they have never been brought in contact with
them. As soon as they learn about them, they
begin to agitate and say, ' We must have this
thing stopped. Where is the remedy ?' "

"And what is it, what is it, madame, in your
opinion?" said the old gentleman, pawing the
floor with impatience.

" Just the remedy that I would propose for the
great evil of intemperance," said the old lady,
smiling at him. "Legislation and education.
Legislation for the old and hardened, and educa-
tion for the young and tender. I would tell the
schoolboys and schoolgirls that alcohol will destroy
the framework of their beautiful bodies, and that
cruelty to any of God's living creatures will blight
and destroy their innocent young souls."

The young man spoke again. "Don't you
think," he said, "that you temperance and
humane people lay too much stress upon the
education of our youth in all lofty and noble sen-

138 BEAUTIFUL JOE

timents ? The human heart will always be wicked.
Your Bible tells you that, doesn't it? You can't
educate all the badness out of children."

"We don't expect to do that," said the old
lady, turning her pleasant face toward him ; ' ' but
even if the human heart is desperately wicked,
shouldn't that make us much more eager to try to
educate, to ennoble, and restrain ? However, as
far as my experience goes, and I have lived in
this wicked world for seventy-five years, I find
that the human heart, though wicked and cr^iel,
as you say, has yet some soft and tender spots,
and the impressions made upon it in youth are
never, never effaced. Do you not remember
better than anything else, standing at your
mother's knee — the pressure of her hand, her
kiss on your forehead ? ' '

By this time our engine had arrived. A
whistle was blowing, and nearly every one was
rushing from the room, the impatient old gentle-
man among the first. Miss Laura was hurriedly
trying to do up her shawl strap, and I was stand-
ing by, wishing that I could help her. The old
lady and the young man were the only other peo-
ple in the room, and we could not help hearing
what they said.

"Yes, I do," he said in a thick voice, and
his face got very red. " She is dead now — I have
no mother."

" Poor boy I " and the old lady laid her hand
on his shoulder. They were standing up, and she
was taller than he was. "May God bless you.

OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE 1 39

[ know you have a kind heart. I have four stal-
wart boys, and you remind me of the youngest.
If you are ever in Washington come to see me."
She gave him some name, and he Hfted his hat
and looked as if he was astonished to find out
who she was. Then he, too, went away, and she
turned to Miss Laura. "Shall I help you, my
dear?"

" If you please," said my young mistress. " I
can't fasten this strap."

In a few seconds the bundle was done up, and
we were joyfully hastening to the train. It was
only a few miles to Rivcrdale, so the conductor
let me stay in the car with Miss Laura. She
spread her coat out on the seat in front of her,
and I sat on it and looked out of the car window
as we sped along through a lovely country, all
green and fresh in the June sunhght. How light
and pleasant this car was — so different from the
baggage car. What frightens an animal most of
all things, is not to see where it is going, not to
know what is going to happen to it. I think that
they are very like human beings in this respect.

The lady had taken a seat beside Miss Laura,
and as we went along, she too looked out of the
window and said in a low voice :

« What is so rare as a day in June,
Then, if ever, come perfect days."

" That is very true," said Miss Laura ; " how
sad that the autumn must come, and the cold
winter."

140 BEAUTIFUL JOE

"No, my dear, not sad. It is but a prepara-
tion for another summer.

"Yes, I suppose it is," said Miss Laura.
Then she continued a httle shyly, as her com-
panion leaned over to stroke my cropped ears :
"You seem very fond of animals."

"I am, my dear. I have four horses, two
cows, a tame squirrel, three dogs, and a cat."

' ' You should be a happy- woman, ' ' said Miss
Laura, with a smile.

" I think I am. I must not forget my horned
toad, Diego, that I got in Cahfornia. I keep him
in the green-house, and he is very happy catching
flies and holding his horny head to be scratched
whenever any one comes near."

"I don't see how any one can be unkind to
animals," said Miss Laura, thoughtfully.

" Nor I, my dear child. It has always caused
me intense pain to witness the torture of dumb
animals. Nearly seventy years ago, when I was
a little girl walking the streets of Boston, I would
tremble and grow faint at the cruelty of drivers to
over-loaded horses. I was dmid and did not dare
speak to them. Very often, I ran home and flung
myself in my mother's arms with a burst of tears,
and asked her if nothing could be done to help
the poor animals. With mistaken, motherly
kindness, she tried to put the subject out of my
thoughts. I was carefully guarded from seeing or
hearing of any instances of cruelty. But the ani-
mals went on suffering just the same, and when I
became a woman, I saw my cowardice. I agitated

OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE I41

the matter among my friends, and told them that
our whole dumb creation was groaning together in
pain, and would continue to groan, unless merci-
ful human beings were willing to help them. I
was able to assist in the formation of several socie-
ties for the prevention of cruelty to animals, and
they have done good service. Good service not
only to the horses and cows, but to the nobler ani-
mal, man. I believe that in saying to a cruel man,
' You shall not overwork, torture, mutilate, nor kill
your animal, or neglect to provide it with proper
food and shelter,' we are making him a little
nearer the kingdom of heaven than he was before.
For ' Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he
also reap.' If he sows seeds of unkindness and
cruelty to man and beast, no one knows what the
blackness of the harvest will be. His poor horse,
quivering under a blow, is not the worst sufferer.
Oh, if people would only understand that their
unkind deeds will recoil upon their own heads
with tenfold force — but, my dear child, I am fan-
cying that I am addressing a drawing-room meet-
ing— and here we are at your station. Good-bye ;
keep your happy face and gentle ways. I hope
that we may meet again some day." She pressed
Miss Laura's hand, gave me a farewell pat, and
the next minute we were outside on the platform,
and she was smiling through the window at us.

CHAPTER XVI

DINGLEY FARM

Y dear niece," and a stout, middle-aged
woman, with a red, lively face, threw
both her arms around Miss Laura.
" How glad I am to see you, and this is the dog.
Good Joe, I have a bone waiting for you. Here is
Uncle John."

A tall, good-looking man stepped up and put
out a big hand, in which my mistress' little fingers
were quite swallowed up. " I am glad to see you,
Laura. Well, Joe, how d'ye do, old boy? I've
heard about you."

It made me feel very welcome to have them
both notice me, and I was so glad to be out of the
train that I frisked for joy around their feet as we
went to the wagon. It was a big double one, with
an awning over it to shelter it from the sun's rays,
and the horses were drawn up in the shade of a
spreading tree. They were two powerful black
horses, and as they had no blinders on, they could
see us coming. Their faces lighted up and they
moved their ears and pawed the ground, and
whinnied when Mr. Wood went up to them. They

DINGLEY FARM 1 43

tried to rub their heads against him, and I saw
plainly that they loved him. ' ' Steady there, Cleve
and Pacer," he said ; " now back, back up."

By this time, Mrs. Wood, Miss Laura and I
were in the wagon. Then Mr. Wood jumped in,
took up the reins, and off we went. How the two
black horses did spin along ! I sat on the seat be-
side Mr. Wood, and sniffed in the deHcious air,
and the lovely smell of flowers and grass. How
glad I was to be in the country ! What long races
I should have in the green fields. I wished that
I had another dog to run with me, and wondered
very much whether Mr. Wood kept one. I knew
I should soon find out, for whenever Miss Laura
went to a place she wanted to know what animals
there were about.

We drove a little more than a mile along a
country road where there were scattered houses.
Miss Laura answered questions about her family,
and asked questions about Mr. Harry, who was
away -at college and hadn't got home. I don't
think I have said before that Mr. Harry was Mrs.
Wood's son. She was a widow with one son when
she married Mr. Wood, so that Mr. Harry, though
the Morrises called him cousin, was not really their
cousin.

I was very glad to hear them say that he was
soon coming home, for I had never forgotten that
but for him I should never have known Miss Laura
and gotten into my pleasant home.

By-and-by, I heard Miss Laura say : "Uncle
John, have you a dog ? "

144 BEAUTIFUL JOE

"Yes, Laura," he said ; " I have one to-day,
but I sha'n't have one to-morrow."

" Oh, uncle, what do you mean ? " she asked.

"Well, Laura," he replied, "you know ani-
mals are pretty much like people. There are
some good ones and some bad ones. Now, this
dog is a snarling, cross-grained, cantankerous
beast, and when I heard Joe was coming, I said :
' Now we'll have a good dog about the place, and
here's an end to the bad one.' So I tied Bnmo
up, and to-morrow I shall shoot him. Something's
got to be done, or he'll be biting some one."

"Uncle," said Miss Laura, "people don't al-
ways die when they are bitten by dogs, do they ?' *

" No, certainly not," replied Mr. Wood. " In
my humble opinion there's a great lot of nonsense
talked about the poison of a dog's bite and people
dying of hydrophobia. Ever since I was born I've
had dogs snap at me and stick their teeth in my
flesh ; and I've never had a symptom of hydro-
phobia, and never intend to have. I believe half
the people that are bitten by dogs frighten them-
selves into thinking they are fatally poisoned. I
was reading the other day about the policemen in
a big city in England that have to catch stray dogs,
and dogs supposed to be mad, and all kinds of
dogs, and they get bitten over and over again, and
never think anything about it. But let a lady or a
gentleman walking along the street have a dog bite
them, and they worry themselves till their blood is
in a fever, and they have to hurry across to France
to get Pasteur to cure them. They imagine they've

DINGLE Y FARM I 45

got hydrophobia, and they've got it because they
imagine it. I beheve if I fixed my attention on
that right thumb of mine, and thought I had a sore
there, and picked at it and worried it, in a short
time a sore would come, and I'd be off to the doc-
tor to have it cured. At the same time dogs have
no business to bite, and I don't recommend any
one to get bitten."

"But, uncle," said Miss Laura, "isn't there
such a thing as hydrophobia ? "

" Oh, yes ; I dare say there is. I believe that
a careful e.xamination of the records of death re-
ported in Boston from hydrophobia for the space
of thirty-two years, shows that two people actually
died from it. Dogs are like all other animals.
They're lialjle to sickness, and they've got to be
watched. I think my horses would go mad if I
starved them, or over-fed them, or over-worked
them, or let them stand in laziness, or kept them
dirty, .or didn't give them water enough. They'd
get some disease, anyway. If a person owns an
animal, let him take care of it, and it's all right.
If it shows signs of sickness, shut it up and watch
it. If the sickness is incurable, kill it. Here's a
sure way to prevent hydrophobia. Kill off all
ownerless and vicious dogs. If you can't do that,
have plenty of water where they can get at it. A
dog that has all the water he wants, will never go
mad. This dog of mine has not one single thing
the matter with him but pure ugliness. Yet, if I
let him loose, and he ran through the village with
his tongue out, I'll warrant you there' d be a cry of

146 BEAUTIFUL JOE

' mad dog ! ' However, I'm going to kill him. I've
no use for a bad dog. Have plenty of animals, I
say, and treat them kindly, but if there's a vicious
one among them, put it out of the way, for it is a
constant danger to man and beast. It's queer how
ugly some people are about their dogs. They'll
keep them no matter how they worry other people,
and even when they're snatching the bread out of
their neighbors' mouths. But I say that is not the
fault of the four-legged dog. A human dog is the
worst of all. There's a band of sheep-killing dogs
here in Riverdale, that their owners can't, or won't,
keep out of mischief. Meek-looking fellows some
of them are. The owners go to bed at night, and
the dogs pretend to go, too ; but when the house is
quiet and the family asleep, off goes Rover or Fido
to worry poor, defenseless creatures that can't de-
fend themselves. Their taste for sheep's blood is
like the taste for liquor in men, and the dogs will
travel as far to get their fun, as the men will travel
for theirs. They've got it in them, and you can't
get it out."

"Mr. Windham cured his dog," said Mrs.
Wood.

Mr. Wood burst into a hearty laugh. " So he
did, so he did. I must tell Laura about that,
Windham is a neighbor of ours, and last summer
I kept telling him that his collie was worrying my
Shropshires. He wouldn't believe me, but I knew
I was right, and one night when Harry was home,
he lay in wait for the dog and lassoed him. I tied
him up and sent for Windham. You should have

DINGLEY FARM 147

asen his face, and the dog's face. He said two
words, ' You scoundrel ! ' and the dog cowered at
his feet as if he had been shot. He was a fine
dog, but he'd got corrupted by evil companions.
Then Windham asked me where my sheep were.
I told him in the pasture. He asked me if I still
had my old ram Bolton. I said yes, and then he
wanted eight or ten feet of rope. I gave it to him,
and wondered what on earth he was going to do
with it. He tied one end of it to the dog's collar,
and holding the other in his hand, set out for the
pasture. He asked us to go with him, and when
he got there, he told Harry he'd like to see him
catch Bolton. There wasn't any need to catch him,
he'd come to us like a dog. Harry whistled, and
when Bolton came up, Windham fastened the
rope's end to his horns, and let him go. The ram
was frightened and ran, dragging the dog with
him. We let them out of the pasture into an open
field, 'and for a few minutes there was such a rac-
ing and chasing over that field as I never saw
before. Harry leaned up against the bars and
laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks.
Then Bolton got mad, and began to make battle
with the dog, pitching into him with his horns.
We soon stopped that, for the spirit had all gone
out of Dash. Windham unfastened the rope, and
told him to get home, and if ever I saw a dog run,
that one did. Mrs. Windham set great store by
him, and her husband didn't w^ant to kill him. But
he said Dash had got to give up his sheep-
killin^, if he wanted to live. That cured him.

148 BEAUTIFUL JOE

He's never worried a sheep from that day to this,
and if you offer him a bit of sheep' s wool now, he
tucks his tail between his legs, and runs for home.
Now, I must stop my talk, for we're in sight of the
farm. Yonder' s our boundary line, and there's
the house. You'll see a difference in the trees
since you were here before. ' '

We had come to a turn in the road where the
ground sloped gently upward. We turned in at
the gate, and drove between rows of trees up to a
long, low, red house, with a veranda all round it.
There was a wide lawn in front, and away on our
right were the farm buildings. They too, were
painted red, and there were some trees by them
that Mr. Wood called his windbreak, because they
kept the snow from drifting in the winter time.

I thought it was a beautiful place. Miss Laura
had been here before, but not for some years, so
she, too, was looking about quite eagerly.

"Welcome to Dingley Farm, Joe," said Mrs.
Wood, with her jolly laugh, as she watched me
jump from the carriage seat to the ground. ' ' Come
in, and I'll introduce you to pussy."

"Aunt Hattie, why is the farm called Dingley
Farm ? ' ' said Miss Laura, as we went into the
house. " It ought to be Wood Farm."

"Dingley is made out of 'dingle,' Laura.
You know that pretty hollow back of the pasture ?
It is what they call a " dingle.' So this farm was
called Dingle Farm till the people around about got
saying ' Dingley ' instead. I suppose they found
it easier. Why, here is Lolo coming to see Joe."

DINGLEY FARM I 49

Walking along the wide hall that ran through
the house was a large tortoise-shell cat. She had
a prettily marked face, and she was waving her
large tail like a flag, and mewing kindly to greet
her mistress. But when she saw me what a face
she made. She flew on the hall table, and putting
up her back till it almost lifted her feet from the
ground, began to spit at me and bristle with rage.

"Poor Lolo," said Mrs. Wood, going up to
her. " Joe is a good dog, and not like Bruno.
He won't hurt you."

I wagged myself about a little, and looked
kindly at her, but she did nothing but say bad
words to me. It was weeks and weeks before I
made friends with that cat. She was a young
thing, and had known only one dog, and he was
a bad one, so she supposed all dogs were like him.

There was a number of rooms opening off the
hall, and one of them was the dining room where
they had tea. I lay on a rug outside the door and
watched them. There was a small table spread
with a white cloth, and it had pretty dishes and
glassware on it, and a good many different kinds
of things to eat. A little French girl, called Adele,
kept coming and going from the kitchen to give
them hot cakes, and fried eggs, and hot coffee.
As soon as they finished their tea, Mrs. Wood gave
me one of the best meals that I ever had in my
hfe.

CHAPTER XVII

MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES

HE morning after we arrived in Riverdale,
I was up very early and walking around
li the house. I slept in the woodshed,
and could run outdoors whenever I liked.

The woodshed was at the back of the house,
and near it was the tool shed. Then there was a
carriage house, and a plank walk leading to the
barnyard.

I ran up this walk, and looked into the first
building I came to. It was the horse stable. A
door stood open, and the morning sun was glanc-
ing in. There were several horses there, some
with their heads toward me, and some with their
tails. I saw that instead of being tied up, there
were gates outside their stalls, and they could
stand in any way they liked.

There was a man moving about at the other
end of the stable, and long before he saw me, I
kneAv that it was INIr. Wood. What a nice, clean
stable he had ! There was always a foul smell
coming out of Jenkins's stable, but here the air
seemed as pure inside as outside. There was 'a

MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES 15I

number of little gratings in the wall to let in the
fresh air, and they were so placed that drafts
would not blow on the horses. Mr. Wood was
going from one horse to another, giving them hay,
and talking to them in a cheerful voice. At last
he spied me, and cried out, "The top of the
morning to you, Joe ! You are up early. Don't
come too near the horses, good dog," as I walked
in beside him ; " they might think you are another
Bruno, and give you a sly bite or kick. I should
have shot him long ago. 'Tis hard to make a
good dog suffer for a bad one, but that's the way
of the world. Well, old fellow, what do you think
of my horse stable? Pretty fair, isn't it.''" And
Mr. W^ood went on talking to me as he fed and
groomed his horses, till I soon found out that his
chief pride was in them.

I like to have human beings talk to me. Mr.
Morris often reads his sermons to me, and Miss
Laura tells me secrets that I don't think she would
tell to any one else.

I watched Mr. Wood carefully, while he
groomed a huge, gray cart-horse, that he called
Dutchman. He took a brush in his right hand,
and a curry-comb in his left, and he curried and
brushed every part of the horse's skin, and after-
ward wiped him with a cloth. ' ' A good grooming
is equal to two quarts of oats, Joe," he said to me.

Then he stooped down and examined the
horse's hoofs. "Your shoes are too heavy,
Dutchman," he said; "but that pig-headed
blacksmith thinks he knows more about horses

152 BEAUTIFUL JOE

than I do. 'Don't cut the sole nor the frog,* I
say to him. ' Don't pare the hoof so much, and
don't rasp it ; and fit your shoe to the foot, and
not the foot to the shoe,' and he looks as if he
wanted to say, * Mind your own business.' We'll
not go to him again. ' 'Tis hard to teach an old
dog new tricks.' I got you to work for me, not
to wear out your strength in lifting about his
weighty shoes."

Mr, Wood stopped talking for a few minutes,
and whistled a tune. Then he began again.
"I've made a study of horses, Joe. Over forty
years I've studied them, and it's my opinion that
the average horse knows more than the average
man that drives him. When I think of the stupid
fools that are goading patient horses about, beat-
ing them and misunderstanding them, and think-
ing they are only clods of earth with a little life in
them, I'd like to take their horses out of the shafts
and harness them in, and I'd trot them off at a
pace, and slash them, and jerk them, till I guess
they'd come out with a little less patience than the
animal does.

" Look at this Dutchman — see the size of him.
You'd think he hadn't any more nerves than a bit
of granite. Yet he's got a skin as sensitive as a
girl's. See how he quivers if I run the curry-comb
too harshly over him. The idiot I got him from
didn't know what was the matter with him. He'd
bought him for a reliable horse, and there he was,
kicking and stamping whenever the boy went near
him. ' Your boy's got too heavy a hand, Deacon

MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES 1 53

Jones,' said I, when he described the horse's
actions to me. ' You may depend upon it, a four-
legged creature, unHke a two-legged one, has a
reason for everything he does.' ' But he's only a
draught horse,' said Deacon Jones. 'Draught
horse or no draught horse,' said I, 'you're de-
scribing a horse with a tender skin to me, and I
don't care if he's as big as an elephant.* Well,
the old man grumbled and said he didn't want
any thoroughbred airs in his stable, so I bought
you, didn't I, Dutchman?" and Mr. Wood
stroked him kindly and went to the next stall.

In each stall was a small tank of water with a
sliding cover, and I found out afterward that these
covers were put on when a horse came in too
heated to have a drink. At any other time, he
could drink all he liked. Mr. Wood believed in
having plenty of pure water for all his animals
and they all had their own place to get a drink.

Even I had a little bowl of water in the wood-
shed, though I could easily have run up to the
barnyard when I wanted a drink. As soon as I
came, Mrs. Wood asked Adele to keep it there for
me and when I looked up gratefully at her, she
said : " Every animal should have its own feeding
place and its own sleeping place, Joe; that is only
fair. ' '

The next horses Mr. Wood groomed were the
black ones, Cleve and Pacer. Pacer had some-
thing wrong with his mouth, and Mr. Wood turned
back his Hps and examined it carefully. This he
was able to do, for there were large windows in the

154 BEAUTIFUL JOE

Stable and it was as light as Mr. Wood's house
was.

" No dark corners here, eh Joe ! " said Mr.
Wood, as he came out of the stall and passed me
to get a bottle from a shelf. "When this stable
was built, I said no dirt holes for careless men here.
I want the sun to shine in the corners, and I don't
want my horses to smell bad smells, for they hate
them, and I don't want them starting when they
go into the light of day, just because they've been
kept in a black hole of a stable, and I've never had
a sick horse yet."

He poured something from a bottle into a saucer
and went back to Pacer with it. I followed him
and stood outside. Mr. Wood seemed to be
washing a sore in the horse's mouth. Pacer
winced a little, and Mr. Wood said: "Steady,
steady, my beauty ; 'twill soon be over."

The horse fixed his intelligent eyes on his
master and looked as if he knew that he was try-
ing to do him good.

' ' Just look at these lips, Joe, ' ' said Mr. Wood ;
delicate and fine like our own, and yet there are
brutes that will jerk them as if they were made of
iron. I wish the Lord would give horses voices
just for one week. I tell you they'd scare
some of us. Now, Pacer, that's over. I'm not
going to dose you much, for I don't believe in
it. If a horse has got a serious trouble, get
a good horse doctor, say I. If it's a simple
thing, try a simple remedy. There's been many
a good horse drugged and dosed to death.

MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES I 55

Well, Scamp, my beauty, how are you, this
morning ? "

In thestall next to Pacer, was a small, jet-black
mare, with a lean head, slender legs, and a curious
restless manner. She was a regular greyhound of
a horse, no spare flesh, yet wiry and able to do a
great deal of work. She was a wicked looking little
thing, so I thought I had better keep at a safe dis-
tance from her heels.

Mr. Wood petted her a great deal and I saw
that she was his favorite. "Saucebox," he ex-
claimed, when she pretended to bite him, "you
know if you bite me, I'll bite back again. I think
I've conquered you," he said, proudly, as he
stroked her glossy neck ; ' ' but what a dance you
led me. Do you remember how I bought you for
a mere song, because you had a bad habit of turn-
ing around like a flash in front of anything that
frightened you, and bolting off the other way?
And how did I cure you, my beauty ? Beat you
and make you stubborn ? Not I. I let you go
round and round ; I turned you and twisted
you, the oftener the better for me, till at last I got
it into your pretty head that turning and twisting
was addling your brains, and you had better let
me be master.

" You've minded me from that day, haven't
you? Horse, or man, or dog aren't much good
till they learn to obey, and I've thrown you down
and I'll do it again if you bite me, so take care."

Scamp tossed her pretty head, and took little
pieces of Mr. Wood's shirt sleeve in her mouth,

156 BEAUTIFUL JOE

keeping her cunning brown eye on him as if to
see how far she could go. But she did not bite
him. I think she loved him, for when he left her
she whinnied shrilly, and he had to go back and
stroke and caress her.

After that I often used to watch her as she
went about the farm. She always seemed to be
tugging and striving at her load, and trying to step
out fast and do a great deal of work. Mr. Wood
was usually driving her. The men didn't like her,
and couldn't m.anage her. She had not been
properly broken in.

After Mr. Wood finished his work he went and
stood in the doorway. There were six horses
altogether : Dutchman, Cleve, Pacer, Scamp, a
bay mare called Ruby, and a young horse belong-
ing to Mr. Harry, whose name was Fleetfoot.

" What do you think of them all ? " said Mr.
Wood, looking down at me. " A pretty fine-look-
ing lot of horses, aren' t they ? Not a thoroughbred
there, but worth as much to me as if each had a
pedigree as long as this plank walk. There's a
lot of humbug about this pedigree business in
horses. Mine have their manes and tails anyway,
and the proper use of their eyes, which is more
liberty than some thoroughbreds get.

"I'd like to see the man that would persuade
me to put blinders or check-reins or any other in-
strument of torture on my horses. Don't the sim-
pletons know that blinders are the cause of — well,
I wouldn't like to say how many of our accidents,
Joe, for fear you'd think me extravagant, and the

MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES 1 57

check-rein drags up a horse's head out of its fine
natural curve and presses sinews, bones, and joints
together, till the horse is well-nigh mad. Ah,
Joe, this is a cruel world for man or beast. You're
a standing token of that, with your missing ears
and tail. And now I've got to go and be cruel,
and shoot that dog. He must be disposed of
before anyone else is astir. How I hate to take
life."

He sauntered down the walk to the tool shed,
went in and soon came out leading a large, brown
dog by a chain. This was Bruno. He was snap-
ping and snarling and biting at his chain as he
went along, though Mr. Wood led him very kindly,
and when he saw me he acted as if he could have
torn me to pieces. After Mr. Wood took him
behind the barn, he came back and got his gun.
I ran away so that I would not hear the sound of
it, for I .could not help feeling sorry for Bruno.

Miss Laura's room was on one side of the
house, and in the second story. There was a lit-
tle balcony outside it, and when I got near I saw
that she was standing out on it wrapped in a shawl.
Her hair was streaming over her shoulders, and
she was looking down into the garden where there
were a great many white and yellow flowers in
bloom.

I barked, and she looked at me. " Dear old
Joe, I will get dressed and come down."

She hurried into her room, and I lay on the
veranda till I heard her step. Then I jumped up.
She unlocked the front door, aftd we went for a

158 BEAUTIFUL JOE

walk down the lane to the road until we heard the
breakfast bell. As soon as- we heard it we ran
back to the house, and Miss Laura had such an
appetite for her breakfast that her aunt said the
country had done her good already.

y^

CHAPTER XVIII

MRS. wood's poultry

,FTER breakfast, Mrs. Wood put on a
large apron, and going into the kitchen,
said: "Have you any scraps for the
hens, Adele ? Be sure and not give me anything
salty."

The French girl gave her a dish of food, then
Mrs. Wood asked Miss Laura to go and see her
chickens, and away we went to the poultry house.

On the way we saw Mr. Wood. He was sit-
ting on the step of the tool shed cleaning his gun.
" Is the dog dead ? " asked Miss Laura.

" Yes," he said.

She sighed and said: "Poor creature, I am
sorry he had to be killed. Uncle, what is the
most merciful way to kill a dog ? Sometimes,
when they get old, they should be put out of the
way.

"You can shoot them," he said, "or you can

poison them. I shot Bruno through his head into

his neck. There's a right place to aim at. It's a

little one side of the top of the skull. If you'll

remind me I'll show you a circular I have in the

159

l6o BEAUTIFUL JOE

house. It tells the proper way to kill animals.
The American Humane Education Society in
Boston puts it out, and it's a merciful thing.

