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 ilEAUTIFUL jot 
 
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w^is^^^:mji ■ , L^^^^mmMMi^ 
 
 "My name is ' lk':iiuirul Joe '"—/>■ 13. 
 
-i^ Mm 
 
 BHAUTIFUL JOE 
 
 The AiitobiooTajihy of a Doo- 
 
 BY 
 
 MARSHALL SAUNM^ERS 
 
 FORTYSECOND THOUSAND 
 
 LONDON 
 JARROI.I) & SONS, lo & II, Warwick Lane, E.G. 
 
 [W// Rights Reserved] 
 1895 
 
,1 
 
 ^ 
 
 / 
 
 > 
 
 , c>. 
 
J?i.C^.-*\Wifer^^*;f«K-£*^S/ 'SJS^^- 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Beautiful Joe is a real dog, and "Beautiful Joe" is 
 his real name. He belonged during the first part of bis 
 life to a cruel ma.4er, who mutilated him in the manner 
 described in the story. He was rescued from b-m. and 
 is now living in a happy home with pleasant surround- 
 ings, and enjoys a wide local celebrity. 
 
 The 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. 
 
;ir:^ 
 
( J-JuiiuH //■'•/» fiiinitm !>/ Ahrn/i i. loittr im tfif 
 (it iiiiiliun Kdition.J 
 
 GOVERNMK.NT IToC'^F, 
 
 Uttawa, 
 
 M Alton 27 til, I8&4. 
 
 G(>iitl 
 
 t'lUOII. 
 
 h is with <;roat j)lo.i,sure (hat I lei\rn 
 yon aiv ildut to piihlisii a CaiifidiaTi edition of " Bca.i- 
 titi.l Joe." 
 
 I .'twi sure tliat nil lovers of animals will welcome 
 
 tliia book with ^.i<:cine 
 
 as beiii;,' eminently calculated 
 to spread that knowled-*^ of, and thougii' for dnmb 
 beastH, rthich will load to their humane treatment. 
 
 So much of the rnielty which we see daily prac- 
 ticed amouf^'st us arises from want of thought. That 
 the circulatio!! of a book like "Beautiful Joe "—a 
 worthy companion to the well-known "Black Beauty" 
 —must do vast good in leading the young especially 
 to tmf/fr.sfrt/,,/ their pets and their needs better. * * * 
 
 *■ '■^- '^- ■'■ ^: 1. ♦ *; >;: .); 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 ISIIBEL ABERDEEN. 
 
'i^FsM' 
 

 §ii^^.^^!i 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 rriE wonderfully successful book, entitled " Black 
 ^eauty came like a livin. voice out of the animal kin.- 
 dom. But :t spake for the horse, and ma, .e other books 
 uecessary ; .t lol the way. After the ready welcome that 
 It ece.ved and the good it has accomplished and is 
 doing, ,t followed naturally that some one should bo 
 inspired to write a book to interpret the life of a do. to 
 the l^mane feeling of the world. Such a story we l^.ve 
 in Beautiful Joe. 
 
 The story speaks not for ti.e dog alono, but for 
 the whole annnal kingdom. Through it we euf«r the 
 ™m,al world, and are made to see as animals see, and to 
 
 ^"::o;ti:':o:r""'"' '^ ^""^-"^ ^^^ ^'-« 
 
 Such books as this is one of the need-: of cur pro"ro.- 
 
 ! ; ■""' " ''''™™^ f°^ "» young, demand the influ- 
 ence that ...all ,™c/, the reader /„„. to live in sympatl,; 
 « .t the annual world ; how to understand the langua-es 
 
 cai dumb, and the s,g,> language of the >ower orders 
 of these dependent beings. The Church owes it to her 
 n..ss,on to preach and to teach the enforcement o h" 
 
10 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I' ) 
 
 1$ 
 
 "bird's nest comman<linciit"; the principle reco;^nized by 
 Moses in tlie Hebrew world, and eclioed by Cowper in 
 English poetry, and Burns in the ' Meadow Mouse," 
 and by Longfellow in songs of many keys. 
 
 Kindness to the A^i'nial 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 b'rd that had fallen out of its nest. Such a 
 heart was traiued to be a leader of men, and to be 
 crucified for a cause. Tlie conscience that runs, to the 
 call of an animal in dislres.^, is girding itself with 
 l)0wer to do mauly work in the world. 
 
 The story of " Beautiful Joe " awakens an intense 
 interest, and sustains it th^'ougli 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 hunian heart 
 as well as the creatures of quick feelings and simple 
 language. 
 
 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 
 ]mblic in helping to give it a circulation commensurate 
 with its opportunity, need; and influence. 
 
 Hezekiah Butteuwohtu. 
 
 liott»H Ilumaru Society. 
 
^i 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ^APTKR 
 
 I Only a Cub '*•■ 
 
 13 
 
 II. The Cruel Milkman 
 
 HI. Mr Kind Delivkkkb and Miss Laura 24 
 
 IV. The Morris Boys Add TO Mr Nam. . 29 
 
 V. My New Home AND A Selfish Lady . . 84 
 VI. The Pox Terrier Billy 
 
 4o 
 
 VII. Training a Puppy 
 
 68 
 
 VIIL A Ruined Doo 
 
 ^_ * 67 
 
 IX The Parrot Bella 
 
 62 
 
 ^- Billy's Training Continued gj, 
 
 XI. Goldfish and Canaries ^g 
 
 XII. Malta the Cat 
 
 86 
 
 XIIL The Beginning of an Adventure . 93 
 
 XIV. How We Caught th. Burglar .... 103 
 
 XV. Our Journey to Riyerdale .... ^g 
 XVL DiNGLKY Farm 
 
 11 
 
H 
 
 »M 
 
 » ' 
 
 12 C0NTE^•T8. 
 
 fkumtt 
 
 XVII. Mb. Wood and his Hobses ... . , 130 
 
 XVIII. Mbs. "Woods Poultbt 137 
 
 XIX. A Band of Mkbct 143 
 
 XX. Stories About Animals ..... . . 161 
 
 XXI. Mr. Maxwell and Mr. IIabet .... 164 
 
 XXII. What Happened at the Txx Tablb . . 17J 
 
 XXIII. Trapping Wild Animals 173 
 
 XXIV. The Babbit and the Hen 137 
 
 XXV. A Happt Horse 19q 
 
 XXVI. The Box of Money 205 
 
 XXVII. A Neglected Stable 214 
 
 XXVIII. The End of the Englishman 223 
 
 XXIX. A Talk About Sheep 231 
 
 XXX. A Jealous Ox 242 
 
 XXXI. In the Cotv Stable . 250 
 
 XXXII. Our Eeturn Home 257 
 
 XXXIII. Performiko Animals 266 
 
 XXXIV. A Fire in Faibport 276 
 
 XXXV. Billy and the I'^alian 282 
 
 XXXVI. Dandy the Tramp 287 
 
 XXXVII. The End of My Story 291 
 
BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ONLY A CUa. 
 
 Y name is Beautiful Joe, and I am a brown doc 
 of mediu ra size. I am not called Beautiful Joe 
 because I am a be;, ty. Mr. Morris, the cler- 
 gyman, in whose family I have lived for the last twelve 
 years says that he thinks I must be called Beautiful Joe 
 .or the same reason that his graudfather, down South 
 calcd a very ugly colored slave-lad Cupid, and hii 
 mother V en us. 
 
 I do net know what he means by that, but when he 
 says It, people always look at me and smile. I know 
 hat I am not beautiful, and I know that I am not a 
 taoroucrhbrcd. 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 wa3, she said part fox-terrier and part bull-terrier- but 
 
 havhrr ''"\r ^'"^" " ^"^- ' ^°^'' t^^^"k she iked 
 ha^ ing him call me a cur ; still, I have heard her say that 
 she preferred curs, for they have more character than weH- 
 
14 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 * 
 
 bred dogs. Her father said that she liked ugly do« for 
 k n.Td '^^^^^^^y nobleman at the oo..^lL certain 
 king did— namely, that no one else would 
 
 a fripmlT '^'^ -f ^.r'"' ''"^ ^"^ '"•"''°- °^ '^^^^^ getting 
 niiZ^ 1 T ' '^',''''^ '^ '"^ "^^- ^ ^-ve seen m^ 
 
 sT; is a .^^ "'; "i^ ''■^?°? ^"^^ ^ ^^"^« b«°k that sh'c 
 a) s IS a tory 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 • 
 
 thinT. "n r ''r '"^ °"^ '^'' ^° '^^ -orld ; and i 
 thmk 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. 
 
 thJwT^'"'"'^ ^"' '""^ '^'* '^ "" '^'^ b«y« ^^d girls in 
 ^.e world were to rise up and soy that there should be no 
 more cruelty to animals, they could pu^. a stop to tt 
 Perhaps it will help a little if I tell a storv. I Tm L i 
 of boys and girls, and though I have seen many crue 
 men and women, I have seen few crt.el children. I think 
 he more stories there are written about dumb animals 
 the better it will be for us. animals. 
 
 In telling my story, I think T had better begin at the Sr^t 
 and come right on to the end. I was born Fn a stable on 
 the outskirts of a small town in Maine called latpo" 
 
 and h ° ' ""'"'^^ "" ^^'^"^ ^^-« *« ™v mo'ther 
 
 and being very snug and warm. The next thine I re- 
 member wa. being always hungry. I had a number of 
 b others and sisters-six in all-and my mother never 
 had enough milk for u. She was always half starve, 
 herself, so she could not feed uc properly 
 
 I am very unwilling to say much about my earlv life 
 I have lived so long in a fannly where tiiere is n^ver a 
 barsfa word sp„kcn, and where no one thinks of ill-treat- 
 
 ♦ 
 
ONLY A CXJR. 
 
 £0 
 
 ing anybody or anything, that it seems almost wrong even 
 
 The man that owned ray mother was a milkman. 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 Junk 
 there can be a worse man in t.;e world than that milk- 
 man. It makes me shudder now to think of him His 
 name was Jenkins, and I am glad to think that he is get- 
 mg punished now for his cruelty to poor dumb animals 
 and o human beings. If you think it is wrong that J 
 am glad, you must remember ihat I am only a do- 
 
 The first notice that he took of me when I was a little 
 mpy, just able to stagger about, was to giye me a kick 
 hat sent.me into a corner of the stable. He used to beat 
 o^ui starye my mother. I have seen him use his hcayy 
 wbp to punish her til her body was covered with blood 
 TV ten I got older I a.ked 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' 
 
 the world like Jenkins. Thev are not crazv, 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 lit'tle children 
 with such terrible cruelty, that one cannot even mention 
 the things that they are guilty of. 
 
 0°e 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 ca e 
 of his stable and yard. U he had kept them neat, and 
 
eim*.i 
 
 16 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 groomed his horse, and cleaned the cows, and dug up the 
 garden ,t would have taken up all his time ; but he never 
 luied the place at all, till his yard and stal,le 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 larfro 
 held, and they were at some distance from the road 
 I ussers-by could not see how untidy the place was' 
 Occasionaly, a man came to look at the premises, and 
 see that they wore in good order, but Jenkins always 
 knew when to expect him, and had things cleaned up a 
 
 I used to wish that some of the people that took mUk 
 from him would come and look at his cows. In the 
 spring and summer he drove them out to pasture, but dur- 
 An.^ the winter they stood all the time in the dirtv, dark 
 stable, where the chinks in the wall were so big that the 
 snow swept through almost in drifts. The ground was 
 ahvays muddy and wet: there was onlv one small win- 
 dow on the north side, where the sun only shone in for a 
 short time in the afternoon. 
 
 They were very unhappy cows, but thev stood patiently 
 and never complained, though sometim'es I know they 
 must ^ave nearly frozen in tlie bitter winds that blew 
 through the stable on winter nights. They were lean 
 and poor, and were never in good health. Besides beine 
 cold they were fed on very poor food. 
 
 Jenkins used to come hom'e nearly everv afternoon witli 
 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 different houses where he delivered milk 
 to save for him. They threw rotten ve-^otables, fruit 
 panngs, and scraps from the table into a tub, aid gave 
 
 ■L- 
 
ONLY A CUR. 
 
 17 
 
 them to him at the end of a few days. A sour nastv 
 luess u always was, and not fit to give any creatur;. '"^ 
 
 Sometimes, when he had not many " peelings," he would 
 go to town and get a load of deeayS voge ables that 
 grocers were glad to have him take off theif hand! 
 
 Thi. food together with poor hay, made the cows give 
 very poor milk, and Jenkins used to put some white pow! 
 der in it, to give it " body," a^ he said. ^ 
 
 Once a very sad thing happened about the milk, that 
 no one knew about but Jenkins and his wife. She wi 
 ji poor, unhappy creature, very friglitened at her hus- 
 band, and not daring to speak much to him. Sh^ was 
 
 L' "h ;'7"'"' ""'^ ^ ""'''' '^'^ ^ worse-looking 
 nouse 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 would fly up and down in the 
 u.r, dropping dust into the pot where the potatoes were 
 H r pan of soft-mixed bread she often left uncovered in 
 1 e kuchen, and sometimes the hens walked in and sat 
 
 The children used to play in mud puddles about the 
 some kind of V ''T'-'\'' ''^" that sickened with 
 gan dm^t h ''' ' '" *^' 'P"°°' ^'^''' ^^^^ins be- 
 
 fll and A r° T '"■' '"' 'T''"''- ^^' «^il^ ^^ very 
 IJ, and Mr^. Jenkins wanted to send for a doctor, hat her 
 
 husband would not let her. They made a bed in the 
 kit hen, close to the stove, and Mrs. Jenkins nursed the 
 child ao b^t she could. She did all her work near by 
 
 tt c ZhaT TVr- "^P^^«^ ''^ chiTdWace w th 
 the cloth that she used for washing her milk pans 
 
 ^obody knew outside the family that the little girl woa 
 
18 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 ill. Jenkins had such a bad name, that none of the 
 . nei/^hbors would vwit them. By-aud-by the child -ot 
 well, and a week or two later Jenkins came home with 
 qiMte a fngbtened face, and told his wife that the husband 
 ot one of his customers was very ill with tvphoid fever 
 After a time the gentleman died, and the cook told 
 Jenkins that the doctor wondered how he could have 
 taken the fever, for there wa.s not a co^e in town. 
 
 There was a widow left with three orphans, and they 
 ■never knew that they had to blame a dirty, careless milk- 
 man, for takintr a kind husband and father from them. 
 
 1 
 
t;^t 
 
 ciiAPTr:R ir. 
 
 THE CRUEL MILK MAX. 
 
 iIAVE Haid that Jenkins spent most of his days 
 in idleness. ILc had to aart out vtrv early in 
 the morning, iu order to supplv his 'customers 
 with mdk for breakfast. Oh. how UL,dv ho used to he, when 
 he carao into the stable ou co:d umter moruin-s, before 
 the sui was up. 
 
 _ He would han- hia la.tern on a hook, anrl cet his milk- 
 in- stool, and if the cows did not .f'p aside" just to suit 
 hiui, he would seize u broom or fork, and beat them 
 cruelly. 
 
 My mother and I slept on a heap of straw in the corner 
 of the staole. and when she heard his step in the morn- 
 in? she always roused me, so that we could run out-doors 
 n^ »_)on as h^ -opened the stable door. He alwavs aimed 
 a kick at us as we passed, but my m(.ther tau,dit me how 
 to dodge him. 
 
 After he finished milking, ho 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 was. He was weak in tV. knees and 
 weak in the back, and weak all over, and Jonkins had to 
 beat him all the time, to make him go. Ue had been a 
 
 1^ 
 
^^^^:T^r-^r 
 
 LO 
 
 lii:ALTirUL JOE. 
 
 14' 
 
 cab lio:-si\ ami liis mouth had hc« n jerked, and twisttd, 
 and .sawnl at, till one would think thore could Ik- no iwC 
 inj,' left ill it; still I have seen hiuj uiiioe and cuil u[) his 
 lip when Jmkiua thrust in the frosty hit ou a winter's 
 niornin^'. 
 
 Poor old T()]»y I I used to lie on my straw pomotimcs 
 and won.ler he did not cry out witli pain. Cold and 
 half starved he always was in the winter time, and often with 
 raw sores on his body tliat Jenkins would try to hide by 
 puttin.^ i)it.^ of cloth inuhT the harness. IJu't Tobv never 
 murmured, and he never tried to kick and bite, and l.e 
 minded the K a.-^t word from Jenkins, and if he swore at 
 him, Toby would start back, or step up quicklv, he was 
 so anxious to plca.se him. 
 
 After Jenkins put nim in the cart, and took in the cans, 
 Lc set out on his rounds. My mother, whoso name wiis 
 Jess, always went with him. I used to ask her whv she 
 followed such a brute of a man, and slie would hang her 
 head, and say that sometimes she crot a bone from the 
 diifertmt houses they stopped at. But that was not the 
 ^hole reason. She liked Jenkins so much, that she want- 
 ed to be with him. 
 
 I liad not herswe- . and patient disposition, and I would 
 not go with her. I watched her out of si-ht, and then ran 
 up to the house to see if Mrs. Jenkins had any scraps for me. 
 I nearly always got somcthinir, for she pitied mo. and 
 often gave me a kind word or look with the bits of food 
 t... .. vj t'jrow to me. 
 
 WL.-.i "eukins ^..mo home, I often coaxed moilier to 
 run anout and see some of the neiglibors' dogs with me. 
 But she never would, and I would not leave her. So, 
 from morning to night we had to sneak about, keeping 
 cut of Jenkins' way as much as we coul , and yet trying 
 
9^ --■■''SW'.^-i 
 
 ■ -A" 
 
 THE Cnr-RL MILKMAX. 
 
 21 
 
 t.> keep lam in si-^l.t. He nhv.iy. sauntered about with a 
 j>'|"' H. I.s M.outh. and his l,,ui.is iii hi. j.nckets. j:rowlin,r 
 <">t at hu wife and children, and t-..u at hi. dtimb 
 
 creatures. 
 
 1 liavo n.,t toM what hreanro (,f niv l.roth'^s and 
 H.:'T.. Ono rainy ,hu-. v.Uu wo were ei;,i:t week, old. 
 .I..|k.u.s fnliouvd by !-,vu or three of hi. rair^ed. dirty 
 cluhlren. canr int. the stahl, and looked at u.. Then 
 "-' '^•;^an to swear bcca.; .• wo were so uirlv. an.l said if 
 we had been ,'oo,i- looking, ho might have sohl some of 
 i!.s. Mother watehrd hi.i anxiously, and fearing some 
 Clangor to her imppws, ran m 1 jumped in the middle of ua 
 and JookeJ pleadingly up at him. 
 
 It only made him swear tlio more. Ho took one pup 
 alter another, and right there, before his ehildren and n.yr 
 poor d-straet.d mother, put an end to their lives. Some 
 ot them we seized by tlie legs and knoeked .-ainst the 
 stalls, till heir brains were dashed out. others "he kdled 
 with a fork. It was very terrible. My mother ran np 
 ami down the stable, screaming with pain, and I lay 
 weak and trembling, and expecting everv instant that 
 my turn would con.o next. I don't kuo\y ^hv he spared 
 me. I was the only one left. ' 
 
 Ilis children cried, and he sent them out of the stable 
 am wont out himself. Mother picked np all the puppies 
 n,l brought them to our n^.t in the straw ami licked 
 them, and tr cd 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 
 hem. and swearing horribly at ns, ho took his stable 
 
 over til!"" ""' ^° '''' ^'^'^' '"^ P^' ^^"^^ ^^^'^ 
 
 My mother never seemed the same after this. She 
 
22 
 
 EEAUTIFUL J()E. 
 
 was weak ami luiseralilc, and thougli she was only four 
 years old, she seemed like an old dog. This was on 
 account of the poor food she had hecn fed on. Siio 
 could not run after Jenkins, and she lay ou our heap of 
 straw, only turning over with her nose the scraps of f)od 
 I hrought hur to eat. One day she licked mc gently, 
 wugijed her tail, and died. 
 
 As I sat i)y her, feeling lonely and niiserahle, Jenkins 
 came into the stable. I could not bear to look at him. 
 He had killed my mother. There she lay, a litile, gaunt, 
 scarred creature, starved and worried to death by him. 
 ller mouth was half open, her eyes were staring. Sl:e 
 would never again look kindly at me, or curl up to meat 
 ni^dit to keep ;.:o v\'arm. Oii, how I hated her nmrdorer ! 
 But I sat quietly, even when he went up and turned her 
 over witli his foot to see if she was really dead. I think 
 he was a little sorry, for he turned scornfully toward rao 
 and said, "she was worth two of you ; why didn't you go 
 instead." 
 
 Still I kept auict 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 arc going to be a fighter, arc 
 
 y^^ 
 
 ? I'll fix you for that." His face wsis red and 
 
 furious, lie seized me by the back of the neck and car- 
 ried 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 
 mv struggling bodv. I was now a vear old and a fidl- 
 sized dog. There was a quick, dreadful pain, and he had 
 cut off my ear, not in the way they cut puppies' ears, but 
 
f^^^^^m^^a^^ 
 
 TUE CRUEL MILKMAN. 
 
 23 
 
 close to my head, so close that he cut off some of the skin 
 beyond it. Then he cut ofl' the other ear, and turnincr 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 passin- by on 
 the road might hear mc. * 
 
m 
 
 t: 
 
 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 cuttm" Ijis ears for fightin', my young gen- 
 tleman," said Jenkins. " There is no law to prevent that, 
 is there ? " 
 
 " And there is no law to prevent my giving you a beat- 
 ing," said the young man, angrily. In a trice, he had 
 seized Jenkins by the throat, and was pounding him with 
 ail his might. Mrs. Jenkins came and stood at the house 
 door, crying, but making no effort to holp her husband. 
 
 " Bring me a to\\el," 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 were some little boys standing there, watching 
 him, their mouths wide open with astonishment. "Sonny,"' 
 he said lo the largest of them, " if you will come behind 
 and carry th':; dog, I will give you a quarter." 
 
 The boy took me, and we set out. I was all smothered 
 24 
 
MY KINI- DEI.rVEREir AND MISS LAURA. 25 
 
 up in a clutli, and moaning with pain, but still I looked 
 out occasionally to see which way we were goini^. We 
 took the road to the town, ami stoppi.l in fn^nt of a liouse 
 oa Washington Street. The young man leaned lii.s bicy- 
 cle up against the house, took a quarter from his pocket 
 and put it in the boy's hand, and lifting me -cnily 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 
 nie down on tiie floor, and uncovered mv bodv. Some 
 boys were playing about tiie stable, and I heard 'them sav- 
 in horrified tones, " Oh, Cousin Harrv, what is the matter 
 with that dog ? " 
 
 " Hush," he said. " Don't make a fuss. You Jack 
 go down to the kitchen, and ask Marv 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 mv 
 bleedmg ears and tail, and had rubbed something on 
 them that was cool and pleasant, and had bandaged tlera 
 firmly with strips of cotton. I felt much better, and was 
 able to look about me. 
 