"You don't know anything about the slaugh-
tering of animals, Laura, and it*s well you don't.
There's an awful amount of cruelty practised, and
practised by some people that think themselves
pretty good, I wouldn't have my lambs killed
the way my father had his for a kingdom. Fll
never forget the first one I saw butchered. I
wouldn't feel worse at a hanging now. And that
white ox, Hattie — you remember my telling you
about him. He had to be killed, and father sent
for the butcher„ I was only a lad, and I was all
of a shudder to have the life of the creature I had
known taken from him. The butcher, stupid
clown, gave him eight blows before he struck the
right place. The ox bellowed, and turned his
great black eyes on my father, and I fell in a
faint. ' '

Miss Laura turned away, and Mrs. Wood fol-
lowed her, saying : "If ever you want to kill a cat.
Laura, give it cyanide of potassium. I killed a poor
old sick cat for Mrs. Windham the other day. We
put half a teaspoonful of pure cyanide of potassium
in a long-handled wooden spoon, and dropped it
on the cat's tongue, as near the throat as we
could. Poor pussy — she died in a few seconds.
Do you know, I was reading such a funny thing
the other day about giving cats medicine. They
hate it, and one can scarcely force it into their
mouths on account of their sharp teeth. The way

MRS. wood's poultry i6i

is, to smear it on their sides, and they hck it off.
A good idea, isn't it? Here we are at the hen
house, or rather one of the hen houses."

"Don't you keep your hens all together ? '*
asked Miss Laura.

"Only in the winter time," said Mrs. Wood.
" I divide my flock in the spring. Part of them
stay here and part go to the orchard to live in
little movable houses that we put about in differ-
ent places. I feed each flock morning and even-
ing at their own little house. They know they'll
get no food even if they come to my house, so
they stay at home. And they know they'll get
no food between times, so all day long they pick
and scratch in the orchard, and destroy so many
bugs and insects that it more than pays for the
trouble of keeping them there."

" Doesn't this flock want to mix up with the
other?" asked Miss Laura, as she stepped into the
little wooden house.

"No ; they seem to understand. I keep my
eye on them for a while at first, and they soon find
out that they're not to fly either over the garden
fence or the orchard fence. They roam over the
farm and pick up what they can get. There's a
good deal of sense in hens, if one manages them
properly. I love them because they are such good
mothers."

We were in the little wooden house by this time,
and I looked around it with surprise. It was bet-
ter than some of the poor people's houses in Fair-
port. The walls were white and clean, so were

l62 BEAUTIFUL JOE

the little ladders that led up to different kinds of
roosts, where the fowls sat at night. Some roosts
were thin and round, and some were broad and
flat. Mrs. Wood said that the broad ones were for
a heavy fowl called the Brahma. Every part of
the little house was almost as light as it was out-
doors, on account of the large windows.

Miss Laura spoke of it. ' ' Why, auntie, I
never saw such a light hen house.

Mrs. Wood was diving into a partly shut-in
place, where it was not so light, and where the
nests were. She straightened herself up, her face
redder than ever, and looked at the windows with
a pleased smile.

"Yes, there's not a hen house in New Hamp-
shire with such big windows. Whenever I look at
them, I think of my mother's hens, and wish that
they could have had a place like this. They
would have thought themselves in a hen's para-
dise. When I was a girl we didn't know that
hens loved light and heat, and all winter they used
to sit in a dark hencoop, and the cold was so bad
that their combs would freeze stiff, and the tops of
them would drop off. We never thought about it.
If we' d had any sense, we might have watched
them on a fine day go and sit on the compost
heap and sun themselves, and then have con-
cluded that if they liked light and heat outside,
they' d like it inside. Poor biddies, they were so
cold that they wouldn't lay us any eggs in winter."

"You take a great interest in your poultry,
don't you, auntie?" said Miss Laura.

MRS. wood's poultry 1 63

" Yes, indeed, and well I may. I'll show you
my brown Leghorn, Jenny, that lay eggs enough
in a year to pay for the newspapers I take to keep
myself posted in poultry matters. I buy all my
own clothes with my hen money, and lately I've
started a bank account, for I want to save up
enough to start a few stands of bees. Even if I
didn't want to be kind to my hens, it would pay
me to be so for sake of the profit they yield. Of
course they're quite a lot of trouble. Sometimes
they get vermin on them, and I have to grease
them and dust carbolic acid on them, and try
some of my numerous cures. Then I must keep
ashes and dust wallows for them and be very
particular about my eggs when hens are sitting,
and see that the hens come off regularly for food
and exercise. Oh, there are a hundred things I
have to'think of, but I always say to any one that
thinks of raising poultry : ' If you are going into
the business for the purpose of making money, it
pays to take care of them.' "

' ' There' s one thing 1 notice, ' ' said Miss Laura,
" and that is that your drinking fountains must be
a great deal better than the shallow pans that I
have seen some people give their hens water in,"
" Dirty things they are," said Mrs. Wood ; "I
wouldn't use one of them. I don't think there is
anything worse for hens than drinking dirty water.
I\Iy hens must have as clean water as I drink
myself, and in winter I heat it for them. If it's
poured boiling into the fountains in the morning,
it keeps warm till night. Speaking of shallow

1 64 BEAUTIFUL JOE

drinking dishes, I wouldn't use them, even before
I ever heard of a drinking fountain. John made
me something that we read about. He used to
take a powder keg and bore a httle hole in the side,
about an inch from the top, then fill it with water,
and cover with a pan a little larger round than the
keg. Then he turned the keg upside down, with-
out taking away the pan. The water ran into the
pan only as far as the hole in the keg, and it would
have to be used before more would flow in. Now
let us go and see my beautiful, bronze turkeys.
They don't need any houses, for they roost in the
trees the year round."

We found the flock of turkeys, and Miss Laura
admired their changeable colors very much. Some
of them were very large, and I did not like them,
for the gobblers ran at me, and made a dreadful
noise in their throats.

Afterward, Mrs. Wood showed us some ducks
that she had shut up in a yard. She said that she
was feeding them on vegetable food, to give their
flesh a pure flavor, and by-and-by she would send
them to market and get a high price for them.

Every place she took us to was as clean as
possible. " No one can be successful in raising
poultry in large numbers," she said, "unless they
keep their quarters clean and comfortable.

As yet we had seen no hens, except a few on
the nests, and Miss Laura said, "Where are they ?
I should like to see them."

" They are coming," said Mrs. Wood. "It
is just their breakfast time, and they are as punc-

MRS. wood's poultry 1 65

tual as clockwork. They go off early in the morn-
ing, to scratch about a little for themselves first."

As she spoke she stepped off the plank walk,
and looked off towards the fields.

Miss Laura burst out laughing. Away beyond
the barns the hens were coming. Seeing Mrs.
Wood standing there, they thought they were late,
and began to run and fly, jumping over each
other's backs, and stretching out their necks, in a
state of great excitement. Some of their legs
seemed sticking straight out behind. It was very
funny to see them.

They were a fine-looking lot of poultry, mostly
white, with glossy feathers and bright eyes. They
greedily ate the food scattered to them, and Mrs.
Wood said, " They think I've changed their break-
fast time, and to-morrow they'll come a good bit
earlier. And yet some people say hens have no
sense."

CHAPTER XIX

A BAND OF MERCY

FEW evenings after we came to Dingley
Farm, Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura
were sitting out on the veranda, and I
was lying at their feet.

"Auntie," said Miss Laura, "What do those
letters mean on that silver pin that you wear with
that piece of ribbon ? "

"You know what the white ribbon means,
don't you ? " asked Mrs. Wood.

"Yes; that you are a temperance woman,
doesn't it ? "

' ' It does ; and the star pin means that I am
a member of a Band of Mercy. Do you know
what a Band of Mercy is ? "

"No," said Miss Laura.

" How strange ! I should think that you
would have several in Fairport. A cripple boy,
the son of a Boston artist, started this one here.
It has done a great deal of good. There is a
meeting to-morrow, and I will take you to it if you
like."

It was on Monday that Mrs. Wood had this

166

A BAND OF MERCY I 67

talk with Miss Laura, and the next afternoon,
after all the work was done, they got ready to go
to the village.

" May Joe go ? " asked Miss Laura.

" Certainly," said Mrs. Wood ; " he is such a
good dog that he won't be any trouble."

I was very glad to hear this, and trotted along
by them down the lane to the road. The lane
was a very cool and pleasant place. There were
tall trees growing on each side, and under them,
among the grass, pretty wild flowers were peeping
out to look at us as we went by.

Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura talked all the way
about the Band of Mercy. Miss Laura was much
interested, and said that she would like to start
one in Fairport.

" It is a very simple thing," said Mrs. Wood.
" All you have to do is to write the pledge at the
top of a piece of paper : ' I will try to be kind to
all harmless living creatures, and try to protect
them from cruel usage,' and get thirty people to
sign it. That makes a band.

" I have formed two or three bands by keeping
slips of paper ready, and getting people that come
to visit me to sign them. I call them ' Corres-
ponding Bands,' for they are too far apart to meet.
I send the members ' Band of Mercy ' papers,
and I get such nice letters from them, telling me
of kind things they do for animals.

"A Band of Mercy in a place is a splendid

ling. There's the greatest difference in River-

iale since this one was started. A few years ago.

1 68 BEAUTIFUL JOE

when a man beat or raced his horse, and any one
interfered, he said : 'This horse is mine ; I'll do
what I like with him. ' Most people thought he
was right, but now they're all for the poor horse,
and there isn't a man anywhere around who
would dare to abuse any animal.

"It's all the children. They're doing a grand
work, and I say it' s a good thing for thern,. Since
we've studied this subject, it's enough to frighten
one to read what is sent us about our American
boys and girls. Do you know, Laura, that with
all our brag about our schools and colleges, that
really are wonderful, we're turning out more crimi-
nals than any other civilized country in the world,
except Spain and Italy ? The cause of it is said to
be lack of proper training for the youth of our land.
Immigration has something to do with it, too.
We're thinking too much about educating the
mind, and forgetting about the heart and soul. So
I say now, while we've got all our future popula-
tion in our schools, saints and sinners, good people
and bad people, let us try to slip in something be-
tween the geography, and history, and grammar
that will go a little deeper, and touch them so much,
that when they are grown up and go out in the
world, they will carry with them lessons of love
and good-will to men.

"A little child is such a tender thing. You
can bend it anyway you like. Speaking of this
heart education of children, as set over agaii^
mind education, I see that many school-teache?
say that there is nothing better than to give ther.

A BAND OF MERCY 1 69

lessons on kindness to animals. Children who
are taught to love and protect dumb creatures
will be kind to their fellow-men when they
grow up."

I was very much pleased with this talk between
Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura, and kept close to them
so that I would not miss a word.

As we went along, houses began to appear here
and there, set back from the road among the trees.
Soon they got quite close together, and I saw some
shops.

This was the village of Riverdale, and nearly
all the buildings were along this winding street.
The river was away back of the village. We had
already driven there several times.

We passed the school on our way. It was a
square, white building, standing in the middle of
a large yard. Boys and girls, with their arms full
of books, were hurrying down the steps and com-
ing into the street. Two quite big boys came
behind us, and Mrs. Wood turned around and
spoke to them, and asked if they were going to
the Band of Mercy.

"Oh, yes; ma'am," said the younger one.
" I've got a recitation, don't you remember ? "

"Yes, yes; excuse me for forgetting," said
Mrs. Wood, with her jolly laugh. "And here are
Dolly, and Jennie, and Martha," she went on, as
some little girls came running out of a house that
we were passing.

Tfie little girls joined us and looked so hard at
my head and stump of a tail, and my fine collar,

170 BEAUTIFUL JOE

that I felt quite shy, and walked with my head
against Miss Laura's dress.

She stooped down and patted me, and then I
felt as if I didn't care how much they stared. Miss
Laura never forgot me. No matter how earnestly
she was talking, or playing a game, or doing any-
thing, she always stopped occasionally to give me
a word or look, to show that she knew I was near.

Mrs. Wood paused in front of a building on the
main street. A great many boys and girls were
going in, and we went with them. We found our-
selves in a large room, with a platform at one end
of it. There were some chairs on this platform
and a small table.

A boy stood by this table with his hand on a
bell. Presently he rang it, and then every one
kept still. Mrs. Wood whispered to Miss Laura
that this boy was the president of the band, and
the young man with the pale face and curly hair
who sat in front of him was Mr. Maxwell, the
artist's son, who had formed this Band of Mercy.

The lad who presided had a ringing, pleasant
voice. He said they would begin their meeting by
singing a hymn. There was an organ near the
platform, and a young girl played on it, while all
the other boys and girls stood up, and sang very
sweetly and clearly.

After they had sung the hymn, the president
asked for the report of their last meeting.

A Uttle girl, blushing and hanging her head,
came forward, and read what was written on a
paper that she held in her hand.

A BAND OF MERCY I7I

The president made some remarks after she
had finished, and then every one had to vote. It
was just hke a meeting of grown people, and I
was surprised to see how good those children were.
They did not frolic nor laugh, but all seemed sober
and listened attentively.

After the voting was over, the president called
upon John Turner to give a recitation. This was
the boy whom we saw on the way there. He
walked up to the platform, made a bow, and said
that he had learned two stories for his recitation,
out of the paper, " Dumb Animals." One story
was about a horse, and the other was about a dog,
and he thought that they were two of the best
animal stories on record. He would tell the horse
story first.

" A man in Missouri had to go to Nebraska to
see about some land. He went on horseback, on
a horse that he had trained himself, and that came
at his whistle like a dog. On getting into Nebraska ,
he came to a place where there were two roads.
One went by a river, and the other went over the
hill. The man saw that the travel went over the
hill, but thought he'd take the river road. He
didn't know that there was a quicksand across it,
and that people couldn't use it in spring and sum-
mer. There used to be a sign board to tell stran-
gers about it, but it had been taken away. The
man got off his horse to let him graze, and walked
along till he got so far ahead' of the horse that he
had to sit down and wait for him. Suddenly he
found that he was on a quicksand. His feet had

172 BEAUTIFUL JOE

sunk in the sand, and he could not get them out.
He threw himself down, and whistled for his horse,
and shouted for help, but no one came. He could
hear some young people singing out on the river,
but they could not hear him. The terrible sand
drew him in almost to his shoulders, and he thought
he was lost. At that moment the horse came run-
ning up, and stood by his master. The man was
too low down to get hold of the saddle or bridle,
so he took hold of the horse's tail, and told him.
to go. The horse gave an awful pull, and landed
his master on safe ground."

Everybody clapped his hands, and stamped
when this story was finished, and called out : ' ' The
dog story — the dog stor>' 1 ' '

The boy bowed and smiled, and began again.
"You all know what a ' round-up ' of cattle is, so
I need not explain. Once a man down south was
going to have one, and he and his boys and
friends were talking it over. There was an ugly,
black steer in the herd, and they were wondering
whether their old yellow dog would be able to
manage him. The dog's name was Tige, and he
lay and listened wisely to their talk. The next
day there was a scene of great confusion. The
steer raged and tore about, and would allow no
one to come within whip touch of him. Tige, who
had always been brave, skulked about for a while,
and then, as if he had got up a little spirit, he
made a run at the steer. The steer sighted him,
gave a bellow, and, lowering his horns, ran at him.
Tige turned tail, and the young men that owned

A BAND OF MERCY 1 73

him were frantic. They'd been praising him, and
thought they were going to have it proven false.
Their father called out : ' Don't shoot Tige, till
you see where he's running to,' The dog ran
right to the cattle pen. The steer was so enraged
that he never noticed where he was going, and
dashed in after him. Tige leaped the wall, and
came back to the gate, barking and yelping for
the men to come and shut the steer in. They
shut the gate and petted Tige, and bought him a
collar with a silver plate.

The boy was loudly cheered, and went to his
seat. The president said he would like to have
remarks made about these two stories.

Several children put up their hands, and he
asked each one to speak in turn. One said that if
that man's horse had had a docked tail, his master
wouldn't have been able to reach it, and would
have perished. Another said that if the man
hadn't treated his horse kindly, he never would
have come at his whistle, and stood over him to
see what he could do to help him. A third child
said that the people on the river weren't as quick
at hearing the voice of the man in trouble as the
horse was.

When this talk was over, the president called
for some stories of foreign animals.

Another boy came forward, made his bow, and
said, in a short, abrupt voice, " My uncle's name
is Henry Worthington. He is an Englishman,
and once he was a soldier in India. One day when
he was hunting in the Punjab, he saw a mother

174 BEAUTIFUL JOE

monkey carrying a little dead baby monkey. Six
months after, he was in the same jungle. Saw
same monkey still carrying dead baby monkey,
all shriveled up. Mother monkey loved her baby
monkey, and wouldn't give it up."

The boy went to his seat, and the president,
with a queer look in his face, said, ' ' That' s a very
good story, Ronald — if it is true."

None of the children laughed, but Mrs. Wood's
face got like a red poppy, and Miss Laura bit her
lip, and Mr. Maxwell buried his head in his arms,
his whole frame shaking.

The boy who told the story looked very angry.
He jumped up again. " My uncle's a true man,
Phil. Dodge, and never told a he in his life."

The president remained standing, his face a
deep scarlet, and a tall boy at the back of the
room got up and said, ' ' Mr. President, what
would be impossible in this cHmate, might be pos-
sible in a hot country like India. Doesn't heat
sometimes draw up and preserve things ? ' '

The president's face cleared. "Thank you
for the suggestion, " he said. " I don't want to
hurt anybody's feelings ; but you know there is a
rule in the band that only true stories are to be
told here. We have five more minutes for foreign
stories. Has any one else one ? ' '

CHAPTER XX

STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS

SMALL girl, with twinkling eyes and a

merry face, got up, just behind Miss

Laura, and made her way to the front.

"My dranfadder says," she began, in a piping

little voice, ' ' dat when he was a little boy his

fadder brought him a little monkey from de West

Indies. De naughty boys in de village used to

tease de little monkey, and he runned up a tree

one day. Dey was drowing stones at him, and a

man dat was paintin' de house druv 'em away,

De monkey runned down de tree, and shook hands

wid de man. My dranfadder saw him," she said,

with a shake of her head at the president, as if she

was afraid he would doubt her.

There was great laughing and clapping of hands

when this little girl took her seat, and she hopped

right up again and ran back. "Oh, I fordot,"

she went on, in her squeaky, little voice, " dat my

dranfadder says dat afterward de monkey upset de

painter's can of oil, and rolled in it, and den

jumped down in my dranfadder' s flour barrel."

The president looked very much amused, and

175

176 BEAUTIFUL JOE

said, " We have had some good stories about
monkeys, now let us have some more about our
home animals. Who can tell us another story
about a horse ? ' '

Three or four boys jumped up, but the president
said they would take one at a time. The first one
was this : A Riverdale boy was walking along the
bank of a canal in Hoytville. He saw a boy driv-
ing two horses, which were towing a canal-boat.
The first horse was lazy, and the boy got angry
and struck him several times over the head with
his whip. The Riverdale boy shouted across to
him, begging him not to be so cruel ; but the boy
paid no attention. Suddenly the horse turned,
seized his tormentor by the shoulder, and pushed
him into the canal. The water was not deep, and
the boy, after floundering about for a few seconds,
came out dripping with mud and filth, and sat
down on the tow path, and looked at the horse
with such a comical expression, that the Riverdale
boy had to stuff his handkerchief in his mouth to
keep from laughing.

"It is to be hoped that he would learn a les-
son," said the president, "and be kinder to his
horse in the future. Now, Bernard Howe, your
story."

The boy was a brother to the little girl who had
told the monkey story, and he, too, had evidently
been talking to his grandfather. He told two
stories, and Miss Laura listened eagerly, for they
were about Fairport.

The boy said that when his grandfather was

STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS 177

young, he lived in Fairport, Maine. On a certain
day he stood in the market square to see their first
stage-coach put together. It had come from Bos-
ton in pieces, for there was no one in Fairport that
could make one. The coach went away up into
the country one day, and came back the next.
For a long time no one understood driving the
horses properly, and they came in day after day
with the blood streaming from them. The whiffle-
tree would swing round and hit them, and when
their collars were taken off, their necks would be
raw and bloody. After a time, the men got to un-
derstand how to drive a coach, and the horses did
not suffer so much.

The other story was about a team-boat, not a
steamboat. More than seventy years ago, they
had no steamers running between Fairport and the
island opposite where people went for the summer,
but they had what they called a team-boat, that is,
a boat with machinery to make it go, that could be
worked by horses. There were eight horses that
went around and around, and made the boat go.
One afternoon, two dancing masters, who were
wicked fellows, that played the fiddle, and never
went to church on Sundays, got on the boat, and
sat just where the horses had to pass them as they
went around.

Every time the horses went by, they jabbed
them with their penknives. The man who was
driving the horses at last saw the blood dripping
from them, and the dancing masters were found
out. Some young men on the boat were so angry

178 BEAUTIFUL JOE

that they caught up a rope's end, and gave the
dancing masters a lashing, and then threw them
into the water and made them swim to the island.
When this boy took a seat, a young girl read
some verses that she had clipped from a news-
paper :

" Don't kill the toads, the ugly toads,
That hop around your door ;
Each meal the little toad doth eat
A hundred bugs or more.

** He sits around with aspect meek,
Until the bug hath neared,
Then shoots he forth his little tongue
Like lightning double-geared.

" x\nd then he soberly doth wink,
And shut his ugly mug,
And patiently doth wait until
There comes another bug."

Mr. Maxwell told a good dog story after this.
He said the president need not have any fears as
to its truth, for it had happened in his boarding
house in the village, and he had seen it himself.
Monday, the day before, being wash-day, his land-
lady had put out a large washing. Among the
clothes on the line was a gray flannel shirt belong-
ing to her husband. The young dog belonging to
the house had pulled the shirt from the line and
torn it to pieces. The woman put it aside and told
him master would beat him. When the man came
home to his dinner, he showed the dog the pieces
of the shirt, and gave him a severe whipping.
The dog ran away, visited all the clothes lines in

STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS 1 79

the village, till he found a gray shirt very like his
master's. He seized it and ran home, laying it at
his master's feet, joyfully wagging his tail mean-
while.

Mr. Maxwell's story done, a bright-faced boy,
called Simon Grey, got up and said: "You all
know our old gray horse Ned. Last week father
sold him to a man in Hoytville, and I went to the
station when he was shipped. He was put in a
box car. The doors were left a little open to give
him air, and were locked in that way. There was
a narrow, sliding door, four feet from the floor of
the car, and, in some way or other, old Ned pushed
this door open, crawled through it, and tumbled out
on the ground. When I was coming from school,
I saw him walking along the track. He hadn't
hurt himself, except for a few cuts. He was glad
to see me, and followed me home. He must have
gotten off the train when it was going full speed,
for he hadn't been seen at any of the stations, and
the trainmen were astonished to find the doors
locked and the car empty, when they got to Hoyt-
ville. Father got the man who bought him to
release him from his bargain, for he says if Ned
is so fond of Riverdale, he shall stay here."

The president asked the boys and girls to give
three cheers for old Ned, and then they had some
more singing. After all had taken their seats, he
said he would like to know what the members
had been doing for animals during the past fort-
night.

One girl had kept her brother from shooting

l8o BEAUTIFUL JOE

two owls that came about their barnyard. She
told him that the owls would destroy the rats and
mice that bothered him in the barn, but if he
hunted them, they would go to the woods.

A boy said that he had persuaded some of hib
friends who were going fishing, to put their bait
worms into a dish of boiling water to kill them
before they started, and also to promise him that
as soon as they took their fish out of the water,
they would kill them by a sharp blow on the back
of the head. They were all the more ready to do
this, when he told them that their fish would taste
better when cooked, if they had been killed as
soon as they were taken from the water into the
air.

A little girl had gotten her mother to say that
she would never again put lobsters into cold water
and slowly boil them to death. She had also
stopped a man in the street who was carrying a
pair of fowls with their heads down, and asked
him if he would kindly reverse their position.
The man told her that the fowls didn't mind, and
she pursed up her small mouth and showed the
band how she said to him, "I would prefer the
opinion of the hens." Then she said he had
laughed at her, and said, " Certainly, little lady,"
and had gone off carrying them as she wanted
him to. She had also reasoned with different
boys outside the village who were throwing stones
at birds and frogs, and sticking butterflies, and
had invited them to come to the Band of Mercy.

This child seemed to have done more than any

STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS 151

one else for dumb animals. She had taken
around a petition to the village boys, asking
them not to search for birds' eggs, and she had
even gone into her father's stable, and asked him
to hold her up, so that she could look into the
horses' mouths to see if their teeth wanted filing or
were decayed. When her father laughed at her,
she told him that horses often suffer terrible pain
from their teeth, and that sometimes a runaway is
caused by a metal bit striking against the exposed
nerve in the tooth of a horse that has become
almost frantic with pain.

She was a very gentle girl, and I think by the
way that she spoke that her father loved her
dearly, for she told how much trouble he had
taken to make some tiny houses for her that she
wanted for the wrens that came about their farm.
She told him that those little birds are so good at
catching insects that they ought to give all their
time to it, and not have any worry about making
houses. Her father made their homes very small,
so that the English sparrows could not get in and
crowd them out.

A boy said that he had gotten a pot of paint,
and painted in large letters on the fences around
his father's farm: "Spare the toads, don't kill
the birds. Every bird killed is a loss to the
country."

"That reminds me," said the president, "to
ask the girls what they have done about the mil-
linery business."

" I have told my mother," said a tall, serious-

l82 BEAUTIFUL JOE

faced girl, " that I think it is wrong to wear bird
feathers, and she has promised to give up wearing
any of them except ostrich pkimes."

Mrs. Wood asked permission to say a few words
just here, and the president said : " Certainly, we
are always glad to hear from you."

She went up on the platform, and faced the
roomful of children. " Dear boys and girls," she
began, "I have had some papers sent me from
Boston, giving some facts about the killing of our
birds, and I want to state a few of them to you :
You all know that nearly every tree and plant that
grows swarms with insect life, and that they couldn't
grow if the birds didn't eat the insects that would
devour their foliage. All day long, the little beaks
of the birds are busy. The dear little rose-breasted
gross-beak carefully examines the potato plants,
and picks off the beetles, the martins destroy
weevil, the quail and grouse family eats the chinch-
bug, the woodpeckers dig the worms from the
trees, and many other birds eat the flies and gnats
and mosquitoes that torment us so. No flying or
crawHng creature escapes their sharp little eyes.
A great Frenchman says that if it weren't for the
birds human beings would perish from the face of
the earth. They are doing all this for us, and how
are we rewarding them ? All over America they
are hunted and killed. Five million birds must
be caught every year for American women to weux
in their hats and bonnets. Just think of it, girls.
Isn't it dreadful ? Five million innocent, hard-
working, beautiful birds killed, that thoughtless

STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS 1 83

girls and women may ornament themselves with
their little dead bodies. One million bobolinks
have been killed in one month near Philadelphia.
Seventy song-birds were sent from one Long Island
village to New York milliners.

" In Florida, cruel men shoot the mother birds
on their nests while they are rearing their young,
because their plumage is prettiest at that time.
The little ones cry pitifully, and starve to death.
Every bird of the rarer kinds that is killed, such
as humming birds, orioles and kingfishers, means
the death of several others — that is, the young
that starve to death, the wounded that fly away to
die, and those whose plumage is so torn that it is
not fit to put in a fine lady's bonnet. In some
cases where birds have gay wings, and the hunters
do not wish the rest of the body, they tear off the
wings from the living bird, and throw it away to
die.