 I was in a small stable, that was evident^ not used for 
 a stable, but more for a play room. There wc^re various 
 kinds of toys scattered about, and a swim; and bar such 
 as boys love to twist about on, in two dilferent corners 
 In a box against the wall, w:is a guinea pig lookin- at 
 me in an interested way. This guinea pig's name was 
 Jeff, and he and I became good friends. A long-haired 
 i^rench rabbit was hopping about, and a tame white rat 
 was perched on the shoulder of one of the bovs, and kept 
 his foothold there, no matter how suddenly the bov 
 moved. There were so many boys, and the stable was so 
 email, t.iat I suppose he was afraid he would get stepped 
 

 26 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 11 
 
 t- r*^- 
 
 i^ 
 
 ou, if lie went on tlie flour. lie stared hiirJ at me witli 
 liiri little, red eyes, aiid never even glauced at a queer- 
 looking, gray cat tliat \vi;:5 watciiing ue too, from he' '>fcd 
 in tilt; back of the vacant horse stall. Out in the v 
 
 yard, some pigemis were pecking ut grain, and a ti/auiei 
 lay iu-h.'cj) in a corner. 
 
 I had never seen anything lik} this lieforc, and my 
 wonder at it alnio.st drove the pain awav. Mother aiid I 
 alwayB chased rats and birds, and on' :) we killed a kitten. 
 While I w:i;3 puzzling over it, one of the bovs cried out, 
 "Ileie is Laura!" 
 
 "Take that rag out of the way," said Mr. Harry, kick- 
 ing aside the old apron I had been wrappevi in, and that 
 wa* staiiu (i v.i'.h my blood. One of the boys etufled it 
 int(^ a barrel, and then they all looked toward the house. 
 
 A young girl, holding uj» one hand to shauo her eyes 
 from the sun, was coming up the walk that led from the 
 house to the stuble. 1 tli(jught then, that I never had 
 seen such a beautiful girl, and I think so still. !She was 
 tall and slender, and had lovely brown eyes and browu 
 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 sliort 
 to look at me. Up to thia, I had not thought what a 
 queer-looking siirht I must be. Now I twisted around my 
 head, saw the white bandage on mv tail, and knowing I 
 was not a fit spectacle 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 tlie boys, che j)assed by them, 
 and came up to the guinea pig's box, beL.'ud which I 
 bad 1 refuge. " What is the matter with your head, 
 
•«f-I' 
 
 M' KIND DELIVEREn AND MISS LAURA. 27 
 
 pond dog?" sht said, curiously, as she stooped over 
 
 me. 
 
 "He has p. cold in it," said one of the Imvs with a 
 laugh, "so we put a mglitcap ..ii." She drew hack, and 
 turued very paie. '• Coiism Harry, there are drops of 
 l;Iood oil this col ton. Who has hurt this dog? " 
 
 "Hear Laura," and the yoiin^' man coming up, laid 
 Iii:^ liand un her shoulder, - uc got hurt, and 1 have been 
 l)anda!,'-in<r him." 
 
 "Who hurt liim?" 
 
 " I had rather not tell you." 
 
 " But I wish to know." Her voice ',715 as gentle 03 
 ever, hut slic Ei^oke so decidedly tiiat the young man was 
 obliged to tell her everything. All the time he wtii. 
 Fpcaldn;:, slie kept touching me gently with her fingei-s. 
 Wiien he had fini.shcd his account of rescuing me from 
 Jenkin?, she said, quietly: 
 
 " You will have the man punished ? " 
 
 " What h tlie use ; that won't stop him from bein'>- 
 cruel.' ' ° 
 
 " It will put a chock on his crueltv." 
 '• I don't think it would do any good," said the young 
 mail, doggedly. 
 
 "Cousin Harry! "and the your.ir girl stood up very 
 straight and tall, her brown eyes flashing, and one hand 
 pointing at me; " will ; ou let that pass? That animal 
 has been y. onged, 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 p>.,)r, dumb crea- 
 ture must suffer in silence ; in^ bitter, bittar silence. 
 And," eagerly, as tiie young man tried to interrupt her. 
 "you are doing tlie man him.self an injustice. If he is 
 bad enough to ill-ireat his dog, he will" lU-treat his wifa 
 
28 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOF. 
 
 fir" 
 
 and cluldrcii If lie is clieckod and pnnislied now for 
 his cruelly, he may rcforin. And oven if liis wicked 
 heart is not changed, he will be obliired to treat them 
 with outward kindnes.-J. throu;rh fear of punishment." 
 
 The young niaa lo(jked 'lunvineed, and alnKjtt as 
 ashamed as if he had been tiie one to crop my ears. 
 " Wiiat do you want me to do ? " he said, slowly, and 
 looking sheepishly at the boys who were staring open- 
 mouthed at him and the vounir "irl. 
 
 The girl pulled a little watch from her belt. " I wai;t 
 you to report that man immediately. It is now five 
 o'clocK. I will go down to the police station with you, 
 if you like." 
 
 " Very well," he said, his fncc brightening. And to- 
 gether they went off to the house. 
 

 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE MORRIS LOYS ADD TO JIY XAME. 
 
 HE boys watclied tliem out of sigl.t, then on.- of 
 them, whose imiae I afterward learned 'vas 
 Jack, and wlio came next to Miss Laura iu a-e 
 gave a low whittle and said, "Doesn't the old lady come 
 out stron^^r when any one or anythi,,- irets abused ? I'L 
 iiever forget ti)e day she found .ne seitin.^ Jim on tliat 
 black cat of the Wil.ons. She scolded me, and tl>en she 
 oncd, till I (iuln't know where to look. Pla-ue on it 
 how was I going to know heM kill the old cat"? I onlv 
 ^K^nted to drive it out of the yard. Come on, Jet's look at 
 ine dog. 
 
 _ They all came and i.ont over me, as I lav on the floor 
 in my corner. I w;u<u i much used to bovs,' and I didn't 
 xnow how they would treat me. But I soon found bv the 
 '■■ay they lumdled me and talked to me, that thev knew 
 a good deal about dogs, and were accustomed to treat 
 tiiem kindiy. It .eeme.l very strange to have them pat 
 me, and call me '• g.ud dog."' x\o one had ever sai 1 that 
 to me before to-day. 
 
 " He's not much of a beautv, is he ? " said one of the 
 toys, whom they called Tom. 
 
 ^^ "Not by a long shot," said Jack Morris, with a laugh 
 ^ot ar.y nearer the beauty mark than vourself, Tom " 
 iom flew at him, and they had a scuffle. The other 
 
■' I 
 
 30 
 
 bi:.vi:tip'ijl jok. 
 
 .1 
 
 boys paid no attention to tlioin, but went on looUrno; at 
 me. One of them, a little boy with eyes like Miss Laura's, 
 said, " What did Coiu-in Hurry Kiy the dor^j's name was? " 
 
 "Joe," answered another boy. "The little chap that 
 carried him home, t(jl(l him." 
 
 " We niiLdit call him * Ugly Joe * thei:," said a lad with 
 a round, tat iace, and lauL'hin;:: eyes. I wondered very 
 much who thi.s boy wa^, and, later on, I found out that 
 he wa3 another of Miss Laura's brothers, and his namo 
 w;\s Ned. Tiiere s;^eme(' to be no end to the ^lurris boys. 
 
 "I don't tliiulv Laura would like that." said Jack 
 Morris, suddenly cominj^ up beMnd liim. He was very 
 hot, and wius breatliinp: fast, but his manror was as cool 
 as if he had iK\cr kit, the irroup about mo. He had 
 beaten Tom, wiio w.is .-ittini:^ on a i)ox, ruefully surveying 
 a hole in iiis jacket. " You gee." he wont on, gaspingly, 
 "If you call liim 'Ugly Joe.' her ladyship will say that 
 vou are woundi:i.: the dear (Iolt's feelings. 'Beautiful 
 Joe,' would be more to her liicing." 
 
 A sliout went up from the boys. I dnln't -wonder thnt 
 they laughed. PJaiu looking, I naturally was; but j. 
 must have been hideous in those bandages. 
 
 '"Beautiful Joe,' then let it be ! " they cried. " Let us 
 ro and tell mother, and ask her to give us something for 
 
 T beauty to cat." 
 
 They all trooped out of the stable, and I was very 
 sorry, for when tliry were with me, I did not mind so 
 much the tingling in my cars, and the terrible pam m 
 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. 
 

 ^W^ 
 
 TiiK Morajis liov.s add to mv name. 
 
 31 
 
 By-aii.l-by it got dark. The l)oy3 finished their play, 
 zv.d went uu>, liie iiouse, aud I saw licrhts twiiikliii.,' I'a 
 the windows. I Iblt lonely anci midorable in this straii,;,'o 
 place. I would not have gone hack to J.iikiii.s' lor the 
 world, Ftill it was tlio only huinc I had known, aud though 
 I fclttliat I should be hajypy here, I had not yet gotten used 
 to the change. Then the pain all through n^v body was 
 dreadful. My head sccnicd to be on lire, and there' were 
 B'larp. darfing pains up and down my backbone. I did 
 not dare t(; i:>wl, lest I should make the big dog, Jim, 
 an-ry. He was sleeping in a kennel, out in the yard. 
 
 The stable wo? v-ery quiet. Up in the loft abovv, some 
 rabl)it3,that I had heard running about, had now gone to 
 sleep. The guinea pig was nestling in the corner^of Jiis 
 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 up in 
 my box and looked about me. I felt as if I w;is going 
 to die, aud, though I wa.3 very weak,t!iero was someiinng 
 inside me that made me feel as if I want.fl to crawl 
 away somewhere out of sight. I slunk out into tiie 
 yard, and along the stable wall, where there was a thick 
 ilump of raspberry 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 iirralv, and I 
 could not do it. I thought about my poor mother, and 
 wished she w:i3 here to lick my sore ears. Though she 
 was se unhappy herself, she never wanted to see me 
 suffer. If I had not disobeyed her, I would not now be 
 suffering so much pain. Siie had told me a-ain and 
 ogain not to snap at Jenkins, for it made him worse. 
 ^^ In th3 mi.lst of my trouble I heard a soft voice calling, 
 "Joe! Joe!" It was ^liss Laura's voice, but I felt ai 
 
'-^V'-:r>-'. 
 
 09 
 
 KEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 
 iM' 
 
 •M 
 
 t 
 
 if tbero wero wciglitd ou my paws, ami I could not go to 
 her. 
 
 "Joe! J()e!"slie said ai^uiri. Slic was going up tho 
 walk to the stable, holding up a lighted lamp iu her 
 hand. kSlu; had on a white dress, and I watched her till 
 she disappeared iu the stable. She did not stay long in 
 tliere. She canit; out and sti> d ou the gravel. ".Joe, 
 Joe, IJoautiiul Joe, where are you? You are hiding 
 somewhere, but I shall liud you." Then she came right 
 to the sp(jt where I was. " Poor doggie," she said, 
 stooping down and patting me. " Arc you very misera- 
 ble, and did you crawl away to die ? I have had dogs to 
 do tiiat before, but 1 am not going to let you die, J( '■ " 
 And she set her lamp on the ground, and t( ok me iu ii. r 
 urras. 
 
 I was very thin then, not nearly so fat as I am now, 
 still I was quite an arnifu' for her. But she did not 
 seem to find me heavy. She ook me right into the house, 
 through the back door, and down a loug iiight of slep«, 
 across a hall, and iuto a snug kitchen. 
 
 " For tiie land sakes, ^liss 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 ou a chair. " Will you j)lcase warm a little milk 
 fur him? And have you a box or a ba:5ket down hcra 
 that he can lie in?" 
 
 "I guess so," "-aid the woman ; "but he's awful dirt^, ; 
 you're not going to let him sleep in the house, are you ? " 
 
 "Only for to-night. He is very ill. A dreadful thing 
 happened to him, Mary." And ^liss Laura went on to tell 
 her how my er.rs 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 
 
THE ilOHRIS DOVS ADD TO MY .VAME, 
 
 33 
 
 do for Lira." 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 Misa Laura went up- 
 stairs to get a little bottle of something that would make 
 me sleep. Tliey poured a few drops of this medicine mto 
 the milk and oUbred it to me. 1 lapped a little, but I 
 could not iinish it, even th,)iigh r.Iiia Laura coaxed me 
 very gently to do so. ohe dipped her lin^rer in the milk 
 and held it out to me. aud thuu-h 1 did not want it, I 
 could not be uug-ateful enough to refuse to lick her 
 finger aa often as she otiercd it to me. Aller the milk 
 WM gone, xAIary lifted up my bo^, aud carried me into the 
 ■washroom that was oil" the kitchen. 
 
 1 soon fell sound asleep, and could not rouse myself 
 through the night, even though 1 both smelled and heard 
 eome one coming near me several times. The next 
 morning I found out that it was .Aiiss Laura. Whenever 
 there was r. ^ick animal in the house, no matter if it waj 
 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 
 L^alia it more comfortable. 
 
W'' 
 
 •:)»^'')^'-^^f':-'i^*'^''^rj.l''ii^,.-^-:'3^}r-- '' *■•. 
 
 n 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MY Ni:W nOME AND A SELFISO LADV. 
 
 DON'T believe that a dog could have fallen intc 
 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 
 cars 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 mc in it. 
 I had never been washeu before in my life, and it 
 felt very queer. Miss Laura stood by laughing and 
 encouraging me not to mind the streams of water 
 trickling all over me. I couldn't heip wondering 'vhat 
 Jenkins would have said if he couid have seen me in 
 that tub. 
 
 That reminds mt to say, that two days after I arrived 
 at the Mori. sea', 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 : 
 
 " Fairpori Daily News, June 3rd. In the police court 
 this morning, James Jenkia?, for cruelly torturing and 
 mutilating a dog, fined ten doUrsrs and costs." 
 
 Then he said, " What do yoi; think of that, Joe ? Five 
 dollars apiece for your ears and your tail thrown i:i. 
 
 t I 
 
MV SEW HOME AM. A SKLFISII LADY. 35 
 
 That's nil thry-re worll. in the cycg of the law. Jenkius 
 
 hiwhad hi=i fun andyou'll-o throu^rli life worth aboutthrce- 
 quarters of a .l...... JM la,l, rascal^ like that. Tie them 
 
 up and flog thera till they were searred and muti- 
 lated a little bit themselves. Just wait till I'm president. 
 But there's some more, old fellow. Listen : ' Our reporter 
 visited the houseof the above-mei ioned Jenkins and found 
 amostdeplorablestateofafnur. The house, vanl. andsta- 
 _b e were mdeseribably filthy. Hi, horse bears'the marks of 
 U usage and is in an cmaeiat- ,1 eon.lition. His cows are 
 plastered up with mud and filth, and are covered with 
 vermin. \V here is our health inspeetor, that he does not 
 exere,.eamorewatehfulsuperviMon over establishments 
 ..this kind? fo allow milk from an unclean place like 
 this to be sold m the town, is endangering the health of 
 Its inhabitant.. Upon in.juiry, it 'was found that the 
 man jnk.ns bears a very bad character. Steps arc being 
 taken to have his wife and children removed from him '" 
 Jack threw the paper into my box, and he and the 
 other boys g:ivc three , 1. eis fur the Daily News and then 
 ran away. How glad I w.. ! Jt did n<.t matter so much 
 lor me, for I had escaped lum, but m w 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 
 nave a happier time. 
 
 I was going to tell about the Morris f-imiiv. There 
 were Mr. Morris, who was a clergyman and pr'eached in 
 a church m L airport; Mrs. Morris, his wife; Miss Laura 
 w^K) was the ddost of the family; then Jack, Ned, Cai-l! 
 andAJilI.e. I think one reason why they were such a 
 good family, was because >L^s. Morris was such a .^ood 
 woman._ fehe loved her ]-isbund and ciiihlren, and did 
 everything «he could to make them happy 
 
|! 
 
 se 
 
 '^\ 
 
 - % 
 
 ) 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 . Tr. 3roms Mas a very busy man and rarelv inter- 
 forcd 111 houstaold airuirs. .Mrs. Moiris was the one who 
 Kud what was to be done and what was not to be done, 
 hven then, when I was a young dog, I used to think that 
 she was very wise. There was never any noise or confu- 
 sion in the house, and though there was a great deal of 
 work to be done, everything went on snioothlv and pleas- 
 antly, and no one ever got angry and scolded as they 
 did in the Jenkins family. 
 
 Mrs. Morris was very particular about money matters. 
 \\ henever the boys cumc to her for monev to cret such 
 things as candy and ice cream, expensive tovs, and other 
 tlaugs that boys often crave, she asked them why thev 
 wanted ihcm. If it was for some selfish reason, slie said, 
 hrnily : " No, my children, we are not rich people, and we 
 must save ouv money for your education. I cannot buv 
 you ioolish things." 
 
 If they asked her for money for books or something to 
 make their pet animals more comfurtable, or for their 
 outdoor games, she gave it to them willingly. Her ideas 
 about the bringing up of children I canuot explain as 
 clearly jis she can herself, so I will give part of a conver- 
 sation that she had with a lady who was calling on her 
 ehortly after I came to AVashington Street. 
 
 I haj)j)cno(l to be in the house at the time. Indeed I 
 Tzsed to spend the greater part of my time in the house. 
 Jack one day looked at me, and exclaimed : " Why does 
 that dog Kt;;lk about, first a:tcr one and then after another, 
 looking at us with such solemn eyes?" 
 
 1 wished that I could speak to tell him that I Lad so 
 long been used to seeing animals kicked about and trod- 
 den upon, that I could not a:ct used to the chansre. It 
 
 C6emed t. 
 
 gjod to be true. 
 
 I could scarcely believe that 
 
 .) 
 
MY SF-r HOME AXD A SELFISH LADY. 
 
 at 
 
 dumb animals had ri.^ht.s ; but wliilc it lasted, and human 
 _oing3 were so kind to mo, I wanted to be with them all 
 the time. Miss Laura understood. She drew my head 
 up to hrr ]ap, and put her face down to me: "You liko 
 to be with U9, don't you, Joe? Stay in the house as much 
 a3 you like. Jack doesn't mind, though ho speaks so 
 sharply. 'A hen you get tired of us go out in the rarden 
 and have a romp with Jim." 
 
 Cut I must return to the conversation I referred to It 
 was one fine June day, and Mrs. Morris was sewing in :; 
 rocking-chair by the window. I wa^ beside her, sitting 
 on a hassock, so that I could look out inro the street"' 
 IJogs love variety and excitement, and like to see what is 
 going on outdoors a.s well as human bein^^s. A carria-o 
 
 car:'; ttxt^' ^^' ^ '^^^^ '"-'''' '^'y ^°^ -^ -'^ 
 
 Mrs. Morris seemed glad to see her, and called her Mrs 
 Montague. I was ploased with her, for she had somo' 
 ^ind of perfume about her that I liked to smell. So I 
 wen and sat on the hearth rug quite near her. 
 
 They had a little talk about thing. I did not under- 
 stand, and tlien the lady's eyes fell on me. She looked 
 at me through a bit of glass that wa. hanging by a clnin 
 .njmh..ck,^^^ 
 
 T did not care any longer for the porftime, and went 
 
 lee.. 1 he lady's eyes still followed me 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mrs. Morris," she said ; " but that 
 :< ^^^3;^^neer-Iooking dog you have there." 
 Yes, said Mrs. Morris, quietly ; " he h not a handsome 
 
 "And he is a new one, isn't ho ? " said AFrs. Montainie. 
 
sr. 
 
 BEAUTIFTTL JOE. 
 
 M 
 
 Yes." 
 " And that makes- 
 
 ' Two dogs, a cat, fiucen or twanty rabbiLs a rat, about 
 a dozen canaries, and tv;o dozen goldfish, I don't know 
 how many pigeons, a few bantams, a guinea pig, and- 
 AvelJ, 1 don t think there is anything more." 
 
 They both laughed, and Mrs. .Afontague said- "You 
 have quite a menagerie. My father would never allow 
 one of his children to k-,cp a pet animal. He said it 
 ^vould make his girls rough and noisy to romp about the 
 Jiouse with cats, and his boys would look like rowdies if 
 tjey went about with dogs at their heels." 
 
 " I have never found that it made mV children more 
 rough to play with their pets," said Mi-s.']\rorris 
 ^ "No, I should think r,t," said the la.lv, languidly. 
 ' 1 our boys are the most gentlemanlv lads in Fairport 
 and as for Laura, she is a perfect little ladv. I like so' 
 much to have them come and see Charlie.' They wake 
 him up, and yet don't make him naughty." 
 
 "They enjoyed iheir hist vi^it very much," said Mrs. 
 Morns. " 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 jMrs. Morris, gently 
 "They are such dirty things ; they always smell and 
 have vermin (, them." 
 
 " A dog," said Mrs. V Tris, " is sometning like a child. 
 If you want It clean an(i 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 ]\rr3. Montague how . mk and 
 iiee from dust my skin was. 
 
 . f 
 
MV NEV/ HOME AXD A SELFISH LADV. 
 
 39 
 
 Mrs. Montague looked at me more kindlv, and even 
 held out the tips of her fingers to me. I did not lick 
 tliera. I only smelled them, and she drew her hand back 
 again. 
 
 •' You have never been brought in contact with the 
 lower creation as I have," said Mrs. Morris; "just let me 
 tell you, in a lew 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 u^ed 
 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 ^0 keep these children from selfishna«c-— the curse of 
 the world ? ' 
 
 "'Get them to do something for somebody outside 
 tlicmselves,' he always said. And t i,ave t >d to act on 
 that onnciple. Laura is naturally unselfis. . With her 
 tmy, baby fingers, she would tike food from her own 
 mouth aud put it into Jack's, If we did not w.tch her. I 
 have never had any trouble -.vith her. But the boys were 
 born selfish, tiresomely, disgustingly selfish. They were 
 good boys in many ways. As they grew elder, they were 
 respectful, obedient, they were not untidy, and not partic- 
 ularly 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 b-ys 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 one but themselves from morning to 
 
40 
 
 iiKXVTlFUl. JOE. 
 
 HI 
 
 ^ 
 
 ,\ 
 
 night. If I asked them to do an errand for me, it waa 
 done unwillingly. Of course, I knew they had their 
 Bchool for a part of the day, but they had a good deal of 
 leisure time when they miglit 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 proposed a series of tasks. Each one to do some- 
 thing tor somebody, outside and apart from himself, every 
 day of his life. They all agreed to this, and told mo 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 pro- 
 vide for them. They were delighted witli mv choice, and 
 it was very amusing to see them scurrying about to pro- 
 vide foo a and shelter for their pets, and hear their con- 
 sultations with other boys. The end of it all is, that I 
 am perfectly satisfied with my experiment. My bovs 
 m caring for these dumb creatures, have become unsclfisii 
 an-i thoughtful. 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 education of their 
 schools. Then it keeps them at home. I used to be 
 worried with the lingering about street corners, the dawd- 
 ling around with other boys, and the Idle, often worse than 
 idle talk, indulged in. Now thev have something to do 
 they are men of business. They are alwavs hammering 
 iind pounding at boxes and partitions out there in the stable^ 
 
MY NE;7 home and A SELFISH lADV. 41 
 
 or cleaning up, and if they are sent out on an errand, thev 
 do It and come right home. I don't mean to sav that wo 
 have deprived them of liberty. They have thei; 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 for- 
 ward m her chair, and listened attentivelv. When sho 
 finished Mrs. Montague said, quietly, "Thank you I 
 am glad that you told me thi^. I shall get Charlie ,, 
 
 .. " ^ ^™ g^ad to hear you say that," replied Mrs. Morri... 
 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 .narn many a lesson from a dog. This one " 
 pointing to me "might be held up a. an example [o 
 many a human being. He is patient, quiet, and obedient. 
 
 thJ^-M '"If "' 'Y' ^' ""'"^"^ ^""^ °f '^^e° words in 
 the Bible— 'through much tribulation ' " 
 
 cusly^^^ ^"'" ^" ""^ '^''^" "^'^'^ ^^"- ^^^°°^^5ue, curi- 
 "Because he came to us from a very unhappy home " 
 And Mrs. Morns went on to tell her friend what she 
 knew of my early duvs. 
 