' ' I am sorry to tell you such painful things,
but I think you ought to know them. You will
soon be men and women. Do what you can to
stop this horrid trade. Our beautiful birds are
being taken from us, and the insect pests are in-
creasing. The State of Massachusetts has lost
over one hundred thousand dollars because it did
not protect its birds. The gypsy moth stripped the
trees near Boston, and the State had to pay out all
this money, and even then could not get rid of the
moths. The birds could have done it better than
the State, but they were all gone. My last words
to you are, ' Protect the birds.' "

1 84 BEAUTIFUL JOE

Mrs. Wood went to her seat, and though the
boys and girls had Hstened very attentively, none
of them cheered her. Their faces looked sad, and
they kept very quiet for a few minutes. I saw one
or two little girls wiping their eyes. I think they
felt sorry for the birds.

"Has any boy done anything about blinders
and check-reins ? ' ' asked the president, after a
time.

A brown-faced boy stood up. ' ' I had a picnic
last Monday," he said ; "father let me cut all the
blinders off our head-stalls with my penknife.

" How did you get him to consent to that?"
asked the president.

"I told him," said the boy, "that I couldn't
get to sleep for thinking of him. You know he
drives a good deal late at night. I told him that
every dark night he came from Sudbury I thought
of the deep ditch alongside the road, and wished
his horses hadn't blinders on. And every night he
comes from the Junction, and has to drive along
the river bank where the water has washed away
the earth till the wheels of the wagon are within a
foot or two of the edge, I wished again that his
horses could see each side of them, for I knew
they'd have sense enough to keep out of danger
if they could see it. Father said that might be
very true, and yet his horses had been broken in
with bUnders, and didn't I think they would be
inclined to shy if he took them off; and wouldn't
they be frightened to look around and see the
wagon wheels so near. I told him that for every

STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS 1 85

accident that happened to a horse without Minders,
several happened to a horse with them ; and then
I gave him Mr. Wood's opinion — Mr. Wood out
at Dingley Farm. He says that the worst thing
against bhnders is that a frightened horse never
knows when he has passed the thing that scared
him. He always thinks it is behind him. The
blinders are there and he can't see that he has
passed it, and he can't turn his head to have a
good look at it. So often he goes tearing madly
on ; and sometimes lives are lost all on account of
a little bit of leather fastened over a beautiful eye
that ought to look out full and free at the world.
That finished father. He said he'd take off his
blinders, and if he had an accident, he'd send the
bill for damages to Mr. Wood. But we've had no
accident. The horses did act rather queerly at first,
and started a little ; but they soon got over it, and
now they go as steady without blinders as they
ever did with them."

The boy sat down, and the president said : "I
think it is time that the whole nation threw off this
foolishness of half covering their horses' eyes.
Just put your hands up to your eyes, members of
the band. Half cover them, and see how shut in
you will feel ; and how curious you will be to know
what is going on beside you. Suppose a girl saw
a mouse with her eyes half covered, wouldn't she
run ? ' '

Everybody laughed, and the president asked
some one to tell him who invented blinders.

' 'An English nobleman, ' ' shouted a boy, ' ' who

1 86 BEAUTIFUL JOE

had a wall-eyed horse ! He wanted to cover up
the defect, and I think it is a great shame that all
the American horses have to suffer because that
English one had an ugly eye."

" So do I, " said the president. ' ' Three groans
for blinders, boys."

All the children in the room made three dread-
ful noises away down in their throats. Then they
had another good laugh, and the president became
sober again. "Seven more minutes," he said;
"this meeting has got to be let out at five sharp."

A tall girl at the back of the room rose, and
said : ' ' My little cousin has two stories that she
would like to tell the band."

"Very well," said the president; " bring her
right along."

The big girl came forward, leading a tiny child
that she placed in front of the boys and girls. The
child stared up into her cousin's face, turning and
twisting her white pianafore through her fingers.
Every tin^ the big girl took her pinafore away from
her, she picked it up again. "Begin, Nannie,"
said the big girl, kindly.

"Well, Cousin Eleanor," said the child,
"you know Topsy, Graham's pony. Well,
Topsy would run away, and a big, big man
came out to papa and said he would train Topsy.
So he drove her every day, and beat her, and
beat her, till he was tired, but still Topsy would
run away. Then papa said he would not have
the poor pony whipped so much, and he took her
out a piece of bread every day, and he petted her,

STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS 1 87

and now Topsy is very gentle, and never runs
away.

" Tell about Tiger," said the girl.

"Well, Cousin Eleanor," said the child,
" you know Tiger, our big dog. He used to be a
bad dog, and when Dr. Fairchild drove up to
the house he jumped up and bit at him. Dr.
Fairchild used to speak kindly to him, and throw
out bits of meat, and now when he comes. Tiger
follows behind and wags his tail. Now, give me
a kiss."

The girl had to give her a kiss, right up there
before every one, and what a stamping the boys
made. The larger girl blushed and hurried back
to her seat, with the child clinging to her hand.

There was one more story, about a brave New-
foundland dog, that saved eight lives by swim-
ming out to a wrecked sailing vessel, and getting
a rope by which the men came ashore, and then
a lad got up whom they all greeted with cheers,
and cries of, "The Poet! the Poet!" I didn't
know what they meant, till Mrs. Wood whispered
to Miss Laura that he was a boy who made
rhymes, and the children had rather hear him
speak than any one else in the room.

He had a snub nose and freckles, and I think
he was the plainest boy there, but that didn't
matter, if the other children loved him. He
sauntered up to the front, with his hands behind
his back, and a very grand manner.

"The beautiful poetry recited here to-day,"
he drawled, " put some verses in my mind that I

1 88 BEAUTIFUL JOE

never had till I came here to-day." Everyone
present cheered wildly, and he began in a sing-
song voice :

<' I am a Band of Mercy boy,
I would not hurt a fly,
I always speak to dogs and cats,
When'er I pass them by.

" I always let the birdies sing,
I never throw a stone,
I always give a hungry dog
A nice, fat, meaty bone.

" I wouldn't drive a bob-tailed horse,
Nor hurry up a cow,
I "

Then he forgot the rest. The boys and girls
were so sorry. They called out, " Pig," " Goat,"
"Calf," "Sheep," "Hens," "Ducks," and all
the other animals' names they could think of, but
none of them was right, and as the boy had just
made up the poetry, no one knew what the next
could be. He stood for a long time staring at the
ceihng, then he said, " I guess I.' 11 have to give it
up."

The children looked dreadfully disappointed.
"' Perhaps you will remember it by our next meet-
ing," said the president, anxiously.

"Possibly, said the boy, "but probably not.
I think it is gone forever. ' ' And he went to his
seat.

The next thing was to call for new members.
Miss Laura got up and said she would like to join

STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS 1 89

their Band of Mercy. I followed her up to the
platform, while they pinned a little badge on her,
and every one laughed at me. Then they sang,
" God Bless our Native Land," and the president
told us that we might all go home.

It seemed to me a lovely thing for those chil-
dren to meet together to talk about kindness to
animals. They all had bright and good faces,
and many of them stopped to pat me as I came
out. One little girl gave me a biscuit from her
school bag.

Mrs. Wood waited at the door till Mr. Max-
well came limping out on his crutches. She intro-
duced him to Miss Laura, and asked him if he
wouldn't go and take tea with them. He said he
would be very happy to do so, and then Mrs.
Wood laughed ; and asked him if he hadn't better
empty his-pockets first. She didn't want a little
toad jumping over her te? *-able, as one did the
last time he was there.

CHAPTER XXI

MR. MAXWELL AND MR. HARRY

!R. MAXWELL wore a coat with loose
pockets, and while she was speaking,
he rested on his crutches, and began to
slap them with his hands. " No ; there's nothing
here to-day, ' ' 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 Derry, did I hurt you ? "
and he soothed it very tenderly.

I stood and looked at Mr. Maxwell, for I had
never seen any one 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 queer shiny eyes. But

its tongue was the strangest part of it. It came

190

MR. MAXWELL AND MR. HARRY I9I

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.

" Its 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, but 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 lame-
ness, which kept him from running about like other
young men. He looked a little older than Miss
Laura, and 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 ani-
mals while he liked very few people.

On this day as he was limping along, he said to
Mrs. Wood : " I am getting more absent-minded
every day. Have you heard of my latest esca-
pade ? ' '

192 BEAUTIFUL JOE

" No," she said.

" I am glad," he rephed. " I was afraid that
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. Unfor-
tunately 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 as he set up. It sounded as if I was murder-
ing him. The people stared and stared, and I had
to leave the church, overwhelmed with confusion."

Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura laughed, and then
they got talking about other matters that were not
interesting to me, so I did not listen. But I kept
close to Miss 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 the 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 wish 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.

MR. MAXWELL AND MR. HARRY 1 93

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 Httle 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 Miss 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 Miss 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 moustache that
he did not have when he was in Fairport.

He seemed very fond of his mother and of Miss
Laura, and however grave his face might be when
he was looking at Mr. Maxwell, it always lighted
up when he turned to them. ' ' W^hat dog is that ? ' '
he said at last, with a puzzled face, and pointing
to me.

"Why, Harry," exclaimed Miss Laura, "don't
you know Beautiful Joe, that you rescued from that
wretched milkman ? "

" Is it possible," he said, " that this well-con-
ditioned 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're almost handsome now," he said, caress-
ing me with a firm, kind hand, "and of a solid

194 BEAUTIFUL JOE

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," said 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 is ended ? ' ' asked Mr.
Maxwell.

' ' I am going to settle right down here, ' ' said
Mr. Harry.

' ' What, be a farmer ? ' ' asked his friend.

* ' Yes ; why not ? ' '

' ' Nothing, only I imagined that 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 surer living. I do

MR. MAXWELL AND MR. HARRY 1 95

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. Sup-
pose 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 a back
street all the days of my life, and never watch a
tree or flower grow, or tend an animal, or have
a drive unless I paid for it. No, thank you. I
agree with President Eliot, of Harvard. He says
scarcely one person in ten thousand betters him-
self 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 ; but 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 the farmers ; for they are sel-
dom 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,"
said Mr. Maxwell.

"So they do ; farming isn't made one-half as
attractive as it should be," said Mr. Harry.

Mr. Maxwell smiled. "Attractive farming.
Just sketch an outline of that, will you. Gray ? ' '

' ' In the first place, ' ' said Mr. Harry, ' ' 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

196 BEAUTIFUL JOE

heart of his city brother — the thing that is doing
more to harm our nation than anything else under
the sun."

' ' What is that? ' ' asked 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 get-
ting rich, that they go off to the cities to find out
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 cer-
tainly a great exodus from country places city-
ward," 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 and society, and to get into
some kind of a 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 con-
tented 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

MR. MAXWELL AND MR. HARRY 1 97

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
mired 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 roadmaking, as to whether it
should be viewed from the engineering point of
view, or the farmers' practical point of view, and
whether we would require this number of stump
extractors or that number, and how many shovels
and crushers and ditchers 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 com-

198 BEAUTIFUL JOE

fortably over them all through the year, and our
draught animals would last longer, for they would
not have to expend so much energy in drawing
their loads."

CHAPTER XXII

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE

I.

|R0M my station under Miss 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 tene-
ment houses. They want stir and amusement, too,
poor souls, when their day's work is over. I be-
lieve they would come to the country if it were
made more pleasant for them."

"That is another question," said Mr. Harry,
' ' a burning question in my mind — the labor and
capital one. When I was in New York, Max-
well, I was in a hospital, and saw a number of

199

^OO BEAUTIFUL JOE

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 dig-
ging 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 a part of our gains, 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 step-son.

Mr. Harry smiled, and getting up, said,
"Won't you have my c'hair, 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 fol-

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE 201

lowed 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 is 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 haven'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 ever have been
carved out of the backwoods, if the old Puritans
had sat down on the rocks with their noses in 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 are
trying to insinuate that the present generation is
lazy, and I'm sure it isn't. Look at Harr)'. He
works as hard as you do."

" Isn't that like a woman ? " said Mr. Wood,
with a good-natured laugh. ' ' The present gener-
ation consists of her son, and the past of her hus-

202 BEAUTIFUL JOE

band. 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 doughnuts for breakfast again, or some of
our young sprouts from the colleges will go a
begging."

"You don't mean to undervalue the advan-
tages of a good education, do you, Mr. Wood?"
said Mr. Maxwell.

" No, no ; look at Harry there. Isn't he peg-
ging 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
that out when he was a lad going to the village
school. He'd lay out his little garden by geome-
try, and dig his ditches by algebra. Education's
a help to any man. What I am trying to get at
is this, that in some Avay 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 every one 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?"

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE 203

" No, Mrs. Wood," he said ; "ours is a much
paler yellow," and then there was a great tinkling
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 fright-
ened 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 uncomfor-
table. The tail of the green thing hung in a milk
pitcher, and its tongue was still going at me, but I
held it firmly and stood 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 rather
a 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 in strips and tying
them around the creature where my teeth had
stuck in. I had been careful not to hurt it much,

204 BEAUTIFUL JOE

for I knew it was a pet of his ; but he did not
know that, and scowled at me, saying : " You ras-
cal ; 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. Max-
well 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 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 got 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

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE 205

woods, and, hearing a great noise, I went to see
what it was all about. They were 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 rather a 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
the boat. It lay there motionless for a long time,
and I picked up my oars and started for home. I
had got half way 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 fol-
lowed 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 Miss
Laura had helped Adele finish the work, they all
gathered in the parlor. The day had been quite
warm, but now a cool wind had sprung up, and
Mr. Wood said that it was blowing up rain.

2o6 BEAUTIFUL JOE

Mrs. Wood said that she thought a fire wouM
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 to-
ward the blaze, and now that I knew that it was
harmless I was not afraid of it ; but it did not like
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 to-day."

"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 now-
adays about kindness to domestic animals ; but I
do not hear 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 ofi", but there are lots in other
places. I used to be fond of hunting when I was
a boy ; but I have got rather disgusted with killing

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE 207

these late years, and unless the wild creatures ran
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 I " they all exclaimed.

CHAPTER XXIII

TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS

|ELL," Mr. Wood began .• " I was brought
up, as you 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 a
horse's. 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 and leaves of 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 hoofs and antlers what-
ever 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
208

TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS 209

all Other creatures, the Lord has put into them a
wonderful amount of sense, and when a female
moose has her one or two fawns she goes into the
deepest part of the forest, or swims to islands in
large lakes, till they are able to look out for them-
selves.

" Well, wfc 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 in 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 the loop it would release the
sapling, and up it would bound, 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, rag-
ing 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 snow shoes
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 con-
fine 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

2IO BEAUTIFUL JOE

the woods till we got on to the tracks of some of
the animals belonging to it, then the dogs smelled
them and went ahead to start them. If I shut my
eyes now I can see one of our moose hunts. The
moose 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 hunters' rifles 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 moonlight night
or just at evening, or early in the morning. The
man who carried the horn hid 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 answering 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 it was an old fellow, you'd
hear him stepping out bravely and rapping his
horns against the trees, and plunging into any
water that came in his way. When he got pretty'
near, he'd stop to hsten, 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

TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS 211

got a warm reception, either from the rifles in our
hands as we lay hid 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 and
places where they'd been nipping off the ends of
branches and twigs, and follow them up. They
easily take the scent of men, and we'd have to
keep well to the windward. 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 hke 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 suffer-
ing 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 w^ant 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 w^ant
to kill and slay. They're like the Englishman,
who said : ' What a fine day it is ; let's go out and
kill something.' "

" Please tell us some more about the dogs that

212 BEAUTIFUL JOE

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 boughs while we were
after the moose, the dogs used to be a great com-
fort 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 were 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 jack-
knives, 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 he by
the fire with running sores till they worked out.
I've seen quills work right through dogs. Go in
on 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 lay in the woods for days, till a neighbor of

TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS 213

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 Lion 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
great skirmishing. They nip 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 to 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 re-
sistance. They'd meekly run in a corner when
they saw a bear coming, and huddle together, and
he'd strike at them, and scratch them with his
claws, and perhaps wound a dozen before he got
one firmly. Then he'd seize it in his paws, and
walk off on his hind legs over fences and anything

214 BEAUTIFUL JOE

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 vow ven-
geance 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 nights and set
a trap by the remains of the one he had eaten,

"Everybody hated bears, and 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 put them on the ground and
strewed leaves over them, and hung up some of
the carcass left by the bear near by. When he
attempted to get this 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, W^hoever caught him

TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS 21 5

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 other heavy logs upon them,
that when the bear seized the bait, the upper log
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 trig-
gers 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 fellow that we put
eleven into, before he keeled over. It was one
fall, over on Pike's Hill. The snow had come
earlier than usual, and this old bear hadn't got
into his den for his winter's 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'd 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 robe.

"One day I was in the woods, and looking

2l6 BEAUTIFUL JOE

through the trees espied a bear. He was stand-
ing up on his hind legs, snuffing in every direction,
and just about the time I espied him, he espied
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 fellow,
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
chased.

" Another time I was out in our cornfield, and
hearing a rustling, looked through the stalks, and
saw a brown bear with two cubs. She was slash-
ing 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 rapped on the fence, and set
him on her. He jumped up and snapped at her
flanks, and every few instants she'd turn and give
him a cuff, that would send him yards away. I
followed her up, and just back of the farm 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,

TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS 217

and told stories to keep each other awake. Toward
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
waked us up. We built up the fire and kept
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
Laura.

" No, my dear, we shot it."

" How cruel ! " cried Mrs. Wood.

' ' Yes, weren't we brutes ? ' ' said her husband ;
"but there was some excuse for us, Hattie. The
bears ruined our farms. This kind of hunting
that hunts and kills for the mere sake of slaughter
is very different from that. I'll tell you what I've
no patience with, and that's with 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, it's contemptible.
Now if they were hunting cruel, man-eating tigers,
or animals that destroy property, it would be a
different thing.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE RABBIT AND THE HEN

fOU had foxes up in Maine, I suppose,

g|j Mr. Wood, hadn't you?" asked Mr.

iSii Maxwell.

' ' Heaps of them. I always want to laugh when
I think of our foxes, for they were so cute. Never
a fox did I catch in a trap, though I'd set many a
one. I'd take the carcass 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 snowstorm, I'd take a trap and put it
in this spot. I'd handle it with gloves, and I'd
smoke it, and rub fir boughs 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 all 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?"
asked Mr. Harry.

"Cruel ones — steel ones. They'd catch an

218

THE RABBIT AND THE HEN 2I9

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 circula-
tion of the blood. Those steel traps are an abomi-
nation. 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 unneces-
sary suffering we put on animals."

"You'll have some to answer for, John, ac-
cording to your own story," said Mrs. Wood.

" I have suffered already," he said. " Many
a night I've lain on my bed and groaned, when I
thought of needless cruelties I'd put upon animals
when I was a young, unthinking boy — and 1 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. Maxwell.

' ' Well, we used to have rare sport hunting them
with fox-hounds. I'd often go off for the day with
my hounds. Sometimes in the early 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 that 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 be-
hind. He was leader in scent, but he did not like

220 BEAUTIFUL JOE

bloody, dangerous fights. By-and-by, 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. By-and-by, 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 fir or spruce branches near the ground. This
flung his fresh scent into the air. As soon as the
hounds sniffed 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 fast for a mile or
two, till he found it an easy matter to keep out of
the way of the hounds. Then he, cunning crea-
ture, would begin to bother them. He would
mount to the top pole of the 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 generalship. The hounds scattered 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 bayed to give the 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 cHmb a leaning tree, and then jump to the

THE RABBIT AND THE HEN 221

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 mak-
ing 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 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 windward 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 be
easily 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 to 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 lookout for the fox. Sometimes when the
brush was thick, the sight of him would be indis-
tinct. The shooting had to be quick. As soon as
the report of the gun was heard, 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.

222 BEAUTIFUL JOE

Sometimes he was overtaken and killed, and some-
times 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 a crust on the snow,
and the fox was hght, while the dogs were heavy.
They ran along, the fox trotting nimbly on the top
of the crust and the dogs breaking through, and
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 in teasing them, made me
laugh so much that I was very unwilling to shoot
him."

"You said your steel traps were 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 a river, and made a bridge
for them to go back and forth on. Here we set
snares, with spring poles that would throw them

THE RABBIT AND THE HEN 223

into the river when they made struggles to get free,
and drown them. Did you ever hear of the fox,
Laura, that wanted to cross a river, and lay down
on the bank pretending that he was dead, and a
countryman came along, and, thinking he had a
prize, threw him in his boat and rowed 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 Air. Wood, chuckling ; "but
they're mighty cute at pretending they're dead.
I once 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 dis-
tance, and he jumped up and ran 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 bears. The
musk-rat we caught in box traps like a mouse trap.
The wild-cat we ran down like the loup cervier

"What kind of an 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.

224 BEAUTIFUL JOE

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
rabbits that we caught, mostly in snares. For
musk-rats, we'd put a parsnip or an apple on the
spindle of a box trap. When we snared 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, or by
the hind legs, they'd live for some time, and they'd
cry just like a child. I like shooting them better,
just because I hated to hear their pitiful cries.
It's a bad business this of kiUing 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 fowl for dinner. He gives it to
one of the men to do."

"Blessed are the merciful," said Miss Laura,
throwing her arm over her uncle' s shoulder, ' ' 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.

THE RABBIT AND THE HEN 225

" 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 — 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
doughnuts and milk, and Mr. Wood stood gazing
down at me. "Good dog," he said ; " you look
as if you sensed that talk to-night. Come, get a
bone, and 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 stranger
round the house, run out and bark. Don't be
chasing wild animals in your sleep, though. They
say a dog is the only animal that dreams. I won-
der whether it's true ?" Then he went into the
house and shut the door.

I had a sheepskin 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 patter-
ing 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 all around the house and
farm buildings, and I could look all about and see

15

226 BEAUTIFUL JOE

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 Miss 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 my bed, when I saw two small, white things mov-
ing away down the lane. I stood on the veranda
and watched them. When they 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
peck 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

THE RABBIT AND THE HEX 227

his hind legs, and sniffing the air, first on this side
and then on the other, and his nose going, going
all the time.

He smelled all around the house till he came
to Mr. jVIaxwell'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 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 house, I heard a great shout-
ing and laughing from Mr. Maxwell's room. He
and Mr. Harry had just discovered the hen and
the rabbit ; and Mr. Harry was calUng his mother
to come and look at them. The rabbit had slept
on the foot of the bed.

Mr. Harry was chaffing Mr. Maxwell very
much, and was telling him that any one who en-
tertained 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 as a pet 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 bou^jht it from him. From the day the

228 BEAUTIFUL JOE

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 hin?
he said, " I don't know why they should — I don't
do anything to fascinate them. ' '

" You love them," she said, " and they know
it. That is the reason."

CHAPTER XXV

A HAPPY HORSE

••S^gaOR a good while after I went to Dingley
1 C^T^ Farm I was very shy of the horses, for
^t^VSial I was afraid they might kick me, think-
ing that I was a bad dog hke Bruno. However,
they all 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 Miss
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, but when he saw
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, Miss 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.

229

230 BEAUTIFUL JOE

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 v/ork. 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.
He looked me 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. 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."

A HAPPY HORSE 23 I

" He has been well trained," said Miss Laura.

" I have brought him up carefully," said 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 he ought to get over those coltish
ways. I've driven him a good deal. We're
going out in the buggy this afternoon, will you
come ?"

"Where are you going?" asked Miss Laura.

"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 other hat."

" Come on, Fleetfoot," said Mr. Harry. And
he led the way from the pasture, the colt following
behind with 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 switch-

232 BEAUTIFUL JOE

ing 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 Miss Laura and Mr. Harry had seated
themselves, he acted as if he wanted to be off.
Mr. Harry spoke to him and away he went, I rac-
ing down the Jane by his side, so happy to
think 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 a word. When Fleetfoot
gave his head a little toss in a certain way, I knew
that he wanted to have a race. He had a beauti-
ful even gait, 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 racer 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 endur-
ance. He sold him to a speculator for a big price,
and it has set everybody wild. 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 ruination to the boys, for it starts them
racing and betting. Father says he is going to
offer a prize for the fastest walker that can be bred

A HAPPY HORSE 233

in New Hampshire. That Dutchman of ours,
heavy as he is, is a fair walker, and Cleve and
Pacer can each walk four and a half miles an hour,

"Why do you lay such stress on their walking
fast?" asked Miss Laura.

' ' Because so much of the farm work must be
done at a walk. Ploughing, teaming, and draw-
ing produce to 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 dray 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 for 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'll see some wonderful changes. As it is, last
year in different places, about thirty thousand
horses were released from those abominable horse
cars, by having electricity introduced on the roads.
Well, Fleetfoot, do you want another spin ? All
right, my boy, go ahead."

Away we went again along a bit of level road.
Fleetfoot had no check-rein on his beautiful neck,
and when he trotted, he could hold his head in an
easy, natural position. With his wonderful eyes

234 BEAUTIFUL JOE

and flowing mane and tail, and his glossy, reddish-
brown body, I thought that 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. In all the years that
I have known Fleetfoot, 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 the buggy panting and
with my tongue hanging out.

"I never use one," said Mr. Harry; " if I
saw any man lay one on Fleetfoot, 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 con-
trol 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 neces-
sity for urging them forward.

"I suppose Fleetfoot never balks," said Miss
Laura.

" No," replied Mr. Harry ; " Dutchman some-
times does, and we have two cures for him, both
equally good. We take up a forefoot and strike

A HAPPY HORSE 235

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 round his forelegs, at the knee joint, 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."

" Fleetfoot 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 went up carefully and put my
hand 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 by a strap, and I made a little halter and
a bridle for him. I didn't see why I shouldn't
train him a little while he was young and manage-
able. I think it is cruel to let colts run till one
has to employ severity in mastering them. Of
course, I did not let him do much work. Colts are
like boys — a boy shouldn't do a man's work, but
he had exercise 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 Rarey, the
great horse-tamer, and it put ideas into my head.
He said he once saw Rarey come on a stage in
Boston with a timid horse that he was going to

236 BEAUTIFUL JOE

accustom to a loud noise. First a bugle was blown,
then some louder instrument, and so on, till there
was a whole brass band going. Rarey reassured
the animal, and it was not afraid."

"You like horses better than any other ani-
mals, don't you, Harry?" asked 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 Scamp very much ? ' '

"Oh, yes ; I often watched 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, and she 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 it without fail, so father put a little
stick under his arm, and every time she would bite,
he would give her a rap 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 had was to start for the stable the minute
one of the traces was unfastened when we were
unharnessing. She pulled father over once, and

A HAPPY HORSE 237

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'd
had the training of Scamp, she'd be a very differ-
ent animal. It's nearly all in the bringing up of a
colt, whether it will turn out vicious or gentle. If
any one were to strike Fleetfoot, 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
Fleetfoot and Cleve and Pacer. Those three are
her favorites."

"I love to go for drives with Cleve 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 man you had,
w^ho said that those two horses knew more than
most ' humans.' "

"That was old Davids," said Mr. Harry;
" when we had him, he was courting a widow who
lived over in Hoytville. About once a fortnight,
he'd ask father for one of the horses to go over

238 BEAUTIFUL JOE

to 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 Cleve
or Pacer, whichever one he happened to have,
would draw up in the barnyard. They would pass
any rigs 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 gait
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 stories,
and I am almost as bad. You will have to cry
• halt, ' when we bore you.

" You never do," replied Miss Laura. " I love
to talk about animals. I think the best story
about Cleve and Pacer is the one that uncle told
me last evening. I don't think you were there.
It was about stealing the oats."

"Cleve and Pacer never steal," said Mr.
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
Cleve, and ate the other himself, and uncle was
so amused that he let them eat a long time, and
stood and watched them."

" Th3.t Tvas a. clever trick," said Mr. 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,

A HAPPY HORSE 239

they'd pine away and die. *You have noticed how
low the partitions are between the boxes in the
horse stable. 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
fond of company as we are. Cleve 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 any one but you and mother. Father
wouldn't write me about it, for he never will put
a line on paper where any one's reputation is
concerned."

CHAPTER XXVI

THE BOX OF MONEY

HIS Story," said Mr. Harry, "is about
one of the hired men we had last win-
ter, whose name was Jacobs. He was
a cunning fellow, with a hangdog look, and a
great cleverness at steaUng farm produce from
father on the sly, and selling it. Father knew
perfectly well what he was doing, and was won-
dering what would be the best way to deal with
him, when one day something happened that
brought matters to a chmax.

' ' 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. The snow 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 Jerrold, and he hved alone with his
daughter. He had saved a litde money that he
kept in a box under his bed. When father got

THE BOX OF MONEY 24 1

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

a meaning to. So he let the reins 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 had stolen from him.

Father had never seen him before, but he knew

he had the name of being half silly, and question

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 up stairs, and he down below. About ten

o'clock she heard him scream, and running down

stairs, she found him sitting up in bed, and the

window wide open. He said a man had sprung

in upon him, stuffed the bedclothes into his mouth,

and dragging his box from under the bed, had

made off with it. She ran to the door and looked

out, but there was no one to be seen. It was dark,
16

242 BEAUTIFUL JOE

and snowing a little, so no traces of footsteps were
to be perceived in the morning.

' ' Father found that the neighbors were drop-
ping 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 about
the stable in a nervous kind of a way, and said
he wanted to speak to him. Father said very
good, but put the horse in first. Jacobs unhitched,
and father sat 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 money that Jacobs had defrauded
him of. Father said the fellow turned all the
colors of the rainbow, for he thought he had cov
ered 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. Father told him that 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 right around
now, there was a chance for him. If he didn't
there was nothing but the State's prison ahead of

THE BOX OF MOXEY 243

him, for he needn't think he was going to gull
and cheat all the world, and never be found out.
Father said he'd give him all the help in his
power, if he had his word that he'd try to be an
honest man. Then he tore up the paper, and
said there was an end of his indebtedness to him.

"Jacobs is only a young fellow, twenty-three
or thereabout, 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 yet 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 bor-
rowed Pacer to go to the Junction, but had come
in with the horse steaming, 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 just the
same as usual, and went about with the other m.en
doing his work, but saying nothing about going
West. Late in the afternoon, a farmer going by
hailed father, and asked if he'd heard the news.

244 BEAUTIFUL JOE

Old Miser Jerrold's box had been left on his door-
step some time through the night, and he'd found
it in the morning. The money was all there, but
the old fellow was so cute that he wouldn't tell
any one 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 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, still 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
Jerrold got to be considered quite a desirable young
person among some of the youth near there, though

THE BOX OF MONEY 245

she is a frowsy-headed creature, and not as neat
in her personal attire as a young girl should be.
Among her suitors was Jacobs. He cut out a black-
smith, 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 Jerrold's daughter. He wanted to quit
father's employ, and he thanked him in a real
manly way for the manner in 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 Jerrold,
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 imbecihty, 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 that he had ever
heard of.

"In the end, Jacobs got married, and father
and mother went to the wedding. Father gave
the bridegroom 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 comb her hair, and he waits on the old
man as if he was his son, and he is improving the
farm that was going to rkck and ruin, and I hear
he is going to build a new house."

246 BEAUTIFUL JOE

"Harry," exclaimed Miss Laura, "can't you
take me to see them ? ' '

' ' Yes, indeed ; mother often drives over to take
them htde things, and we'll go, too, sometime.
I'd like to see Jacobs myself, now that he is a de-
cent 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 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, Fleetfoot."

"Where did you say we were going ? " asked
Miss Laura, as we crossed the bridge over the
river.

" A little way back here in the woods," he re-
phed. ' ' There' s an Englishman on a small clear-
ing that he calls Penhollow. 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 Ches-
terfield ? "

"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. He says
we ought to be as ready to help an Englishman
as an American, for we spring from common
stock."

" Oh, not Enghshmen only," said Miss Laura,
warmly; "Chinamen, and Negroes, and every-

THE BOX OF MONEY 247

body. 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 English-
man," said Miss Laura.

"There isn't much to tell. He lives alone,
only coming occasionally to the village for sup-
plies, and though he is poorer than poverty, he
despises every soul within a ten-mile radius of
him, and looks upon us as no better than an order
of thrifty, well-trained lower animals."

' ' Why is that ? ' ' asked 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 a bow, nor does he put
on evening dress for a late dinner, and we never
go to the opera nor to the theatre, and know noth-
ing of polite society, nor can we tell exactly whom
our great-great-grandfather sprang from. I tell
you, there is a gulf between us and that English-
man, wider than the one young Curtius leaped
into."

Miss Laura was laughing merrily. " How
funny that sounds, Harry. So he despises you,"
and she glanced at her good-looking cousin, and
his handsome buggy and well-kept horse, and then
burst into another merry peal of laughter.

Mr. Harry laughed, too. ' ' It does seem absurd.
Sometimes when I pass him jogging along to town

248 BEAUTIFUL JOE

in his rickety old cart, and look at his pale, cruel
face, and know that he is a broken-down gambler
and 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 were passing through
a thick wood. The road was narrow and very
broken, and Fleetfoot was obliged to pick his way
carefully. "Why does the Englishman hve in
this out-of-the-way place, if he is so fond of city
life ? ' ' said 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.
It annoyed father, for he said he might take some
of it to pay his debts. I think his relatives in
England supply him with funds. Here we are at
che entrance to the mansion of Penhollow. 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

THE BOX OF MONEY 249

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
straggling 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. " Fie hasn't even gumption enough to
throw down a load of stone there. Drive in, Laura,
and r 11 put up the bars. ' ' Fleetfoot 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 an-
noyed.

" No man livcth 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 lazi-
ness 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 in the windows were broken, and the whole

250 BEAUTIFUL JOE

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. ' ' Barron must
be away. Will you hold Fleetfoot, Laura, while
I go and see ? ' '

He drew the buggy up near a small log build-
ing that had evidently been used for a stable, and
I lay down beside it and watched Miss Laura.

CHAPTER XXVII

A NEGLECTED STABLE

HAD not been on the ground more than
a few seconds, before I turned my eyes
from Miss Laura to the log hut. It was
deathly quiet, there was not a sound coming from
it, but the air was full of queer smells, and I was
so uneasy that I could not lie still. There
was something the matter with Fleetfoot, too.
He was pawing the ground and whinnying, and
looking, not after Mr. Harry, but toward the log
building.

"Joe," said Miss Laura, " what is the matter
with you and Fleetfoot? Why don't you stand
still? Is there any stranger about?" and she
peered out of the buggy.

I knew there was something wrong somewhere,
but I didn't know what it was ; so I stretched my-
self up on the step of the buggy, and licked her
hand, and barking, to ask her to excuse me, I ran
off to the other side of the log hut. There was a
door there, but it was closed, and propped firmly
up by a plank that I could not move, scratch as
hard as I liked. I was determined to get in, so I

252 BEAUTIFUL JOE

jumped against the door, and tore and bit at
the plank, till Miss Laura came to help me.

"You won't find anything but rats in that ram-
shackle old place. Beautiful Joe," she said, as
she pulled the plank away; "and as you don't
hurt them, I don't see what you want to get in for.
However, you are a sensible dog, and usually have
a reason for having your own way, so I am going
to let you have it."

The plank fell down as she spoke, and she
pulled open the rough door and looked in. There
was no window inside, only the light that streamed
through the door, so that for an instant she could
see nothing. " Is any one here ?" she asked, in
her clear, sweet voice. There was no answer, ex-
cept a low, moaning sound. ' ' Why, some poor
creature is in trouble, Joe," said Miss Laura, cheer-
fully. " Let us see what it is," and she stepped
inside.

I shall never forget seeing my dear Miss Laura
going into that wet and filthy log house, holding
up her white dress in her hands, her face a picture
of pain and horror. There were two rough stalls
in it, and in the first one was tied a cow, with a
calf lying beside her. I could never have believed,
if I had not seen it with my own eyes, that an animal
could get so thin as that cow was. Her backbone
rose up high and sharp, her hip bones stuck away
out, and all her body seemed shrunken in. There
were sores on her sides, and the smell from her
stall was terrible. Miss Laura gave one cry of pity,
then with a very pale face she dropped her dress,

A NEGLECTED STABLE 253

and seizing a little penknife from her pocket, she
hacked at the rope that tied the cow to the manger,
and cut it so that the cow could He down. The
first thing the poor cow did was to lick her calf,
but it was quite dead. I used to think Jenkins's
cows were thin enough, but he never had one that
looked like this. Her head was like the head of a
skeleton, and her eyes had such a famished look,
that I turned away, sick at heart, to think that she
had suffered so.

When the cow lay down, the moaning noise
stopped, for she had been making it. Miss Laura
ran outdoors, snatched a handful of grass and took
it in to her. The cow ate it gratefully, but slowly,
for her strength seemed all gone.

Miss Laura then went into the other stall to see
if there was any creature there. There had been
a horse. There was now a lean, gaunt-looking
animal lying on the ground, that seemed as if he
was dead. There was a heavy rope knotted
round his neck, and fastened to his empty rack.
Miss Laura stepped carefully between his feet, cut
the rope and going outside the stall spoke kindly
to him. He moved his ears slightly, raised his
head, tried to get up, fell back again, tried again,
and succeeded in staggering outdoors after Miss
Laura, who kept encouraging him, and then he fell
down on the grass.

Fleetfoot stared at the miserable-looking crea-
ture as if he did not know what it was. The horse
had no sores on his body, as the cow had, nor was
he quite so lean ; but he was the weakest, most

254 BEAUTIFUL JOE

distressed-looking animal that I ever saw. The
flies settled on him, and Miss Laura had to keep
driving them away. He was a white horse, with
some kind of pale-colored eyes, and whenever he
turned them on Miss Laura, she would look away.
She did not cry, as she often did over the sick and
suffering animals. This seemed too bad for tears.
She just hovered over that poor horse with her face
as white as her dress, and an expression of fright
in her eyes. Oh, how dirty he was ! I would
never have imagined that a horse could get in
such a condition.

All this had only taken a few minutes, and just
after she got the horse out, Mr. Harry appeared.
He came out of the house with a slow step, that
quickened to a run when he saw Miss Laura.
' ' Laura ! " he exclaimed, ' ' what are you doing ?' '
Then he stopped and looked at the horse, not in
amazement, but very sorrowfully. ' ' Barron is
gone," he said, and crumpling up apiece of paper,
he put it in his pocket. " What is to be done for
these animals ? There is a cow, isn't there ? "

He stepped to the door of the log hut, glanced
in, and said, quickly : ' ' Do you feel able to drive
home ? "

"Yes," said Miss Laura.

" Sure ? " and he eyed her anxiously.

' ' Yes, yes, ' ' she returned ; ' ' what shall I get ?' '

' ' Just tell father that Barron has run away and
left a starving pig, cow, and horse. There's not
a thing to eat here. He'll know what to do. Til
drive vou to the road."

A NEGLECTED STABLE 255

Miss Laura got into the buggy and Mr. Harry-
jumped in after her. He drove her to the road
and put down the bars; then he said: "Go
straight on. You'll soon be on the open road,
and there's nothing to harm you. Joe will look
after you. Meanwhile I'll go back to the house
and heat some water."

Miss Laura let Fleetfoot go as fast as he liked
on the way home, and it only seemed a few min-
utes before we drove into the yard. Adele came
out to meet us. " Where's uncle ?" asked Miss
Laura.

" Gone to de big meadow," said Adele.

' ' And auntie ? ' '

"She had de colds and chills, and entered
into de bed to keep warm. She lose herself in
sleep now. You not go near her."

"Are there none of the men about?" asked
Miss Laura.

"No, mademoiselle. Dey all occupied way
off."

" Then you help me, Adele, like a good girl,"
said Miss Laura, hurrying into the house. " We've
found a sick horse and cow. What shall I take
them ? ' '

" Nearly all animals like de bran mash," said
Adele.

"Good!" cried Miss Laura. "That is the
very thing. Put in the things to make it, will you
please, and I would like some vegetables for the
cow. Carrots, turnips, anything you have ; take
some of those you have prepared for dinner to-

256 BEAUTIFUL JOE

morrow, and please run up to the barn, Adele, and
get some hay, and corn, and oats, not much, for
we'll be going back again ; but hurry, for the poor
things are starving, and have you any milk for
the pig ? Put it in one of those tin kettles with
covers."

For a few minutes. Miss Laura and Adele flew
about the kitchen, then we set off again. Miss
Laura took me in the buggy, for I was out of
breath and wheezing greatly. I had to sit on the
seat beside her, for the bottom of the buggy and
the back were full of eatables for the poor sick
animals. Just as we drove into the road, we met
Mr. Wood. "Are you running away with the
farm?" he said with a laugh, pointing to the
carrot tops that were gaily waving over the dash-
board.

Miss Laura said a few words to him, and with
a very grave face he got in beside her. In a short
time, we were back on the lonely road. Mr.
Harry was waiting at the gate for us, and when he
saw Miss Laura, he said, "Why did you come
back again ? You'll be tired out. This isn't a
place for a sensitive girl like you."

" I thought I might be of some use," said she,
gently.

"So you can," said Mr. Wood. "You go
into the house and sit down, and Harry and I will
come to you when we want cheering up. What
have you been doing, Harry ? ' '

"I've watered them a little, and got a gooa
fire going. I scarcely think the cow will pull

A NEGLECTED STABLE 257

through. I think we'll save the horse. I tried to
get the cow out-doors, but she can't move."

"Let her alone," said Mr. Wood. "Give
her some food and her strength will come to her.
What have you got here ? ' ' and he began to take
the things out of the buggy. " Bless the child,
she's thought of everything, even the salt. Bring
those things into the house, Harry, and we'll
make a bran mash."

For more than an hour they were fussing over
the animals. Then they came in and sat down.
The inside of the Englishman's house was as
untidy as the outside. There was no upstairs to
it — only one large room with a dirty curtain
stretched across it. On one side was a low bed
with a heap of clothes on it, a chair and a wash-
stand. On the other was a stove, a table, a shaky
rocking-chair that Miss Laura was sitting in, a few
hanging shelves with some dishes and books on
them, and two or three small boxes that had evi-
dently been used for seats.

On the walls were tacked some pictures of
grand houses and ladies and gentlemen in fine
clothes, and Miss Laura said that some of them
were noble people. "Well, I'm glad this partic-
ular nobleman has left us," said Mr. Wood, seat-
ing himself on one of the boxes, " if nobleman he
is. I should call him in plain English, a scoun-
drel. Did Harry show you his note ? "

" No, uncle," said Miss Laura.

" Read it aloud," said Mr. Wood. "I'd hke
to hear it again."

^7

258 BEAUTIFUL JOE

Miss Laura read :

J. Wood, Esq. Dear Sir : — It is a matter of
great regret to me that I am suddenly called away
from my place at Penhollow, and will, therefore,
not be able to do myself the pleasure of calling on
you and settling my little account. I sincerely
hope that the possession of my live stock, which I
make entirely over to you, will more than reim-
burse you for any trifling expense which you may
have incurred on my account. If it is any gratifi-
cation to you to know that you have rendered a
slight assistance to the son of one of England's
noblest noblemen, you have it. With expres-
sions of the deepest respect, and hoping that my
stock may be in good condition when you take
possession,

I am, dear sir, ever devotedly yours,
Howard Algernon Leduc Barron.

Miss Laura dropped the paper. " Uncle, did
lie leave those animals to starve ? "

" Didn't you notice," said Mr. Wood, grimly,
"that there wasn't a wisp of hay inside that
shanty, and that where the poor beasts were tied
'up the wood was knawed and bitten by them in
their torture for food ? Wouldn't he have sent
rne that note, instead of leaving it here on the
table, if he'd wanted me to know? The note
isn't dated, but I judge he's been gone five or six
days. He has had a spite against me ever since
I lent him that hundred dollars. I don't know
why, for I've stood up for him when others would
have run him out of the place. He intended me
to come here and find every animal lying dead.

A NEGLECTED STABLE

259

He even had a rope around the pig's neck.
Harry, my boy, let us go and look after them
again. I love a dumb brute too well to let it
suffer, but in this case I'd give two hundred dol-
lars more if I could make them hve and have
Barron know it. ' '

They left the room, and Miss Laura sat turn-
ing the sheet of paper over and over, with a kind
of horror in her face. It was a very dirty piece of
paper, but by-and-by she made a discovery. She
took it in her hand and went out-doors. I am
sure that the poor horse lying on the grass knew
her. He lifted his head, and what a different e.\-
pression he had now that his hunger had been
partly satisfied. Miss Laura stroked and patted
him, then she called to her cousin, "Harry, will
you look at this ? "

He took the paper from her, and said : " That
is a crest shining through the different strata of
dust and grime, probably that of his own family.
We'll have it cleaned, and it will enable us to track
the villain. You want him punished, don't
you?" he said, with a litde, sly laugh at Miss
Laura.

She made a gesture in the direction of
the suffering horse, and said, frankly, "Yes, I
do."

" Well, my dear girl," he said, " father and I
are with you. If we can hunt Barron down, we'll
do it." Then he muttered to himself as she
turned away, "She is a real Puritan, gentle, and
sweet, and good, and yet severe. Rewards for

26o BEAUTIFUL JOE

the virtuous, punishments for the vicious," and he
repeated some poetry :

** She was so charitable and so piteous,
She would weep if that she saw a mouse
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled."

Miss Laura saw that Mr. Wood and Mr. Harry-
were doing all that could be done for the cow and
horse, so she wandered down to a hollow at the
back of the house, where the Englishman had
kept his pig. Just now, he looked more like a
greyhound than a pig. His legs were so long, his
nose so sharp, and hunger, instead of making him
stupid like the horse and cow, had made him more
lively. I think he had probably not suffered so
much as they had, or perhaps he had had a greater
store of fat to nourish him. Mr. Harry said that
if he had been a girl, he would have laughed and
cried at the same time when he discovered that
pig. He must have been asleep or exhausted
when we arrived, for there was not a sound out of
him, but shortly afterward he had set up a yelling
that attracted Mr. Harry's attention, and made
him run down to him. Mr. Harry said he was
raging around his pen, digging the ground with his
snout, falling down and getting up again, and by
a miracle, escaping death by choking from the
rope that was tied around his neck.

Now that his hunger had been satisfied, he was
gazing contentedly at his little trough that was half
full of good, sweet milk. Mr. Harry said that a
starving animal, like a starving person, should

A NEGLECTED STABLE 261

only be fed a little at a time ; but the Englishman's
animals had always been fed poorly, and their
stomachs had contracted so that they could not eat
much at one time.

Miss Laura got a stick and scratched poor

piggy's back a little, and then she went back to

the house. In a short time we went home with

Mr. Wood. Mr. Harry was going to stay all night

with the sick animals, and his mother would send

him things to make him comfortable. She was

better by the time we got home, and was horrified

to hear the tale of Mr. Barron's neglect. Later in

the evening, she sent one of the men over with a

whole box full of things for her darling boy, and

a nice, hot tea, done up for him in a covered dish.

When the man came home, he said that Mr.

Harry would not sleep in the Englishman's dirty

house, but had slung a hammock out under the

trees. However, he would not be able to sleep

much, for he had his lantern by his side, all ready

to jump up and attend to the horse and cow. It

was a very lonely place for him out there in the

woods, and his mother said that she would be glad

when the sick animals could be driven to their own

farm.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE END OF THE ENGLISHMAN

N a few days, thanks to Mr. Harry's con-
stant care, the horse and cow were able
to walk. It was a mournful procession
that came into the yard at Dingley Farm. The
hollow-eyed horse, and lean cow, and funny, little
thin pig, staggering along in such a shaky fashion.
Their hoofs were diseased, and had partly rotted
away, so that they could not walk' straight. Though
it was only a mile or two from Penhollow to Ding-
ley Farm, they were tired out, and dropped down
exhausted on their comfortable beds.

Miss Laura was so delighted to think that they
had all lived, that she did not know what to do.
Her eyes were bright and shining, and she went
from one to another with such a happy face. The
queer little pig that Mr. Harry had christened
"Daddy Longlegs," had been washed, and he
lay on his heap of straw in the corner of his neat
little pen, and surveyed his clean trough and abun-
dance of food with the air of a prince. Why, he
would be clean and dry here, and all his life he

had been used to dirty, damp Penhollow, with the
262

THE END OF THE ENGLISHMAN 263

trees hanging over him, and his Httle feet in a
mass of filth and dead leaves. Happy little pig !
His ugly eyes seemed to blink and gleam with
gratitude, and he knew Miss Laura and Mr. Harry
as well as I did.

His tiny tail was curled so tight that it was al-
most in a knot. Mr. Wood said that was a sign
that he was healthy and happy, and that when
poor Daddy was at Penhollow he had noticed that
his tail hung as limp and as loose as the tail of a
rat. He came and leaned over the pen with Miss
Laura, and had a little talk with her about pigs.
He said they were by no means the stupid animals
that some people considered them. He had had
pigs that were as clever as dogs. One little black
pig that he had once sold to a man away back in
the country had found his way home, through the
woods, across the river, up hill and down dale,
and he'd been taken to the place with a bag over
his head. Mr. Wood said that he kept that pig
because he knew so much.

He said the most knowing pigs he ever saw
were Canadian pigs. One time he was having a
trip on a sailing vessel, and it anchored in a long,
narrow harbor in Canada, where the tide came in
with a front four or five feet high called the ' ' bore. ' '
There was a village opposite the place where the
ship was anchored, and every day at low tide, a
number of pigs came down to look for shell-fish.
Sometimes they went out for half a mile over the
mud flats, but always a few minutes before the tide
came rushing in they turned and hurried to the

26^ BEAUTIFUL JOE

shore. Their instincts warned them that if they
stayed any longer they would be drowned.

Mr. Wood had a number of pigs, and after a
while Daddy was put in with them, and a fine time
he had of it making friends with the other little
•grunters. They were often let out in the pasture
or orchard, and when they were there, I could
always single out Daddy from among them, be-
cause he was the smartest. Though he had been
brought up in such a miserable way, he soon
learned to take very good care of himself at Ding-
ley Farm, and it was amusing to see him when a
storm was coming on, running about in a state of
great excitement carrying little bundles of straw
in his mouth to make himself a bed. He was a
white pig, and was always kept very clean. Mr.
Wood said that it is wrong to keep pigs dirty.
They like to be clean as well as other animals, and
if they were kept so, human beings would not get
so many diseases from eating their flesh.

The cow, poor unhappy creature, never, as long
as she lived on Dingley Farm, lost a strange,
melancholy look from her eyes. I have heard it
said that animals forget past unhappiness, and
perhaps some of them do. I know that I have
never forgotten my one miserable year with Jen-
kins, and I have been a sober, thoughtful dog
in consequence of it, and not playful like some
dogs who have never known what it is to be really
unhappy.

It always seemed to me that the Englishman's
cow was thinking of her poor dead calf, starved to

THE END OF THE ENGLISHMAN 265

death by her cruel master. She got well herself,
and came and went with the other cows, seem-
ingly as happy as they, but often when I watched
her standing chewing her cud, and looking away
in the distance, I could see a difference between
her face and the faces of the cows that had always
been happy on Dingley Farm. Even the farm
hands called her ' ' Old Melancholy, ' ' and soon she
got to be known by that name, or Mel, for short.
Until she got well, she was put into the cow stable,
where Mr. Wood's cows all stood at night upon
raised platforms of earth covered over with straw
litter, and she was tied with a Dutch halter, so
that she could lie down and go to sleep when she
wanted to. When she got well, she was put out to
pasture with the other cows.

The horse they named "Scrub," because he
could never be, under any circumstance, anything
but a broken-down, plain-looking animal. He
was put into the horse stable in a stall next Fleet-
foot, and as the partition was low, they could look
over at each other. In time, by dint of much doc-
toring. Scrub's hoofs became clean and sound,
and he was able to do some work. Miss Laura
petted him a great deal. She often took out apples
to the stable, and Fleetfoot would throw up his
beautiful head and look reproachfully over the
partition at her, for she always stayed longer with
Scrub than with him, and Scrub always got the
larger share of whatever good thing was going.

Poor old Scrub ! I think he loved Miss Laura.
He was a stupid sort of a horse, and always acted

266 BEAUTIFUL JOE

as if he was blind. He would run his nose up
and down the front of her dress, nip at the but-
tons, and be very happy if he could get a bit of
her watch-chain between his strong teeth. If he
was in the field he never seemed to know her till
she was right under his pale-colored eyes. Then
he would be delighted to see her. He was not
bhnd though, for Mr. Wood said he was not. He
said he had probably not been an over-bright horse
to start with, and had been made more dull by
cruel usage.

As for the Englishman, the master of these
animals, a very strange thing happened to him.
He came to a terrible end, but for a long time no
one knew anything about it. Mr. Wood and Mr.
Harry were so very angry with him that they said
they would leave no stone unturned to have him
punished, or at least to have it known what a vil-
lain he was. They sent the paper with the crest
on it to Boston. Some people there wrote to Eng-
land, and found out that it was the crest of a noble
and highly esteemed family, and some earl was at
the head of it. They were all honorable people
in this family except one man, a nephew, not a
son, of the late earl. He was the black sheep of
them all. As a young man, he had led a wild
and wicked hfe, and had ended by forging the
name of one of his friends, so that he was obliged
to leave England and take refuge in America.
By the description of this man, Mr. Wood knew
that he must be Mr. Barron, so he wrote to these
English people, and told them what a wicked

THE END OF THE ENGLISHMAN 26/

thing their relative had done in leaving his ani-
mals to starve. In a short time, he got an answer
from them, which was, at the same time, very
proud and very touching. It came from Mr. Bar-
ron's cousin, and he said quite frankly that he
knew his relative was a man of evil habits, but it
seemed as if nothing could be done to reform him.
His family was accustomed to send a quarterly
allowance to him, on condition that he led a quiet
Hfe in some retired place, but their last remittance
to him was lying unclaimed in Boston, and they
thought he must be dead. Could Mr. Wood tell
them anything about him ?

Mr. Wood looked very thoughtful when he got
this letter, then he said, " Harry, how long is it
since Barron ran away ? ' '

"About eight weeks," said Mr. Harry.

"That's strange," said Mr. Wood. "The
money these English people sent him would get
to Boston just a few days after he left here. He
is not the man to leave it long unclaimed. Some-
thing must have happened to him. Where do you
suppose he would go from Penhollow ? ' '

" I have no idea, sir," said Mr. Harry.

"And how would he go?" said Mr. Wood.
" He did not leave Riverdale Station, because
he would have been spotted by some of his
creditors."

" Perhaps he would cut through the woods to
the Junction," said Mr. Harry.

"Just what he w.ould do," said Mr. Wood,
slapping his knee. "I'll be driving over there

268 BEAUTIFUL JOE

to-morrow to see Thompson, and I'll make
inquiries."

Mr. Harry spoke to his father the next night
when he came home, and asked him if he had
found out anything. "Only this," said Mr.
Wood. " There's no one answering to Barron's
description who has left Riverdale Junction within
a twelvemonth. He must have struck some other
station. We'll let him go. The Lord looks out
for fellows like that. ' '

' ' We will look out for him if he ever comes
back to Riverdale," said Mr. Harry, quietly. All
through the village, and in the country it was
known what a dastardly trick the Englishman had
played, and he would have been roughly handled
if he had dared return.