 When she stopped,' Mrs. Montague's face wns shocked 
 and pained. '• .low 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. 3Iorris, tell 
 me plainly, are there many such unhappy homes in Fair- 
 Mrs Morris hesitated for a minute, then she said. earn. 
 '^tly . My dear friend, if you could see all the wicked- 
 n.3ss, and cruelty, and vilencss, that is practised T this 
 
42 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 " 
 
 ! 
 
 little town of ours in one night, you could not rest in 
 your berl." 
 
 Mrs. Montague looked dazed. " I did not dream that 
 It was 83 bad 33 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 lives. How can all this misery 
 touch you? You live in your lovely house out cf the 
 town. When you come in, you drive about, do your 
 shopping, make calls, aud 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 ladv, in a wailing 
 voice^ "I have been thinking about thi^ matter lately. 
 1 read a great deal in 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 ? " . .*" i 
 
 The tears came ?n Mrs. ]\rorri3' eyes. She looked at 
 the little frail lady, and said, simply: "Dear Mrs. Mon- 
 tague, I think the root of the whole matter lies in this 
 ihe 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 common fam- 
 ily, who are not as well off as we are ? We should share 
 our last crust with them. You aud I, but for God's 
 grace in placing us in different 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 despairing voice. 
 
 ,) 
 
MY NEW HOME AND A SELFISH LADY. 4J 
 
 - 1 cant hcin feeling it. Tell me sometmug 1 cau do to 
 lielp some one." 
 
 Mrs. Morns 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 husband and a cripple boy. I have 
 often seen her standing over her tub, washing vour deli- 
 cate 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 
 13 her husband who beats her, and her boy who worries 
 her. If you and I take our work from her, she will have 
 tiiat much less money to depend upon, and will suffer in 
 consequence She is a hard-working and capable woman, 
 and makes a fair living. 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, av" ^ how that vou are interested 
 in her, by talking or reading to her poor foolish boy or 
 Bhowing L.m a picture-book, you have no idea how grate- 
 ul 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 i| 
 will do them good if you treat them as you do youi 
 ncher friends. Don't give them too much money, or tea 
 
€4 
 
 KEAUTIFLL JOE. 
 
 M. 1 
 
 
 many presents, till you find out what they need. Try to 
 feel interested in them. Find out their wavs of Iiviu", 
 and what they are going to do with tlieir children, and 
 help then to get situations for them if you can. And bo 
 sure to lemeniber that poverty does not always take 
 away one's self-re.'^pcct." 
 
 " I will, I will," said Mrs. ]\rontague, eagerly. " When 
 can you give me these addresses? " 
 
 Mrs. .Morris smiled again, and. taking a piece of pnper 
 and a pencil from her work ba.^kct, wroto a few lines and 
 handed them to Mrs. Montague. 
 
 The lady got up to take her leave. "And in rc'-ard 
 to the dog ■' said Mrs. Morris, following her to the door, 
 If you decide to allow Charlie to have one, you had 
 bettor let him come in and have a talk with mv bov.s 
 about it They .<=eem to know all the dogs that are for 
 sale in the town." 
 
 "Thank you, I shall be most happy to do so. Ho 
 shall have his dog. When can you have him ? " 
 
 "To-morrow, the next day, nny dav 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 ladv 
 bowed and smiled, and alter stooping down to pat mv 
 trij.ped down the steps, and got into her carriage and 
 drove away. ° 
 
 Mrs. Morris stood looking after her with a beaming. 
 face, and I ^egan to think that I should like Mrs Mon"3 
 tague too, if I kne^v her long enough. Two davs later 
 I waa quite sure I should, for I had a proof that she 
 really liked me. When her little bov Charlie came to th-^ 
 aouse, he brought something for me done up in whito 
 paper. Mrs. Morns openr.i it, and there was a hand- 
 
M7 NEW HOME AND A SELFISH TADV. 45 
 
 some, nickel-plated collar, with ray name on \t- Beautiful 
 Joe ^^ asn't I pleased I They took off the little shabby 
 leather strap that the boys had given rae when I rarae' 
 and iastcned on r.v new collar, and then Mrs. Morris' 
 held mo up to a .da.3 to look at myself. I felt so happy 
 Lp to this time I had felt . little ashamed of my cropped 
 cars and docked tail, but now that I had a ilne" new col- 
 lar 1 could hold up my head with anv do<r 
 
 "Bear old Joe," said Mrs. Morri^, pre^ssin!? my head 
 tightly between her hand.s. " Y^u did a t'ood thinrr the 
 ctlier day in holpin;. mc to start that little woman out 
 ol her selhsh way of living." 
 
 I did not know about that, but I knew that I felt very 
 grateful to Mrs. Montague for my new collar, and ever 
 afterward, when I met her in the street, I stopped and 
 looked at her. bometimes she saw mo and stopped her 
 carnage to speak to me ; but I ahv.xys wa.,od mv tail, or 
 rather my body, for I had no tail to .vag. whenever I sa.v 
 tier, whether she saw me or not. 
 
 Her son got a beautiful Irish sefier, called "Bri«k " Ho 
 had a silky coat and soft brown eyes, and his youn-^mac- 
 ter seemed very fund of hi.Q. 
 
o-S*: 
 
 :?/'^ 
 
 I* 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE FOX TERRIER BILLY. 
 
 liEN I came to the Morrises, I knew nothing 
 about the proper Avay of bringing up a puppy. 
 I once heard of a little 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 otlu"-, 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 
 was tellini^ a storv. 
 
 He opfned his hands, and there lay the tiniest morsel 
 
 of a fox terrier puppy that I ever saw. He was white, 
 
 ;vith black and tan markings. H's bodv was pure 
 
 white, his tail black, with a dash of tan; his ears 
 
 iti 
 
THE FOX TEIJRIER BILLY. 
 
 47 
 
 blPck. and h.g face evenly marked with black and tan. 
 ^Ve could not tell the color of his eyes, as thov wore n.,t 
 open. Later on. they turned out to be a prc'tty hrown. 
 . lis nose was pale pink, and when he got older, it became 
 J t black. 
 
 "Why, Jack!" exclaimed Misa Laura, "his eves 
 areii t open; why did you take l.mi from hi? mother'' " 
 
 "She's dead," said Jack. " Poisoned-lefl her pups to 
 run about the yard for a little exercise. Some Srute had 
 thrown over a piece of poisoned meat, and she ate it. 
 1-^our of Ihe pups died. This is the only one left Mr 
 liobinson says his man doesn't understand raisin- puns 
 without their mothers, and as he's goin^ awav, 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 Morrises, and n 
 gentleman who was fond of fancy stock, and imi)orted a 
 great deal of it from England. If this puppy came from 
 iiim, It was sure to be a good one. 
 
 IMiss Laura took the tiny creature, . vent upstairs 
 very thoughtfully I followed her, a^d watched 1;;" 
 a little basket and line it with cotton wool. She put the 
 
 mer'an;; th".' ''"'"' '^ '^"- ^^^"=^ '^' ^^ -^'^-- 
 mer, and the house seemed very warm to me, the little 
 
 creature was s ivering, and making a low, murmuring 
 noise She pulled the wool all over him, and put the 
 window down, and set his basket in the sun 
 
 Ihen she went to the kitchen and got some warm milk 
 She dipped her finger in it, and ofTercd it to the puppv" 
 
 touch It. Too young," J .. Laura said. She ^.t a little 
 piece of muslin, put some Dread in it, tied a strin-^ round 
 it. and dipped it in the milk. When she put this' o he 
 
411 
 
 IJEAL'TIFL'L JOK 
 
 I 
 
 IV : 1 
 
 m 
 
 -jt" 
 
 ■ 1 > 
 
 -v 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 I>up|.y8 moutl,. he sucked it gree<lily. Ik acted mj if 
 he M-aa starviuij. but M1.3 Laura oulv let hi.u have a 
 litilo. 
 
 Every few hours for the rest of the dav, she -a/e hini 
 eome nnjre milk, and I heard the bovs sav t!.at for many 
 nights she got up once or twice and h-ated luilk over •. 
 amp lor Imn. One niglit the milk got cold before ho 
 took It and he swelled up and became so ill that m<s 
 l.aura had to rouse her mother and get some hot water 
 to plunge huu in. That made him well again, and u > ouo 
 seemed to tluuK it was a great deal of trouble to take for 
 u creature that was nothing but a dog. 
 
 Ue fully repaid them for all this care, for he t..rnod 
 out to be one of the prettiest and most lovable dogs that 
 I ever saw They calkd him B.Uy, and the two events 
 of his early life were the opening of his eves, and the 
 swallowing of his rausliu rag. The rag did not seem to 
 liurt him ; but Miss Laura said that, as he had got so 
 strong an. so grecJy, he must leara to eat like other 
 dogs. 
 
 lie was very amusing when he was a puppy. He wa. 
 lull of tricks, and he crept about in a mischievous vav 
 when one H.d 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 th.. whole family was in the parh.r 
 Mr. Morris suddenly liung aside his newspaper, and 
 began jumping up and down. Mrs. Morrs was very 
 much alarmed, and cried out, "My dear WiHiam, what 13 
 the matter. 
 
 "There's a rat up my leg," he said, shaking it violently 
 Jus then httle Billy fell out on the floor and lav on hfs 
 b"X'k looking up ai Mr. Morris witli a surprised face. Ho 
 
TIIK FOX TERRIF.n BILL'.' 
 
 40 
 
 had felt cold and thoMght it TTould be worm inside Mr. 
 Morris' trouper's Ivg. 
 
 However, Billy never did any real mischief, taanks to 
 Mi.sa Laura's trainiu- She h-gan to punisb hua just a.- 
 8O0U aa he he-aii to lour and worry things. The firat 
 thing ho attacked was Mr. Morris' Mi hat. The wind 
 blew it do- the hail one day. aud 1 iliv came along and 
 began to try it n'ith his teeth. J dare ■ .y it f. It good to 
 them, for a puppy is very hke a baby and loves sorao 
 thing to bite. 
 
 Mi.-^s Laura found him, aud he rolled his eves at her 
 quite innocently, nut knowing that he wtis doing wrong 
 bhe to.,k the hat away, and pointing from it to bin. said. 
 Dad liilly Ihen she gave him two or three slaps 
 w.tli a bootlace. 8he never struck a little do- with her 
 hand or a stick. She said clubs were tor big° do-s and 
 switches for 'ittle 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. Nothine 
 ^vouId 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 da.vned 
 upon him that he must not woiry anything but a bone. 
 Ihen 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 
 botn got three meals a day. We were never allowed to 
 go into the dinmg room, and while the family was at the 
 table, we lay in the hall outside and watchul what wa« 
 going ca. " 
 
60 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 Doga take a great interest in what any one gets to eat 
 It wafa quite exciting to see the Morrises passing each 
 other diireront diahes, 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 33 meals were over, Billy and I scampered 
 after Miss Laura to the kitchen. We each had his own 
 plate for food. Mary the cook often laughed at Miss 
 Laura, because she would not 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 gobbled at his food like 
 a duck. When he finished he always looked up for 
 more, and Miss Laura would shake her head and%ay: 
 " No, Billy, better longing than loathing. I believe that 
 a great many little dog? are killed by over-feeding." 
 
 I often heard the Morrises speak of the foolish way in 
 which some people stufied 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 rreature, and I did 
 not wonder that they thought so much of it. 
 
THE POX TERRIER BILLY. 
 
 51 
 
 m 
 
 .7S 
 
 ■'■i 
 
 When Mr. Morris weut 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 overheard the re- 
 mark, " it is as fat as a seal." 
 
 ^ "It wou'd have a better chance for its life if it were 
 iean and scrawny," said Mr. Morris. "Tliev are over, 
 feeding it, and I told Mr. Dobson so; but he wasn't in- 
 chned to believe me." 
 
 Now Mr. Morns had been brought up in the country, 
 and knew a great deal about animals, so I was inclined 
 to thmk he was right. And sure enough, in a few days, 
 we heard that the colt was dead. 
 
 Poor James Dobson felt very badly. A number of the 
 neighbors boys went in to 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 thou-h 
 he said nothing for a time, I knew he was angry wi'th 
 the Dobsons for sacrificing the colt's life. Presently he 
 said "\ou 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 hira 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 regu- 
 larly-oncea week with nice-smelling soap, and once a 
 month with strong-smeiling, disagreeable, carbolic soap. 
 He had his own towels and wash cloths, and aiior bein- 
 rubbed and scrubbed, he was rolled in a blanket and put 
 

 l^M^' 
 
 62 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 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, sliould never be washed and allowed to run about 
 with a wet coat, unless the weather was 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 ua 
 down to the shore, and we went in swimming with them. 
 
 ]'' f 
 

 ■.^'o^^-' 
 
 
 liic^,^ 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TRAINING A PUPPY. 
 
 IeD, dear," said Miss Laura one clav, " I wish you 
 
 I :^o"H tram Billy to follow and'retrieve. Ke 
 
 t. f.^r w '" T T*^' '^^ °'^' ^""^ ^ «^a^l soon want 
 to take him out m the street." 
 
 " Very well sister," said mischievous Ne^l ; and catch- 
 n^up a stick, he said, "Come out into 'the garden. 
 
 Though he Tvas brandishing his stick very fiercely I 
 was not at all afraid of him; and a. for Bilfy, hetved 
 
 The Morris garden waa 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 raspb^rr^ 
 
 that Mr. Mo rig had not a large salary, said one day when 
 
 lel^M ir' '"' °^ ^'^ dimng-room windo.'«My 
 ear M,, Morns why don't you have this garden dug 
 
 up? You could raise your own vegetables. It would 
 be so much cheaper than ouving them " 
 
 Mrs. Morris laughed in gr.at amusement. " Think of 
 he hens, -d c te ^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 he boy3 that I have. Wliat sort of a garden would 
 ere be, and do you think it would be fa.r'to take tlefr 
 playground from them ? " 
 
 68 
 
54 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 •1 
 
 1 
 
 The lady sa-'d "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 aroun(" ::nd 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 Estill he kept say- 
 ing " To heel." He would not say anotlier 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 
 CO proud to think I was doing well ; but suddenly I got 
 dreadfully confused when he turned around and said 
 "Hie out!" 
 
 The Morrises all used the same words in trainincr their 
 dogs, and I had heard Miss Laura say this, but I had 
 forgotten what it meant. "Good Joe," said Ned, turn- 
 ing around and patting me, " y u have forgotten. I won- 
 der where Jim is? He would help u ." 
 
 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, 
 
1 
 
 I WoiicIlt wliere Jim l\?■■_y^. -^, 
 
TRAIXrXG A rupp\' 
 
 55 
 
 say, " Well, what do 
 
 and wagged his tail slowly, aa if to 
 you want of me ? " 
 
 " Come and give me a hand at this training business 
 old Sobersides," said Ned, with a laugh. " Its too slow 
 to do h alone. Now, young gentlemen, 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 tamed 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 tur'ued'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 bis pocket. It had 
 a nice, strong smell. We all licked it, and each dog 
 wished to have it. « No, Joe and Billy," said Ned, hold- 
 ing U3 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 
 
 xVeds 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 
 
66 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 t 
 
 1 
 
 ;^i 
 
 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. 1 began to gnaw it and 
 play with it, and when Ned called out, " Fetch it," 1 
 dropped it and ran toward him. I was not obstinate, 
 but I was stupid. 
 
 Ned pointed to the place where it wa^, and spread out 
 his empty hands. That helped me, and 1 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 something hard. 
 
 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 apf. to bite the 
 birds when he was bringing them back to any person 
 who was shooting with him. He said that he had been 
 80 carefully trained that he could even carry three eggs 
 at 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, for he was an honest dog, he gave me tha 
 true reason. 
 
 * •'^ 
 
 
" lie Cdul.l even carry tl,rec- e?e, ai a 
 
 tune."—/. 56. 
 
% 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A RUINED DOO. 
 
 WAS a sporting dog," he said, bitterly. " for tho 
 first three years of my life. I beloncred to a 
 man who keeps a livery stable here in Faii^ 
 port, 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 
 peize them. I used often to be in the woods from morning 
 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 mas- 
 ter 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 returnin<r in 
 my tracks. ^ 
 
 "But I must tell you about my trouble. One Saturday 
 afternoon a party of young men came to get me. They 
 Lad a dog with them, a cocker spaniel called Bob but 
 
^ 
 
 ► 
 
 C8 
 
 nKATTTIFUI. JOK. 
 
 11^ 
 
 ¥ 
 
 \ > 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 ! 
 
 1 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 they wauted another. For soino reasori or other, my ma=?- 
 ter waa very unwilling to have me go. Ilowcvt., he at 
 last consented, and they put me in the back of the wagon 
 with Bob and the lunch baakeis, and we drove off into 
 the country. This Bob waa a happy, raerry-luukiug doir, 
 and as we wcut along, he told me of the iliiv time wr 
 phould have next day. The young men would shoot a 
 little, then they would get out their baskets and havo 
 something to cat and drink, and would play cards and go 
 to sleep under the trees, and we would be able to help our- 
 selves to legs and wings of chickens, and uuything wo 
 liked from the baskets. 
 
 " I did not like this at all. I waa used to working 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 tho 
 young men were told there would be plenty of wild ducLs. 
 They wore in no h-^rry to begin their sport. They sat 
 down in the sun on some flat rocks at ihe water's edge, 
 aud said they would have something to drink be" e set- 
 ting to work. They got out some of the bottles from tiia 
 wagon, and began to take long drinks from them. Then 
 they got quarrelsome and mischievous, and seemed to for- 
 get all about their shooting. One of them proposed to 
 have some fun with the dogs. They tied us both to a 
 tree, and throwing a stick in tLe 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 go- 
 ing to try me. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 
A r.UIXED Doa. 
 
 50 
 
 "lit loaded it, went to a little diatance, and waa going 
 to fire, when the young man who owned Bob, said ho 
 wasn't going to have hii dog'a h?gs shot otF, and coming 
 up he unfa.'^tenod him and took iiim away. You can im"^ 
 agine my fVolings, as I stood there tied to the tree, with that 
 stranger pointing his gun directly at me. He lired close 
 to me a number of times—. my head and under my 
 body. The eui;!i was cut up all around me. I waa tcr- 
 ilbly frightened, and ' ' d and begged to be freed. 
 
 "The ether young men. who were sitting laughing at 
 mo, thought it such good fun that they gut their giius 
 too. I never wish to s])cnd such a tcrible hour again. 
 I was sure they would kill me. Id say they w^nild 
 have done so, for they were all quite drunk by this time, 
 if something had :;ot happened. 
 
 "Poor Bob, wh(, waa almost as frightened aa I waa. 
 and who lay sliivering under the wagon, was killed by a 
 shot by .lis own master, whose hand wi;s the most unsteady 
 of all. lie gave one loud howl, kicked convulsively, 
 then turned over ..n his side, and lay quite still. It 
 sobered them rjl They ran up to him.'but he waa quite 
 dead. Thev f while quite silent, then they threw 
 
 the rest of tht into the lake, dug a shallow grave 
 
 for Bob, and putting me in the wagon drove -' . ly back 
 to town. They were not bad young men. I don'.! think 
 they meant to hurt me, or to kill Bob. It was the nasty 
 Muffin 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 ras so 
 terribly afraid of even the sight of a gun that : would 
 run and hide myself whenever one waa shown to me. My 
 master was very angry wiih those young men, and it 
 seemed as if ho could not bear the eight of me. One day 
 
GO 
 
 T^^AUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 ^^, 
 
 
 he took me very kindly and brought me hero, and asked 
 Mr. Morris If he did not want a good-natured dog to play 
 with the children. 
 
 " 1 have a happy home here, and I love the Morris boys ; 
 but I oflen wish that 1 could keep from putiiug my tail 
 between my legs and running home every time I 1 ear 
 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 ^t 
 your old life." 
 
 "What is that?" he said. 
 
 "On account of the birds. You know IMiss Lauxa 
 thinks it is wrong to kill the pretty creatures that fly about 
 the woods." 
 
 " So it is," he said, " unless one kills them ai once. I 
 have often felt angry with men for only half killing a 
 bird, I hated to pick up the li;tle, warm body, and see 
 che bright eye looking so reproachfully at me, a.n<^ feel 
 the flutter of life. We animai^, or rather the most of us, 
 kill mercifully. It is only human beings wbo butcher 
 their prey, and 8eem,some of them, to rejoice in their agony. 
 1 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 iu the street and look up at fiye 
 ladies' bonnets, and wonder bow they can wear little dead 
 birds in such dreadful positions. Some of them have 
 their heads twisted u •d'^r their wings and over their 
 shoulders, and looking towa d their tails, and their eyes 
 are so horrible that I wish .1 could take those ladies into 
 the woods and let them see how easy and pretty i live 
 bird is, and how unlike the stuffed creatures they wear. 
 Have you ever bad a good run in the woods, Joe? " 
 
 ^ n ' 
 
A RUINED DOO. 
 
 61 
 
 " 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 chink I will sleep with you, Jim. Dogs like com- 
 pany, you know, as well as human beings." I curled up 
 m 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 pot with Mrs. Morris, and as ho 
 1 . ' been so well trained, he was able to make himself 
 very useful to her. 
 
 When she went sboppinr;, he often carried a parcel in 
 his mouth for he:. He would never drop it or leave it 
 anywhere. One day, she dropped her purse without 
 knowing it, and Jim picked It up, and brought it home iu 
 his niouth. 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 m Jim's mouth. 
 
 Another day, a lady gave Jack Morris a canary cage 
 aa a preser' for Carl. He was bringing it home, ,vheu 
 one of the ittle se.^d boxes fell out. Jim picked it up 
 and carri5.J it a long way, before Jack disco verea it. 
 
i 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE PARROT BELLA. 
 
 OFTEN used to hear the Morrises speak about 
 vessels that ran betweeu Fuirport and a place 
 called tlie West Indies, carrying cargoes of 
 lumber and fish, and bringing home molasses, spices, 
 fruit, and other things. On one of these v ssels called 
 the ''Mary Jane.," was a cabin boy, who was a friend of 
 the Monis bovs, and often brought them presents. 
 
 One day, after I had been at the Morrises' for some 
 months, this boy arrived at the house with a bunch of 
 vrreen 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 sh3 was. 
 
 Mrs. Morris seemed very .nuch touched by the boy's 
 thoughtfulness in bringing a present such a long distanco 
 to her bovs, 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. I 
 think that she thought he would be more comfortubb 
 
 with them. 
 
 Jack put me up on the table to look at the parrot. 
 The boy held her by a strinor tied around one of her legs. 
 She was a grey parrot with a few red feathers in her tail, 
 and she had bright eyes, and a very knowing air. 
 
THE PARKOT BELL.V. 
 
 63 
 
 The boy said he had been careful to buy a young one 
 that could not speak, for he knew the Morris boys would 
 uot want one chattering foreign gibberish, nor vet one 
 tliat would swear. He had kept her in his bunk' in the 
 Khip, and had spent all his leisure time in teaching her to 
 t:ilk. Then be looked at her anxiously, and said,*" Show 
 olT now, can't ye ? " 
 
 J didn't know what he meant by all this, until after- 
 ward. I had never heard of such a thing as birds talk- 
 ing. I stood on the table staring hard at her, and she 
 Ftared hard at me. I was just thinking that I would not 
 like to have her sharp little beak fastened in my skin, 
 ^vhcn I heard some one say, " Beautiful Joe." The voice 
 soemed to come from the room, but I knew all the voices 
 there, and this was one I liad 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, " Beau-ti-ful Joe, 
 Beau-ti-ful Joe." The sound was close bv, and yet it did 
 not come from the cabin boy, for he was 'all doubled up 
 iaughing, 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- 
 tJ-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 Jot." she cried, rattling off the -ivords as f;ist 
 .':3 she couhi 
 
64 
 
 DEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 rm^ 
 
 # 
 
 I never felt ■" ■ queer before in my life, and the boys 
 were just roaring with delight at my puzzled face. 
 Then tlie parrot began calling for Jim: "Where's 
 Jim, Where's good old Jim? J^oor old dog. Give hira 
 a bone." 
 
 Tiie boys brought Jim in the parlor, and when he 
 beard her funny, little, cracked voice calling him, he 
 nearly went crazy : " Jimmy, Jim.^y, 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 cama 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 laade use of, and 
 taught them to the parrot. "Clever Polly," he said, 
 kindly; "Good Polly." 
 
 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 Bell- 
 zebub." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Jack, very politely. 
 
 " Bell— short for Bellzebub," repeated the boy. " Yd 
 see, I thought ye'd like a name from the Bible, bein' a min- 
 ister's sons. I hadn't my Bible with me on this cruise, 
 savin' yer presence, an' 1 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 asks one of me mates, an' ha 
 says, for his part he guessed Bellzebub was as pretty a 
 girl's ncme as -ny, so I guv her that. 'Twould 'a been 
 better to let you name her, but ye see 'twouldn't 'a been 
 
THE lARROT BELLA. 
 
 65 
 
 handy not to call her sometbin', where I was teachin' her 
 every tlav." 
 
 Jack turned aAvay 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 l)ad name. 
 
 Mr. Morris looked kindly at the cabin boy. " Do vou 
 ever call the parrot by her whole name ? " 
 
 "No, sir," lie replied, " I always give her Bell, but she 
 calls herself Bella." 
 
 " Bella," repeated Mr. IMorris, " that is a very pretty 
 name. Ii you keep her, boys, 1 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 his ship sailed. Find- 
 ing that it was to be in a few days, he took out his pocket- 
 book and ote something in it. The next day he asked 
 Jack to . 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. 
 
 Alter Ur. Morris left the room, the door opened, and 
 Miss Laura came in. She knew nothing about the par- 
 rot, and was very much surprised to see it. Seating her- 
 self at the table, she held out her hands to it. She wad 
 so fond of pets of all kinds, that she never thought of be- 
 ing 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 ila 
 head against the lace in the front of her dress. " Pretty 
 
66 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 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 
 seemed to enjoy the fun. " Come on, boys," she screamed 
 aa 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 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? AVho cut your 
 ears oflf ? " 
 
 I don't thiuk it was kind in the cabin boy to teach her 
 this, and I think she knew it teased mo, for she said it 
 over and over again, and laughed and chuckled with de- 
 light. 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 IMorrises 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 opeu 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 aiid 
 
THE PARROT BELLA. 
 
 67 
 
 come out into the room. She was a very clever bird, and 
 I have never seen any creature but a human being that 
 couid reaaon 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 having tea 
 in the dining room at the buck of the house, and Billy 
 and 1 were lying in the hall watciiiug what was goiugon. 
 There was no one in the front of the house. °rhe 
 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, stopped and looked through the railing. A^ny 
 pet creature that lives iu a nice familv, hates a dirtv 
 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, Beautifid Joe. Come quick. Billy, 
 Billy, rats— Ilio out, Jim, sic 'em boys. Where's tlie po- 
 hce. Call the police ! " 
 
 Billy and I sprang up and pushed o-pen the door lead- 
 ing to the front hall. The thieves in a terrible fri-ht 
 were just rushing down the front steps. One of them got 
 away but the other fell, and I caught hiiu bv the coat, 
 till J\Ir. Morris ran and put his hand on his shoulder 
 
 He was a young fellow about Jack's a-e, but not one- 
 halt so manly, and he was snililiug and scol-iiug about 
 
68 
 
 CEAUTirri. JOE. 
 
 
 
 
 "that pesky parn,!." Mr. Morris made liini come back 
 into llie house, aud had a talk with him. He found out 
 tl.at he was a poor, ii^norant lad, half starved by a drunken 
 lather, lie 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 ho would not like to get hia 
 living in an honest way, and he said he had tried to, but 
 no one would e.nploy him. j\Ir. Morris told him to t,'o 
 borne and take leave of Ins father and get his brother 
 and bring him to Washington street the next day. lie 
 told him plainlv that if he did not he would send a ])o- 
 licenian alter iiim. 
 
 The boy begged Mr. Morris not to do that, and early 
 the next morning he appeared with his brother. Mrs. 
 Morris gave them u 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. 
 
CUAPTEIi X. 
 
 lilLLYS TKAINING COKTINUKD. 
 
 HEN Billy was five months' old, he had his firet 
 walk m the street. Mi.s Laura knew that he 
 had heen well trained, so she did not hesitate to 
 ake hnu into the town. She was not the kind of a youn. 
 ady to go into the street ^vith a .log that would not b^ 
 have h.mseli and she was never willing to attract atten- 
 tion to herself by calling out orders to anv of her pets 
 
 0B1I3 rolled." It was very hard for little. plavfJl 
 Billy to keep close to her, when he saw so many new 'and 
 ^vomlerful things about him. He had gotten acquainted 
 Nv.th everything ni the house and garden, but this out- 
 ride world was full of things he wanted to look at and 
 ^niell of, and he was fairly crazy to plav with some of 
 tlie pretty dogs he saw running about. But he did just 
 as he was told. •' 
 
 Soon we came to a shop, and Mi.s Laura wont in to 
 >uy some ribbons. She said to me, " Stav out," but 
 Billy she took m with her. I watched them through the 
 p-tr ^^^^'^J.^'-^^^J^er go to a counter and .it down. 
 iMlly stood behind her till she said, " Lie down." Thon 
 he curled himself at her feet. 
 
 lie lay quietly, even when she left him and went to 
 t:a.thcr counter. But he eyed her very anxiously till 
 
 m.J' 
 
iUi:'^- 
 
 ^ 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 she camo back and said, " Up," to him. Then ho sprang 
 up and lollowcd her out to the street. 
 
 She stood in the shop door, and looked lovingly down on 
 us as we lawned on her. " Good dogs," she said, softly, 
 "yon shall have a present" We went behind her again, 
 and she took us to a sKop where we both lay beside the 
 counter. When we het-rd her ask the clerk for solid 
 nibhor balls, we could scarcely keep still. We both 
 knew what " ball " meant. 
 
 Taking the parcel in her hand, she came out into the 
 etrcet. She did not do any more shopping, but turned 
 her face toward the sea. She was going to give us a nice 
 walk along the beach, although it was a dark, disagree- 
 able, cloudy day, when most young ladies would have 
 stayed in the house. The Morris children never minded 
 the weather. Even in the pouring rain, the boys would 
 put on rubber boots and coats and go out to play. Miss 
 Laura walked along, the high wind blowing her cloak 
 and dress about, and when we got past the houses, she 
 had a little run with us. We jumped, and frisked, and 
 barked, till we were tired ; and then we walked quietly 
 along. 
 
 A little distance ahead of us were some boys throwing 
 sticks in the water for two Newfoundland dogs. Sud- 
 denly 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 
 'ce 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 erself. 
 
 The boys were throwing water on the dogs, and pulling 
 their tails, and hurling stones at them, but they could not 
 
billy's TRAINIXa COXTIXUED. 
 
 71 
 
 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 kick- 
 ing 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 oIT. 
 
 " I say. Missis, what did you do ? What's that stuff— 
 whew, it's pepper ! " the boys exclaimed. 
 
 -Miss Laura sat down on a Hat 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 
 Low the blood is dripping from them." 
 
 "Taint my fault," said one of the lads, sullenly. 
 " 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 mischievous 
 face, seizea 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 fic^hting 
 out of their heads. They began to cough, and choke, 
 and splutter, and finally found themselves 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. Anrj/cors, angcore t " 
 
■C^'^ 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 
 1 . » 
 
 M 
 
 '] 
 
 7> 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 , i 
 
 \'t a 
 
 Misa Laura laughed toe, she could not heir 
 even Billy and I curled up our iips. After o '. 
 sobered down, and then finding that the boy 
 handkerchief b.tween them, M'sa Laura toou wn 
 
 Boll one, and dipping it in a Bpring of fresh watt-, uear 
 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 
 do^rs fight any more, will you?" they said, "No, siree, 
 Bob." 
 
 Miss Laura went slowly home, and over afterward 
 w'^en she met any of those boys.tl'oy called her "Miss 
 t)per." 
 
 When we got home we found "Willie curled up by the 
 window in tho jail, 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 
 wj» 1 going to give the dogs a little game of ball, but I'm 
 rather tired " 
 
 " Gammon and spinac j," ho 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 al»out tlw dog figlit. He was much 
 interested, and the book slipped to the floor. When she 
 finished he said, "Itoa're a daisy eserj dr.y. Go 
 now and rest yourself. " 1 ' e." snatching the balls from 
 her, he called us and ran down to the basement. But he 
 waa not quick enough, though, to escape her arm. She 
 caught him to her and kis^-d him repeatedly. He 
 was the baby and pet of the family, and he loved her 
 dearly, though he spoke impatiently to her oftener than 
 c'-iher of the other boys. 
 
 : i 
 
i3 
 
 le 
 
 n 
 
I ! 
 
 
 
 » 
 
 ^H:J 
 
 
 ^^^^K |l 
 
 
 ^^■fej 
 
 
 B' 
 
 p 
 
 
 ^1. 
 
 
 liillv would take his ball and g<i ofV l>y himself." -/. 73. 
 
 i 
 
billy's tkaixing continued. 
 
 73 
 
 We bar' a grand game with Willie. Miss Laura had 
 trained us to do all kinds of things with balls-jumping 
 tor 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 plaved 
 ball by himself. He was so crazy about ball plav that 
 he could never get nough of it. Miss Laura played all 
 she could with him, but she had to help her mother with 
 the sewing and the housework, and do lessona with her 
 ather for she was only seventeen years old, and had not 
 left off studying. So Billy would take his bail and go 
 off by himself. Sometimes he rolled it over the floo- 
 and sometimes he threw it in the air and pusiied ii 
 through the staircase railings to the hall below He 
 always listened till he heord it drop, then he ran down 
 and brought it back and pushed it through a<^ain He 
 did this till he was tired, and then he brought the ball 
 and laid ii at Jliss Laura's ieet. 
 
 We both had been taught a number of tricks. We 
 could sneeze and cough, and be dead dogs, and say our 
 I>rayers, and stand on our heads, and mount a ladder and 
 say the alphabot,-this was tlie hardest of all, and it took 
 iMiss Laura a long time to teach us. We never be<ran 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. AVe barked for some letters, and growled 
 for otuers. We always turned a summersault for S 
 \\ hen we got to Z, we gave the book a push, and had a 
 iroiic around the room. 
 
 When any one came in, and Miss Laura hr.d us show 
 otr any of our tricks, the remark alwavs was, " What 
 clever dogs. They arc not like other du-s. ' 
 
74 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 ' F 
 
 "^ 
 
 That was a mistake. Billy and I were not any brighter 
 than many a miserable cur that skulked about the streets 
 of Fairport. It was kmdness and patience that did it all. 
 AVhen 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 ob- 
 stinate, 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 ourselves useful 
 about the house. Mrs. Morri? didn't like going up and 
 down the three long stairc:ises, and sometimes we just 
 raced up and down, waiting on her. 
 
 How often I have heard her ^^o in. ^ 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 •'v" it to 
 me, mentioning the name of the owner, so that 1 co^ld lay 
 it on his bed. There was no need for her to tell me the 
 names. I knew by the smell. All huir i beings have 
 a strong smell to a dog, even though tht mayn't notice 
 it thenwelves. Mrs. Morris never knew how she bothered 
 
eilly's traixixg continued. 75 
 
 me by giving away Miss Laura's clothes to poor people 
 Once I followed her track all through town, and at last 
 found It w« 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 terriers' 
 tails, but leave their ears untouched. Billy came to liliss 
 Laura so young that his tail had not been cut off, nd she 
 would not have it done. 
 
 ^^ One day Mr. Robinson can.e in to see him, and he said, 
 \ou have made a fine-looking dog of him, but his ap- 
 pearance IS ruined by the length of his tail." 
 
 "Mr. Robinson," saia Mrs. Morris, patting little BiUv 
 who lay on her lap, " don't you think that this little do.^ 
 has a beaut:fully proportioned body ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do," said the gentleman. « His points are all 
 correct, save that one." 
 
 "But," she said, "if our Creator made that ^eautiful 
 httle body, don't you think he is wise enough to know 
 wiiat length of tail would be in proportion to it?" 
 
 Mr. Robinson would jc answer her. Heonlvlancrhed 
 and sa.d that he thought she and Miss Laura were "both 
 " cranks." 
 
 ill 
 
I , 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 I 1 
 
 GOLDFISH AND CANARIES. 
 
 HE Morris boys were all different. Jack wa3 
 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 vm he was going 
 to be a merchant, and he had already beg..a 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 g<.ldfish, if he had a good offer for them. 
 
 He slept alone in a large, sunny room at the top of the 
 house. By bis 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 supijosed to go in till he came 
 from school. Once Billy and 1 followed him upstairs 
 without his knowing it, but as soon as he saw us he sent 
 us down in a groat hurry. 
 
 One day Bella walked into his room to inspect the 
 
 onuaries. She was quite a spoiled bird by this time, and 
 
 I heard Carl telling the family afterward that it wa.s as 
 
 good as a play to see Miss Bella ^truttin^; ia with her 
 
 76 
 
 [f, 
 
GOLDFISH AND CANAKIES. 
 
 77 
 
 breast stuck out, and her little, conceited air, and hear 
 her say, shrilly : "Good morning, birds, good norniuK.' 
 llow do you do, Carl ? Glad to see vou, boy." 
 ^^ "]^}"./'m not glad to see you,"'he said, decidedly, 
 and doa t you ever come up here airain. You'd fri-hten 
 my canaries to death." And he sent her flyin- down- 
 stairs. ° 
 
 How cross she Wius! She came shrieking to Miss 
 T;aura. "Bella loves birds. Bella wouldn't hurt birds 
 Carls a bad bov." 
 
 Mks 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 tunny to see them goin. 
 about the hous.3 together. Fn)m the very first she had 
 Iked him, and coaxed him into her cage, where he soon 
 liocame quite at home,-so much so that he always slept 
 there About nine o'clock every evening, if he was not 
 wth her, she went all over the house, crying: "Davy' 
 Davy! time to go to bed. Come sleep in Bella's ca-e " 
 He was very fond of the nice sweet cakes she go^ to 
 eat, but she never could get him to eat coifee grounds— 
 the fi^od she liked best. 
 
 Miss Laura spoke to Carl about Bella, and told him 
 
 he had hurt her feelings, so he petted her a little to make 
 
 "P for It. Then his mother told him that she thoucrht 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 uneasv till she left it She 
 
 told him that petted birds or animals are sociable and 
 
 ike company, unless they are kept by themselves, when 
 
 they become shy. She advised him to kt the other boys 
 
 go into the room, and occasionally to bring some of his 
 
 pretty singers downstairs, whore all the family could en- 
 
to 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 i I 
 
 s 
 
 I I 
 
 joy seeing and hearing them, and wiiere 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 muka 
 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 petd. " Laura and I will take care of 
 tliem," said his mother, " and start the new management 
 of them." 
 
 "Very well," said Carl, "I will go then; I've no 
 young ones now, so you will not find them much trouble." 
 
 1 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. P'irst, 
 the canaries had their baths. They had to get them at 
 the same time every morning. Miss Laura filled the lit- 
 tle white dishes with water and put them in the cacros, 
 and then came and sat on a stool by t lie 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, lu v.e were all very quiet, they gut into 
 

 GOLDFISH AND CANARIES. 70 
 
 the water; and what a good time they had. fluttering 
 their wings and splashing, and cleaning themselves bo 
 
 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 teU 
 her before he left not to give them much hemp seed, for 
 that wa5 too fattening. He was very careful about their 
 food. Durmg the summer I had often seen him taking 
 up nice green things to them: celery, chickweed. tender 
 cabbage, peaches, apples, pears, bananas; and now at 
 Christmas time, he had green stutf growing in pots on the 
 window ledge. 
 
 Besides that, he gave them crumbs of coarse bread 
 cracker^ lumps of sugar, cuttle-fish to peck at, and a 
 numbt . oth r things. Miss Laura did everything just 
 03 he toid her. out I think she talked to the birds more 
 than he did. She was very particular about their drink- 
 mg water, and washed out the little glass cups that held 
 It most carefully. 
 
 After the canaries were clean and comfortable, Ali^s 
 Laura set their cages in the sun, and turned to the gold- 
 hsh. 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 thorou-llv and put the fish hack, and 
 scattered waters of fish fuud on the top. The fish came 
 up and snapped at it, and acted as if thev were -dad to 
 get It. She did each globe and then her work w^ over 
 tor one morning. 
 
 She went away for a while, but everv few hours 
 through the day she ran up tu Carl's room to see how the 
 
so 
 
 CEAUTIFTJL j; 
 
 I K 
 
 \ii 
 
 fidh 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 
 prayly 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 day. They were very happy liitle 
 creatures, and cliascd each other about tlio room, and 
 Hew on Miss Laura's head, and pecked saucily at her 
 face as she pat sewing and watching them. They were 
 not at all afraid of me nor of Billy, and it was quite a 
 siiht to see them hopping up to Bella. Sho looked so 
 large beside them. 
 
 One kittle bird became ill while Carl wa.s away, and 
 Miss Laura had to give it a great deal of attention. 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 niurning to keep it from taking cold. The 
 moment the bird finished taking its bath, ISIiss Laura 
 took the dish from the cage, for the alcohol made the 
 water poisonous. Then veraiin 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 feathors. 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 
 & 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 wm very 
 
 iA 
 
GOLDFISH AND CANARIES. 
 
 81 
 
 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. 
 
 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. Ita eyes 
 were half shut, one leg hung loose, and it was mak- 
 ing faint chirps of distress. 
 
 Carl was very much interested in it. Ife got I^frs. 
 Montague to help him, and together they split matches, 
 tore up strips of muslin, and bandaged '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. Montague, " but hadn't you better leave him with 
 me for a few davs ? " 
 
 She gladly agreed to this and went away, after telling 
 him that the bird's name was Dick. 
 
 The next morning at the breakfast tabic, 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, fbolish 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 breakfiist, he brought the bird down to his mother's 
 room. She held it while he touk a pair of sharp scissors, 
 and cut its leg right off a little way above the broken 
 place. ^ Then he put some vase line on the tiny stump, 
 bound it up, and left Dick in his mother's care. All the 
 morning, 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 better that 
 he had managed to fly up on his perch, and was eating 
 
82 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 '"fl 
 
 eeeda (juite payly. " Poor Dick ! " said Carl, " h^ and a 
 Htunip!" Dick imitiitod him in a few litlle chirps, "A 
 le^ ami a stump! " 
 
 " Wliy, he IS saying it tuo," exclaimed Carl, and 
 burst out lauu'hing. 
 
 Dick seemed cliecrful euoufrh, but it ^vas very pitiful 
 to see him dragging his poor little stiuup around the 
 cage, and resting it against the porch t.) 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 di.-figured bird home." 
 
 I could not help thinking how diilerent she was from 
 Miss Laura, who loved any creature all the more for 
 having some blemish about it. "What shall I do?" 
 said Mrs. ISIontague. " 1 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. IMontague," 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 ^lorris family, 
 and Carl seemed quite pleased to do her a favor. lie 
 took her up to his room, and let her choose the bird 
 she Uked best. She took a handsome, 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 a cold, snowy day, and carried it out to 
 Mrs. Montague's sleigh. 
 
 She gave him a pleasant smile, and drove away, and 
 Carl ran up the steps into the bouse. " It's all right, 
 mother," he said, giving Mrs. Morris a hearty, boyish kiss. 
 
GOLnriSIl AND CANARIES. 
 
 "I don't mind ktl'w'i her 
 
 ns slie stood waiting for Lim 
 have it." 
 
 "But you expected to sell that one, didn't you?" she 
 
 "Mrs. Srmth said nu;, he she'd take it when she came 
 Lome from Boston, but 1 daresay si^e'd cha.„. her mind 
 and o^ct one there." ° ^ 
 
 '' Ihny much were you going to ask for him ? " 
 ^VoIl, 1 wouldn't s( II Barry for less than ten dollars 
 
 Mrs Morris sat on the hall chair, pattin? rae a. I rubbed 
 JV?ainst her, m 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 rnther not do that 
 To encourage a child to do a kind acti ., and then to re- 
 wa^rdhimforit, is not always a soun. principle to go 
 
 But Carl did not go without his reward. That evening 
 Mi^. Montague's coachman brought a note to the house 
 addressed to Mr. Carl Morris. He read it aloud to the 
 
 .J^h ^^^^ ^■>^^'- } ^"^ charmed with mv little bird 
 and he has whispered to me one of the secVets of vour 
 
 ttn'-for^rt' T' '^"" '^"^" '^^y much to buv soT 
 f r3 / r '"""^ ^'°" ^°° ^ ^"^ Offended with an old 
 
 frieml for supplying you the means to get this some- 
 
 "' Ada Montague. 
 
 "Just the thing for my stationary tank for the gold- 
 
 fish, exclaimed Carl. " I've wanted it for a long time ; 
 
 .til 
 

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 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 ^i 
 
 
 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. Moi/is most wonderful stories about him — stories so 
 wonderful that I should say they were not true if I did 
 not know 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 al- 
 ways 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 teasing her. 
 Ouee 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. 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 
 be 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. 
 
GOLDFISH AND CANARIES. 35 
 
 He was never aUowed to fly about the dining room dur- 
 ing meals, and the table maid drove him out before sho 
 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 even- 
 ing before te. he did this. There was a chocolate cake 
 on he sideboard, and he liked the look of it so much, 
 that he began to peck at it. Mrs. Montague happened ii 
 come m, and drove him back to the hall 
 
 While she was having tea that evening, with her hus- 
 band and little boy, Barry flew into the room again. Mrr 
 Montague told CharUe to send him out, but he^ h^sba^d 
 said. Wait, he is looking for something." 
 
 He was on the sideboard, peering into every dish, and 
 rying to look under the covers. « He is after the choco- 
 late cake, exclaimed Mrs. Montague. "Here, Charlie, 
 put this on the staircase for him." 
 
 fT,^J^'"i,''^ ""i'"^^ '''^P' and* When Charlie took it to 
 the hah, 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 cheerful voice wa. heard 
 chirping and singing as if he had not a trouble in the 
 world They took great care of him. He was never al- 
 lowed to be too hot or too cold. Everybody gave him a 
 cheerful word m passing his cage, and if his singing 
 was too loud, they gave him a little mirror to look at him- 
 Belt m He loved this mirror, and often stood before it 
 lor an hour at a time. 
 
 I 
 
:4 
 
 ' A 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 
 MALTA, THE CAT. 
 