Months passed away, and nothing was heard
of him. Late in the autumn, after Miss Laura and
I had gone back to Fairport, Mrs. Wood wrote
her about the end of the Englishman. Some
Riverdale lads were beating about the woods,
looking for lost cattle, and in their wanderings
came to an old stone quarry that had been disused
for years. On one side there was a smooth wall
of rock, many feet deep. On the other the ground
and rock were broken away, and it was quite easy
to get into it. They found that by some m.eans or
other, one of their cows had fallen into this deep
pit, over the steep side of the quarry. Of course,
the poor creature was dead, but the boys, out of
curiosity, resolved to go down and look at her.
They clambered down, found the cow, and, to

THE END OF THE ENGLISHMAN 269

their horror and amazement, discovered near-by
the skeleton of a man. There was a heavy walk-
ing-stick by his side, which they recognized as
one that the Englishman had carried.

He was a drinking man, and perhaps he had
taken something that he thought would strengthen
him for his morning's walk, but which had, on
the contrary, bewildered him, and made him lose
his way and fall into the quarry. Or he might
have started before daybreak, and in the darkness
have slipped and fallen down this steep wall of
rock. One leg was doubled under him, and if he
had not been instantly killed by the fall, he must
have been so disabled that he could not move. In
that lonely place, he would call for help in vain,
so he may have perished by the terrible death of
starvation — the death he had thought to mete out
to his suffering animals.

Mrs. Wood said that there was never a sermon
preached in Riverdale that had the effect that the
death of this wicked man had, and it reminded
her of a verse in the Bible : "He made a pit and
he digged it, and is fallen into the ditch which he
made." Mrs. Wood said that her husband had
written about the finding of Mr. Barron's body to
his English relatives, and had received a letter
from them in which they seemed relieved to hear
that he was dead. They thanked Mr. W^ood for
his plain speaking in telling them of their rela-
tive's misdeeds, and said that from all they knew
of Mr. Barron's past conduct, his influence would
be for evil and not for good, in any place that he

270 BEAUTIFUL JOE

choose to live in. They were having their money-
sent from Boston to Mr. Wood, and they wished
him to expend it in the way he thought best fitted
to counteract the evil effects of their namesake's
doings in Riverdale.

When this money came, it amounted to some
hundreds of dollars. Mr. Wood would have
nothing to do with it. He handed it over to the
Band of Mercy, and they formed what they called
the "Barron Fund," which they drefi^ upon when
they wanted money for buying and circulating
humane literature. Mrs. W^ood said that the fund
was being added to, and the children were send-
ing all over the State leaflets and little books
which preached the gospel of kindness to God's
lower creation. A stranger picking one of them
up, and seeing the name of the wicked English-
man printed on the title-page, would think that he
was a friend and benefactor to the Riverdale
people — ^the very opposite of what he gloried in
being.

CHAPTER XXIX

A TALK ABOUT SHEEP

' ISS LAURA was very much interested in
the sheep on Dingley Farm. There was
a flock in the orchard near the house
that she often went to see. She always carried
roots and vegetables to them, turnips particularly,
for they were very fond of them ; but they would
not come to her to get them, for they did not know
her voice. They only lifted their heads and stared
at her when she called them. But when they
heard Mr. Wood's voice, they ran to the fence,
bleating with pleasure, and trying to push their
noses through to get the carrot or turnip, or what-
ever he was handing to them. He called them his
little Southdowns, and he said he loved his sheep,
for they were the most gentle and inoffensive crea-
tures that he had on his farm.

One day when he came into the kitchen in-
quiring for salt. Miss Laura said : " Is it for the
sheep ? ' '

"Yes," he replied; "I am going up to the
w^oods pasture to examine my Shropshires."

" You would like to go too, Laura," said Mrs.

271

272 BEAUTIFUL JOE

Wood. ' ' Take your hands right away from that
cake. I'll finish frosting it for you. Run along
and get your broad-brimmed hat. It's very hot."

Miss Laura danced out into the hall and back
again, and soon we were walking up, back of the
house, along a path that led us through the fields
to the pasture. ' ' What are you going to do,
uncle?" she said; "and what are those funny
things in your hands ? ' '

" Toe-clippers," he rephed - " and I am going
to examine the sheeps' hoofs. You know we've
had warm, moist weather all through July, and
I'm afraid of foot-rot. Then they're sometimes
troubled with overgrown hoofs."

" What do you do if they get foot-rot ? " asked
Miss Laura,

"I've various cures," he said. " Paring and
clipping, and dipping the hoof in blue vitriol and
vinegar, or rubbing it on, as the English shepherds
do. It destroys the diseased part, but doesn't
affect the sound. ' '

' ' Do sheep have many diseases ? ' ' asked Miss
Laura. " I know one of them myself — that is the
scab."

"A nasty thing that," said Mr. Wood, vigor-
ously ; ' ' and a man that builds up a flock from a
stockyard often finds it out to his cost."

' ' What is it like ? ' ' asked Miss Laura.

' ' The sheep get scabby from a microbe under
the skin, which causes them to itch fearfully, and
they lose their wool.

" And can't it be cured .?"

A TALE ABOUT SHEEP 273

" Oh, yes ! with time and attention. There are
different remedies. I believe petroleum is the
best."

By this time we had got to a wide gate that
opened into the pasture. As Mr. Wood let Miss
Laura go through and then closed it behind her, he
said, " You are looking at that gate. You want to
know why it is so long, don't you ? "

"Yes, uncle," she said ; "but I can't bear to
ask so many questions."

"Ask as many as you like," he said, good-
naturedly, " I don't mind answering them. Have
you ever seen sheep pass through a gate or door ?"

" Oh, yes, often,"

" And how do they act ? "

"Oh, so silly, uncle. They hang back, and
one waits for another ; and, finally, they all try to
go at once."

" Precisely ; when one goes they all want to

go, if it was to jump into a bottomless pit. Many

sheep are injured by overcrowding, so I have my

gates and doors very wide. Now, let us call them

up." There wasn't one in sight, but when Mr.

Wood lifted up his voice and cried : " Ca nan, nan,

nan ! ' ' black faces began to peer out from among

the bushes ; and little black legs, carrying white

•bodies, came hurrying up the stony paths from the

cooler parts of the pasture. Oh, how glad they

were to get the salt ! Mr, Wood let Miss Laura

spread it on some flat rocks, then they sat down on

a log under a tree and watched them eating it and

licking the rocks when it was all gone. Miss
18

274 BEAUTIFUL JOE

Laura sat fanning herself with her hat and smiling
at them. "You funny, woolly things," she said;
"You're not so stupid as some people think you
are. Lie still, Joe. If you show yourself, they
may run away."

I crouched behind the log, and only hfted my
head occasionally to see what the sheep were do-
ing. Some of them went back into the woods, for
it was very hot in this bare part of the pasture, but
the most of them would not leave Mr. Wood, and
stood staring at him. " That's a fine sheep, isn't
it ? " said Miss Laura, pointing to one with the
blackest face, and the blackest legs, and largest
body of those near us.

"Yes ; that's old Jessica. Do you notice how
she' s holding her head close to the ground ? ' '
' ' Yes ; is there any reason for it ? "
"There is. She's afraid of the grub fly. You
often see sheep holding their noses in that way in
the summer time. It is to prevent the fly from
going into their nostrils, and depositing an egg,
which will turn into a grub and annoy and worry
them. When the fly comes near, they give a sniff
and run as if they were crazy, still holding their
noses close to the ground. When I was a boy,
and the sheep did that, we thought that they had
colds in their heads, and used to rub tar on their
noses. We knew nothing about the fly then, but
the tar cured them, and is just what I use now.
Two or three times a month during hot weather,
we put a few drops of it on the nose of every sheep
in the flock."

A TALK ABOUT SHEEP 275

" I suppose farmers are like other people, and
are always finding out better ways of doing their
work, aren't they, uncle ? " said Miss Laura.

' ' Yes, my child. The older I grow, the more
I find out, and the better care I take of my stock.
My grandfather would open his eyes in amazement,
and ask me if I was an old women petting her cats,
if he were alive, and could know the care I give my
sheep. He used to let his flock run till the fields
were covered with snow, and bite as close as they
liked, till there wasn't a scrap of feed left. Then
he would give them an open shed to run under,
and throw down their hay outside. Grain they
scarcely knew the taste of. That they would fall
off in fiesh, and half of them lose their lambs in
the spring, was an expected thing. He would say
I had them kennelled, if he could see my big,
closed sheds, with the sunny windows that my flock
spend the winter in. I even house them during
the bad fall storms. They can run out again.
Indeed, I like to get them in, and have a snack
of dry food, to break them in to it. They are in
and out of those sheds all winter. You must go in,
Laura, and see the self-feeding racks. On bright,
winter days they get a run in the cornfields. Cold
doesn't hurt sheep. It's the heavy rain that soaks
their fleeces.

"With my way I seldom lose a sheep, and
they're the most profitable stock I have. If I
could not keep them, I think I'd give up farming.
Last year my lambs netted me eight dollars each.
The fleeces of the ewes average eight pounds, and

276 BEAUTIFUL JOE

sell for two dollars each. That's something to
brag of in these days, when so many are giving
up the sheep industry."

" How many sheep have you, uncle ? " asked
Miss Laura.

"Only fifty, now. Twenty-five here and
twenty-five .down below in the orchard. I've
been selhng a good many this spring."

"These sheep are larger than those in the
orchard, aren't they ? " said Miss Laura.

' ' Yes ; I keep those few Southdowns for their
fine quahty. I don't make as much on them as I
do on these Shropshires. For an all-around sheep
I like the Shropshire. It's good for mutton, for
wool, and for rearing lambs. There's a great
demand for mutton nowadays, all through our
eastern cities. People want more and more of it.
And it has to be tender, and juicy, and finely fla-
vored, so a person has to be particular about the
feed the sheep get.

"Don't you hate to have these creatures killed,
that you have raised and tended so carefully ? ' '
said Miss Laura with a Uttle shudder.

"I do," said her uncle ;" but never an ani-
mal goes off my place that I don't know just how
it's going to be put to death. None of your send-
ing sheep to market with their legs tied together,
and jammed in a cart, and sweating and suffering
for me. They've got to go standing comfortably
on their legs, or go not at all. And I'm going to
know the butcher that kills my animals, that have
been petted hke children. I said to Davidson,

A IaLk about sheep 277

over there in Hoytville, ' If I thought you would
herd my sheep and lambs and calves together,
and take them one by one in sight of the rest, and
stick your knife into them, or stun them, and
have the others lowing, and bleating, and crying
in their misery, this is the last consignment you
would ever get from, me.'

" He said, 'Wood, I don't like my business,
but on the word of an honest man, my butchering
is done as well as it can be. Come and see for
yourself. '

"He took me to his slaughter-house, and
diough I didn't stay long, I saw enough to con-
vince me that he spoke the truth. He has differ-
ent pens and sheds, and the killing is done as
quietly as possible ; the animals are taken in one
by one, and though the others suspect what is
going on, they can't see it."

" These sheep are a long way from the house,"
said Miss Laura; " don't the dogs that you were
telling me about attack them ? ' '

"No; for since I had that brush with Wind-
ham's dog, I've trained them to go and come
with the cows. It's a queer thing, but cows that
will run from a dog when they are alone will
fight him if he meddles with their calves or the
sheep. There's not a dog around that would dare
to come into this pasture, for he knows the cows
would be after him with lowered horns, and ?.
business look in their eyes. The sheep in the
orchard are safe enough, for they're near the
house, and if a strange dog came around, Joe

278 BEAUTIFUL JOE

would settle him, wouldn't you, Joe?" and Mr.
Wood looked behind the log at me.

I got up and put my head on his arm, and he
went on : "By and by, the Southdowns will be
changed up here, and the Shropshires will go down
to the orchard. I like to keep one flock under my
fruit trees. You know there is an old proverb,
' The sheep has a golden hoof. ' They save me
the trouble of ploughing. I haven't ploughed my
orchard for ten years, and don't expect to plough
it for ten years more. Then your Aunt Hattie's
hens are so obliging that they keep me from the
worry of finding ticks at shearing time. All the
year round, I let them run among the sheep, and
they nab every tick they see."

"How closely sheep bite," exclaimed Miss
Laura, pointing to one that was nibbling almost at
his master's feet.

" Very close, and they eat a good many things
that cows don't relish — bitter weeds, and briars,
and shrubs, and the young ferns that come up in
the spring."

" I wish I could get hold of one of those dear
little lambs, ' ' said Miss Laura. ' ' See that sweet
little blackie back in the alders. Could you not
coax him up ? "

"He wouldn't come here," said her uncle,
kindly; "but I'll try and get him for you."

He rose, and after several efforts succeeded in
capturing the black-faced creature, and bringing
him up to the log. He was very shy of Miss
Laura, but Mr. Wood held him firmly, and let her

A TALK ABOUT SHEEP 279

stroke his head as much as she liked. " You call
him little," said Mr. Wood; "if you put your
arm around him, you'll find he's a pretty substan-
tial lamb. He was born in March. This is the
last of July ; he'll be shorn the middle of next
month, and think he's quite grown up. Poor
little animal ! he had quite a struggle for life.
The sheep were turned out to pasture in April.
They can't bear confinement as well as the cows,
and as they bite closer they can be turned out
earlier, and get on well by having good rations of
corn in addition to the grass, which is thin and
poor so early in the spring. This young creature
was running by his mother's side, rather a weak-
legged, poor specimen of a lamb. Every night
the flock was put under shelter, for the ground was
cold, and though the sheep might not suffer from
lying out-doors, the lambs would get chilled. One
night this fellow's mother got astray, and as Ben
neglected to make the count, she wasn't missed,
I'm always anxious about my lambs in the spring,
and often get up in the night to look after them.
That night I went out about two o'clock. I took
it into my head, for some reason or other, to count
them. I found a sheep and lamb missing, took
my lantern and Bruno, who was some good at
tracking sheep, and started out. Bruno barked
and I called, and the foolish creature came to me,
the little lamb staggering after her. I wrapped
the lamb in my coat, took it to the house, made a
fire, and heated some milk. Your Aunt Hattie
heard me and got up. She won't let me give

28o BEAUTIFUL JOE

brandy even to a dumb beast, so I put some ground
ginger, which is just as good, in the milk, and
forced it down the lamb' s throat. Then we wrapped
an old blanket round him, and put him near the
stove, and the next evening he was ready to go
back to his mother. I petted him all through
April, and gave him extras — different kinds of
meal, till I found what suited him best ; now he
does me credit."

" Dear httle lamb," said Miss Laura, patting
him. " How can you tell him from the others,
uncle ? "

' ' I know all their faces, Laura. A flock of
sheep is just like a crowd of people. They all
have different expressions, and have different
dispositions."

"They all look alike to me," said Miss Laura.

"I dare say. You are not accustomed to
them. Do you know how to tell a sheep's
age?"

" No, uncle."

" Here, open your mouth. Cosset," he said to
the lamb that he still held. "At one year they
have two teeth in the centre of the jaw. They
get two teeth more every year up to five years.
Then we say they have 'a full mouth.' After
that you can't tell their age exactly by the teeth.
Now, run back to your mother," and he let the
lamb go.

' ' Do they always know their own mothers ? ' '
asked Miss Laura.

" Usually. Sometimes a ewe will not own her

A TALK ABOUT SHEEP 28 1

lamb. In that case we tie them up in a separate
stall till she recognizes it. Do you see that sheep
over there by the blueberry bushes — the one with
the very pointed ears ? ' '

"Yes, uncle," said Miss Laura.

" That lamb by her side is not her own. Hers
died and we took its fleece and wrapped it around
a twin lamb that we took from another ewe, and
gave to her. She soon adopted it. Now, come
this way, and I'll show you our movable feeding
troughs."

He got up from the log, and Miss Laura fol-
lowed him to the fence. ' ' These big troughs are
for the sheep," sad Mr. Wood ; " and those shal-
low ones in the enclosure are for the lambs. See^
there is just room enough for them to get under
the fence. You should see the small creatures
rush to them whenever we appear with their oats,
and wheat, or bran, or whatever we are going to
give them. If they are going to the butcher, they
get corn meal and oil meal. Whatever it is, they
eat it up clean. I don't believe m cramming ani-
mals. I feed them as much as is good for them,
and not any more. Now, you go sit down over
there behind those bushes with Joe, and I'll attend
to business."

Miss Laura found a shady place, and I curled
myself up beside her. We sat there a long time,
but we did not get tired, for it was amusing to
watch the sheep and lambs. After a while, Mr.
Wood came and sat down beside us. He talked
some more about sheep-raising ; then he said.

282 BEAUTIFUL JOE

" You may stay here longer if you like, but I must
get down to the house. The work must be done,
if the weather is hot.

"What are you going to do now?" asked
Miss Laura, jumping up.

"Oh! more sheep business. I've set out
some young trees in the orchard, and unless I get
chicken wire around them, my sheep will be bark-
ing them for me."

" I've seen them," said Miss Laura, " stand-
ing up on their hind legs and nibbling at the trees,
taking off every shoot they can reach. ' '

"They don't hurt the old trees," said Mr.
Wood ; but the young ones have to be protected.
It pays me to take care of my fruit trees, for I
get a splendid crop from them, thanks to the
sheep."

"Good-bye, little lambs and dear old sheep,"
said Miss Laura, as her uncle opened the gate for
her to leave the pasture. "I'll come and see you
again some time. Now, you had better go down to
the brook in the dingle and have a drink. You
look hot in your warm coats,"

"You've mastered one detail of sheep-keep-
ing," said Mr. Wood, as he slowly walked along
beside his niece. "To raise healthy sheep one
must have pure water where they can get to it
whenever they like. Give them good water, good
food, and a variety of it, good quarters — cool in
summer, comfortable in winter, and keep them
quiet, and you'll make them happy and make
monev on them. ' '

A TALK ABOUT SHEEP 283

"I think I'd like sheep-raising," said Miss
Laura ; " won't you have me for your flock mis-
tress, uncle ? "

He laughed, and said he thought not, for she
would cry every time any of her charge were sent
to the butcher.

After this Miss Laura and I often went up to
the pasture to see the sheep and the lambs. We
used to get into a shady place where they could
not see us, and w^atch them. One day I got a
great surprise about the sheep. I had heard so
much about their meekness that I never dreamed
that they would fight ; but it turned out that they
did, and they went about it in such a business-like
way, that I could not help smiling at them. I
suppose that like most other animals they had a
spice of wickedness in them. On this day a quarrel
arose between two sheep ; but instead of running
at each other like two dogs they went a long distance
apart, and then came rushing at each other with
lowered heads. Their object seemed to be to
break each other's skull ; but Miss Laura soon
stopped them by caUing out and frightening them
apart. I thought that the lambs were more inter-
esting than the sheep. Sometimes they fed quietly
by their mothers' sides, and at other times they
all huddled together on the top of some flat rock
or in a bare place, and seemed to be talking to
each other with their heads close together. Sud-
denly one would jump down, and start for the
bushes or the other side of the pasture. They
would all follow pell-mell ; then in a few minutes

284 BEAUTIFUL JOE

they would come rushing back again. It was
pretty to see them playing together and having a
good time before the sorrowful day of their death
came.

CHAPTER XXX

A JEALOUS OX

R. WOOD had a dozen calves that he
was raising, and Miss Laura sometimes
went up to the stable to see them.
Each calf was in a crib, and it was fed with
milk. They had gentle, patient faces, and beau-
tiful eyes, and looked very meek, as they stood
quietly gazing about them, or sucking away at
their milk. They reminded me of big, gentle
dogs.

I never got a very good look at them in their
cribs, but one day when they were old enough to
be let out, I went up with Aliss Laura to the yard
where they were kept. Such queer, ungainly,
large-boned creatures they were, and such a good
time they were having, running and jumping and
throwing up their heels.

Mrs. Wood was with us, and she said that it
was not good for calves to be closely penned after
they got to be a few weeks old. They were better
for getting out and having a frolic. She stood
beside Miss Laura for -a long time, watching the

calves, and laughing a great deal at their awk-

285

286 BEAUTIFUL JOE

ward gambols. They wanted to play, but they
did not seem to know how to use their limbs.

They were lean calves, and Miss Laura asked
her aunt why all the nice milk they had taken
had not made them fat. ' ' The fat will come all
in good time," said Mrs. Wood. "A fat calf
makes a poor cow, and a fat, small calf isn't
profitable to fit for sending to the butcher. It's
better to have a bony one and fatten it. If you
come here next summer, you'll see a fine show of
young cattle, with fat sides, and big, open horns,
and a good coat of hair. Can you imagine," she
went on, indignantly, "that any one could be
cruel enough to torture such a harmless creature
as a calf ? ' '

"No, indeed," replied Miss Laura. "Who
has been doing it ? "

" W^ho has been doing it?" repeated Mrs.
Wood, bitterly ; ' ' they are doing it all the time.
Do you know what makes the nice, white veal one
gets in big cities ? The calves are bled to death.
They linger for hours, and moan their lives away.
The first time I heard it, I was so angry that I
cried for a day, and made John promise that he'd
never send another animal of his to a big city to
be killed. That's why all of our stock goes to
Hoytville, and small country places. Oh, those
big cities are awful places, Laura. It seems to me
that it makes people wicked to huddle them to-
gether. I'd rather live in a desert than a city.

There's Ch o. Every night since I've been

there I pray to the Lord either to change the hearts

A JEALOUS OX 287

of some of the wicked people in it, or to destroy
them off the face of the earth. You know three
years ago I got run down, and your uncle said I'd
got to have a change, so he sent me off to my
brother's in Ch o. I stayed and enjoyed my-
self pretty well, for it is a wonderful city, till one
day some Western men came in, who had been
visidng the slaughter houses outside the city. I
sat and listened to their talk, and it seemed to me
that I was hearing the description of a great battle.
These men were cattle dealers, and had been send-
ing stock to Ch o, and they were furious that

men, in their rage for wealth, would so utterly
ignore and trample on all decent and humane feel-
ings as to torture animals as the Ch o men

were doing.

" It is too dreadful to repeat the sights they saw.
I listened till they were describing Texan steers
kicking in agony under the torture that was prac-
tised, and then I gave a loud scream, and fainted
dead away. They had to send for your uncle, and
he brought me home, and for days and days I
heard nothing but shouting and swearing, and saw
animals dripping with blood, and crying and moan-
ing in their anguish, and now, Laura, if you'd lay

down a bit of Ch o meat, and cover it with

gold, I'd spurn it from me. But what am I say-
ing ? you're as white as a sheet. Come and see
the cow stable. John's just had it whitewashed."

Miss Laura took her aunt's arm, and I walked
slowly behind them. The cow stable was a long
building, well-built, and with no chinks in the

288 BEAUTIFUL JOE

walls, as Jenkins's stable had. There were large
windows where the afternoon sun came streaming
in, and a number of ventilators, and a great many-
stalls. A pipe of water ran through the stalls from
one end of the stable to the other. The floor was
covered with sawdust and leaves, and the ceiling
and tops of the walls were whitewashed. Mrs.
Wood said that her husband would not have the
walls a glare of white right down to the floor,
because he thought it injured the animals' eyes.
So the lower parts of the walls were stained a dark,
brown color.

There were doors at each end of the stable,
and just now they stood open, and a gentle breeze
was blowing through, but Mrs. Wood said that
when the cattle stood in the stalls, both doors were
never allowed to be open at the same time. Mr.
Wood was most particular to have no drafts blow-
ing upon his cattle. He would not have them
chilled, and he would not have them overheated.
One thing was as bad as the other. And during
the winter they were never allowed to drink icy
water. He took the chill off the water for his
cows, just as Mrs. Wood did for her hens.

"You know, Laura," Mrs. Wood went on,
"that when cows are kept dry and warm, they
eat less than when they are cold and wet. They
are so warm-blooded that if they are cold, they
have to eat a great deal to keep up the heat of their
bodies, so it pays better to house and feed them
well. They like quiet, too. I never knew that
till I married your uncle. On our farm, the boys

A JEALOUS OX 289

always shouted and screamed at the cows when
they were driving them, and sometimes they made
them run. They're never allowed to do that here. ' *

" I have noticed how quiet this farm seems,"
said Miss Laura. ' ' You have so many men about,
and yet there is so little noise.

"Your uncle whistles a great deal," said Mrs.
Wood. "Have you noticed that? He whistles
when he's about his work, and then he has a call-
ing whistle that nearly all of the animals know,
and the men run when they hear it. You'd see
every cow in this stable turn its head, if he whistled
in a certain way outside. He says that he got into
the way of doing it when he was a boy and went
for his father's cows. He trained them so that
he'd just stand in the pasture and whistle, and
they'd come to him. I believe the first thing that
inclined me to him was his clear, happy whistle.
I'd hear him from our house away down on the
road, jogging along with his cart, or driving in his
b^ogy- H^ says there is no need of screaming at
any animal. It only frightens and angers them.
They will mind much better if you speak clearly
and distinctly. He says there is only one thing
an animal hates more than to be shouted at, and
that's to be crept on — to have a person sneak up
to it and startle it. John says many a man is
kicked, because he comes up to his horse like a
thief. A startled animal's first instinct is to defend
itself. A dog will spring at you, and a horse will
let his heels fly. John always speaks or whistles
to let the stock know when he's approaching."

29c BEAUTIFUL JOE

' ' Where is uncle this afternoon ? ' ' asked Miss
Laura.

"Oh, up to his eyes in hay. He's even got
one of the oxen harnessed to a hay cart.

' ' I wonder whether it' s Duke ? ' ' said Miss
Laura.

"Yes, it is. I saw the star on his forehead,"
rephed Mrs. Wood.

"I don't know when I have laughed at any-
thing as much as I did at him the other day," said
Miss Laura. ' ' Uncle asked me if I had ever heard
of such a thing as a jealous ox, and I said no.
He said, ' Come to the barnyard, and I'll show
you one.' The oxen were both there, Duke with
his broad face, and Bright so much sharper and
more intelligent looking. Duke was drinking at
the trough there, and uncle said : ' Just look at
him. Isn't he a great, fat, self-satisfied creature,
aud doesn't he look as if he thought the world
owed him a living, and he ought to get it ? ' Then
he got the card and went up to Bright, and began
scratching him. Duke lifted his head from the
trough, and stared at uncle, who paid no attention
to him but went on carding Bright, and stroking
and petting him. Duke looked so angry. He
left the trough, and with the water dripping from
his lips, went up to uncle, and gave him a push
with his horns. Still uncle took no notice, and
Duke almost pushed him over. Then uncle left
off petting Bright, and turned to him. He said
Duke would have treated him roughly, if he hadn't.
I never saw a creature look as satisfied as Duke

A JEALOUS OX 291

did, when uncle began to card him. Bright didn't
seem to care, and only gazed calmly at them."

" I've seen Duke do that again and again,"
said Mrs. Wood. He's the most jealous animal
that we have, and it makes him perfectly misera-
ble to have your uncle pay attention to any animal
but him. What queer creatures these dumb brutes
are. They're pretty much like us in most ways.
They're jealous and resentful, and they can love
or hate equally well — and forgive, too, for that
matter ; and suffer — how they can suffer, and so
patiently, too. Where is the human being that
would put up with the tortures that animals endure
and yet come out so patient ? ' '

" Nowhere," said Miss Laura, in a low voice ;
" we couldn't do it."

" And there doesn't seem to bean animal,"
Mrs. Wood went on, " no matter how ugly and
repulsive it is, but what has some lovable qualities.
I have just been reading about some sewer rats,
Louise Michel's rats "

" Who is she ? " asked Miss Laura.