 IhE first time I had a good look at the Morris 
 cat, I thought she was the queerest-looking 
 ^ animal I had ever seen. She was dark gray— 
 
 iust the color of a mouse. Her eyes were a yellowish- 
 ireen and for the first few days I was at the Morrises 
 they looked very unkindly at me. Then she got over her 
 di^ike, and we became very good friends. She was a 
 beautifid cat. and so gentle and affectionate that the 
 whole familv loved her. 
 
 She was three years old, and she had come to Fairport 
 in a vc«el with some sailors, who had gotien 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 ha<l 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 
 ber Then she ran awav to the woods. She came back 
 ^^ith a little squirrel in her mouth, and putting it in her 
 basket, she nursed it like a mother, till it grew old 
 enough to run away from her. 
 
 She was a verv knowing cat, and always came when 
 she w iS called. Miss Laura used to wear a little silver 
 whistle that she blew when she wanted any of her pets. 
 86- 
 
 ♦.: »■ 
 
MALTA, THE CAT. 
 
 87 
 
 It waa a shrill whistle, and we could hear 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 somewhere— 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 something to 
 eat, or walk around the garden carrying her on her 
 shoulder. MfKlto, wao a most affectionate 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 hex 
 affection for us. 
 
 Mary, the cook, was very fond of catrf, and used to 
 kr.-p 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 Beila 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, his pink 
 nose run in the curls at the back of her neck. I sat 
 urler the piano beside Malta and Bella, and we never 
 s'.irred till the music was over ; then we went quietly 
 away. 
 
 Malta was a beautiful cat— there was no d'Mibt about 
 it. While I was with Jenkins I thought cats were ver- 
 min, like rats, and I chased them everv chance J o-ot. 
 Mrs. Jenkins had a cat, a gaunt, long-)egged, yellow 
 creature, that ran whenever we looked at it. 
 
J- 
 
 M' » 
 
 :i\ 
 
 ♦ 
 
 fl 
 
 n 
 
 ^ 
 
 r^'^ 
 
 88 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 Malta had been so kindly treated thct she never ran 
 from any one, except from strange dogs. She knew they 
 would be likely to hurt her. If they came upon her sud- 
 denly, 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 
 Irom 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 Uke balls 
 of fire, and she was spitting and snarUng, as if to say, 
 " If you touch me, I'll tear you to pieces 1 " ; 
 
 The dog, big as he was, did not dare attack her. He 
 walked around and around, like a great, 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 mastiff, and Malta would be badly hurt. I 
 bad barked, and no < e had come to let me out, so I 
 sprang through the window. 
 
 Just then there was a change. Malta had seen the sec- 
 ond dog, and 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. 
 
 J was very angry, and wanted to fight something, so I 
 pitched into the Spitz dog. He was a snarly, cross-grained 
 
MALTA, THE CAT. 
 
 89 
 
 creature, no friend to Jim and me, and be 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 tc do it, for Miss 
 Laura says dogs should never fight ; but he had worried 
 JNxalta before, and he had no business to do it. She be- 
 longed to our family. Jim and I never worried Aw 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 hira 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 bpitz bit me. I did not get scolded for the broken 
 window Mary had seen 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 
 m doing so. 
 
 Malta was so fond of Miss Laura, that whenever 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 cor- 
 ner. Then Miss Laura put the bird on the limb of a 
 tree, and Malta watched her attentively from her c aer. 
 
 One day Miss Laura stood at the window, looking out 
 
90 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 ti 
 
 iuto the gardfu. Malta was lying on the platform, staring 
 at the sparrows that were picking up crumbs from the 
 ground. She trembled, and half rose every few minutes, 
 as if to go after them. Then she lay down again. She 
 was 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 waa 
 80 angry ! She sprang up and chased her away, and then 
 came back to the platform, where she lay down agam 
 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 genrly, came in- 
 to the house. Miss Laura took her up in her arms, and 
 going down to the kitchen, asked Mary to give her a sau- 
 cer of her very sweetest milk for the best cat in the 
 United States of America. 
 
 Malta got great praise for this, and I nevor knew of 
 Ler 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 
 bis IL^the^ 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. 
 
MALTA, THE CAT. gj 
 
 "VaJTi"" '^"'' "" "■""'^ ">*''■ Mo™. >>« said. 
 
 Malta « on her way home. Cats have a «o.derfu 
 oleverne^ ,o Bn.Ung their way to their own dwel „" 
 She w 11 he very t.re,l. Let ns go out and meet her.- ° 
 
 Wiihe had gone to this place in a coach. Mr Morris 
 
 we started out We went slowly along the road. Every 
 
 Malta, Malta, and I barked as loudly as I could 
 Mr. Morr,s drove for several hours, then we slonpoZ; 
 house had dmner, and then set out again. We «re 
 K...ng through a thick wood, where there was a p"e v 
 
 l"f ; T,':''- '■*^" I -w '^ -all, dark ereatu^'a^y 
 ahead, trottmg toward us. It was Malt.a. I gave a Z 
 Mha,k. but she did not know me, and plungfd into'tl 
 
 T I '""u!" "/''"' ''"• ''"'''"S '""^ yelping, and Miss 
 Laura blew her whistle as loudly as she could ZZ 
 
 hi" '-^/.""'^ S'»y head peeping at us from the 
 bushes, and Malta bounded out:gave°me a look „" sur 
 pnse, and then leaped into the buggy on Miss Laura's 
 
 anfhH. ^,^T^ T ''" ""^ ■ ^'"= P"«<^ ''"•' delight, 
 and hcked M,ss Laura's gloves over and over a4in 
 
 Tte^n she ate the food they had brought, and wen. sound 
 
 asleep, fehe was very thin, and for several days after 
 
 getting home she slept the most of the time. 
 
 Onfdav ttr.h"'' '"*''■ ^"' '^' "^ '''y «»»'! '» "att- 
 une day, when there was no one about and the garden 
 
 was ve^ quiet. I saw her go stealing into the stabfe, and 
 
 cT hJhTK ' "'^■"' ^ " ""'"-'y'^- ^'arved-looking 
 cat, that had been deserted by some people that lived if 
 
 the next street. She led this cat up'to her catnip bei° 
 
92 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 I i 
 
 r 
 
 and watched her kindly, while she rolled and rubbed her^ 
 self 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 Laura got a home for her with an 
 invalid lady. 
 
 It waa 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 during their ab- 
 sence. 
 
 1 
 
 ifi 
 
 !'l ' 
 
VS 
 
 
 
 .X^ 
 
 CHAPTER Xni. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTUR75. 
 
 [HE first winter I was at the Morrises', I had an 
 adventure. It was a T^eek before Christmas 
 and we were having cold frostv 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 wit^ tnem. and we had great fun 
 scampering over the ice after them, and slipping at every 
 
 On this Saturday night we had just gotten home. It 
 was quite dark outside, and there was a cold wind blow- 
 ing so when we came in the front door, and saw the red 
 light from the big hail stove and the blazing fire in the 
 parlor, they looked very cheerful 
 
 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 
 ^vas not a 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 
 
 93 
 
I 
 
 J)t 
 
 KF.Al'TIFUL JOE. 
 
 
 ^tretcti himself, wiien he got tired of lying in one p<joi- 
 tion. 
 
 It was raised a little from the ground, tinu it had a 
 thick layer of straw over the floor. Above was a broad 
 shelf, wide enougii for him t j lie on, and covered with an 
 old catakin sleigh robe. Jim always slept here in cold 
 weather, bccauso 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 hungry, had Mary broil some 
 beefsteak and roast some potatoes for them ; and didn't 
 they smell good ! 
 
 They ate all ihe 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 bad gotten for her children, so slie 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 
 paid that 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 ard milk, porridge, or dog biscuits, for our other 
 meals. 
 
 I made a dreadful noise when I was easing. 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. 
 
THE BEQISSISG OF AX ADVESTVPE. 1)5 
 
 r-nd breathed through it. as I have seen some pcorle 
 io.ng, would have beeu more comfortable, but^2 ' 
 •ilways hke t. breathe through their noses. 
 
 ^ou have taken more a.i.l,' .aid Miss Laura this 
 nght. as she put my plate of food on the floor for m 
 
 with me. AV hat ! d(j you want more ? " 
 
 I gave a little bark, so she tilled my plate for the 
 second time. Mi.ss Laura never allowed any on to m d 
 d^ewuh us when we were e.ting. One d'ay she found 
 .n teaming me by snatot^ing at a bone that I was 
 
 gnawing ' Wilhe." she said. '< what would you do if o^ 
 >vore just sitting down to .e table feebngUy hungry 
 and just aa you began to eat your meat fnd pot 3' 
 would come along and snatch the plate from you?" 
 
 I don t know what I'd do," he said, laughingly • " but 
 i d uranUo wallop you." ^^' 
 
 " Well," she said, "I'm afraid that Joe will 'walloo' 
 
 a gentle dog wU sometimes snap at any one who disturbs 
 him^at his meals; so you had better not try his patience 
 
 Willie never teased me after that, and I was very glad 
 for^twoor three times I had been tempted to sn"^' at 
 
 fnH t'i a "P.* ^°°^ ^°^ ^^^ ^«^« i° a low chair^ 
 
 and I lay down on the hearth rug beride her. 
 
 Do you know, Joe," she said with a smile, " why you 
 
 yo^^lfTu r\'7' ".'^" ^°" ^^ ^--' - ^^ to' Ik 
 S yo?if ^^^^^^^^^ '-^ --"^ ^^-- -> times 
 Of rxjurse I did not know, so I only stared at her. 
 
h ' 
 
 96 
 
 BEAUTirrL JOE. 
 
 ii§\}- 
 
 •' Years and years ago," she went on, gazing down at me, 
 " there weren't any dogs living in people's houses, as you 
 are, Joe. They were all wild ereatures running about 
 the woods. They always scratched among the leaves to 
 make a comfortable 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, 
 b'lt 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 lire — Mrs. Morris 
 sewing, the boys reading or studying, and Mr. Morris 
 with his head buried in a newspaper, and Billy and I on 
 the floor at their feet. 
 
 This evening I was feeling very drowsy, and bad almost 
 dropped asleep, when Ked gave me a push with his foot. 
 He was a groat tease, and l^e delighted in getting me to 
 make a simpleton c .Tiyself 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, pretending 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." 
 
 Tlie boy? were all Iau,-liing behind their books, for 
 they knew what Ned was doing. Presently he started 
 off again, and I was just beginning another bowl that 
 might have made Mrs. Morris send me out of the room, 
 when the door opened, and a young girl called Bessie 
 Diury came in. 
 
 She had a cap on and a shawl thrown over her 
 

 :%;i1 
 
 TlfE BEGIXNINO OF AN ADVENTURE. 
 
 S7 
 
 sboulderb, and she had just run across tV^ =f m^f f 
 atWs L„„.e. ..Ob. L. Ho.Z^sf;. ""wm ,t' 
 let Laura come over and stay with me to-night ? Mamma 
 
 lii'Z^a"'"'" "'' "■"• *"""'=' "^ """■' !-»«» "ouM 
 
 " Y«, indeed," said Mi^s Laura, smiling at her friend 
 I wiU come over in half an hour " 
 
 huld^:™^" " """•" ^^'' ^''- «-- And she 
 
 "Tw"',';!""'"''- ''*''^™ '"o'^^'i "P fr"" hfa paper 
 J^here ..11 be some one in the house besides tuSZ 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Mro. Morris? • « \f ^^ t^ , , 
 
 nu.e, who has been with tr for twcnu Z'a^'Thf 
 are two maids besides, and Donald, t eCiman who 
 sice,, over the stable. So they are well prleted " 
 bis p!;e;.^"''^^"''- ^'""- AadL went back ^ 
 Of course dumb animals do not understand all that 
 
Sfcie"''' - 
 
 08 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 When she came downstairs 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 tiie 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 ; " 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 windo';^, and howled without having to 
 look at Ned. Mrs. Morris pocred 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 Df urys lived in a large, white house, with trees all 
 around it, and a garden at the back. They wcro rich 
 people aud had u groat deal of company. Through tho 
 
THE BEGIX.VI.VG OF A_V ADVEXTDHE. 99 
 
 andsometimealsmetd ;;^^'Lrt°"° "'" ?^ '^''°' 
 ^at. They did uot keep anrdo "'^or 1"T '"'",°« '" 
 so Jim and I .eve.- ^J./JZZ.^1Clr' ''""' 
 
 it. The drl Ji^tPPPrl *. i ^^ "'^''^ '^'^^'^ opened 
 
 -iui„ ^iri iiatenea to his messatrp fnr Ar^ t^ , 
 
 W, and when she saw mo. sh ,a« I it, "''"=';\"« 
 
 nursel look at that horr d do^rWi ; "did 7' °''' 
 from? Put him out, Su.an " ^ ^" "=°'^'* 
 
 is sure to ret^Sl-be avelT M \,''T', "7' "= 
 thank his mamma for iett'nT,',, J '"'" """^ '» 
 
 that we .ill keep tl"riMo:,r\-™' '''''* ^^^ 
 
 -..St h„„y ,. th/cab wiif be 1:^:'^ mtr-"^' '™ 
 
 they were crammi ""hin!^ Tn.o "° T ""^ ''°- "'"' 
 both ran out to fiod'o^t'ho: i" "an e fC r^Tus, Tf ^■-^ 
 a^em.:n.u came hurriedly upstair, anj:;^^,,^!!^" 
 
 There was a scene of "reat ronf.-lnr. 7 , 
 in a few „,i„„tcs it was ai! „,,: T o ell h .T',!"',' 
 a>vay, and the house was , „t ''°"'-''' 
 
 " -^urse, you must be tired, you had bettor go to bed " 
 
f» 
 
 !l 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 100 
 
 EFAUTIFDL JOE. 
 
 said Miss Bcsaie, turning to the elderly woman, as we all 
 btood iu tlie liall. " Susan, will you bring some supper to 
 the dining room, for Miss Morris and me ? What will 
 you have, Laura ? " 
 
 "What arc you going to have? asked Miss Laura, 
 with a smile. 
 
 " Hot chocolate and tea biscuits." 
 
 " Then I will have the same." 
 
 " Bring seme cake too, Susan," said ^liss 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 Aliss Bes- 
 sie .aughed at me till the tears came in her eyes. " That 
 dog is a gentleman," she said; "see how he holds tbe 
 bones on the paper with his paws, and strips the meat off 
 with nis teeth. Oh, Joe, Joe, you are a funny dog! And 
 you are having a funny supper. I have heard of quail 
 on toast, but I never heard of turkey on nevvopaper." 
 
 " Hadn't we better go to bed ? " said Miss Laura, when 
 the hall clock struck eleven. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose we had," said Miss Bc?sie. " Wh^re 
 is this animal to sleep?" 
 
 " 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 
 sto«re? " said Miss Bessie. 
 
THE BEGINNING OF AN IDVENTURE. IQl 
 
 soft Xtt t flo'r'T'^ ^""'^^^'^ --. "i". " 
 
 dows tH f ""■^•.""d pretty curtaius at the win. 
 
 tbey got in bed "=^"'"' =" """ ">ey could talic after 
 
 Lan^f^; tot^r^e'd if r T 'f ' ""= '"" ^- 
 
 ew^t„.e^^',er.:L»:i-f4^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 again, tbe. wo/ ^'^^t ^'^ oL"!^ fCt' 
 
 .t™en:rued''r'tJ:'''V"f' ?'"'' ^-^^-^ '■- ■' 
 
 Bon, I Jn^^edTp ^roVTstd'L';' f rad b°™ 
 dreaming abont my early bom/ ill ^^' *'* '"'^" 
 
 as It 1 had been trying to get away from him. 
 
102 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 M I 
 
 11^ 
 
 I 
 
 kl.i 
 
 II I, 
 
 I sprang up and sbook myself. Then I took a turn 
 around the room. The two girls were breathing 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 nut. 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 ball, 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 been 
 any strange person about I would have smelled him. 
 
 i was surprised when I got near the farther end of ihe 
 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 W' nad. 
 
 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. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR. 
 
 f^lI^M-^H'"''''^ ^"'°° ^° *b« ^ouse With my 
 J ? ff Laura ? I thought I would go cra7 
 
 I snr^ '^'^^ "' '^^ ^^°^' ^"d barked and veined' 
 
 1 sprang up on it. and though I was cuitpn hoi ^ ^t 
 
 th^ time, I felt aa light as a feathe^ ' ''"^ ^"^ ^^ 
 
 inis made me worse thnn avow, t j-j 
 would probably kill mp ,-f h * i^- ? ' Jenkms 
 
 Inthem.dstof the noise that I made therl 2 
 screauimg and a rushing to and fro upstaf; Tr! ^ 
 and down the hall, and half-way up th? sZs and h "t 
 agam. I did not want Miss iLZ 7 ^ !^ ^^""^ 
 how was I to make her u'llrstT? ^hrsheT.'"' 
 her white gown, leaning over the rJiT i^\ f ' '"^ 
 
 103 
 
 I 
 
;<■* .v;;iF.*"-. - ;-M'^:^'i 
 
 104 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 ^ f 
 
 "The dog has gone mad," screamed Mias Bessie. 
 " Nurse, pour a pitcher of water on him." 
 
 The nurse was more sensible. She ran downstairs, her 
 Tiight-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 1 
 help, help, thieves, murder ! " 
 
 Such a screaming as that old woman made ! She was 
 worse than I was. I daslied by her, out through the hall 
 doer, 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 IT .st have been the smell of Jenkins. I felt aa 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 his leg. 
 He turned around, and though it was not a very bright 
 night, there was light 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 ihrew 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, 
 
 i^*: 
 
-M£ 
 
 
 
 now «„. cATOHT THE BnROt.xn. lOB 
 
 I tripped him UD bh ? T'°""'"^u''P°° "'"•'«'<" o-ce 
 
 hard blows with a stick that h/f ""' " "'^''» 
 thro;7i„gst„„.5atrae ""'«'" "P' "'«' ^ept 
 
 g»t »o angry wheLvTr JenS 7", 7 '"'■ ^'^ ^i- 
 
 «p^whi.da.d.pped'teX:';Ve\rtt':: 
 
 and'^rth'rt^^edTorhthiLf ?"• "-^-^ -^ =""'P«'. 
 The wall was too hiX 1/™!^ "'"' '" '^""''' ""^^ ''• 
 -ape. What ,hS do" VbaTed "' r.f"«'° 
 could for some one to come anrf'h "" '""^'^ "* ^ 
 
 t™ by the ,e, as ho wr^g It ''""^ •"" ^"'^ "^'^ 
 
 J tft ]?:Vnr;tw sM^^-TT'"^ ™" -'" o™. 
 
 in the earth. Then he 1 ,t f"".' '"^^ °'' ■■" f"^ 
 
 hatred on his foco^'oLtdTprmT" iVt 1^'-^ 
 come, I think ho wnnU i, ^ . " ^^'P ^^^ not 
 
 .gainstthetallthrdLher/ ' "'" "^ ''"'™ 
 agamst the hors 's sttu BuMust t^e'n T '""^ """■^''' 
 sound. Two men cm. ^ ' .1 ""^ """ " ''"""'"g 
 
 the wall. i:iZ:::jJ7:tTs' rr "'-' 
 
 barking in distress ^ ^ ^ ^°^ ^^^° »"d 
 
 hand:rtre;t\to.icir "1'^' ^'r ^""''^' 
 
 they had hold of Jenkins H„°' . '''°'* '"''""« 
 
 snarling at mc UH a„ „1 S,l^'!f .7-,"':°; ''."'^ *»»<' 
 •»" "giy aog. li ,t hadn't been for 
 
 V 
 
 a- 
 
106 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 -," and ho 
 it's me own 
 
 l-f 
 
 1 ,i 
 
 that cur, I'd never a been caught. V/hy 
 Btaggered back and uttered a bad word, 
 
 dog." 
 
 "More shame to you," said ono of the policemen, 
 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 swea/ and would not tell them any- 
 thing. 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 doiug ? " 
 
 "We're catching a thief, sir," said one of the police^ 
 men, "leastwise I think that's what he's been up to. 
 Could you throw us down a bit of rope ? We've no hand- 
 cuffs here, and one of us has to go to the lock-up and the 
 other to Washington street, where there's a woman yell- 
 ing blue murder ; and hurry up, please, sir." 
 
 The gentleman threw down a rope, and in two 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 tc and fro. The nurse's s'lfiek- 
 ing had alarmed the neighborhood. The Mor'-.s boys 
 were all out in the street only half '^lad anf. shivering 
 with cold, and the Drurys' ccacbman, wit.i 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 
 

 now WE CAUOHT THE BURGLAR. 107 
 
 bod, .aid. .„d patted Tad t^^ut ^7'" ""^• 
 proud aodhapp/aad .tood 'pT^.:.J::ZrZ 
 
 lound what a state we were in l\r,H, m , ^ 
 
 JO the p„,or waahed our wouuda, aud u.ade us'lil tZ 
 
 the M„ri«r ^' • •''"'^' "'"" '8 "le latest ? " as 
 
 ., t""" .'^''J'' <="»« fooping into the room. 
 
 ;;No--what?" asked Miss Bessie. 
 Why that villain was going to burn your house." 
 
10ft 
 
 HEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 Mids Rcssic gave a little shriek. " Why, what do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 "Well," si'id Jack, " they think by what they discovered, 
 that he planned to pack his bag with silver, and carry it 
 oil"; but just before he did so he would pour oil around tho 
 room, and sot lire to it, so people would iiot liud out that 
 he had been robbintj you." 
 
 " Why we might have all been burned to death." said 
 Miss Bessie. "He couldn't burn tho dining room with- 
 out Betting tire 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." 
 
 " iIov»- horrible ! You darling old Joe, perhaps you 
 saved our lives," and pretty Miss Bessie kissed my ugly, 
 swollen head. I could do nothing but lick her little hand, 
 but always after that 1 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 nex . day the Drurys 
 came home, and everythini^ was found out about Jenkins. 
 The night they left Fairport he had been hanging about 
 tlie station. He knew just who were left in the house, for 
 he had once supplied them with milk, and knew all about 
 their familv. He hau -; vii' .omers at this time, for after 
 
 M»". Harry rescued 
 
 »" r 
 
 liat pie.^ oame out in the 
 
 i \ 
 
 paper about him, he tound 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, 
 aiid leading a better life, he kept sinking lower. 
 
HOW WE CAUUUT lUE BDnGLAR. 109 
 
 tl.e tmi,. i.e thoii.rhf I ,i ^'"''>'' S"'^« away in 
 
 their sideb urtt t : ^r" ' T^ T '"^^ ^' ^'^^^ ^- 
 and hide the i vc v I -'^■^<-. "ud run away 
 
 Bome city and sell it * "^"^ ^^ ^""^^ '^^^ it ti 
 
 He waa ruade to confess all thn Ti,„ r i • 
 «es. ho was «ent to ,.n.on b r ten v T '''''^'^^ 
 
 tbe Mom.es did. ShrtriTd to . . 1^ °'' '^'^ ^'^S^ «« 
 
 iou — are — a — "ood <^,>r, " „u • , . ° ^®*^- 
 
 nrfi"— f>,«« u *»Joa— uog, she said, slowly " V..,. 
 
 X .::^"j'„r s """ -r'^ -' "^-^ o/ao,. J:; 
 ,0 ^-. I wa,4cd :^ z!: ,ir .trr ^ 't T.t 
 
 ijave said something to help her n eZ 7^'"' «'''^'j' 
 I couldn't. If she had ,t.A.7 '^ ''"' <'"«=''".'. but 
 ter. but she didn-t wan to t "'^ " "'='" ''^™ '"^'l-'' 
 didn't wan. „e to touoThl ITit 7' T," ,' ''°^" »'«' 
 "Mrs. Morris," she s"d LC "^-'^ '""'''"'8 ''' ''"• 
 puzzled face "I don'Mit„ ■ ,'"' '"■"" ""> ""h a 
 
 .0. for the, ;.wltld t rtt°t 't ""'' r^"" 
 dog know th.,t I shall feel ^^rJly SZUT ^' f 
 saving not only our nronerfv „ ^1 e"tetul to him for 
 
 -V darling dau'ghtcr7SLl;"'J5'''^ " '"'"'-'"" 
 
 possible injury or loss of Iife"°' ^-loyance, and a 
 
 ■I think he understands," said Mrs. Morria. "He is 
 
 1^ 
 
 \ 
 
 li 
 
'f! 
 
 110 
 
 BEAUTIirUL JOE. 
 
 1^' i 
 
 ill 
 
 » 
 
 i-l 
 
 a very wLse dog." And aniiling in great amusement, she 
 called me to her and put m) pnws 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 inteUigent he is," said Mrs. Drury. " My hus- 
 band hiis 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 tliat 1 shall never 
 for<rct 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 some- 
 thing to eat. This is a souvenir for Laura of that dread- 
 ful night. 1 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 ]\Iiss Laura came in, she opened the box, and 
 found \v. 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 wtu: worth hundreds of dollars, and Mrs. 
 Morris told ?^Iiss Laura that she had rather she would 
 not wear it then, ,vhile slie was a young girl It was not 
 suitable fur hrr, and she knew i\Irs. Drury did not 
 exp(}Ct her to do so. She wish'^l to give her a vniuable 
 present, aiul tins would always be worth a great deal of 
 ;uoney. 
 
 •t 
 
-S-*. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE. 
 
 try life was like. As thor^' ""''' "°^ ^^^ ''^^' ^-""- 
 "«ualiy wem. diiferent wav' '' '" "^'^^^^ '^^^' ^^^^7 
 
 ^W Han,pshi;?JVf;^^:„^^^;-,--t to another in 
 
 maKlen aunt who lived in the wr^i' ^''"^ '° ^''^^' ^ 
 Mr. and Mr. Af ^ '"^^ Mountains. 
 
 Visit. ' ^""^ "''^^> V^opiQ came there to 
 
 oth?.^t!Jt;? irir <-:r,'r' ''^^^'''" "-• -^ ">e 
 
 '=' .v.,„r p.u 1... , r ' , , r "■■ r '™"'^- •■ '^-"'t 
 to tl.cra, •■ „, !,,,, „ " , '■'<■■• V«>pW .1,0 often said 
 
 «'-Jay. ea,.|,. i„ .j;„t „S ut "'l "" '""'^'""' """• 
 "ever be parted ir„,ah t "ifT ' "'"' """ ' ''-"'d 
 
 It fl 
 
 11% 
 
112 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 and see them, and didn't want mc, she wouM str-y 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 of- 
 fice, and got two tickets for me. One was tied to my col- 
 lar, 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 au 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 toon 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, --ud the weather had sud- 
 denly become very hot. Wc had a Lug, cold spring, and 
 not being used to the heat, it sccmed very hard to bear. 
 
 Before the train started, the doors of the baggage car 
 were closed, and it, became quite dark inside. The dark- 
 ness, and the heat, and the close Eiuell, and the noise, as 
 we went rushing along, made me feel sick and frightc'ied. 
 
 I did not dare to lie doNvn, but sat up trembling and 
 wishin;'' 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 ail the stories that I knew of animals 
 
OUR JOCI.NEY TO mVERDALE. 
 
 
 iraveJinf Tn p k 
 
 -atch-do^g PJuto, hud^arHved f ^"T' ^'^^onndland 
 
 ''^^J JimandmetlmtheTad, ^7 ^'^^^'' ^^^ ^^o 
 
 A gentlemau fncnd of f ''^^""^^'•able journey. 
 
 from New York Hp . * -^'""^'^ ^^^ brought Jnm 
 >- went intorit P. r ":f ^"^^ ? - ^'« ca.a d 
 ter hand.on.eJy to look X 1"'''^/'' K^.age-n... 
 >-?i:age.„aster J.ad a verv red n "'? .^^^ '^^^^ ^^^^' 
 
 ptting drinks for Lim.eJf w] en If' T^ ^' ^"^^ ^'"'^^"'^ 
 l^ut he never once gave ima 1 7'''^^^'^ ^' ^ ^^^^'^n, 
 ^-m the time the/jeft .X ^ Yo^" n,^ -^:-^^-^? to eat 
 port When tl,e train .tonnod ^ '^^'^ ^'^" '^ ^^^^r- 
 
 -.- unfastened, he spra„; out on uT] !?' ^^"'^'« ^-i" 
 knocked Mr. Drury dovvf TT P'^^^^^^'^nd nearly 
 
 -•feed through the station r^of^dh! '"'' '^"^^ '^^^ ^^^^^ 
 »?ei,'an to Jick it up. w''' "tf ^'' ''"^ '^ thirsty that he 
 
 J^niped ;,p and ]i ked thtfrl ^0'"^'' '"'"' "" S«^^' ^« 
 -^Jr. Drurys friend l. " ^^^ ''"^^^^s. 
 
 .a.e-ma.ter^„d s^fd t? i:.^';i;?;;,,^f.V'""' *^^ ^^"- 
 <^ommc, into my car «verv f.w , "^"^ '''^" ^^"°' ^y 
 
 ^-^ was fed, an^^l watered^^J ""7' Vf "^ ^^^^ ^^- 
 port you." ^' ^""^ c^^iortable ? I shall re- 
 
 Ile went into the office at thn ., .• 
 of the nmn, and was tohl that '?' "°^ ^^"^Plained 
 
 ^^■- ^-ing to he dismtsed '''' " ^""^^^- --^> --d 
 
 I was not afraid of suffering liJe PI,.. , 
 only going to take us a fe^vh . ^"' ^'^^^"^^ '^ was 
 found that we alwa" l^^2 T^ ^^ '''"^'^^^^^ ^ 
 station, and one time when vJ ' "'' ''' ^'"^^ ^^ to a 
 thought that surely ;rt\^^n'''^^'^^^" '^'^^^ 1 
 However, it was not liiUrl t'. °" ^'^"^"^^'^ -^• 
 jump, then there was a rrL)'- '''''' ^""''^ ^ ^''^'^ of 
 
 stopped. ' ^ """^^^""^^ ^"ound ahead, and we 
 
114 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 >'■'•'.■ 
 
 lir 
 
 I heard men shouting and running up !ind down, and I 
 wondered what had happened. It waj» all dark and still 
 in the car, and nobody came in, but the noise kept up 
 outside, and I knew something 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 1 
 hear a man in trouble end crying for help I go to him 
 and see what he wants. 
 
 After such a loag time that it seemed to me it must be 
 the middle of the night, the door nt the end of the car 
 opened, and a man looked in. " This is all through bag- 
 gage 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 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, 
 grumbling to himself because I had rot 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, hton't he ? " said the man, looking 
 t".t me curiously. 
 
OVn JOURN-EV TO KIVEl.DALE. 
 
 do™ the steps'th^^htrC ""« '" *" ''^ "^'^ 
 
 Now if you'd 'boe 'a b nk i ' ? ^r^ "^"-"^ ^°"-^"•• 
 waa a few years a-o and stn .V " '^'"""''' '™°. =« I 
 stock yardl yo. 'nl-'u S It ?'""'! ™» '" ^^ "■» 
 fughtto hold acertain numbtr of pil"„''' '^■- ^"" "'»' 
 jammed full with twice as ,.,,m ^ f 1 [.'""^P" ""^ <"""»■ 
 out choked and smotho'd o'Ch' '"f "^ '^ "-»™ 
 runnmjr up and down -am„,,,^T " ^*° » »™ 
 
 rt:»^'="^"''''"='^-"~o=dt^^^^^^^ 
 -K!:^iri:tt\t^ 
 
 ^0, no," he said, hasfl^ « Tr, K f 
 got new regulations about^^iin. care r/.T" 7^^'^'^ 
 ^^nd you, mi^., the crueltv to animal! P^ ^^f^^^^, but 
 the railways. There's a lat lotTf ^ '' ) '^^ ^°°^ «° 
 fering all round everywh ': Itdlf ^^ '^'^'"^^^ «"^- 
 'fvould be a hard showin^I; soLj'"^ "'"^^ 'P''^' 
 the railway men." " "^ '''^'^^ Pcop^o besides 
 
 Miss^Latl'lLX"";:*' t™ "'^ •"■^'^'™. -d 
 w- among 'the bit, Tf;;j„"t '"""-'. P-i^od l„ 
 
 p:-;™,audweuti„totL-,t;;- 
 
 Ti«e were some people sitting about the room, and. 
 

 i'i V 
 
 118 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOfJ. 
 
 'Iu 
 
 I • 
 
 from their talk, I f juud out what had taken place. Thcie 
 had been a freight train on a hide 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 wg 
 came along afteiward, our train, instead of running in 
 by the platform, went crashing into the freight train. If 
 we had been going fast, great damage might have been 
 done. As it was, our engine was L-mashed so badly that 
 it could n(jt take us on ; tlie passengers were frightened ; 
 and we were having a tedious time waiting for another 
 engine to come and take us t) Kiverdale. 
 
 After the accident, the trainmen were so busy that 
 Miss Laura could get no one to release me. 
 
 ■\Vhile I sat by her, I noticed an old gentleman staring 
 at us. He was such a queer-looking old gentleman. Ho 
 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 3at 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 uAv dug, that," he said pointing to me. 
 
 Most young ladies would have resented this, but 3lis3 
 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. '' Whafs the matter with 
 him?" 
 
 " This is his first journey by rail, ".nd he's a little 
 
 frightened." 
 
 " No wonder. The Lord only knows the suffering of 
 animals in transjjortatiou," said the old gentleman. 
 " My dear young lady, if you could see what I have seen, 
 
o'^n jot-nxny to nivEnD.u.E. 
 
 " Terriblc-ifs a>vf„l " , ' '"'"''''<'•" 
 
 «f ".e catMe „„ t o itLrl' ° 'T'"?'-"- " ' ""nk 
 
 "-d goaded „n t„ tra,',s ad T" '" """"■ ""''■"■•no.l 
 wo,.ndod a„d su«eri:!'L It'^'tr '"""' "•>""'»■' 
 
 fr-gl'tcncd. Some of tW , ^la^- !" r"^"^ ''"^""^ 
 wharves to keep ti.em fr"„ d ' •""'^ ,"" '^""'' ^^ 
 "•"ots. W!,at kind of food doe ';'''"",?['''"' '" ">-^ 
 raok poison, Tl,rce of my w,'"?^ ''t' '"^'ke ? Its 
 I am a vegetarian ■' ^ >^ ''"™ ^led of cancer 
 
 beit\f;r:;<'ardtr,,o''r ^t- '--^ --« 
 
 he l,ad gone, (or Uhs CLZ T' . ™ "'>' s'^«i 
 ""y tind, and Ler tears > re f ° '":" "^ "'"="' of 
 my bro,vn coat. ° '''"PP"'-S '-'•"k and fasi „„ 
 
 was a very young man w h n u r"'"^' ^'^^"^-^ ^^^em. 
 
 ooked as if he%vas";;;:;a^ ;;t\t"tr- ^■-- He' 
 
 huve made Miss Laura erv: '^''* '"^^ «^0"id 
 
 "Don't you think <?ir""L • ■, 
 P^-ei near hin, in , ''ik ,'""' ''^""' "« ,?on,lema„ 
 " tlat there is a great dean/ , "'"' ''""" "'» 'W, 
 '"•siness of taking tre of l,Tf T"""'™' "''""t ti.i 
 "ore made for us! They've t '""""J-'"-'' ' Thov 
 'o.-Wiyour wan.,. The c' tie ,'f 'T """ ''» ^'"'^d 
 
 an.n,als wonid over-run Iheetthi/ ""'.""'' •"'" 
 them." ""^ '^'•rtn. if ^.g ^y^,j j..j| 
 
1? 
 
 118 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 " Granted," eaid 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 ao right to luakethem 
 suffer." 
 
 " But we can't help it, sir." 
 
 *' Yes, we can, my young man. It's a possible thing to 
 raise healthy stock, treat it kindly, kill it rae-cifuUy, eat 
 it decently.' When men do that I, for one, will cease to 
 be a vegetarian. You're only a boy. You haven't trav- 
 eled as I have. I've been from one end of this country 
 to the -jther. 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 A'ery' sweet-faced old lady sitting near him, answered 
 the old gentleman. I do I'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 na- 
 tions of the earth, and I think that many of our sins 
 arise from ignorance and thoughtlessness." 
 
 " Yes, madame, yes, madame," said the fiery old gentle- 
 man, 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 
 
OUR JODRSEY TO niVERDALE. HJ 
 
 treatment of animals. "-J r (;„j ,i.». , , 
 
 never thoj.',t about ,7 t\ u ' """"^ "^^ "■*■» ^"O 
 
 inslr iU-tri r dlh ^^' """"^'"es. -ever know- 
 
 hardened, and edultJon ?' !f^''^^^'^'' ^^^ 'he old and 
 
 ciestro^thelrnolt'olnTs^r"^^'"'" ""«'" ^^ 
 ^id •' th^r^ "T" 'P"''' "^'■'- "Don't you think," ho 
 "^eh/tretZntr^";""' .'""""^ P^P'^ '"7 tl 
 
 >vicked. Yonr^il Jf ^^ '"'"* ""' ^l^^' •>« 
 -"V^-rf '"^^^^^^^ ^- Yon 
 
 rreJror^tLTt';t^:?-r^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ■•ostrain? However alferL ^>l'«=«i': *» ennoble, and 
 
 tave lived in Z „iS.^ wLdT'""'"" «»'^' ''°'' ^ 
 I find that the humln taT t '^''/^^'y-fi^o Jea^. 
 
 - yo. .a„ha. y^rz::^^t^::trz 
 
'If 
 
 120 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOF. 
 
 I ? 
 
 impressions made upon it in youth arc never, never ef- 
 faced. Do you not renicmhcr better than anythini; 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 gentleman among thefirsi Mi.ss 
 Laura was hurriedly trying to do up her shawl strap, 
 and I was standing by, wishing that I could help Iut. 
 The old iady and the young man were the only other 
 people 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 ! " and die old lady laid her hand on his 
 "hoalder. They were standing up, and she was taller 
 than he was. " May (Jod bless you. I know you have a 
 kind heart. 1 have four stalwart boys, and yo. remind 
 me of the youngest. If vou are ever in Washington, come 
 to see me." She gave him some name, and he lifted 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. " 1 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 Riverdale, so the conductor let me stay in the car with 
 ISIiss 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 sunlight. Hov/ light a..d pleasant this 
 car was — so diti'erent from the baggage car. What 
 
^'•ighten 
 
 OC.: JOUnSKY to RIVEnDAlE. 
 
 It is 
 
 3 an animal most of »IItl 
 
 121 
 
 fe'^^'ug, not to know wl 
 
 tijink tliat th 
 rt-'spect. 
 
 I It 13 
 
 '^T are very Jike 1 
 
 !i'ng3,ia not to see where 
 going to happnn to it. 
 e l;um;in imin,,.. .• 
 
 Tlie Jatly liad tak 
 
 man beings in th 
 
 we went along, .ci,e too looked 
 
 en a seat beside M 
 
 is3 T. 
 
 lu a Jow voi 
 
 ce : 
 
 — "f itii 
 
 out of the window and 
 
 •'^'T'l, and aa 
 said 
 
 ^V 
 
 ---:^:rs--^. 
 
 "Thatisvc^tre" dTT"'""-" 
 the autumn muft come and tl f ^T^'' " ''^" '^'^ ^^at 
 
 "^^o. n.y dear, not sad t'"'^"'"^^''-" 
 another summer." " '^ ""' ^ preparation for 
 
 " ^ es, I suppose it is " ,^;j ^r- ^ 
 
 continued a iittle shylv as^ W ^'""- '^''^^ «f^o 
 
 to stroke my cropped 'e^rs- ,.V"™^'"''" '^'"'^^ "^'^^^ 
 animals." ^'^u seem very fond of 
 
 -'■ am, my dear T ? r 
 
 squirrel, throe dogs, and a c.,t ■•" '''' '™ "'"=' " ">»» 
 
 wi7:it"" '" " '■^^"^ "--." -W Miss Laura. 
 
 DieJc'ttt /gTin Cawlr fflr '"T" '""O' 
 iouse, and l,e is very hannv .;,' . • „P """" "'« Sreen- 
 
 ^o™, head to be^erei:d'wl^ irr^-'^'-^'tis 
 
 near." *vxienever any one clt es 
 
 ^-early seventy yea ;:! ,' '"""■« "' d„„,- ^..i^,,,. 
 ing ti.e streets rfXl„Ti,'ii;™f '""^ S'" ™lk- 
 
 - "» -e,ty 0, rrri^r^isi'c^---. 
 
122 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 timid and did not dare speak to them. Very often, I ran 
 home and Hung myself in v\y mother's arms with a burst 
 of tears, and aaked her if nothing could be done to help 
 the poor animals. With mistaken, motherly kindness, 
 she tried to put the subject out of my th'/Ughts. 1 was 
 carefnUy guardri from seeing or hearing of any instances 
 of cruelty. But the animals went on suffering just the 
 same, and when I became a woman, I saw my cowardice. 
 I agitated the matter among my friends, and told thera 
 tliat our whole dumb creation was groaning together in 
 pain, and would continue to groan, unless merciful human 
 beings were willing to help thera. I was able to assist in 
 the formation of several societies for the prevention of 
 CTuelt; to a iimals, and they have done good service. 
 Good service not only to the horses and cows, but to the 
 nobler animal, man. I believe that in saying to a cruel 
 man, ' You shall not overwork, torture, mutilate, or kil' 
 your animal, or neglect to provide it with proper food 
 and shelter,' we are making him a little nearer the king- 
 dom of heaven than he was before. For, ' Whatsoever a 
 man soweth, that shall he aXsn reap.' If he sows seeds of 
 unkindness and cruelty to man and beast, no one knows 
 what the blackuess of the harv^** —ill be. His poor 
 horse, quivering under a blow, ' not the worse 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 fancying tliat I ara address- 
 ing a drawing-room meeting — and here we are at your 
 station. Good-bye ; keep your happy face and gentle 
 ways. I ^i)uii that we may meet again some day." She 
 pressed Ml. • Laura's hand, gave me a farewell p^tt, 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 siout. middle-aged woman 
 
 rndMis^a^^'r:,^r^^ 
 
 you, and this is the do.^ Go^d JoeT.^ . '"" '" ''' 
 
 -^ for you. Here is Uncl^ John '' ' '"" ^ '°^^ "^''■ 
 
 i'"'.'"^ "', "" ^'^^ - -« you, Wa 7eij T ■ 
 how d'ye do, old boy ? IVe heard about ,"u '' ' '^"' 
 
 It made me feel very welcome to have tin • hnH .• 
 me, and I was so glad to be out of the tr^i^^ i .at ""i''? 
 for joy around their feet as wc went to , '^ 
 
 «^as a big double ono u-Itl "^ ''^°^''- ^' 
 
 ears anH i.n«.^j *u ^"^"-'^ "P' Jind they moved the r 
 ears, and pawed the ground, and whinnied when Mr 
 Wood went up to them. Thev tried tn mK *. , /' 
 a.^ainst him, and I saw plail fat . "v '^'''/''^' 
 "Steady there. Cleve and Pacer" tM 7. ''^>^'"^- 
 backup." «ua racer, he said, "now back. 
 
 By this time, Mrs. Wood Mies V «„.„ 
 
 the »..o. T.e.M..w„Lf;;?;n;z,f:r.^: 
 
 128 
 
 f, g 
 
124 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 If ' 
 
 % 
 
 \t t; 
 
 i 4, 
 
 III . ' 
 
 •M 
 
 reins, and off we wont. How th two black horses did 
 Pl.in dung ! I sat on the seat beside JNIr. Wood, and 
 sniffed in the delicious air, and the lovely smell of flowers 
 and gra^-. 11 v 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 tlure were scattered houses. Miss Laura 
 answered (juestions about iier 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 tliat Mr. 
 Harry was ^Mrs. Wood's son. She was a widow with ono 
 son when she married .Air. Wood, so that :Mr. Harry, 
 though the Morrises called him cou?in, was not really 
 their coii-'Ti. 
 
 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 ^liss Laura say : " Uncle John, 
 have you a dog? '' 
 
 " Yes, Laura," he said, " I have one to-day, but I cha'n't 
 have one to-morrow " 
 
 "Oh, uncle, what do you mean?" she asked. 
 
 "Well, Laura," he replied, "you know animals 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 cominrr, I 
 said: 'Now we'll have a good dog about the p' >ce, and 
 here's an end to the bad one.' So I tied Bruno ud, and 
 
 I 
 
Tn:>iGLEY FARV. 
 