" A celebrated Frenchwoman, my dear child,
' the priestess of pity and vengeance, ' Mr. Stead
calls her. You are too young to know about her,
but I remember reading of her in 1872, during the
Commune troubles in France. She is an anarchist,
and she used to wear a uniform, and shoulder a
rifle, and help to build barricades. She was ar-
rested and sent as a convict to one of the French
penal colonies. She has a most wonderful love for
animals in her heart, and when she went home she

292 BEAUTIFUL JOE

took four cats with her. She was put into prison
again in France and took the cats with her. Rats
came about her cell and she petted them and
taught her cats to be kind to them. Before she
got the cats thoroughly drilled one of them bit a
rat's paw. Louise nursed the rat till it got well,
then let it down by a string from her window. It
went back to its sewer, and, I suppose, told the
other rats how kind Louise had been to it, for after
that they came to her cell without fear. Mother
rats brought their young ones and placed them at
her feet, as if to ask her protection for them. The
most remarkable thing about them was their affec-
tion for each other. Young rats would chew the
crusts thrown to old toothless rats, so that they
might more easily eat them, and if a young rat
dared help itself before an old one, the others
punished it."

"That sounds very interesting, auntie," said
Miss Laura. ' ' Where did you read it ? "

"I have just got the magazine," said Mrs.
Wood ; ' ' you shall have it as soon as you come into
the house."

" I love to be with you, dear auntie," said Miss
Laura, putting her arm affectionately around her,
as they stood in the doorway ; "because you un-
derstand me when I talk about animals. I can't
explain it," went on my dear young mistress, lay-
ing her hand on her heart, ' ' the feehng I have
here for them. I just love a dumb creature, and
I want to stop and talk to every one I see. Some-
times I worry poor Bessie Drury, and I'm so sorry.

A JEALOUS OX 293

but I can't help it. She says, " What makes you
so silly, Laura ? "

Miss Laura was standing just where the sun-
light shone through her light-brown hair, and made
her face all in a glow. I thought she looked more
beautiful than I had ever seen her before, and I
think Mrs, Wood thought the same. She turned
around and put both hands on Miss Laura's,
shoulders. " Laura," she said, earnestly, "there
are enough cold hearts in the world. Don't you
ever stifle a warm or tender feeling toward a dumb
creature. That is your chief attraction, my child :
your love for everything that breathes and moves.
Tear out the selfishness from your heart, if there is
any there, but let the love and pity stay. And now
let me talk a little more to you about the cows. I
want to interest you in dairy matters. This stable
is new since you were here, and we've made a
number of improvements. Do you see those bits
of rock salt in each stall ? They are for the cows to
lick whenever they want to. Now, come here,
and I'll show you what we call ' The Black
Hole.' "

It was a tiny stable off the main one, and it
was very dark and cool. " Is this a place of pun-
ishment ? " asked Miss Laura, in surprise.

Mrs. Wood laughed heartily. "No, no; a
place of pleasure. Sometimes when the flies are
very bad and the cows are brought into the yard
to be milked and a fresh swarm settles on them,
they are nearly frantic ; and though they are the
best cows in New Hampshire, they will kick a little.

294 BEAUTIFUL JOE

When they do, those that are the worst are brought
in here to be milked where there are no flies. The
others have big strips of cotton laid over their
backs and tied under them, and the men brush
their legs with tansy tea, or water with a little car-
bolic acid in it. That keeps the flies away, and
the cows know just as well that it is done for their
' comfort, and stand quietly till the milking is over.
I must ask John to have their nightdresses put
on sometimes for you to see. Harry calls them
'sheeted ghosts,' and they do look queer enough
standing all round the barnyard robed in white,"

CHAPTER XXXI

IN THE COW STABLE

SN'T it a strange thing," said Miss Laura,
" that a httle thing Hke a fly, can cause
so much annoyance to animals as well
as to people ? Sometimes when I am trying to get
more sleep in the morning, their little feet tickle
me so that I am nearly frantic and have to fly out
of bed."

" You shall have some netting to put over your
bed," said Mrs. Wood; "but suppose, Laura,
you had no hands to brush away the flies. Sup-
pose your whole body was covered with them, and
you were tied up somewhere and could not get
loose. I can't imagine more exquisite torture my-
self. Last summer the flies here were dreadful.
It seems to me that they are getting worse and
worse every year, and worry the animals more. I
believe it is because the birds are getting thinned
out all over the country. There are not enough of
them to catch the flies. John says that the next
improvements we make on the farm are to be wire
gauze at all the stable windows and screen doors
to keep the little pests from the horses and cattle.

296 BEAUTIFUL JOE

"One afternoon last summer, Mr. Maxwell's
mother came for me to go for a drive with her.
The heat was intense, and when we got down by
the river, she proposed getting out of the phaeton
and sitting under the trees, to see if it would be
any cooler. She was driving a horse that she had
got from the hotel in the village, a roan horse that
was clipped, and check-reined, and had his tail
docked. I v/ouldn't drive behind a tailless horse
now. Then, I wasn't so particular. However,
I made her unfasten the check-rein before I'd set
foot in the carriage. Well, I thought that horse
would go mad. He'd tremble and shiver, and
look so pitifully at us. The flies v.^ere nearly eat-
ing him up. Then he'd start a little. Mrs. Max-
well had a weight at his head to hold him, but he
could easily have dragged that. He was a good-
dispositioned horse, and he didn't want to run
away, but he could not stand still. I soon jumped
up and slapped him, and rubbed him till my hands
were dripping wet. The poor brute was so grate-
ful and would keep touching my arm with his nose.
Mrs. Maxwell sat under the trees fanning herself
and laughing at me, but I didn't care. How could
I enjoy myself with a dumb creature writhing in
pain before me ?

"A docked horse can neither eat nor sleep
comfortably in the fly season. In one of our New
England villages they have a sign up, ' Horses
taken in to grass. Long tails, one dollar and fifty
cents. Short tails, one dollar.' And it just means
that the short-tailed ones are taken cheaper, be-

IN THE COW STABLE 297

cause they are so bothered by the flies that they
can t eat much, while the long-tailed ones are able
to brush them away, and eat in peace. I read
the other day of a Buffalo coal dealer's horse that
was in such an agony through flies, that he com-
mitted suicide. You know animals will do that.
I've read of horses and dogs drowning themselves.
This horse had been clipped, and his tail was
docked, and he was turned out to graze. The
flies stung him till he was nearly crazy. He ran
up to a picket fence, and sprang up on the sharp
spikes. There he hung, making no effort to get
down. Some men saw him, and they said it was
a clear case of suicide.

' ' I would like to have the power to take every
man who cuts off a horse's tail, and tie his hands,
and turn him out in a field in the hot sun, with
little clothing on, and plenty of flies about. Then
we would see if he wouldn't sympathize with the
poor, dumb beast. It's the most senseless thing
in the world, this docking fashion. They've a
few flimsy arguments about a horse with a docked
tail being stronger-backed, like a short-tailed
sheep, but I don't believe a word of it. The
horse was made strong enough to do the work
he's got to do, and man can't improve on him.
Docking is a cruel, wicked thing. Now, there's a
ghost of an argument in f^vor of check-reins, on
certain occasions. A fiery, young horse can't run
away, with an overdrawn check, and in speeding
horses a tight check-rein will make them hold
their heads up, and keep them from choking.

298 BEAUTIFUL JOE

But I don't believe in raising colts in a way to
make them fiery, and I wish there wasn't a race
horse on the face of the earth, so if it depended on
me, every kind of check -rein would go. It's a
pity we women can't vote, Laura. We'd do away
with a good many abuses."

Miss Laura smiled, but it was a very faint,
almost an unhappy smile, and Mrs. Wood said
hastily, " Let us talk about something else. Did
you ever hear that cows will give less milk on a
dark day than on a bright one ? ' '

" No ; I never did," said Miss Laura.

"Well, they do. They are most sensitive
animals. One finds out all manners of curious
things about animals if he makes a study of them.
Cows are wonderful creatures, I think, and so
grateful for good usage that they return every
scrap of care given them, with interest. Have
you ever heard anything about dehorning, Laura ?' '

"Not much, auntie. Does uncle approve of
it?"

"No, indeed. He'd just as soon think of cut-
ting their tails off, as of dehorning them. He
says he guesses the Creator knew how to make a
cow better than he does. Sometimes I tell John
that his argument doesn't hold good, for a man in
some ways can improve on nature. In the natural
course of things, a cow would be feeding her calf
for half a year, but we take it away from her, and
raise it as well as she could and get an extra
quantity of milk from her in addition. I don't
know what to think myself about dehorning. Mr.

IN THE COW STABLE 299

Windham's cattle are all polled, and he has an
open space in his barn for them, instead of keep-
ing them in stalls, and he says they're more com-
fortable and not so confined. I suppose in send-
ing cattle to sea, it's necessary to take their horns
off, but when they're going to be turned out to
grass, it seems like mutilating them. Our cows
couldn't keep the dogs away from the sheep if
they didn't have their horns. Their horns are
their means of defense."

" Do your cattle stand in these stalls all win-
ter ? " asked Miss Laura.

"Oh, yes, except when they're turned out in
the barnyard, and then John usually has to send
a man to keep them moving or they'd take cold.
Sometimes on very fine days they get out all day.
You know cows aren't Hke horses. John says
they're like great milk machines. You've got to
keep them quiet, only exercising enough to keep
them in health. If a cow is hurried or worried,
or chilled or heated, it stops her milk yield. And
bad usage poisons it. John says you can't take a
stick and strike a cow across the back, without
her milk being that much worse, and as for drink-
ing the milk that comes from a cow that isn't kept
clean, you'd better throw it away and drink water.
When I was in Chicago, my sister-in-law kept
complaining to her milkman about what she
called the ' cowy ' smell to her milk. 'It's the
animal odor, ma'am,' he said, 'and it can't be
helped. All milk smells like that.' ' It's dirt,' I
said, when she asked my opinion about it. ' I'll

300 BEAUTIFUL JOE

wager my best bonnet that that man's cows are
kept dirty. Their skins are plastered up with filth,
and as the poison in them can't escape that way,
it's coming out through the milk, and you're help-
ing to dispose of it. ' She was astonished to hear
this, and she got her milkman's address, and one
day dropped in upon him. She said that his cows
were standing in a stable that was comparatively
clean, but that their bodies were in just the state
that I described them as living in. She advised
the man to card and brush his cows every day, and
said that he need bring her no more milk.

' • That shows how you city people are imposed
upon with regard to your milk. I should think
you'd be poisoned with the treatment your cows
receive; and even when your milk is examined
you can't tell whether it is pure or not. In New
York the law only requires thirteen per cent, of
solids in milk. That's absurd, for you can feed a
cow on swill and still get fourteen per cent, of
solids in it. Oh ! you city people are queer."

Miss Laura laughed heartily. "What a preju-
dice you have against large towns, auntie."

"Yes, I have," said Mrs. Wood, honestly.
' ' I often wish we could break up a few of our
cities, and scatter the people through the country.
Look at the lovely farms all about here, some of
them with only an old man and woman on them.
The boys are off to the cities, slaving in stores and
offices, and growing pale and sickly. It would
have broken my heart if Harry had taken to city
ways. I had a plain talk with your uncle when I

IN THE COW STABLE 3OI

married him, and said, ' Now, my boy's only a
baby, and I want him to be brought up so that he
will love country life. How are we going to
manage it ? '

"Your uncle looked at me with a sly twinkle
in his eye, and said I was a pretty fair specimen
of a country girl, suppose we brought up Harry
the way I'd been brought up. I knew he was
only joking, yet I got quite excited. ' Yes,' I said,
• Do as my father and mother did. Have a farm
about twice as large as you can manage. Don't
keep a hired man. Get up at daylight and slave
till dark. Never take a holiday. Have the girls
do the housework, and take care of the hens, and
help pick the fruit, and make the boys tend the colts
and the calves, and put all the money they make
in the bank. Don't take any papers, for they
would waste their time reading them, and it's too
far to go the postoffice oftener than once a week ;
and ' — but, I don't remember the rest of what I
said. Anyway your uncle burst into a roar of
laughter. ' Hattie,' he said, ' my farm's too big.
I'm going to sell some of it, and enjoy myself a
little more.' That very week he sold fifty acres,
and he hired an extra man, and got me a good
girl, and twice a week he left his work in the after-
noon, and took me for a drive. Harry held the
reins in his tiny fingers, and John told him that
Dolly, the old mare we were driving, should be
called his, and the ver)^ next horse he bought
should be called his, too, and he should name it,
and have it for his own ; and he would grive him

302 BEAUTIFUL JOE

five sheep, and he should have his own bank book,
and keep his accounts ; and Hariy understood,
mere baby though he was, and from that day he
loved John as his own father. If my father had
had the wisdom that John has, his boys wouldn't
be the one a poor lawyer and the other a poor doc-
tor in two different cities ; and our farm wouldn't
be in the hands of strangers. It makes me sick to go
there. I think of my poor mother lying with her
tired hands crossed out in the churchyard, and the
boys so far away, and my father always hurrying
and driving us — I can tell you, Laura, the thing
cuts both ways. It isn't all the fault of the boys
that they leave the country.

Mrs. Wood was silent for a little while after she
made this long speech, and Miss Laura said noth-
ing. I took a turn or two up and down the stable,
thinking of many things. No matter how happy
human beings seem to be, they always have some-
thing to worry them. I was sorry for Mrs. Wood,
for her face had lost the happy look it usually wore.
However, she soon forgot her trouble, and said :

"Now, I must go and get the tea. This is
Adele' s afternoon out. ' '

"I'll come, too," said Miss Laura, "for I
promised her I'd make the biscuits for tea this
evening and let you rest." They both sauntered
slowly down the plank walk to the house, and I
followed them.

CHAPTER XXXII

OUR RETURN HOME

N October, the most beautiful of all the
months, we were obliged to go back to
Fairport. Miss Laura could not bear to
leave the farm, and her face got very sorrowful
when any one spoke of her going away. Still, she
had gotten well and strong, and was as brown as
a berry, and she said that she knew she ought to
go home, and get back to her lessons.

Mr. Wood called October the golden month.
Everything was quiet and still, and at night and
in the morning the sun had a yellow, misty look.
The trees in the orchard were loaded with fruit,
and some of the leaves were floating down, mak-
ing a soft covering on the ground.

In the garden there were a great many flowers
in bloom, in flaming red and yellow colors, Miss
Laura gathered bunches of them every day to put
in the parlor. One day when she was arranging
them, she said, regretfully, " They will soon be
gone. I wish it could always be summer. ' '

" You would get tired of it," said Mr. Harry,
who had come up softly behind her. "There's

303

304 BEAUTIFUL JOE

only one place where we could stand perpetual
summer, and that's in heaven."

" Do you suppose that it will always be sum-
mer there ? ' ' said Miss Laura, turning around, and
looking at him.

"I don't know. I imagine it will be, but I
don' t think anybody knows much about it. We' ve
got to wait.

Miss Laura's eyes fell on me. "Harry," she
said, ' ' do you think that dumb animals will go to
heaven ? ' '

" I shall have to say again, I don't know," he
replied. ' ' Some people hold that they do. In a
Michigan paper, the other day, I came across one
writer's opinion on the subject. He says that
among the best people of all ages have been some
who believed in the future life of animals. Homer
and the later Greeks, some of the Romans and
early Christians held this view — the last believing
that God sent angels in the shape of birds to com-
fort sufferers for the faith. St. Francis called the
birds and beasts his brothers. Dr. Johnson be-
lieved in a future life for animals, as also did
Wordsworth, Shelley, Coleridge, Jeremy Taylor,
Agassiz, Lamartine, and many Christian scholars.
It seems as if they ought to have some compensa-
tion for their terrible sufferings in this world.
Then to go to heaven, animals would only have
to take up the thread of their lives here. Man is
a god to the lower creation. Joe worships you,
much as you worship your Maker. Dumb animals
live in and for their masters. They hang on our

OUR RETURN HOME 305

words and looks, and are dependent on us in
almost every way. For my own part, and looking
at it from an earthly point* of view, I wish with all
my heart that we may find our dumb friends in
paradise."

" And in the Bible," said Miss Laura, "ani-
mals are often spoken of. The dove and the raven,
the wolf and the lamb, and the leopard, and the
cattle that God says are his, and the little sparrow
that can't fall to the ground without our Father's
knowing it."

" Still, there's nothing definite about their im-
mortality," said Mr. Harry. "However, we've
got nothing to do with that. If it's right for them
to be in heaven, we'll find them there. All we
have to do now is to deal with the present, and
the Bible plainly tells us that ' a righteous man
regardeth the life of his beast.' "

" I think I would be happier in heaven if dear
old Joe were there," said Miss Laura, looking wist-
fully at me. " He has been such a good dog.
Just think how he has loved and protected me. I
think I should be lonely without him."

" That reminds me of some poetry, or rather
doggerel," said Mr. Harry, "that I cutout of a
newspaper for you yesterday ; " and he drew from
his pocket a little slip of paper, and read this :
" Do doggies gang to heaven, Dad ?
"Will oor auld Donald gang?
For noo to tak' him, faither wi' us,
Wad be maist awfu' wrang."

There was a number of other verses, telling

306 BEAUTIFUL JOE

how many kind things old Donald the dog had
done for his master's family, and then it closed
with these lines :

" Withoot are dogs. Eh, faither, man,
'Twould be an awfu' sin
To leave oor faithfu' doggie there.
He's certaiii to win in.
** Oor Donald's no like ither dogs,
He'll no be lockit oot.
If Donald's no let into heaven,
I'll no gang there one foot."

"My sentiments exactly," said a merry voice
behind Miss Laura and Mr. Harry, and looking
up they saw Mr. Maxwell. He was holding out
one hand to them, and in the other kept back a
basket of large pears that Mr. Harry promptly
took from him, and offered to Miss Laura, "I've
been dependent upon animals for the most part of
my comfort in this life," said Mr. Maxwell, "and
I sha'n't be happy without them in heaven. I
don't see how you would get on without Joe, Miss
Morris, and I want my birds, and my snake, and
my horse — how can I live without them ? They're
almost all my life here.

" If some animals go to heaven and not others,
I think that the dog has the first claim, ' ' said Miss
Laura. " He's the friend of man — the oldest and
best. Have you ever heard the legend about him
and Adam ? ' '

"No," said Mr. Maxwell.

"Well, when Adam was turned out of para-
dise, all the animals shunned him, and he sat bit-

OUR RETURN HOME yoj

terly weeping with his head between his hands,
when he felt the soft tongue of some creature
gently touching him. He took his hands from his
face, and there was a dog that had separated him-
self from all the other animals, and was trying to
comfort him. He became the chosen friend and
companion of Adam, afterward of all men."

"There is another legend," said Mr. Harry,
"about our Saviour and a dog. Have you ever
heard it ? "

"We'll tell you that later," said Mr. Maxwell,
"when we know what it is."

Mr. Harry showed his white teeth in an amused
smile, and began : "Once upon a time our Lord
was going through a town with his disciples. A
dead dog lay by the wayside, and every one that
passed along flung some offensive epithet at him.
Eastern dogs are not like our dogs, and seemingly
there was nothing good about this loathsome crea-
ture, but as our Saviour went by, he said, gently,
' Pearls cannot equal the whiteness of his teeth.' "

' ' What was the name of that old fellow, ' ' said
Mr. Maxwell, abruptly, "who had a beautiful
swan that came every day for fifteen years, to bury
its head in his bosom and feed from his hand, and
would go near no other human being ? ' '

"Saint Hugh, of Lincoln. We heard about
him at the Band of Mercy the other day, ' ' said
Miss Laura.

" I should think that he would have wanted to
have that swan in heaven with him," said Mr.
Maxwell. ' ' What a beautiful creature it must have

308 BEAUTIFUL JOE

been. Speaking about animals going to heaven,
I dare say some of them would object to going, on
account of the company that they would meet there.
Think of the dog kicked to death by his master,
the horse driven into his grave, the thousands of
cattle starved to death on the plains — will they
want to meet their owners in heaven ? "

' ' According to my reckoning, their owners
won't be there," said Mr, Harry. "I firmly be-
lieve that the Lord will punish every man or woman
who ill-treats a dumb creature just as surely as he
will punish those who ill-treat their fellow-creatures.
If a man's life has been a long series of cruelty to
dumb animals, do you suppose that he would en-
joy himself in heaven, which will be full of kind-
ness to every one ? Not he ; he' d rather be in the
other place, and there he'll go, I fully believe."

"When you've quite disposed of all your fel-
low-creatures and the dumb creation, Harry, per-
haps you will condescend to go out into the orchard
and see how your father is getting on with picking
the apples," said Mrs. Wood, joining Miss Laura
and the two young men, her eyes twinkling and
sparkling with amusement.

"The apples will keep, mother," said Mr.
Harry, putting his arm around her. " I just came
in for a moment to get Laura. Come, Maxwell,
we'll all go."

' ' And not another word about animals, ' ' Mrs.
Wood called after them. " Laura will go crazy
some day, through thinking of their sufferings, if
some one doesn't do something to stop her."

OUR RETURN HOME 3O9

Miss Laura turned around suddenly. " Dear
Aunt Hattie, ' ' she said, ' ' you must not say that.
I am a coward, I know, about hearing of animals'
pains, but I must get over it. I want to know how
they suffer. I ought to know, for when I get to be
a woman, I am going to do all I can to help them."

" And I'll join you," said Mr. Maxwell, stretch-
ing out his hand to Miss Laura, She did not
smile, but looking very earnestly at him, she held
it clasped in her own. " You will help me to care
for them, will you ? " she said.

"Yes, I promise," he said, gravely. "I'll
give myself to the service of dumb animals, if you
will."

"And I, too," said Mr. Harry, in his deep
voice, laying his hand across theirs. Mrs. Wood
stood looking at their three fresh, eager, young
faces, with tears in her eyes. Just as they all
stood silendy for an instant, the old village clergy-
man came into the room from the hall. He must
have heard what they said, for before they could
move he had laid his hands on their three brown
heads. " Bless you, my children," he said, "God
will lift up the light of his countenance upon you,
for you have given yourselves to a noble work.
In serving dumb creatures, you are ennobhng the
human race."

Then he sat down in a chair and looked at
them. He was a venerable old man, and had
long, white hair, and the Woods thought a great
deal of him. He had come to get Mrs. Wood to
make some nourishing dishes for a sick woman in

3IO BEAUTIFUL JOE

the village, and while he was talking to her, Miss
Laura and the two young men went out of the
house. They hurried across the veranda and
over the lawn, talking and laughing, and enjoy-
ing themselves as only happy young people can,
and with not a trace of their seriousness of a few
moments before on their faces.

They were going so fast that they ran right
into a flock of geese that were coming up the lane.
They were driven by a little boy called Tommy,
the son of one of Mr. Wood' s farm laborers, and
they were chattering and gabbling, and seemed
very angry. " What's all this about ? " said Mr.
Harry, stopping and looking at the boy. ' ' What's
the matter with your feathered charges. Tommy,
my lad ? ' '

"If it's the geese you mean," said the boy,
half crying and looking very much put out, " it' s
all them nasty potatoes. They won't keep away
from them."

"So the potatoes chase the geese, do they,"
said Mr, Maxwell, teasingly.

"No, no," said the child, pettishly; "Mr.
Wood he sets me to watch the geese, and they
runs in among the buckwheat and the potatoes,
and I tries to drive them out, and they doesn't
want to come, and, ' ' shamefacedly, ' ' I has to
switch their feet, and I hates to do it, 'cause I'm
a Band of Mercy boy."

"Tommy, my son," said Mr. Maxwell, sol-
emnly, ' ' you will go right to heaven when you
die, and your geese will go with you."

OUR RETURN HOME 3II

"Hush, hush," said Miss Laura; "don't
tease him," and putting her arm on the child's
shoulder, she said, " You are a good boy. Tommy,
not to want to hurt the geese. Let me see your
switch, dear."

He showed her a little stick he had in his
hand, and she said, "I don't think you could
hurt them much with that, and if they will be
naughty and steal the potatoes, you have to drive
them out. Take some of my pears and eat them,
and you will forget your trouble." The child
took the fruit, and Miss Laura and the two young
men went on their way, smiling, and looking
over their shoulders at Tommy, who stood in the
lane, devouring his pears and keeping one eye on
the geese that had gathered a little in front of him,
and were gabbling noisily and having a kind of
indignation meeting, because they had been
driven out of the potato field.

Tommy's father and mother lived in a little
house down near the road. Mr. Wood never had
his hired men live in his own house. He had two
small houses for them to live in, and they were
required to keep them as neat as Mr. Wood's own
house was kept. He said that he didn't see why
he should keep a boarding house, if he was a
farmer, nor why his wife should wear herself out
waiting on strong, hearty men, that had just as
soon take care of themselves. He wished to have
his own family about him, and it was better for
his men to have some kind of family life for
themselves. If one of his men was unmarried, he

312 BEAUTIFUL JOE

boarded with the married one, but slept in his
own house.

On this October day we found Mr. Wood hard
at work under the fruit trees. He had a good
many different kind of apples. Enormous red
ones, and long, yellow ones that they called pip-
pins, and little brown ones, and smooth-coated
sweet ones, and bright red ones, and others, more
than I could mention. Miss Laura often pared one
and cut off little bits for me, for I always wanted
to eat whatever I saw her eating.

Just a few days after this. Miss Laura and I
returned to Fairport, and some of Mr. Wood's
apples traveled along with us, for he sent a good
many to the Boston market. Mr. and Mrs. Wood
came to the station to see us off. Mr. Harry
could not come, for he had left Riverdale the day
before to go back to his college. Mrs. Wood said
that she would be very lonely without her two
young people, and she kissed Miss Laura over and
over again, and made her promise to come back
again the next summer.

I was put in a box in the express car, and Mr.
Wood told the agent that if he knew what was
good for him he would speak to me occasionally,
for I was a very knowing dog, and if he didn't
treat me well, I'd be apt to write him up in the
newspapers. The agent laughed, and quite often
on the way to Fairport, he came to my box and
spoke kindly to me. So I did not get so lonely and
frightened as I did on my way to Riverdale.

How glad the Morrises were to see us coming

OUR RETURN HOME 313

back. The boys had all gotten home before us,
and such a fuss as they did make over their sister.
They loved her dearly, and never wanted her
to be long away from them. I was rubbed and
stroked, and had to run about offering my paw to
every one. Jim and little Billy licked my face,
and Bella croaked out, ' ' Glad to see you, Joe.
Had a good time ? How's your health ?"

We soon settled down for the winter. Miss
Laura began going to school, and came home
every day with a pile of books under her arm.
The summer in the country had done her so much
good that her mother often looked at her fondly,
and said the white-faced child she sent away had
come home a nut-brown maid.

y^

CHAPTER XXXIII

PERFORMING ANIMALS

WEEK or two after we got home, I heard
the Morris boys talking about an Itahan
who was coming to Fairport with a troupe
of trained animals, and I could see for myself,
whenever I went to town, great flaming pictures
on the fences, of monkeys sitting at tables, dogs,
and ponies, and goats climbing ladders, and roll-
ing balls, and doing various tricks. I wondered
very much whether they would be able to do all
those extraordinary things, but it turned out that
they did.