 125 
 
 " Uncle," said Miss Laun "n. i ^ , 
 -^f " the, .re bitten i.. T^ ,,^;^^ ,?-'' ^I-y. ,iie 
 
 t^/o poison of a do^'s bite a, d n TT""'' ^"''^^'^ "^^^^t 
 ^-. Ever since ^ .Ji::'^:^^y^;^^ '' ^'-^-'^-Pbo- 
 and stick their teetli in niv lies! • o , r ■^'' '"^^ ^^' ^"^. 
 symptoo, of ln-dropi,ob.a-and ; -^'^ "'^^'^'' ^'^^ - 
 
 tl^ei-elves into thl^i^!^ t' l": '""; '' ^^^^ ^"^'^^ten 
 reading the otlier day ai.ont tL 7''' ^"^'""«^- ^ "-'"^^ 
 ^- England that have to eh 7 ?^""^ ^" '^^ ^'■? -^v 
 posed to be mad, and al " j f/T ^'^-^' ^'^^ ^^^^ sup- 
 tea over and over a-^ain\ d 1' T^^ '^''^ ^et bit- 
 f • But let a ladv of ^ L ^ ^n^af "' 7-^"'^^"' ^'^^^ 
 i;-^ve a dog bite 'them and 2 '^^"^° ^'"^^ ^'^^ ^^ireet 
 their blood is in a fever ami t '"^ ''"'"■ ^''^"^^^^^'es til] 
 Erance to get Pa. r 'o '^'''' ^^ '° ^^-^^7 across to 
 they've got hvdropho in .d I! '""• -'"^^^'^ ^^^-^e 
 ^"^'-^Sine it. i believe f T fivof '' °'' " ''<^^^"^'« they 
 ri.^ht thumb of mine, and thotht U f ""''''' "^ ^^'^'^ 
 Peeked at it and worried t i n f / f ' "''' '^'''^ ^^"^ 
 come, and I'd be off to the IZ ?\ ^'™' ^ '°"^ ^^'^^'hl 
 the same time, do^s have t T '" ^^""' " ^"^^•J- At 
 recommend an'y one to ee/ bi.tn "" ^^ '^^^' ^^^ ^ ^^'^ 
 
 -l^ut, uncle," said i\r;*^ i ' . . 
 thing as hydrophobia? ' ^^"^^'"^«^'t there such a 
 
 " Oh, yes, I dare say there i^ T K i- 
 examination of the records of H f. '"'" ^^^'^^ ^^^eful 
 from hydrophobia for th space oTr T'''' ^" ^"^^°^ 
 t^-.o people actually dSrS;::^!^^;-- 
 
126 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 'H 
 
 M 
 
 
 til ' ' 
 
 I 
 
 
 i 
 
 p., 
 
 f 
 
 other animals. They're liable to sickness, and they've 
 got to be watched. I think ray hi-rses 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 seme disease, any- 
 way. If a person owns an animal, let him take care of it, 
 and it's all righc. 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 prove at 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, i'et, if I let him loose, and he ran through 
 the village with his tongue out, I'll warrant _, ou there'd 
 be a cry of ' 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 ono 
 among them, put it out of the way, for it is a constant 
 danger to man and boast. It's queer how ugly some peo- 
 ple 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 fnir-leggcd dog. A hu- 
 man dog is the worst of all. Tliere's a band of sherp- 
 killing dogs here in Kiverdale, that their owners can't, 
 or won't, keep out of niiscliie Meek-looking fellows 
 some of them are. The owners go to bed -it nighi, and 
 the dogs pretend to go too, but when the iiouse is quiet, 
 and the family asleep, off goes Rover or Fido to worry 
 poor, defenseless creatures Juit can't defend themselves. 
 Their taste ibr sheep?' blood is like the taste for liquor in 
 men. and the dogs will travel as far to get their fun, as 
 
WNOLEY FARM. ,„ 
 
 the men will travel for thei™ ti, . 
 
 and you can't get it „„( ■' ^'^ ™ «»' " '"" "=em, 
 
 ho did. Imu^Zuy^T''"'S*'- "So he did, so 
 -eighbor or„l and w °"' """• '^■'-""""» ' " 
 that his collie wiw:;'ii":'j;7" ^ •"■■?' telling Inm 
 believe me, but 1 kneT? »? .°'"'"''''- "e wouldn't 
 Harry was home, ht ITio™ it"f h"""!,™' "'''" ^l'^ 
 ii-n. I tied him up and Itf w I "^"^ "'^ '»^»ed 
 have seen hia face and thrn ^:",^^""^^^'^- You should 
 • You scoundrel r'aud the do": ' "' ."^^^'^ '™ ^^O'- 
 he had been shot. He w^ f flr'T'' ,"' ""'^ '«' ■" '^ 
 'upted by evil companionr Then W^ /."''''' «°' =''^- 
 "■here my sbeep were r / I A ^^""^^""^ '^I'ed me 
 asked me 1. I sdll hS ,. "" '" "'^ ?■«'"=. He 
 
 -dthenbew::l'e!aro?eVrt'!?''°°- ^ ="'" •-' 
 to him, and wondered what on e^ u "'^- ^ ^av. it 
 with it He tied one e^d of Tt . i . '"^ «"'"" '° "J" 
 ho'ding tne other in h^ hand V' ''?«'' ''"""''«"' 
 He aslced ns to go with him 1/ ,""' ""^ ""= P'^'^^e- 
 told Harry he'd Hke to t^' r "''™ '"' «« there, he 
 
 wasn't an/need to ca h hi«'"l T'' ''"'"''■ '"'"" 
 dog. Harry whistled fj u ' " "^ '=°'°* '» "^ like a 
 
 ham fastened tt ro;e's e-udl r T"" """^ ""' '"''•''■ 
 The ram w.,s ftighteLd and ^ i""™: """^ '"' ''™ S"' 
 Wm. We let them out of he. "■'»'"" ""= ''"? ''it'' 
 and for a few minut" ther XX "'° "" °''^" "»"' 
 '»g over thai field as I ne er saw f^r ™Tr° ""'' •"""• 
 «P against the ba,. and aLhed r. ^ ""-^ '™"ed 
 down his cheeks. Then R„l, "■" '"ars rolled 
 
 n.ake battle with the do, 'it.bf ' """"• ""'^ ^'Sm to 
 horns. We soon stopLd tt? f ,? '"'" '=™ ™th his 
 topped that, for the spirit had all gone 
 
I 
 
 ■^ :, 
 
 n 
 
 m ir 
 
 r 
 
 128 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOi:. 
 
 out of Dash, "WiiiJiiam uufastened the rope, and told lilm 
 to get home, and if ever I saw a dog run, that one did. 
 Mrs. Windiiam set great store by him, and her husband 
 didn't want to kill him. But he said Dash had got to 
 give up his sheep-killing, if he wanted to live. That cured 
 him. He's never worried a sheep from that day to this, 
 and if you offer him a bit of sheep's wool now, he tuckg 
 his tail between his legs, and runs for home. Kow I must 
 stop my talk, for we're in sight of the farm. Yonder's 
 our b(nmdary 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 
 slopod 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 riirht were the farm buildinsrs. 
 Tliey too, were painted red, and there were some trees bv 
 them that Mr. Wood called his windbreak, because thev 
 kept the srow from drift'ig in the winter time. 
 
 I thought it was a beautiful place. jNIiss 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 jullv laugn, as she watched me jump from the 
 carriage seat to the ground. " Come in, and I'll introduce 
 you to Pussy." 
 
 "Aunt Hattie, whv 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 ' iiistead. 
 
DIXGLEY FARM. 
 
 129 
 
 I suppose they founj it easier Whvh • r , 
 
 to see Joe." ^^' ^'^^J' ^ere la Lolo coming 
 
 ai.0 saw „,. „.,„r a face sh/^ f, ''"^ "■^"- »"' "k=n 
 
 I wagged n.ysdf about a lUtT; aud .T .V-'^ ^'"'•" 
 her, but sbe d,d nothiug bu- " v'hnd ".'"' '"'">' « 
 wa3 weeks and weeks befn™ I -^^i ! ™''<'' '» °"=. It 
 feiewa. a youn^ tbiu!a„jh,'d/™"'' ""'''''''' «>'■ 
 
 ""diewasabadone :;2 ^?™ ""'^ <""* ^off. 
 
 him. '""'■ "^ '^^ supposed aU dogs were Jiie 
 
 There was a numhpr nf - 
 «ne of then, was "he d „1 °"" "T''"' "'^"'^ ''«"• ''■=^' 
 lay on a rug outside the °lf '"°"' ,"''"" ''^"y had tea. I 
 was a small tMelltiZk"^ T^'i """'■ There 
 pretty dishes and gCwl!" n , f "'°"'' '""' '« 1^ 
 ferent kinds of things .JeaT A n^r'',? S°<"1 "any dif- 
 Adele, kept eoming^and 4 A t^T"^'' S'". «a)led 
 then, hot cake., and fr edCf ^^u'^f "^f ''^■' '» «»- 
 a' they finished their tea jfrf W ,, "'""• ^' ^»™ 
 best n.eals that I ever hadt i^^w' '"''' "' ""' "^'^^ 
 
CHAPTER XVII." 
 
 MR WOOD AND HI3 HORSES. 
 
 I HE morning after we arrived in Riverdale, I waa 
 up very early and walking around 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 glancing in. There were sev- 
 eral horses there, some with their heada toward me, and 
 some with their tails. I saw that instead of being tied 
 up, there were gates outside tiieir stalls, and they could 
 staud in &7^y way they liked. 
 
 There was a man moving about at the other end of 
 the stable, and long before he saw me, I knew that it was 
 Mr. Wood. What a nice, clean stabie 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 number of little gratings in the wall to let in the 
 fresh air, and they wore so placed that drafts would not 
 blow on the horses. Mr. Wood wa.s going from one horse 
 to another, giving them hay, and talking to tbem in a 
 
MR- wool. AND BIS HOUSES. JJi 
 
 ^Tot'r:;™t'r ';Tf T-r '"'""'' •■^^• 
 
 I>o.'t come too near he i 7"" ""^ "P «"'''• 
 
 -d give you k siybL 1: ^'"V:," ^irr'" ^™°°' 
 
 loDg a^o. 'Tk h,r,l . . ''"'"''' '"»™ shot him 
 
 onef b.°t tha?t ta; "fl: S°°f *'« -«•- fo^ « bad 
 wl.at do ,.„u think f L hot rl, P'"' "l'^ '''"°''' 
 
 a brush in h s rifrbt ImnrJ on^ ^utcnman. He took 
 
 an.; ho cnrncd and btrieZtn-^n-^rtrh" '■' l"""' 
 and afterward ,vipod him w.th?cf„t "{'f^'"'/^^^"'. 
 ■"? -s equal to two quarta of oata Joe" ,/.«°°<'f="-»™- 
 „ Then he stooped Iwn and^amt;, el' '"J? , 
 
 lourshoes are too heavy Dutel.mnn "I, , , "'''*• 
 pis-headed blacksmith tlliol k ' '"' ""id ;" but that 
 
 than I do . Don^ 1 h ," ^"""^ """^ ''''°'" !""«•» 
 bin.. 'D^'tpTret. el /"''■= "'" "" '■"-'I »av to 
 and fit v^ur ,ho^ tS e f°f '" ,"'"""'' '""^ '^""'' W "^ 
 
 and he'- .^s^^v^^:^:^:^^"' ""'■'f^- 
 
 nes,,.' We'll not g„ t„ Li^'.^^^j^^ ' , ^ "' .™"r o>n, b>,si. 
 
 oW dog new triekf.' I ™t ™ l J 'T''' '" "^•■"='> ™ 
 wear out your .tren^^th ■• ' ''"■ ""^' "»' '» 
 
 shoes." ° '" '"""S a'''"" I'is weighty 
 
 Mr. "Wood stopped talkino- f^T-o c 
 
 '•e--e. xiZhob4^;4:i:."":IrL^:l:;:^- 
 
 I 
 
 f I 
 
 H 
 
 fl 
 
 Iff 11 
 
i't 
 
 \U 
 
 If 
 
 
 132 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 of horses, Joe. Over forty years I've studied them, and 
 it's my opiuion that the average horse kuows more than 
 the average man that drives him. When I think of the 
 stupid fools that are goading patient horses about, beating 
 them and misunderstand mg th.m, and thinkuig they are 
 only clods of earth with a little life in them, I'd like to 
 take their ht)rsed out of the shafts and harness them in, 
 and I'd trot them otf at a pace, and slash them, and jerk 
 them, till 1 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 hadu"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 currv-comb too harshlv over him. 
 The idiot I got him from, didn't know what was the mat- 
 ter with him. He'd bought him for a reliable hoi-se, and 
 there he was, kicking and stamping whenever the boy 
 went near him. ' Your boy's got too heavy a hand. Dea- 
 con Jones,' said I, when he described the horse's actions to 
 me. * You may depend upon it, a four-legged -"reature, 
 unlike a two-legged one, has a reason for everything he 
 does.' 'But he's only a draught horse,' said Deacon 
 Jou.es. * Draught horse or no draught horse,' said I, 
 * you're describing 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 ki jdly 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 otk«r time, he could drink all he Uked. Mr. 
 
WR. \VOOD ASD HIS HORSKS. 
 
 1 33 
 
 Wood believed iu Laviuir oJenf v nf 
 
 i warned a drink. As Jo„ 1 I '^ "'e barnyard when 
 Adele to keep it there ^r" T^' *^''"- ^^""'^ ^ked 
 eratefallyatUaheli^" Te,:"/, when I ,„„kcd np 
 Its own feeding place and .. „ 7 °'"""'' "''""'<' ^a™ 
 is only fair." ^ '^ ""^ "^ ""'" ^'"^^P'-S 1^'aoe, Joe, that 
 
 oZ'rC iTp^: 'l:i ^^-^^ were the b,aek 
 With his mouth, and Mr' Wi. ^^V™'^^"'^ ^^oug 
 examined it ca efuli; tL ' ""1 -'"' ''' 'P"' «°^ 
 wore Jarge windows n ill llr"" ."^^' '" ^^' ^^^ ^^^^^ 
 Mr. Wood's house w^ ^^' ^^^ ^' ^^^ «^ iight aa 
 
 be^te'l'^fTsSr'f^'' ^^^^ ^^- Wood, a. 
 from a shelf/'. ^^^^^,^3^?/^^^ ™e to get a bo'ttle 
 
 clirt holes for careless men trft "" ^"'' ^ ^^^^ - 
 in the corners, and I don t TZ ?°' '^' '"'^ '« shine 
 
 --II3. for theV hate them and l2 ';"" ^^ ^"^^^ ^«^ 
 1"? when they go into thrr L / ""^^^ '^^^ «tart- 
 t'-y've been kepf n a bl 'k hi 1 '"'' ^'^^ ^^-"- 
 "ever had a sick hoi^e yet.'' ^ ''^^^^' *"^ ^'^« 
 
 He poured something from thp >,.f.] • 
 and went back to Pace' witT t I f M '"''. f-^'"^^''' 
 f tood outside. Mr Wnnrl '^" ^^'^^wed him and 
 
 in the horse's rn^I 17^'"' \^' ^-^^^ing a sore 
 
 Wood said: "S^eTdv' stfnW '""''^ " ^'"^^' ^^^ ^r. 
 over." """^y' '^'^^y' "^y 'beauty, 'twill soon be 
 
 Pooled tTf\'ete';tt1r^^^«.- ^^^ ^^^ "^ 
 i^uew that he was trying to do him good. 
 
 ,1? ?! 
 
134 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 m-h 
 
 "Just look at these lips, Joe," said Mr. Wc^d, "deli- 
 cate and tine 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 horsea voices just for one week. I tell 
 you they'd scare some of us. Now Pacer, tliat '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 horsa drugger' and dosed to 
 death. Well, Scamp, my bv:auty, how are you, this 
 morning?" 
 
 In the stall 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 thougat I had 
 better keep at a safe distance, from her heels. 
 
 Mr. Wood petted 'icr a great deal, and I saw that she 
 was his favorite. " Saucebox," he exclaimed, ■when she 
 pretended t^ bite hira, "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 turning 
 around like a flash in front of anything that frightened you, 
 and bolting ofi'the other way? And how did I cure you, 
 my beaut} ? Beat you and make you stubborn ? Not I. 
 I let you go round and round ; I turned you and twisted 
 you, the oflener the better for me, till at last I got it into 
 your pretty head that turning and twisting was addling 
 your brains, and you'd better let me be master. 
 
 " You've minded me from that day, haven't you ? 
 Horce, or man, or dog aren't much good till they learn to 
 
MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES. 135 
 
 But' she didto b ri nr ^T '"r "■" »"''' s°- 
 
 WI.OU .. left her.t'"„t„ J h'.'; / 'J-f,;^'». ••- 
 back and stroke aud caress her "^ " 8° 
 
 tbetr:."'°^h'e"at;:tLXt T "-- ''' "="' "--' 
 at her load and ZT ? ^"^ '"^^"°S and striving 
 
 deal of wori Ir "vv" f ''"' °"' '"^ ^"^ ^« * ^-^t 
 inen didn't Hke her a^T T. "'""^'^^ '"""» ^-- The 
 ^ot .een prlltw^^^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^-- ^^e had 
 
 in1";:ir' " ^^ -^ ^e went and stood 
 
 Dutchman C eve Pa " s'" "' 'k"" ^^^^^^'^-•■ 
 Rubv an,l « u ' ^'"'"'"P' * '^ay mare called 
 
 itubv, and a , ung horse belonging to Mr Harrv Jl 
 name was Fleetwood. ^ "> ^^Ar- -Harry, whose 
 
 "What do you think of them alP" g„id ivf^ xv. ^ 
 looking down at me "A r..^,, « , - ' ^^°°^' 
 
 aren't they ? NoTa ff P'^'"^,fi°^-l\«J^'^g lot of horses, 
 
 muchtolaaif achhaZS"' ''7'' '''^ "°^^^ ^ 
 walk Thpr!t. ] ? ^? pedigree as long as this plank 
 
 ni in hotL Mi el"t"' ^'^"' ^'^^ pedigree'busi- 
 norses. Mine have their manes and tails anvwav 
 
 than some thoroughbreds get ^ 
 
 puuitii!:: '„: :te:k:er„^aV'"t!' ■^"'""'^ "^ "^ 
 
 torture on ruy CZ 0^,1' ""'f '"''"""^ut of 
 bUude^are thVearof-; , fl'Zt^ ,'"°" I,""' 
 mauy of our accideots, Joe {lrfL7.,o^^, h '" '"^ '""'' 
 a.a„. and the oheck-'reiu d^ „/: Wrhe^d t "T 
 
 ^i 
 
136 
 
 nCAUriFCL JOE. 
 
 V\ 
 
 (if 
 
 it8 fine natural curve and press sinews, bones, and jointi 
 toj'cther, till the horse is well-nigh mad. Ah, Joe, this 
 IB a cruel world for n an or beast. You're a rytanding 
 token of that, with your niissinj^ ears and tail. And now 
 I've got to go and be cnel, and shoot that doj?. He must 
 be disposed of before any one elae is astir. How I bate 
 to take life." 
 
 He sauntered down the walk to the tool phed, went hi 
 and soon came out Icadiiii^ a large, brown dog hy a chain. 
 This was Bruno. He was sna])ping and snarling and 
 biting at his chain as he went along, though Mr. Wood led 
 Lira 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 1 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 wad a little balcony out- 
 Bide it, and when I got near I saw that sb" was standing out 
 on it wrapped in a shawl. Her hair was streaming over 
 her si 'Mers, 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 ut 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, and we went for a 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. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MRS. wood's poultry. 
 
 'R breakfast Mra. WonH «„* t 
 
 apron, and «o,„gi„...,TShJd';.,'^:^ 
 you anj scraps for the hens Arfil. ? ' n 
 and not -e n,e anything salty." ' ^"^^''^ ^' «"™ 
 
 a^y we we„trth^pr,?;Xr. ^ ^" ^'^^k-'. -^ 
 ' Yes," he said. 
 
 had": Sed"" CI; :^t°r.r '^^ ' "- --^ ^» 
 
 to till a doir? q„m., u , ""^ ■""'' "•""''■"l way 
 
 •^'" » oog f ooraetimes, when thpv (»of „i-4 *u , ' 
 
 be put out of the way " ^* ' "";' ''"'"''l 
 
 The..s a H^/h't ^r t^'r t" It ^,1^0:;' -7^; 
 the top of theskml. If vou'II remind me ' I ° " "' 
 
 i:^^tx^- „" '^"' ^e'pl'orwa:';: 
 
 
■'P 
 
 I 
 
 : I 
 
 .'I 
 
 'jljl 
 
 It 
 
 1(1* ' 
 
 
 138 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 ful amount of crueltj 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. I'll 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 followed her. 
 Faying: "If evei 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 teaspoon- 
 fi^ of pure cyanide of potassium in a long-handled wooden 
 spovon, and dropped it on the cai's tongue, as near the 
 throat as we could. Poor pussy — she died in a few sec- 
 onds. 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 wa}' is, to smear it on their 
 pides, and they lick 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 altogether ?" asked Miss 
 Laura. 
 
 " Only in the winter time," said Mrs. Wood. " I divide 
 ray 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 different places. I feed each flock morning 
 and evening at their own little house. They know they'll 
 get no food even if they come to my house, so they stay 
 
MRS. wood's poultry. jgQ 
 
 .hll f ''r '" """"^ ''"S^ »"-! »»«'='- that it L™ 
 th^ pays for the trouble of keeping then, there," 
 
 Do«n t th„ flock want to mix up with the other? " 
 
 r„ul '''" '-'""'^ " '"^ "-^PP^'^ -'» 'to little w^» 
 
 ■' Ko ; they Eeem to understand. I keep my eye oa 
 
 them for a wh.le at first, and they soon find ouT that 
 
 hlTfc-uf'Tr"'""^' "-^ S-''- fence or the or- 
 chard fence. They roam over the farm and pick ud wh.it 
 
 they can get. There's a good doul of sense in hens'^f o„e 
 
 arh^:dtthe^:r'^- ' ■- '"- "-- '^^y:: 
 
 We were in the little wooden house by this time, and I 
 looked arounci n with surprise. It was better thai ZJe 
 
 1 te /uTr' °^ '"""' '" ""^'^P"'- The walls we^^ 
 white and c,ean. So were the little ladders that led ud to 
 different k.nds of roosts, where the fowls sat at ni'bt 
 
 ana llat. Mrs. >Vood said that the broad ones were for » 
 heavy fowl eallcd the Brahma. Every partTft: Me 
 
 of :.:: ;™ :'sr '=""' °^ ' -- -' ^'- - ~ 
 suo^TitirLTts: ""• " ^"'^- '''""'»' ' -™-' - 
 
 Mrs. Wood W..S diving into a partly shut-in place 
 where It was not so light, and where the nests wer^ Sh^ 
 straightened herself up, her face redder tC ever a'd 
 looked at the windows with a pleased smile 
 
 • \es. there's not a ben ho-,« in New Hampshire w'ilh 
 such big windows. Whenever I look at them I Wnk of 
 my mother's bens, and wish tha they conld iaye hi I 
 
140 
 
 BEAT7TIFUL JOE. 
 
 I 
 
 r 
 
 place like this. Thev would have thought themselves in 
 a hens' paradise. 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 concluded 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 ;?,Iiss Laura. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, and well I may. I'll show you my 
 brown Leghorn, Jenny, that lays 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 
 80 for the 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 
 1 must keep ashes and dust wallows for them, and be 
 very particular about my eggs when hens arc 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 is one thing I notice," said Miss Laura, "and 
 that is, that your drinking fountains must be a great 
 
MRS. wood's PODLTKY. 14, 
 
 deal better thau the shallow nana that r ., 
 
 P"ple give their hens water L ° ''*'' "™ 
 
 <;- hens than drL „? "' ^^ ^ --"J-g »„,«, 
 have as clean water as I d nT nTv [f { • ''"" ""^' 
 heat it for them If i,t , i "' ™'' '" «'iter I 
 
 tainsintheZnJ i L"""" '"''''"« '"'» "■" «"■»■ 
 of shallow rinS dis\rT"''™'''"'S'''- ^Peaki.., 
 before I ever J^ludniJiJ'f''"''- "'' "'™' -- 
 »es„n,e.hi„, tnat we reaTalttt T'"' /'"" """'' 
 powder keg and bore a Hf.tt 1, , f'' "'^'^ "> '"'« » 
 
 inch from The top, ttn fill ! . ' '" ""= ''"''' "''<"" «» 
 
 the keg upside down withoi.f ,„ ^' ™ '"' ^"""'i 
 
 water ran'^nto the paV ™ Ct'af tTL f ° ""^ 7"° 
 
 and It would have to hp uIaI i ^''^^ '" ^^^ ke^r, 
 
 Now let „s go^Ld s^e :' t::i^:rb-"" "»" '"• 
 
 --^trchtgit ::,r- --r n-,- 
 rat^v-i^:-jtatf?"r^^^ 
 
 Afterward Mrs wl!l 7 ."""'" '''"'' ">roats. 
 
 had shnt up in r;3 'stt "ttrh"'""^ '""' '=^« 
 then, on vegetable food, to iTve heir fl f' '™ ''^^'"8 
 and by.and-bv she won d se^nd ,1 7 , " P"''^ ''''™--. 
 
 high price for them "" '° """'''" -""l get a 
 
 "ifoTi'etrbe^rjyL''-.- ''-" - P-iWe- 
 nambors," she said, " „nte h v T'l """""^ '" '"^g" 
 and comfortable." ^ "^^ ""'"" 'l''"ters clew 
 
i 
 
 142 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 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 punctual as clockwork. 
 Tliey go off early m the morning, to scratch about a little 
 for themselves first." 
 