The Italian's name was Bellini, and one after-
noon the whole Morris family went to see him and
his animals, and when they came home, I heard
them talking about it. "I wish you could have
been there, Joe," said Jack, puUing up my paws
to rest on his knees. "Now listen, old fellow,
and I'll tell you all about it. First of all, there
was a perfect jam in the town hall. I sat up in
front, with a lot of fellows, and had a splendid
view. The old Italian came out dressed in his best
suit of clothes — black broadcloth, flower in his but-

314

PERFORMING ANIMALS 31 5

tonhole, and so on. He made a fine bow, and he
said he was ' pleased too see ze fine audience, and
he was going to show zem ze fine animals, ze finest
animals in ze world.' Then he shook a little whip
that he carried in his hand, and he said ' zat zat
whip didn't mean zat he was cruel. He cracked
it to show his animals when to begin, end, or
change their tricks.' Some boy yelled, 'Rats!
you do whip them sometimes,' and the old man
made another bow, and said, ' Sairteenly, he whip-
ped zem just as ze mammas whip ze naughty boys,
to make zem keep still when zey was noisy or
stubborn.'

" Then everybody laughed at the boy, and the
Italian said the performance would begin by a
grand procession of all the animals, if some lady
would kindly step up to the piano and play a
march. Nina Smith — you know Nina, Joe, the
girl that has black eyes and wears blue ribbons,
and lives around the corner — stepped up to the
piano, and banged out a fine loud march. The
doors at the side of the platform opened, and out
came the animals, two by two, just like Noah's
ark. There was a pony with a monkey walking
beside it and holding on to its mane, another mon-
key on a pony's back, two monkeys hand in hand,
a dog with a parrot on his back, a goat harnessed
to a little carriage, another goat carrying a bird-
cage in its mouth with two canaries inside, differ-
ent kinds of cats, some doves and pigeons, half a
dozen white rats with red harness, and dragging a
little chariot with a monkey in it, and a common

3l6 BEAUTIFUL JOE

white gander that came in last of all, and did
nothing but follow one of the ponies about.

"The Italian spoke of the gander, and said it
was a stupid creature, and could learn no tricks,
and he only kept it on account of its affection for
the pony. He had got them both on a Vermont
farm, when he was looking for show animals. The
pony's master had made a pet of him, and had
taught him to come whenever he whistled for him.
Though the pony was only a scrub of a creature,
he had a gentle disposidon, and every other ani-
mal on the farm liked him. A gander, in particu-
lar, had such an admiration for him that he fol-
lowed him wherever he went, and if he lost him
for an instant, he would mount one of the knolls
on the farm and stretch out his neck looking for
him. When he caught sight of him, he gabbled
with delight, and running to him, waddled up and
down beside him. Every little while the pony put
his nose down, and seemed to be having a con-
versation with the goose. If the farmer whistled
for the pony and he started to run to him, the gan-
der, knowing he could not keep up, would seize
the pony's tail in his beak, and flapping his wings,
would get along as fast as the pony did. And the
pony never kicked him. The Italian saw that this
pony would be a good one to train for the stage,
so he offered the farmer a large price for him, and
took him away.

"Oh, Joe, I forgot to say, that by this time all
the animals had been sent off the stage except the
pony and the gander, and they stood looking at

PERFORMING ANIMALS 317

the Italian while he talked. I never saw anything
as human in dumb animals as that pony's face.
He looked as if he understood every word that his
master was saying. After this story was over, the
Italian made another bow, and then told the pony
to bow. He nodded his head at the people, and
they all laughed. Then the Italian asked him to
favor us with a waltz, and the pony got up on his
hind legs and danced. You should have seen that
gander skirmishing around, so as to be near the
pony and yet keep out of the way of his heels.
We fellows just roared, and we would have kept
him dancing all the afternoon if the Italian hadn't
begged ' ze young gentlemen not to make ze noise,
but let ze pony do ze rest of his tricks.' Pony
number two came on the stage, and it was too queer
for anything to see the things the two of them did.
They helped the Italian on with his coat, they
pulled off his rubbers, they took his coat away and
brought him a chair, and dragged a table up to it.
They brought him letters and papers, and rang
bells, and rolled barrels, and swung the Italian in
a big swing, and jumped a rope, and walked up
and down steps — they just went around that stage
as handy with their teeth as two boys would be
with their hands, and they seemed to understand
every word their master said to them.

' • The best trick of all was telling the time and
doing questions in arithmetic. The Italian pulled
his watch out of his pocket and showed it to the
first pony, whose name was Diamond, and said,
• What time is it ? ' The pony looked at it, then

31 8 BEAUTIFUL JOE

scratched four times with his forefoot on the plat-
form. The Itahan said, 'Zat's good — four
o'clock. But it's a few minutes after four — how
many ? ' The pony scratched again five times.
The Italian showed his watch to the audience, and
said that it was just five minutes past four. Then
he asked the pony how old he was. He scratched
four times. That meant four years. He asked
him how many days in a week there were ; how
many months in a year ; and he gave him some
questions in addition and subtraction, and the
pony answered them all correctly. Of course, the
Italian was giving him some sign ; but, though we
watched him closely, we couldn't make out what
it was. At last, he told the pony that he had been
very good, and had done his lessons well ; if it
would rest him, he might be naughty a little while.
All of a sudden a wicked look came into the crea-
ture's eyes. He turned around, and kicked up
his heels at his master, he pushed over the table
and chairs, and knocked down a blackboard
where he had been rubbing out figures with a
sponge held in his mouth. The Itahan pretended to
be cross, and said, ' Come, come ; this won't do,'
and he called the other pony to him, and told him
to take that troublesome fellow off the stage. The
second one nosed Diamond, and pushed him
about, finally bit him by the ear, and led him
squealing off the stage. The gander followed,
gabbling as fast as he could, and there was a
regular roar of applause.

"After that, there were ladders brought in,

PERFORMING ANIMALS 3I9

Joe, and dogs came on ; not thoroughbreds, but
curs something Hke you. The ItaHan says he can't
teach tricks to pedigree animals as well as to scrubs.
Those dogs jumped the ladders, and climbed
them, and went through them, and did all kinds
of things. The man cracked his whip once, and
they began ; twice, and they did backward what
they had done forward ; three times, and they
stopped, and every animal, dogs, goats, ponies,
and monkeys, after they had finished their tricks,
ran up to their master, and he gave them a lump
of sugar. They seemed fond of him, and often
when they weren't performing went up to him,
and licked his hands or his sleeve. There was
one boss dog, Joe, with a head like yours. Bob,
they called him, and he did all his tricks alone.
The Italian went off the stage, and the dog came
on and made his bow, and climbed his ladders,
and jumped his hurdles, and went off again.
The audience howled for an encore, and didn't he
come out alone, make another bow, and retire. I
saw old Judge Brown wiping the tears from his
eyes, he'd laughed so much. One of the last
tricks was with a goat, and the Italian said it was
the best of all, because the goat is such a hard
animal to teach. He had a big ball, and the goat
got on it and rolled it across the stage without get-
ting off. He looked as nervous as a cat, shaking
his old beard, and trying to keep his four hoofs
close enough together to keep him on the ball.

' ' We had a funny little play at the end of the
performance. A monkey dressed as a lady, in a

320 BEAUTIFUL JOE

white satin suit and a bonnet with a white veil,
came on the stage. She was Miss Green and the
dog Bob was going to elope with her. He was all
rigged out as Mr. Smith, and had on a light suit
of clothes, and a tall hat on the side of his head,
high collar, long cuffs, and he carried a cane. He
was a regular dude. He stepped up to Miss
Green on his hind legs, and helped her on to a
pony's back. The pony galloped off the stage ;
then a crowd of monkeys, chattering and wring-
ing their hands, came on. Mr. Smith had run
away with their child. They were all dressed up,
too. There were the father and mother, with gray
wigs and black clothes, and the young Greens in
bibs and tuckers. They were a queer-looking
crowd. While they were going on in this way,
the pony trotted back on the stage ; and they all
flew at him and pulled off their daughter from his
back, and laughed and chattered, and boxed her
ears, and took off her white veil and her satin
dress, and put on an old brown thing, and some
of them seized the dog, and kicked his hat, and
broke his cane, and stripped his clothes off, and
threw them in a corner, and bound his legs with
cords. A goat came on, harnessed to a little cart,
and they threw the dog in it, and wheeled him
around the stage a few times. Then they took
him out and tied him to a hook in the wall, and
the goat ran off the stage, and the monkeys ran
to one side, and one of them pulled out a little
revolver, pointed it at the dog, fired, and he drop-
ped down as if he was dead.

PERFORMING ANIMALS 32 1

"The monkeys stood looking at him, and
then there was the most awful hullabaloo you ever
heard. Such a barking and yelping, and half a
dozen dogs rushed on the stage, and didn't they
trundle those monkeys about. They nosed them,
and pushed them, and shook them, till they all
ran away, all but Miss Green, who sat shivering
in a corner. After a while, she crept up to the
dead dog, pawed him a little, and didn't he jump
up as much alive as any of them ? Everybody in
the room clapped and shouted, and then the cur-
tain dropped, and the thing was over. I wish
he'd give another performance. Early in the
morning he has to go to Boston."

Jack pushed my paws from his knees and went
outdoors, and I began to think that I would very
much like to see those performing animals. It
was not yet tea time, and I would have plenty of
time to take a run down to the hotel where they
were staying ; so I set out. It was a lovely
autumn evening. The sun was going down in a
haze, and it was quite warm. Earlier in the day I
had heard Mr. Morris say that this was our Indian
summer, and that we should soon have cold
weather.

Fairport was a pretty little town, and from the
principal street one could look out upon the blue
water of the bay and see the island opposite, which
was quite deserted now, for all the summer visitors
had gone home, and the Island House was shut up.

I was running down one of the steep side
streets that led to the water when I met a heavily-

322 BEAUTIFUL JOE

laden cart coming up. It must have been coming
from one of the vessels, for it was full of strange-
looking boxes and packages. A fine-looking nerv-
ous horse was drawing it, and he was straining
every nerve to get it up the steep hill. His driver
was a burly, hard-faced man, and instead of let-
ting his horse stop a minute to rest he kept urging
him forward. The poor horse kept looking at his
master, his eyes almost starting from his head in
terror. He knew that the whip was about to de-
scend on his quivering body. And so it did, and
there was no one by to interfere. No one but a
woman in a ragged shawl who would have no in-
fluence with the driver. There was a very good
humane society in Fairport, and none of the team-
sters dared ill-use their horses if any of the mem.-
bers were near. This was a quiet out-of-the-way
street, with only poor houses on it, and the man
probably knew that none of the members of the
society v\'ouid be likely to be living in them. He
whipped his horse, and whipped him, till every
lash made my heart ache, and if I had dared I
would have bitten him severely. Suddenly, there
^vas a dull thud in the street. The horse had
fallen down. The driver ran to his head, but he
was quite dead. " Thank God ! " said the poorly-
dressed woman, bitterly ; " one more out of this
world of misery." Then she turned and went
down the street. I was glad for the horse. He
would never be frightened or miserable again, and
I went slowly on, thinking that death is .the best
thing that can happen to tortured animals.

PERFORMING ANIMALS 323

The Fairport hotel was built right in the cen-
tre of the town, and the shops and houses crowded
quite close about it. It was a high, brick build-
ing, and it was called the Fairport House. As I
was running along the sidewalk, I heard some one
speak to me, and looking up I saw Charlie Mon-
tague. I had heard the Morrises say that his
parents were staying at the hotel for a few weeks,
while their house was being repaired. He had his
Irish setter. Brisk, with him, and a handsome dog
he was, as he stood waving his silky tail in the sun-
light. Charlie patted me, and then he and his
dog went into the hotel. I turned into the stable
yard. It was a small, choked-up place, and as I
picked my way under the cabs and wagons stand-
ing in the yard, I wondered why the hotel people
didn't buy some of the old houses near by, and
tear them down, and make a stable yard worthy of
such a nice hotel. The hotel horses were just
getting rubbed down after their day's work, and
others were coming in. The men were talking
and laughing, and there was no sign of strange
animals, so I went around to the back of the yard.
Here they were, in an empty cow stable, under a
hay loft. There were two little ponies tied up in a
stall, two goats beyond them, and dogs and mon-
keys in strong traveling cages. I stood in the
doorway and stared at them. I was sorry for the
dogs to be shut up on such a lovely evening, but
I suppose their master was afraid of their getting
lost, or being stolen, if he let them loose.

They all seemed very friendly. The ponies

324 BEAUTIFUL JOE

turned around and looked at me with their gentle
eyes, and then went on munching their hay. I won-
dered very much where the gander was, and went
a little farther into the stable. Something white
raised itself up out of the brownest pony's crib,
and there was the gander close up beside the open
mouth of his friend. The monkeys make a jab-
bering noise, and held on to the bars of their cage
with their little black hands, while they looked out
at me. The dogs sniffed the air, and wagged their
tails, and tried to put their muzzles through the
bars of their cage. I liked the dogs best, and I
wanted to see the one they called Bob, so I went
up quite close to them. There were two little
white dogs, something like Billy, two mongrel
spaniels, an Irish terrier, and a brown dog asleep
in the corner, that I knew must be Bob. He did
look a little like me, but he was not quite so ugly,
for he had his ears and his tail.

While I Avas peering through the bars at him,
a man came in the stable. He noticed me the
first thing, but instead of driving me out, he spoke
kindly to me, in a language that I did not under-
stand. So I knew that he was the Italian. How
glad the animals were to see him ! The gander flut-
tered out of his nest, the ponies pulled at their
halters, the dogs whined and tried to reach his
hands to lick them, and the monkeys chattered with
delight. He laughed and talked back to them in
queer, soft-sounding words. Then he took out of a
bag on his arm, bones for the dogs, nuts and cakes
for the monkeys, nice, juicy carrots for the ponies,

PERFORMING ANIMALS 325

some green stuff for the goats, and corn for the
gander.

It was a pretty sight to see the old man feeding
his pets, and it made me feel quite hungry, so I
trotted home. I had a run down town again that
evening with Mr. Morris, who went to get some-
thing from a shop for his wife. He never let his
boys go to town after tea, so if there were errands to
be done, he or Mrs. Morris went. The town was
bright and lively that evening, and a great many
people were walking about and looking into the
shop windows.

When we came home, I went into the kennel
with Jim, and there I slept till the middle of rhe
night. Then I started up and ran outside. There
was a distant bell ringing, which we often heard
in Fairport, and which always meant fire.

CHAPTER XXXIV

A FIRE IN FAIRPORT

HAD several times run to a fire with the
boys, and knew that there was always a
great noise and excitement. There was
a light in the house, so I knew that somebody was
getting up. I don't think — indeed I know, for
they were good boys — that they ever wanted any-
body to lose property, but they did enjoy seeing a
blaze, and one of their greatest delights, when
there hadn't been a fire for some time, was to build
a bonfire in the garden.

Jim and I ran around to the front of the house
and waited. In a few minutes, some one came
rattling at the front door, and I was sure it was
Jack. But it was Mr. Morris, and without a word
to us, he set off almost running toward the town.
We followed after him, and as we hurried along
other men ran out from the houses along the streets,
and either joined him, or dashed ahead. They
seemed to have dressed in a hurry, and were
thrusting their arms in their coats, and buttoning
themselves up as they went. Some of them had

hats and some of them had none, and they all had
326

A FIRE IN FAIRPORT 327

their faces toward the great red light that got
brighter and brighter ahead of us. " Where's the
fire ? ' ' they shouted to each other. ' ' Don't know
— afraid it's the hotel, or the town hall. It's such
a blaze. Hope not. How's the water supply
now ? Bad time for a fire."

It was the hotel. We saw that as soon as we
got on to the main street. There were people all
about, and a great noise and confusion, and
smoke and blackness, and up above, bright
tongues of flame were leaping against the sky,
Jim and I kept close to Mr. Morris's heels, as he
pushed his way among the crowd. When we got
nearer the burning building, we saw men carrying
ladders and axes, and others were shouting direc-
tions, and rushing out of the hotel, carrying boxes
and bundles and furniture in their arms. From
the windows above came a steady stream of arti-
cles, thrown among the crowd. A mirror struck
Mr. Morris on the arm, and a whole package of
clothes fell on his head and almost smothered
him ; but he brushed them aside and scarcely
noticed them. There was something the matter
with Mr. Morris — I knew by the worried sound of
his voice when he spoke to any one. I could not
see his face, though it was as light as day about
us, for we had got jammed in the crowd, and if I
had not kept between his feet, I should have been
trodden to death. Jim, being larger than I w^as,
had got separated from us.

Presently Mr. Morris raised his voice above
the uproar, and called, " Is every one out of the

328 BEAUTIFUL JOE

hotel?" A voice shouted back, "I'm going up
to see."

"It's Jim Watson, the fireman," cried some
one near. "He's risking his Ufe to go into that
pit of flame. Don't go, Watson." I don't think
that the brave fireman paid any attention to this
warning, for an instant later the same voice said,
" He's planting his ladder against the third story.
He's bound to go. He'll not get any farther than
the second, anyway."

' ' Where are the Montagues ? ' ' shouted Mr.
Morris. " Has any one seen the Montagues ? "

" Mr. Morris ! Mr. Morris ! " said a frightened
voice, and young Charlie Montague pressed
through the people to us. ' ' Where' s papa ? ' '

" I don't know. Where did you leave him ? "
said Mr. Morris, taking his hand and drawing him
closer to him. " I was sleeping in his room,"
said the boy, "and a man knocked at the door,
and said, ' Hotel on fire. Five minutes to dress
and get out,' and papa told me to put on my
clothes and go downstairs, and he ran up to
mamma. ' '

' ' Where was she ? ' ' asked Mr. Morris,
quickly.

On the fourth flat. She and her maid Blanche
were up there. You know, mamma hasn't been
well and couldn't sleep, and our room was so
noisy that she moved upstairs where it was quiet."
Mr. Morris gave a kind of groan. "Oh, I'm so
hot, and there's such a dreadful noise," said the
little boy, bursting into tears, "and I want

A FIRE IN FAIRPORT 329

mamma." Mr. Morris soothed him as best he
could, and drew him a Httle to the edge of the
crowd.

While he was doing this, there was a piercing
cry. I could not see the person making it, but I
knew it was the Italian's voice. He was scream-
ing, in broken English that the fire was spreading
to the stables, and his animals would be burned.
Would no one help him to get his animals out ?
There was a great deal of confused language.
Some voices shouted, ' ' Look after the people first.
Let the animals go." And others said, "For
shame. Get the horses out." But no one seemed
to do anything, for the Italian went on crying for
help. I heard a number of people who were
standing near us say that it had just been found
out that several persons who had been sleeping in
the top of the hotel had not got out. They said
that at one of the top windows a poor housemaid
was shrieking for help. Here in the street we
could see no one at the upper windows, for smoke
was pouring from them.

The air was very hot and heavy, and I didn't
wonder that Charlie Montague felt ill. He would
have fallen on the ground if Mr. Morris hadn't
taken him in his arms, and carried him out of the
crowd. He put him down on the brick sidewalk,
and unfastened his Httle shirt, and left me to watch
him, while he held his hands under a leak in a
hose that was fastened to a hydrant near us. He
got enough water to daeh on Charlie's face and
breast, and then seeing that the boy was reviving,

330 BEAUTIFUL JOE

he sat down on the curbstone and took him on his
knee. Charhe lay in his arms and moaned. He
was a delicate boy, and he could not stand rough
usage as the Morris boys could.

Mr. Morris was terribly uneasy. His face
was deathly white, and he shuddered whenever
there was a cry from the burning building.
' ' Poor souls — God help them. Oh, this is awful,
he said ; and then he turned his eyes from the
great sheets of flame and strained the little boy to
his breast. At last there were wild shrieks that
I knew came from no human throats. The fire
must have reached the horses. Mr. Morris sprang
up, then sank back again. He wanted to go, yet
he could be of no use. There were hundreds of
men standing about, but the fire had spread so
rapidly, and they had so little water to put on it,
that there was very little they could do. I won-
dered whether I could do anything for the poor
animals. I was not afraid of fire, as most dogs,
for one of the tricks that the Morris boys had
taught me was to put out a fire with my paws.
They would throw a piece of lighted paper on the
floor, and I would crush it with my forepaws ; and
if the blaze was too large for that, I would drag a
bit of old carpet over it and jump on it. I left
Mr. Morris, and ran around the corner of the
street to the back of the hotel. It was not burned
as much here as in the front, and in the houses
all around, people were out on their roofs with
wet blankets, and some were standing at the win-
dows watching the fire, or packing up their belong-

A FIRE IX FAIRPORT 331

ings ready to move if it should spread to them.
There was a narrow lane running up a short dis-
tance toward the hotel, and I started to go up this,
when in front of me I heard such a wailing, pierc-
ing noise, that it made me shudder and stand still.
The Italian's animals were going to be burned up,
and they were calling to their master to come and
let them out. Their voices sounded like the voices
of children in mortal pain. I could not stand it.
I was seized with such an awful horror of the fire,
that I turned and ran, feeling so thankful that I
was not in it. As I got into the street I stumbled
over something. It was a large bird — a parrot,
and at first I thought it was Bella. Then I re-
membered hearing Jack say that the Italian had a
parrot. It was not dead, but seemed stupid with
the smoke. I seized it in my mouth, and ran and
laid it at Mr. Morris's feet. He wrapped it in his
handkerchief, and laid it beside him.

I sat, and trembled, and did not leave him
again. I shall never forget that dreadful night.
It seemed as if we were there for hours, but in
reality it was only a short time. The hotel soon
got to be all red flames, and there was very little
smoke. The inside of the building had burned
away, and nothing more could be gotten out. The
firemen and all the people drew back, and there
was no noise. Everybody stood gazing silently at
the flames. A man stepped quietly up to Mr.
Morris, and looking at him, I saw that it was Mr.
Montague. He was usually a well-dressed man,
with a kind face, and a head of thick, grayish-

332 BEAUTIFUL JOE

brown hair. Now his face was black and grimy,
his hair was burnt from the front of his head, and
his clothes were half torn from his back. Mr.
Morris sprang up when he saw him, and said,
" Where is your wife ? "

The gentleman did not say a word, but pointed
to the burning building. " Impossible !" cried
Mr. Morris. ' ' Is there no mistake ? Your beau-
tiful young wife, Montague. Can it be so ?" Mr.
Morris was trembling from head to foot.

"It is true," said Mr. Montague, quietly.
"Give me the boy." Charhe had fainted again,
and his father took him in his arms, and turned
away.

"Montague ! " cried Mr. Morris, " my heart
is sore for you. Can I do nothing ? ' '

"No, thank you," said the gentleman, without
turning around ; but there was more anguish in
his voice than in Mr. Morris's, and though I am
only a dog, I knew that his heart was breaking.

CHAPTER XXXV

BILLY AND THE ITALIAN

R. MORRIS stayed no longer. He fol-
lowed Mr. Montague along the side-
walk a little way, and then exchanged
a few hurried words with some men who were
standing near, and hastened home through streets
that seemed dark and dull after the splendor of
the fire. Though it was still the middle of the
night, Mrs. Morris was up and dressed and wait-
ing for him. She opened the hall door with one
hand and held a candle in the other. 1 felt
frightened and miserable, and didn't want to
leave Mr. Morris, so I crept in after him.

"Don't make a noise," said Mrs. Morris.
" Laura and the boys are sleeping, and I thought
it better not to wake them. It has been a terrible
fire, hasn't it? Was it the hotel?" Mr. Morris
threw himself into a chair and covered his face
with his hands.

" Speak to me, William I" said Mrs. Morris, in
a startled tone. *' You are not hurt, are you ? "
and she put her candle on the table and came and
sat down beside him.

334 BEAUTIFUL JOE

He dropped his hands from his face, and tears
were running down his cheeks. ' ' Ten lives lost,
he said ; "among them Mrs. Montague."

Mrs. Morris looked horrified, and gave a little
cry, " WiUiam, it can't be so ! "

It seemed as if Mr. Morris could not sit still.
He got up and walked to and fro on the floor.
' • It was an awful scene, Margaret. I never wish
to look upon the like again. Do you remember
how I protested against the building of that death-
trap. Look at the wide, open streets around it,
and yet they persisted in running it up to the sky.
God will require an account of those deaths at the
hands of the men who put up that building. It is
terrible — this disregard of human lives. To think
of that dehcate woman and her death agony."
He threw himself in a chair and buried his face in
his hands.

' ' Where was she ? How did it happen ? Was
her husband saved, and CharUe ? " said Mrs. Mor-
ris, in a broken voice,

' ' Yes ; Charlie and Mr. Montague are safe.
Charlie will recover from it. Montague's hfe is
done. You know his love for his wife. Oh, Mar-
garet I when will men cease to be fools ? What
does the Lord think of them when they say, 'Am
I my brother' s keeper ? ' And the other poor crea-
tures burned to death — their lives are as precious
in his sight as Mrs. Montague's."

Mr. Morris looked so weak and ill that Mrs.
Morris, like a sensible woman, questioned him no
further, but made a fire and got him some hot tea.

BILLY AND THE ITALIAN 335

Then she made him he down on the sofa, awd she
sat by him till day -break, when she persuaded him
to go to bed. I followed her about, and kept
touching her dress with my nose. It seemed so
good to me to have this pleasant home after all the
misery I had seen that night. Once she stopped
and took my head between her hands, " Dear old
Joe," she said, tearfully, " this a suffering world.
It's well there's a better one beyond it."

In the morning the boys went down town before
breakfast and learned all about the fire. It started
in the top story of the hotel, in the room of some
fast young men, who were sitting up late playing
cards. They had smuggled wine into their room
and had been drinking till they were stupid. One
of them upset the lamp, and when the flames be-
gan to spread so that they could not extinguish
them, instead of rousing some one near them, they
rushed downstairs to get some one there to come
up and help them put out the fire. When they
returned with some of the hotel people, they found
that the flames had spread from their room, which
was in an " L " at the back of the house, to the
front part, where Mrs. Montague's room was, and
where the housemaids belonging to the hotel slept.
By this time Mr. Montague had gotten upstairs ;
but he found the passageway to his wife's room so
full of flames and smoke, that, though he tried
again and again to force his way through, he could
not. He disappeared for a time, then he came to
Mr. Morris and got his boy, and took him to some
rooms over his bank, and shut himself up with him.

336 BEAUTIFUL JOE

For some days he would let no one in ; then he
came out with the look of an old man on his face,
and his hair as white as snow, and went out to
his beautiful house in the outskirts of the town.

Nearly all the horses belonging to the hotel
were burned. A few were gotten out by having
blankets put over their heads, but the most of them
Avere so terrified that they would not stir.

The Morris boys said that they found the old
Italian sitting on an empty box, looking at the
smoking ruins of the hotel. His head was hang-
ing on his breast, and his eyes were full of tears.
His ponies were burned up, he said, and the gan-
der, and the monkeys, and the goats, and his
wonderful performing dogs. He had only his
birds left, and he was a ruined man. He had
toiled all his life to get this troupe of trained ani-
mals together, and now they were swept from him.
It was cruel and wicked, and he wished he could
die. The canaries, and pigeons, and doves, the
hotel people had allowed him to take to his room,
and they were safe. The parrot was lost — an
educated parrot that could answer forty questions,
and, among other things, could take a watch and
tell the time of day.

Jack Morris told him that they had it safe at
home, and that it was very much alive, quarreling
furiously with his parrot Bella. The old man's face
brightened at this, and then Jack and Carl, finding
that he had had no breakfast, went off to a res-
taurant near by, and got him some steak and
coffee. The Italian was very grateful, and as he

BILLY AND THE ITALIAN 337

ate, Jack said the tears ran into his coffee cup.
He told them how much he loved his animals, and
how it ' ' made ze heart bitter to hear zem crying
to him to deliver zem from ze raging fire.

The boys came home, and got their breakfast
and went to school. Miss Laura did not go out.
She sat all day with a very quiet, pained face.
She could neither read nor sew, and Mr. and Mrs.
Morris were just as unsettled. They talked about
the fire in low tones, and I could see that they felt
more sad about Mrs. Montague's death than if
she had died in an ordinary way. Her dear little
canary, Barry, died with her. She would never
be separated from him, and his cage had been
taken up to the top of the hotel with her. He
probably died an easier death than his poor mis-
tress. Charley' s dog escaped, but was so frightened
that he ran out to their house, outside the town.

At tea time, Mr. Morris went down town to see
that the Italian got a comfortable place for the
night. When he came back, he said that he had
found out that the Italian was by no means so old
a man as he looked, and that he had talked to him
about raising a sum of money for him among the
Fairport people, till he had become quite cheerful,
and said that if Mr. Morris would do that, he
would try to gather another troupe of animals
together and train them.

' ' Now, what can we do for this Italian ? ' *
asked Mrs. Morris. "We can't give him much
money, but we might let him have one or two of
our pets. There's Billy, he's a bright, little dog,

33^ BEAUTIFUL JOE

and not two years old yet. He could teach him
anything, ' '

There was a blank silence among the Morris
children. Billy was such a gentle, lovable, little
dog, that he was a favorite with every one in the
house. " I suppose we ought to do it," said Miss
Laura, at last ; ' ' but how can we give him up ? "

There was a good deal of discussion, but the
end of it was that Billy was given to the Italian.
He came up to get him, and was very grateful,
and made a great many bows, holding his hat in
his hand. Billy took to him at once, and the
Italian spoke so kindly to him, that we knew he
would have a good master. Mr. Morris got quite
a large sum of money for him, and when he
handed it to him, the poor man was so pleased
that he kissed his hand, and promised to send
frequent word as to Billy's progress and welfare.

CHAPTER XXXVI

DANDY THE TRAMP

I

BOUT a week after Billy left us, the
Morris family, much to its surprise, be-
! came the owner of a new dog;.

He walked into the house one cold, wintry
afternoon and lay calmly down by the fire. He
was a brindled bull-terrier, and he had on a silver-
plated collar with " Dandy " engraved on it. He
lay all the evening by the fire, and when any of the
family spoke to him, he wagged his tail, and looked
pleased. I growled a little at him at first, but he
never cared a bit, and just dozed off to sleep, so I
soon stopped.

He was such a well-bred dog, that the Morrises
were afraid that some one had lost him. They
made some inquiries the next day, and found that
he belonged to a New York gentleman who had
come to Fairport in the summer in a yacht. This dog
did not like the yacht. He came ashore in a boat
whenever he got a chance, and if he could not
come in a boat, he would swim. He was a tramp,
his master said, and he wouldn't stay long in any
place. The Morrises were so amused with his impu-

340 BEAUTIFUL JOE

dence, that they did not send him away, but said
everyday, " Surely he will be gone to-morrow."

However, Mr. Dandy had gotten into com-
fortable quarters, and he had no intention of
changing them, for a while at least. Then he
was very handsome, and had such a pleasant way
with him, that the family could not help liking
him. I never cared for him. He fawned on the
Morrises, and pretended he loved them, and after-
ward turned around and laughed and sneered
at them in a way that made me very angry. I
used to lecture him sometimes, and growl about
him to Jim, but Jim always said, " Let him alone.
You can't do him any good. He was born bad.
His mother wasn't good. He tells me that she
had a bad name among all the dogs in her neigh-
borhood. She was a thief and a runaway."
Though he provoked me so often, yet I could not
help laughing at some of his stories, they were so
funny.

We were lying out in the sun, on the platform
at the back of the house, one day, and he had been
more than usually provoking, so I got up to leave
him. He put himself in my way, however, and
said, coaxingly, " Don't be cross, old fellow. I'll
tell you some stories to amuse you, old boy. What
shall they be about ? ' '

' ' I think the story of your life would be about
as interesting as anything you could make up, ' ' I
said, dryly.

" All right, fact or fiction, whichever you like.
Here's a fact, plain and unvarnished. Born and

DANDY THE TRAMP 34I

bred in New York. Swell stable. Swell coach-
man. Swell master. Jewelled fingers of ladies
poking at me, first thing I remember. First pain-
ful experience — being sent to vet. to have ears
cut."

" What's a vet. ? " I said.

"A veterinary — animal doctor. Vet. didn't
cut ears enough. Master sent me back. Cut ears
again. Summer time, and flies bad. Ears got
sore and festered, flies very attentive. Coachman
set little boy to brush flies off, but he'd run out in
yard and leave me. Flies awful. Thought they'd
eat me up, or else I'd shake out brains trying to
get rid of them. Mother should have stayed home
and licked my ears, but was cruising about neigh-
borhood. Finally coachman put me in dark place,
powdered ears, and they got well."

" Why didn't they cut your tail, too ? " I said,
looking at his long, slim tail, which was like a
sewer rat's.

" 'Twasn't the fashion, Mr. Wayback ; a bull-
terrier' s ears are clipped to keep them from getting
torn Avhile fighting. ' '

" You're not a fighting dog," I said.

"Not I. Too much trouble. I believe in
taking things easy."

" I should think you did," I said, scornfully.
" You never put yourself out for any one, I notice ;
but, speaking of cropping ears, what do you think
of it?"

' ' Well, ' ' he said, with a sly glance at my head,
"it isn't a pleasant operation ; but one might as

342 BEAUTIFUL JOE

well be out of the world as out of the fashion. I
don't care, now my ears are done."

"But," I said, "think of the poor dogs that
will come after you."

"What difference does that make to me ? " he
said. "I'll be dead and out of the way. Men
can cut off their ears, and tails, and legs, too, if
they want to."

"Dandy," I said, angrily, "you're the most
selfish dog that I ever saw.

" Don't excite yourself," he said, coolly. "Let
me get on with my story. When I was a few
months old, I began to find the stable yard narrow,
and wondered what there was outside of it. I
discovered a hole in the garden wall, and used to
sneak out nights. Oh, what fun it was. I got to
know a lot of street dogs, and we had gay times,
barking under people's windows and making them
mad, and getting into back yards and chasing cats.
We used to kill a cat nearly every night. Police-
man would chase us, and we would run and run
till the water just ran off our tongues, and we
hadn't a bit of breath left. Then I'd go home and
sleep all day, and go out again the next night.
When I was about a year old, I began to stay out
days as well as nights. They couldn't keep me
home. Then I ran away for three months. I got
with an old lady on Fifth Avenue, who was very
fond of dogs. She had four white poodles, and
her servants used to wash them, and tie up their
hair with blue ribbons, and she used to take them
for drives in her phaeton in the park, and they

DANDY THE TRAMP 343

Tvore gold and silver collars. The biggest poodle
wore a ruby in his collar worth five hundred
dollars. I went driving, too, and sometimes we
met my master. He often smiled, and shook his
head at me. I heard him tell the coachman one
day that I was a little blackguard, and he was to
let me come and go as I liked."

"If they had whipped you soundly," I said,
" it might have made a good dog of you."

"I'm good enough now," said Dandy, airily.
' ' The young ladies who drove with my master
used to say that it was priggish and tiresome to be
too good. To go on with my story : I stayed with
Mrs. Judge Tibbett till I got sick of her fussy
ways. She made a simpleton of herself over those
poodles. Each one had a high chair at the table,
and a plate, and they always sat in these chairs
and had meals with her, and the servants all called
them Master Bijou, and Master Tot, and Miss
Tiny, and Miss Fluff. One day they tried to make
me sit in a chair, and I got cross and bit Mrs.
Tibbett, and she beat me cruelly, and her servants
stoned me away from the house."

"Speaking about fools, Dandy," I said, "if
it is polite to call a lady one, I should say that
that lady was one. Dogs shouldn't be put out of
their place. Why didn't she have some poor
children at her table, and in her carriage, and let
the dogs run behind ? ' '

"Easy to see you don't know New York,"
said Dandy, with a laugh. " Poor children don't
live with rich, old ladies. Mrs. Tibbett hated

344 BEAUTIFUL JOE

children, anyway. Then dogs Kke poodles would
get lost in the mud, or killed in the crowd if they
ran behind a carriage. Only knowing dogs like
me can make their way about." I rather doubted
this speech ; but I said nothing, and he went on,
patronizingly : " However, Joe, thou hast reason,
as the French say. Mrs. Judge Tibbett didri t
give her dogs exercise enough. Their claws were
as long as Chinamen's nails, and the hair grew
over their pads, and they had red eyes and were
always sick, and she had to dose them with medi-
cine, and call them her poor, little, ' weeny-teeny,
sicky-wicky doggies.' Bah ! I got disgusted with
her. When I left her, I ran away to hef niece's.
Miss Ball's. She was a sensible young lady, and
she used to scold her aunt for the way in which
she brought up her dogs. She was almost too sen-
sible, for her pug and I were rubbed and scrubbed
within an inch of our lives, and had to go for such
long walks that I got thoroughly sick of them. A
woman, whom the servants called Trotsey, came
every morning, and took the pug and me by our
chains, and sometimes another dog or two, and
took us for long tramps in quiet streets. That was
Trotsey' s business, to walk dogs, and Miss Ball
got a great many fashionable young ladies who
could not exercise their dogs, to let Trotsey have
them, and they said that it made a great difference
in the health and appearance of their pets.
Trotsey got fifteen cents an hour for a dog. Good-
ness, what appetites those walks gave us, and
didn't we make the dog biscuits disappear? But

DANDY THE TRAMP 345

it was a slow life at Miss Ball's. We only saw her
for a little while every day. She slept till noon.
After lunch she played with us for a little while in
the greenhouse, then she was off driving or visit-
ing, and in the evening she always had company,
or went to a dance, or to the theatre. I soon
made up my mind that I'd run away. I jumped
out of a window one fine morning, and ran home.
I stayed there for a long time. My mother had
been run over by a cart and killed, and I wasn't
sorry. My master never bothered his head about
me, and I could do as I liked. One day when I
was having a walk, and meetipg a lot of dogs that
I knew, a little boy came behind me, and before
I could tell what he was doing, he had snatched
me up, and was running off with me. I couldn't
bite him, for he had stufCed some of his rags in
my mouth. He took me to a tenement house, in
a part of the city that I had never been in before.
He belonged to a very poor family. My faith,
weren't they badly off — six children, and a mother
and father, all living in two tiny rooms. Scarcely
a bit of meat did I smell while I was there. I
hated their bread and molasses, and the place
smelled so badly that I thought I should choke.

" They kept me shut up in their dirty rooms for
several days ; and the brat of a boy that caught
me slept with his arm around me at night. The
weather was hot and sometimes we couldn't sleep,
and they had to go up on the roof. After a while,
they chained me up in a filthy yard at the back of
the house, and there I thought I should ero mad.

34^ BEAUTIFUL JOE

I would have liked to bite them all to death, if I
had dared. It's awful to be chained, especially
for a dog like me that loves his freedom. The
flies worried me, and the noises distracted me, and
my flesh would fairly creep from getting no exer-
cise. I was there nearly a month, while they were
waiting for a reward to be offered. But none
came ; and one day, the boy's father, who was a
street peddler, took me by my chain and led me
about the streets till he sold me. A gentleman
got me for his little boy, but I didn't like the look
of him, so I sprang up and bit his hand, and he
dropped the chain, and I dodged boys and police-
men, and finally got home more dead than alive,
and looking like a skeleton. I had a good time
for several weeks, and then I began to get restless
and was off again. But I'm getting tired ; I want
to go to sleep."

' 'You' re not very polite, ' ' I said, ' ' to offer to tell
a story, and then go to sleep before you finish it. ' '

"Look out for number one, my boy," said
Dandy, with a yawn ;"for if you don't, no one else
will, ' ' and he shut his eyes and was fast asleep in
a few minutes.

I sat and looked at him. What a handsome,
good-natured, worthless dog he was. A few days
later, he told me the rest of his history. After a
great many wanderings, he happened home one
day just as his master's yacht was going to sail,
and they chained him up till they went on board,
so that he could be an amusement on the passage
to Fairport.

DANDY THE TRAMP 347

It was in November that Dandy came to us,
and he stayed all winter. He made fun of the
Morrises all the time, and said they had a dull,
poky, old house, and he only stayed because Miss
Laura was nursing him. He had a little sore on
his back that she soon found out was mange. Her
father said it was a bad disease for dogs to have,
and Dandy had better be shot ; but she begged so
hard for his life, and said she would cure him in a
few weeks, that she was allowed to keep him.
Dandy wasn't capable of getting really angry, but
he was as disturbed about having this disease as he
could be about anything. He said that he had got
it from a little, mangy dog, that he had played
with a few weeks before. He was only with the
dog a little while, and didn't think he would take
it, but it seemed he knew what an easy thing it
was to get.

Until he got well he was separated from us.
Miss Laura kept him up in the loft with the rabbits,
where we could not go ; and the boys ran him
around the garden for exercise. She tried all
kind of cures for him, and I heard her say that
though it was a skin disease, his blood must be
purified. She gave him some of the pills that she
made out of sulphur and butter for Jim, and Billy,
and me, to keep our coats silky and smooth.
When they didn't cure him, she gave him a few
drops of arsenic every day, and washed the sore,
and, indeed his whole body, with tobacco water
or carbolic soap. It was the tobacco water that
cured him.

348 BEAUTIFUL JOE

Miss Laura always put on gloves when she
went near him, and used a brush to wash him, for
if a person takes mange from a dog, they may lose
their hair and their eyelashes. But if they are
careful, no harm comes from nursing a mangy dog,
and I have never known of any one taking the
disease.

After a time. Dandy's sore healed, and he was
set free. He was right glad, he said, for he had
got heartily sick of the rabbits. He used to bark
at them and make them angry, and they would
run around the loft, stamping their hind feet at
him, in the funny way that rabbits do. I think
they disHked him as much as he dishked them.
Jim and I did not get the mange. Dandy was not
a strong dog, and I think his irregular way of liv-
ing made him take diseases readily. He would
stuff himself when he was hungry, and he always
wanted rich food. If he couldn't get what he
wanted at the Morrises', he went out and stole, or
visited the dumps at the back of the town.

When he did get ill, he was more stupid about
doctoring himself than any dog that I have ever
seen. He never seemed to know when to eat grass
or herbs, or a little earth, that would have kept him
in good condition. A dog should never be without
grass. When Dandy got ill he just suffered till he
got well again, and never tried to cure himself of
his small troubles. Some dogs even know enough
to amputate their limbs. Jim told me a very in-
teresting story of a dog the Morrises once had,
called Gyp, whose leg became paralyzed by a kick

DANDY THE TRAMP 349

from a horse. He knew the leg was dead, and
gnawed it off nearly to the shoulder, and though
he was very sick for a time, yet in the end he got
well.

To return to Dandy. I knew he was only wait-
ing for the spring to leave us, and I was not sorry.
The first fine day he was off, and during the rest
of the spring and summer we occasionally met
him running about the town with a set of fast dogs.
One day I stopped and asked him how he con-
tented himself in such a quiet place as Fairport,
and he said he was dying to get back to New York,
and was hoping that his master' s yacht would come
and take him away.

Poor Dandy never left Fairport. After all, he
was not such a bad dog. There was nothing
really vicious about him, and I hate to speak of
his end. His master's yacht did not come, and
soon the summer was over, and the winter was
coming, and no one wanted Dandy, for he had
such a bad name. He got hungry and cold, and
one day sprang upon a little girl, to take away a
piece of bread and butter that she was eating.
He did not see the large house-dog on the door sill,
and before he could get away, the dog had seized
him, and bitten and shaken him till he was nearly
dead. When the dog threw him aside, he crawled
to the Morrises, and Miss Laura bandaged his
wounds, and made him a bed in the stable.

One Sunday morning she washed and fed him
very tenderly, for she knew he could not live much
longer. He was so weak that he could scarcely

350 BEAUTIFUL JOE

eat the food that she put in his mouth, so she let
him hck some milk from her finger. As she was
going to church, I could not go with her, but I ran
down the lane and watched her out of sight. When
I came back, Dandy was gone. I looked till I found
him. He had crawled into the darkest corner of
the stable to die, and though he was suffering very-
much, he never uttered a sound. I sat by him
and thought of his master in New York. If he
had brought Dandy up properly he might not now
be here in his silent death agony. A young pup
should be trained just as a child is, and punished
when he goes wrong. Dandy began badly, and
not being checked in his evil ways, had come to
this. Poor Dandy ! Poor, handsome dog of a rich
master ! He opened his dull eyes, gave me one
last glance, then, with a convulsive shudder, his
torn limbs were still. He would never suffer any
more.

When Miss Laura came home, she cried bit-
terly to know that he was dead. The boys took
him away from her, and made him a grave in the
corner of the garden.

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE END OF MY STORY

HAVE come now to the last chapter of
my story. I thought when I began to
write, that I would put down the events
of each year of my life, but I fear that would make
my story too long, and neither Miss Laura nor
any boys and girls would care to read it. So I
will stop just here, though I would gladly go on,
for I have enjoyed so much talking over old times,
that I am very sorry to leave off.

Every year that I have been at the Morrises',
something pleasant has happened to me, but I
cannot put all these things down, nor can I tell
how Miss Laura and the boys grew and changed,
year by year, till now they are quite grown up. I
will just bring my tale down to the present time,
and then I will stop talking, and go lie down in
my basket, for I am an old dog now, and get tired
very easily.

I was a year old when I went to the Morrises.
and I have been with them for twelve years. I am
not living in the same house with Mr. and Mrs.
Morris now, but I am with my dear Miss Laura,

351

352 BEAUTIFUL JOE

who is Miss Laura no longer, but Mrs. Gray. She
married Mr. Harry four years ago, and hves with
him and Mr. and Mrs. Wood, on Dingley Farm.
Mr. and Mrs. Morris hve in a cottage near by.
Mr. Morris is not very strong, and can preach no
longer. The boys are all scattered. Jack married
pretty Miss Bessie Drury, and lives on a large farm
near here. Miss Bessie says that she hates to be a
farmer's wife, but she always looks very happy
and contented, so I think that she must be mis-
taken. Carl is a merchant in New York, Ned is a
clerk in a bank, and Willie is studying at a place
called Harvard. He says that after he finishes his
studies, he is going to live with his father and
mother.

The Morrises' old friends often come to see
them. Mrs. Drury comes every summer on her
way to Newport, and Mr. Montague and Charlie
come every other summer. Charlie always brings
with him his old dog Brisk, who is getting feeble,
like myself. We lie on the veranda in the sun-
shine, and Hsten to the Morrises talking about old
days, and sometimes it makes us feel quite young
again. In addition to Brisk we have a Scotch
collie. He is very handsome, and is a constant
attendant of Miss Laura's. We are great friends,
he and I, but he can get about much better than I
can . One day a friend of Miss Laura' s came with a
little boy and girl, and " Collie" sat between the
two children, and their father took their picture with
a ' ' kodak. ' ' I like him so much that I told him I
would get them to put his picture in my book.

THE END OF MY STORY 353

When the Morris boys are all here in the sum-
mer we have gay times. All through the winter
we look forward to their coming, for they make
the old farmhouse so lively. Mr. Maxwell never
misses a summer in coming to Riverdale. He
has such a following of dumb animals now, that
he says he can't move them any farther away from
Boston than this, and he doesn't know what he
will do with them, unless he sets up a menagerie.
He asked Miss Laura the other day, if she thought
that the old Italian would take him into partner-
ship. He did not know what had happened to
poor Bellini, so Miss Laura told him.

A few years ago the Italian came to Riverdale,
to exhibit his new stock of performing animals.
They were almost as good as the old ones, but he
had not quite so many as he had before. The
Morrises and a great many of their friends went to
his performance, and Miss Laura said afterward,
that when cunning little Billy came on the stage,
and made his bow, and went through his antics
of jumping through hoops, and catching balls,
that she almost had hysterics. The Italian had
made a special pet of him for the Morrises' sake,
and treated him more like a human being than a
dog. Billy rather put on airs when he came up to
the farm to see us, but he was such a dear, little
dog, in spite of being almost spoiled by his master,
that Jim and I could not get angry with him. In
a few days they went away, and we heard nothing
but good news from them, till last winter. Then
a letter came to Miss Laura from a nurse in a
23

354 BEAUTIFUL JOE

New York hospital. She said that the ItaUan was
very near his end, and he wanted her to write to
Mrs. Gray to tell her that he had sold all his ani-
mals but the little dog that she had so kindly
given him. He was sending him back to her, and
with his latest breath he would pray for heaven's
blessing on the kind lady and her family that had
befriended him when he was in trouble.

The next day Billy arrived, a thin, white scare-
crow of a dog. He was sick and unhappy, and
would eat nothing, and started up at the slightest
sound. He was listening for the Italian's foot-
steps, but he never came, and one day Mr. Harry
looked up from his newspaper and said, " Laura,
Bellini is dead." Miss Laura's eyes filled with
tears, and Billy, who had jumped up when he
heard his master's name, fell back again. He
knew what they meant, and from that instant he
ceased listening for footsteps, and lay quite still
till he died. Miss Laura had him put in a little
wooden box, and buried him in a corner of the
garden, and when she is working among her
flowers, she often speaks regretfully of him, and
of poor Dandy, who lies in the garden at Fairport.

Bella, the parrot, lives with Mrs. Morris, and
is as smart as ever. I have heard that parrots
live to a very great age. Some of them even get
to be a hundred years old. If that is the case,
Bella will outlive all of us. She notices that I am
getting blind and feeble, and wheir I go down to
call on Mrs. Morris, she calls out to me, " Keep a
stiff upper lip, Beautiful Joe. Never say die,

THE END OF MY STORY 355

Beautiful Joe. Keep the game a-going, Beautiful
Joe."

Mrs. Morris says that she doesn't know where
Bella picks up her slang words. I think it is Mr.
Ned who teaches her, for when he comes home in
the summer he often says, with a sly twinkle in his
eye, "Come out into the garden, Bella," and he
lies in a hammock under the trees, and Bella
perches on a branch near him, and he talks to her
by the hour. Anyway, it is in the autumn after
he leaves Riverdale that Bella always shocks IMrs.
Morris with her slang talk.

I am glad that I am to end my days in River-
dale. Fairport was a very nice place, but it was
not open and free like this farm. I take a walk
every morning that the sun shines. I go out
among the horses and cows, and stop to watch the
hens pecking at their food. This is a happy
place, and I hope my dear Miss Laura will live to
enjoy it many years after I am gone.

I have very few worries. The pigs bother me
"a little in the spring, by rooting up the bones that
I bury in the fields in the fall, but that is a small
matter, and I try not to mind it. I get a great
many bones here, and I should be glad if I had
some poor, city dogs to help me eat them. I don't
think bones are good for pigs.

Then there is Mr. Harry's tame squirrel out in
one of the barns that teases me considerably. He
knows that I can't chase him, now that my legs
are so stiff with rheumatism, and he takes delight
in showing me how spry he can be, darting around

356 BEAUTIFUL JOE

me and whisking his tail almost in my face, and
trying to get me to run after him, so that he can
laugh at me. I don't think that he is a very
thoughtful squirrel, but I try not to notice him.

The sailor boy who gave Bella to the Morrises
has got to be a large, stout man, and is the first
mate of a vessel. He sometimes comes here, and
when he does, he always brings the Morrises pres-
ents of foreign fruits and curiosities of different
kinds.

Malta, the cat, is still living, and is with Mrs.
Morris. Davy, the rat, is gone, so is poor old
Jim. He went away one day last summer, and no
one ever knew what became of him. The Mor-
rises searched everywhere for him, and offered a
large reward to any one who would find him, but
he never turned up again. I think that he felt he
was going to die, and went into some out-of-the-
way place. He remembered how badly Miss
Laura felt when Dandy died, and he wanted to
spare her the greater sorrow of his death. He
was always such a thoughtful dog, and so anxious
not to give trouble. I am more selfish. I could
not go away from Miss Laura even to die. When
my last hour comes, I want to see her gentle face
bending over me, and then I shall not mind how
much I suffer.

She is just as tender-hearted as ever, but she
tries not to feel too badly about the sorrow and
suffering in the world, because she says that would
weaken her, and she wants all her strength to try
to put a stop to some of it. She does a great deal

THE END OF MY STORY 357

of good in Riverdale, and I do not think that there
is any one in all the country around who is as
much beloved as she is.

She has never forgotten the resolve that she
made some years ago, that she would do all that
she could to protect dumb creatures. Mr. Harry
and Mr. Maxwell have helped her nobly. Mr.
Maxwell's work is largely done in Boston, and
Miss Laura and Mr. Harry have to do the most of
theirs by writing, for Riverdale has got to be a
model village in respect of the treatment of all
kinds of animals. It is a model village not only
in that respect, but in others. It has seemed as
if all other improvements went hand in hand with
the humane treatment of animals. Thoughtful-
ness toward lower creatures has made the people
more and more thoughtful toward themselves, and
this little town is getting to have quite a name
through the State for its good schools, good society,
and good business and religious standing. Many
people are moving into it, to educate their chil-
dren. The Riverdale people are very particular
about what sort of strangers come to live among
them.

A man, who came here two years ago and
opened a shop, was seen kicking a small kitten
out of his house. The next day a committee of
Riverdale citizens waited on him, and said they
had had a great deal of trouble to root out cruelty
from their village, and they didn't want any one
to come there and introduce it again, and they
thought he had better move on to some other place.

358 BEAUTIFUL JOE

The man was utterly astonished, and said he'd
never heard of such particular people. He had
had no thought of being cruel. He didn't think
that the kitten cared ; but now when he turned the
thing over in his mind, he didn't suppose cats
liked being kicked about any more than he would
hke it himself, and he would promise to be kind
to them in future. He said, too, that if they had
no objection, he would just stay on, for if the
people there treated dumb animals with such con-
sideration, they would certainly treat human beings
better, and he thought it would be a good place to
bring up his children in. Of course they let him
stay, and he is now a man who is celebrated for
his kindness to every living thing ; and he never
refuses to help Miss Laura when she goes to him
for money to carry out any of her humane schemes.
There is one most important saying of Miss
Laura's that comes out of her years of service for
dumb animals that I must put in before I close,
and it is this. She says that cruel and vicious
owners of animals should be punished ; but to
merely thoughtless people, don't say " Don't " so
much. Don't go to them and say, " Don't over-
feed your animals, and don't starve them, and
don't overwork them, and don't beat them," and
so on through the long list of hardships that can
be put upon suffering animals, but say simply to
them, " Be kind. Make a study of your animals'
wants, and see that they are satisfied. No one
can tell you how to treat your animal as well as
you should know yourself, for you are with it all

THE END OF MY STORY 359

the time, and know its disposition, and just how
much work it can stand, and how much rest and
food it needs, and just how it is different from
every other animal. If it is sick or unhappy, you
are the one to take care of it ; for nearly every
animal loves its own master better than a stranger,
and will get well quicker under his care. ' '

]Miss Laura says that if men and women are
kind in every respect to their dumb servants, they
will be astonished to find how much happiness
they will bring into their lives, and how faithful
and grateful their dumb animals will be to them.

Now, I must really close my story. Good-bye
to the boys and girls who may read it ; and if it
is not wrong for a dog to say it, I should like to
add, "God bless you all." If in my feeble way
I have been able to impress you with the fact that
dogs and many other animals love their masters
and mistresses, and live only to please them, my
little story will not be written in vain. My last
words are, " Boys and girls, be kind to dumb ani-
mals, not only because you will lose nothing by it,
but because you ought to ; for they were placed on
the earth by the same Kind Hand that made all
living creatures."

PHCENIX SERIES

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