 As she spoke she stepped off the plank walk, and 
 looked off toward the fields. 
 
 Miss La.ua burst out laughing. Away bevond the 
 barns the hens were coming. Seeing Mrs. Wood stand- 
 ing 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 jNIrs Wood said, *' They 
 think I've changed tlieir breakfast time, and to-morrow 
 they'll come a good bit earlier. And yet some people say 
 hens have no seiibe." 
 
 y. . 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A BAND OP MI^RCY. 
 
 FEW evenings after we came to Din^Iev F«rm 
 Mrs. Wood and Miss T nnro .°=/^^ ^^^m, 
 
 mean on that silver nin thnt ^^°^® ^^"ers 
 
 ribbon ? " P'"" '^'' ^'"" '''-''' ^vith that piece of 
 
 a. J Mrt""' ^'^ ^'^'^ ^^^^- — ' ^on't you ? " 
 
 "lTloes''"anrthTl' ''"^"'"'^ "^"^^°' ^--'^ it?" 
 
 of a Banl^f Met Lrv'T ''^\' ^" ^ ^^^er 
 Mercy is?" ^' ' "^ ^^"^^ ^^^at a Eand of 
 
 " ^^o," said Miss Laura 
 
 anist, started u!r'-„ t ""t ^^""^ ^™ "^ " ^'«'»" 
 good. There is a .,,;"; '^ ''™'' •■" S™' ''eal of 
 
 to it if v„u like" •" " '°"""'™'^' "■"' ^ '-" take you 
 
 Mil: irrititt;'',?^^'""'' "•:-' "■-■*"!.■. 
 
 -d„„et.e,,„t.:„;^l^-X.-;-"^ 
 
 " P^ ; • . 1, ' . * "^^'^'■■^ Laura. 
 
 Certainly," said .Airs. Wood • " h^ ic i 
 
 tluit he won't be any troubl J' ' '"''' ' ^^°^ ^'S 
 
 
144 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 Hi- 
 
 :=V'"-; 
 
 K ' 
 
 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 
 en each side, and under them, among the grass, pretty 
 wild flowers were peeping out to look at us as we went 
 
 Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura talked all tlie 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 sigu 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 ' Corresponding 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 xor animals. 
 
 "A Band of Mercy in a place is a splendid thing. 
 There's the greatest dillerence in liiverdale since this one 
 was started. A few years ago, when a man beat or 
 raced his hoi-se, and any one interfered, he said : ' This 
 horse is mine, I'll do what I like with him.' Most people 
 thought he was riglit, but now they're all for the poor 
 horse, and there isn t a man anywhere around who would 
 dare to abuse *»'V" annual. 
 
 " It's all thfc children. They're doing a grand work, 
 and I say it's a good thing for them. Since we've studied 
 this subject, it's enough to frighten one to read what is 
 Bent us about our American boys and girls. Do you 
 know, Laura, that with all our brag about our acliools and 
 
A BAND OP MERCY". 
 
 145 
 
 colleges, that really are wonderful ^nV * • 
 
 m someth bff between tlm „„ l"="P'e, let us tr/ to slip 
 grammar that «i Uoa tif 7''"'^' ?'' '"""■'y' "-"i 
 much that when thrv.:l '''"' "'"' ""'"'' ""="> »» 
 
 word, they w^ll ca ?witK T""? "P '"'' «" °'" '" ">o 
 will to men ^ '"" '"^"^ "'^'"''^ ■"") good 
 
 it 2way ™ il" 's "^ 't '""''l "■"'• ^»" =- bend 
 
 many Lo, te'acher sTttt T' ''""''°°- ^ '^ "■»' 
 
 wra:et:J:~^^^^^^^ 
 be.ind^!::e;;';;/cr^rtte^";^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 srl^^-^te-h^rih!:^ 
 
 A3 we went alonir. houses hpo-on f^ 
 there, set baek from thr^oadTmo ". ZZt^'Cl 
 
 they got quite close to-ether and T ..Z T °° 
 
 Ti • , I'u^ctuer, ana 1 saw some shons 
 
 We passed the school on our wav Jt ^oc 
 «mte building, standing in the m^iSie of IlieTid! 
 
 K 
 
y* 
 
 1:1 
 
 146 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 Boys and girls with their arms full of books, were hurry- 
 ing down the steps, and coming 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 run- 
 ning out of a house that we were passiug. 
 
 The little girls joined us, and looked so hard at my head, 
 and stump of a tail, and my fine collar, 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 auythiug, 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 girLj were going in, and 
 we went with them. We found ourselves 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. Max- 
 well, the artist's son, who had formed this Band of Mercy. 
 
 The lad who presided had a ringing, pleasant voice. 
 lie said they would begin their meeting by singing a 
 
A BA-VD OF MERCy. j^^ 
 
 in her hand. ""'"■■" '"' " '""I^' """^he held 
 
 ^^^:ztTi:z:z t'- i- =-» "^^ «- 
 
 a meeting of ..rown rfelT , r" ""• •" ™ J''^' "ke 
 
 good thoi ehl dTen wef • tL tT "^r?'' '»"» ''°'' 
 
 l^utaU.en.ed.ohe/Idhl^tu::;:;^"''""-^''- 
 After the votin^ was ovor fi.. , ^' 
 
 John Turner to giv^ a^eul: ^ '= 'S? tt'.r f T" 
 we saw on the wav there IT„ , ,, , "'^"•«'>oy whom 
 made a how, and sa d tL 1 > f "^ "^ '" """ P'""'"™' 
 his recitation „„,<•„ ' '""^ """''^ '™ stories for 
 
 stor/rz'n riit 3';: "^ri"' ^'"™'"^-" o- 
 
 and he thought that 7l? " '"°" "'"»" ■> ^og, 
 
 dories on record He tSl'trf '"^ ""' """'^ 
 "Am, ■ -..' '"" ""= ''o^* s'ory first. 
 
 some iaT "h Tnt' '1 '° 'k '" ''^''''^'^^ '» ^ ''^-t 
 had trazned hfmsetflT,!'"'''""'"''' °° " '""^'^ ""« 1"= 
 
 dog. Ongett gttothrtkrr ""'; "'"f-''^ '''" ' 
 there were two rnni r, ' ''''""' '" " •''"'^'^ '»''=''e 
 
 other wen „;: the hill T, "°"' ''•~' '^ "^■"' "'"' ""O 
 went over thll^i I 1, Iv T f"" '™ """ ""^ '"a^el 
 Ho didn'^ ; " """"S'" '"^'d '■••ke the river road 
 
 tt 1; etr -'; T- ™ ''• ''"'^''^»'' ""- '' -^' 
 
 used to be a ™ n hoarf o't"el?7' """ '""'""'■ T''"» 
 had been taken awavTW ""'"' "•""" "• ^"' '' 
 
 ^i»..a.e.andSdai::;";?,jc:^<r/":herdi7 
 
% 
 
 
 W 
 
 h ■ . 
 
 i 
 ' I 
 
 148 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 the horee, that he had to sit dowu and wait for liim. Sud- 
 denly he found that he was on a quicksand. His feet had 
 Buuk in the sand, and he could not get them out. He 
 threw hiiuself 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 running up, and stood by his master. The 
 man was too ! w 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 lauded his muster on 
 safe ground." 
 
 Everybody clapped liis hands, and stamj)ed when this 
 story wjis finished, and called out : " The dog story — The 
 dog story." 
 
 The boy bowed and smiled, and began again. " You 
 a)l knov what a ' round up ' of cattle is, so 1 need not ex- 
 plain. Once a man down south was going to have one, 
 and he and his bovs 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 him were 
 nearly frantic. They'd been praising him, and thought 
 they were going to have it proven false. Their father called 
 
A BAND OP UEHCY. j^jj 
 
 «> en, aged that he"f ver^, ''"' ^»" » I^"- The steer wu^ 
 
 Tie pre.i/e„rrai t'U rS t'l '''•" '° ■"' -'• 
 "bout these, t ■„ stori '" '"'"' '"•"'"^ -"ade 
 
 one^tXtf„^rr\r^^^ ^-^ed each 
 
 h^'cl had u docked tail 1 "* """ """'» ^""^ 
 
 «We to reaeh it, and tuldha ?".'''"'' '"'^^ ""eeo 
 
 that if the „,ao hado' . ' t Tf-'^u''''''"'- ^"""^er said 
 would have eo,„o at hs Xl ^"' ^'"'"•^•' l"^ "'™ 
 
 rtorie* of foreigu a"b,als " "" P''^^"''="' «^"<-'d for some 
 
 a tt^ah'r'uptToi^'-lt;"''^', '^^ "»•. -d 3aid, i„ 
 Worthiugton. He is ai P„ ^ ,""''"' ^^™'= '-^ Henry 
 "Oidier in India One Ifi '"""""• "'' ""'"' >"' "a. a 
 Punjab, he saw a motheT™ ? "" '™ '""'"°« i" 'be 
 baby aonkev. SirlomS "f/ ?"^'"' '^ ""'= ''-<' 
 i-Sle. Saw same m k^ytdl "" '" "'^ ^^™ 
 "onkey, all shriveled u'm 1 ■■•"'= '^"'■"^ '""'y 
 baby . nkey. and .tZ, gi^f;^"''^^ '»- Ler 
 
 Jit^ot;^^hLrr^..xhV'' ''^^^^-'-"- « 
 
 lionald-if it is tr„e.» ' " ''"^ Sood story. 
 
 ' ) ! 
 
 i 
 
\\\ 
 
 If.O 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 None of the cliildren Iauf,'hcd, but Mrs. Wood's fp.ce 
 got like a red poppy, and Miss I^aura bit her lip, an<l 
 Mr. Maxwell buried hi3 head in his arms, his whole iirame 
 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 lie in his life." 
 
 Tlie president remained standing, his face a deep scar- 
 let, and a tall boy at the back of the room got up and 
 said, '* Mr. President, what would be impossible in this 
 climate, might be possible in a hot country like India. 
 Doesn't heat sometimes draw up and preserve things? " 
 
 The president's face cleared. " Thank you for the sug- 
 gestion," he said. " I don't want to hurt anybody's feel- 
 ings ; but you know there is a rule in the band that only 
 true stories are to be ttld lure. We have five more 
 minutes for foreign stories. lias any one else one?" 
 
 > . 
 

 CHAPTER XZ. 
 
 BTOEiES ABOUT ANIMALS. 
 
 SMALL girl, with twinkling ey,., a„d a n. t 
 waa a little boy l,i. faJde, brou-bt hima 1 „ \'"' 
 
 ra:%tirrb-"z~ = 
 
 hea.at.be,e.de...1,l„..-^,-:Xt 
 
 Jlz:zr:-:i s^r^ ^ r-^ -f -and. 
 
 up again and ™\aer '■ Oh I fordo. " 1 "''''t "«'' 
 
 161 
 
 vt 
 
■ 1 
 
 !i't 
 
 il 
 
 I 
 
 |- 
 
 < ! 
 
 
 152 
 
 BEAirnPUL JOE. 
 
 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 Riverdaie boy v.as walking along the bank of a canal 
 in Hoytville. He saw a boy driving 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 Riverdaie boy shouted acros3 
 to him, begging bim not to be so cruel ; but the boy paid 
 no attention. Suddenly the horse turned, seized his tor- 
 mentor 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 River- 
 dale boy had to stuff his handkerchief in his mouih to 
 keep from laughing. 
 
 "It is to be hoped that he would learn a lessor." saic! 
 the president, " and be kinder to his horse in the ."uture. 
 Kow, Bernard Howe, your story." 
 
 The uoy 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 Lfi.ura 
 listened eagerly, for they were about Fairport. 
 
 The boy said that when his grandfather was young, he 
 lived in Fairport, Maine. On a certain day, he stood in 
 the market square to see thei; first staf,cv ach pat to- 
 gether. It had come from Boston in pieces, for there was 
 no one in Fairport ihat could make one. The coach went 
 uway up into the country one day, and came back the 
 ner.i. For a long time no one understood drivingr the 
 h'jrbes properly, and they came in day after day wi<h the 
 

 4 
 
 I 
 
 STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS. I53 
 
 to pass tbo„ as thev cToVnd "' "' """^ ''^ 
 
 at last saw he' hUnA T ° T '^""'"S "'^ '■"■^ 
 
 the boat were so aniv that rt'™u ^'"""^ "'"'' ™ 
 and gave the danc,;";" ' "iw ' "P," ?^''' ""^' 
 
 verrxtd':t;:d^i-::;„^.-.™ 
 
 " ^°",l,'^i"th« toads. l,e ugly toads. 
 Ihat hop around your door 
 
 Each meal the litr.e toad doth eat 
 A hundred bugs or more. 
 
 "He sits around with aspect meek. 
 Until thp bug hath npared 
 Then 8h„oj3 he forth his Httl'e tongue 
 Like lightning doubk -geared 
 
if 
 
 M * 
 
 164 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 And 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, be- 
 ing wash day, his landlady had put out a large washing. 
 Among the clothes on the line was a gray flannel shirt 
 belonging 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 din- 
 ner, 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 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 meanwhile. 
 
 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 tc 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 hira 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 fuH speed, for 
 he hadn't been seen at any of the stations, and the train« 
 
STORIES ABOCi- ANIMALS. 155 
 
 men were astonished to f^nd the a^ t 1 -. 
 
 After allhid tnl ,^ "='•' '""' ^™« more singing. 
 
 ing the past fortnight ^ ^"' ^'°^^^ ^"^- 
 
 ™y were taken from the water into the air. 
 
 A little g,rl had gotten her mother to sav that she 
 
 s».t who wf :t.4V;atttr: th .r- t:s: 
 
 sIZn' "The ' ?'u i""^ "■'''' '^'"•^'■^ reve,.ee Po- 
 sition. The man told her that the fo.vls didn't mind .„j 
 
 .he pnrsed up her smal' mouth and showed theh. nd h 
 she sai to hi™. "I would prefer the oXi of t t " 
 
 /, axia nad gone off carrying them as she 
 
 ' i '' I 
 
 *.. 
 
..;' 
 
 156 
 
 BFAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 m- 
 
 it I 
 
 wanted him to. She had also rer- acd with different boys 
 ouUside the village who were tlirowing stones at birds 
 and frogs, and sticking butterflies, and had invited them 
 to conic to the Band of Mercy. 
 
 Tliis child seemed to liave done more than any one else 
 for dumb animals. (She had taken around a petition to 
 the village boys, asking them not to search for birdd' oir">^ 
 and she had even gone into her father's stable, and asked 
 him to liold her up, so that she could look into the 
 horses' mouths to see if tiicir teeth wanted fdiug or were 
 decayed. When her father laughed at her, she told him 
 that hon<is ol'ten sufier terrible pain from their teeth, and 
 that sometimes a runaway is caused by a metal bit strik- 
 ing against the exposed nerve in the tooth of a horse that 
 has become almost frantic with pain. 
 
 hhe was a very gentle girl, and I think by the way that 
 she spoke that her fatlier 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 anv worrv 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 tlie toads, don't kill the birds. Every 
 bird killed is a loss to the country." 
 
 "That reminds me," saui the president, "to ask the 
 girls what they have done about the niilliuery busi- 
 ness." 
 
 "I have told ray mother," s d a tall, serious-faced 
 girl, " that I think it is wrong to wear bird feathers, and 
 
STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS. 157 
 
 glad to hear fa'm you " ^^"'"■''). "e are always 
 
 cluldren, " Dear boys and JrL 
 
 sh 
 
 had some nai.ors ^nn/, 7 ^ .. ''^ '''^°^°' "^ ^ave 
 
 »bo„t ti>: x^oT'o \t:ir Tr °"'™'« ^-^ '"^'^ 
 
 of tl,em to v„u .° You 11 L- „ '""" '" """" " f™ 
 plant tl,at grow, s«V H ' """''^ '""y '™ ^-^ 
 
 couldn't. row ahowVT '"""f '"^^■' "'"^ """ "'«/ 
 
 ilies and InT ? ' ' ^"^ '"^^"-^ ^^^e^- birds eat the 
 me. and gnats and mosquitoes that torment i.s so n1 
 
 ^s::^:rr:cT:t':t-SE£ 
 
 them * A „ "? "" '"' *."'■ "'' »"<1 l'»" ^'-e we rewarding 
 
 h^d.,„rHu,, beautiful bi:!t' Hlled tUt" X^htTeT^rt 
 and women may ornament themselves with tbeiTtol! 
 
 otl^trnea^P, -ilXir '^f T ^^ "'^^^ 
 In Florida cruel men shoot the mother birds on theT, 
 
 «!' 
 
*, 
 
 
 r 
 
 f 
 
 ■ 
 
 1 
 
 » 
 
 i' 
 
 1 
 
 
 } 
 
 158 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 nests while they are rearing their young, because their 
 plumage is prettiest at that time. The little ones cry pit- 
 ifully, and starve to death. Every bird of the rarer kinds 
 that is killed, such as humming birds, orioles, and king- 
 fishers 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 tiiat 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 1 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 in- 
 sect pests are increas; ig. The State of ^lassachusetts has 
 lost over one hundred thousand dollars because it did not 
 protect its birds. The gypsy moth stripped the trees near 
 Boston, and tlie 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.' " 
 
 ]\Irs. Wood went to her seat, and though the boys and 
 girls had listened very attentively, none of tbem cheered 
 h2r. Their faces looked sad, and they kept very quiet 
 for a few minutes. I saw one or two little girls wiping 
 their eyes. I tiiink they felt sorry for the birds. 
 
 " ILis 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-staliri with my penknife." 
 
STOniES ABOCT ANIMALS. ,59 
 
 prl^::,'"' '"^ «" *"" '° ■=°"-'" ^ "««? " -ied the 
 
 deal late at nijjhf T 1 2 1 ^Z " ''" '^'"'^ » Sood 
 
 came from SudlLy I t" uZ of thT 't "'''" '" 
 side the road, and wUwt' °f ""^ ^eep d.tch along. 
 
 washed away the'earth t ithe" hel: f u! T' ""^ 
 Within a foot or two nf th^ i t f ""^ ^^^S"° ^re 
 
 ^o.ese„„,dI^rh:fde:;:t.^nlT^^^^^ 
 
 sense enough to tppn nnf ..f ^ •:^ , ■ ^ "'^^^ 
 
 Father sai! th^ m ^ht L verX an/' ?"." T "■ 
 tad been broKen io%vitl^U?a ^i.^^''^.^ ,f '' "- 
 they would be incliued to shy if he took t . «■ ^"^ 
 
 frightened horse never knows when he has mVedthl 
 
 ^ Th' :rf '^"- ^^ ^^->-« thinks t' behind 
 
 pl";d f L n " '" ''^" ^°^ ^^ ^-'^ -^ that he ha. 
 pa^ed It. and he can't turn his head to have a good loc^ 
 
 liv ■ are^rost 'all' '°" '"^^^^ "^'^^^ °° '' ^^ -"-ti^t 
 lives are lost all on account of a little bit of leathpr 
 
 fas ened over a beautiful eye that ought to look out tl 
 and free at the world. That finishnd f.fi ^"""^"^ *"/ 
 
 he'd take off his blinders and if L t ^ '•- , ^' '""''^ 
 
 send n.P h.-ll f " ''^^^' ^°^ " he had an accident, he'd 
 send the bill for damages to Mr. Wood. But we've 1, J 
 no accident. The hordes did -lot y.ih , '^^ 
 
 ut uorseb aid act rather queerly at first, and 
 
160 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 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 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 sutler 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 dreadful 
 noises away down in their throats. Then they had 
 another good laugh, and the president became sober 
 again. " Seven mc, ru 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 
 - M 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 
 pinafore through her fingers. Every time the big girl 
 
STORIES ABO[JT ANIMAIA IQl 
 
 Weil, Cousin Eleanor," said the child « vo„ k„„_ 
 
 and beat\^, tUl t w^ Led^bS?"/' ""' "^^ '■^'■ 
 -ay. Then papa said he woJldttt^ Z 1"" '"" 
 whipped so much, and he toolc h^r -,!? P""' Pony 
 
 every day, and he petted ht and llT"' °' ''^""' 
 genUe, and never runs away" "^"^ "^ "'"7 
 
 "Tell about Tiger," said the girl 
 
 Ti;^:"; bri:/t:;:drbe'''\:i;"d'' •■^"■* ■-■- 
 
 Dr. Fairchild drL up to the h^ k'^- "*'' ""'' ''''™ 
 
 ..w. behind afd-rr^utX t; ccL^,: 
 iS^nirhe-r;rth-i£ 
 
 thfnl ''*'' ,\"'"'l """^ *"'' '■''«'''^. and I think he w«i 
 the plainest boy there, but that didn't naatter, if the otW 
 
I i 
 
 fill' 
 
 I o^ 
 
 EEADTIPDL JOE. 
 
 children loved him. He Eauntered up to the front, with 
 lu8 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 never had till I 
 came here to-day." Every one present cheered wildly, 
 and he began, in a sing-song voice : 
 
 " I am a Hand 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, 
 1 never throw a stone, 
 I always give a liungry dog 
 A nice, fat, meaty bono. 
 
 " I wouldn't drive a bob-tailed horso, 
 Nor hurry up a cow, 
 I " 
 
 Then he forgot the rest. The boys and girls were so 
 sorry. They called out, " Pig," " Goat," " Calf," " Bheep," 
 '* 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 
 ceiling, then he said, " I guess I'll have to give it up." 
 
 The children looked dreadfully disappointed. " Per- 
 haps you will remember it by our next meeting," said the 
 president, anxiously. 
 
 " Possibly," said the boy, " but probably not. I think 
 it is gone forever." And he went to his scat. 
 
 The next thing was to call for new members. Miss 
 Laura got up and said she would like to join their Band 
 of Mercy. I followed her up to the platform, while they 
 pinned a little badge on her, and every one laughed at 
 
STORIES ABOUT AXIMALR. • jgj 
 
 cu.t from Lor school Zt. ^"^ ^■""' ™ ° ''''■ 
 
 Mrs. Wood waited at" the door till Mr AfaTw^II ™ 
 
 better .l,^J'^ ^t^^C st1d t '''' '" '"<'"'' 
 r „rZ- °--" --. t'^^i^lu tilt lit 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 'U» 
 
 ■ 
 
 I' 1 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 u. 
 
 MR UAXWKLL AND MR. HARRT. 
 
 |R MAXWELL wore a coat with loose pockets, 
 aud whik 'i? was speaking, he rested on Lj 
 crutches, .nd 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 : " O^', ray 
 guinea pig," he exclaimed, " I forrot him," aud 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 
 Been any one like him. He had thick curly hair and a 
 white face, and he looked just like a girl. While I waa 
 Btaring at him, something peeped up out of one of his 
 pockets and ran out its tongue at me so last that I could 
 scarcely see it, and then drew back again. I was t liun- 
 derstruck. I had never seen such a creature before. It 
 was long and thin like a boy's cane, and of a oi.g it green 
 color like grass, and it had queer shiny eyes. But it3 
 tongue was the strangest part of it. It came and went 
 like lightning. I was uneasy about it and began ixj 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 oa 
 
 164 
 

 MR. MAXWELL AND MR. IIAURY. 1^5 
 
 barking And all the time that strange live thing kept 
 
 "It'8 getting on toward six," said Mrs. Wood, "we 
 iLust be going home. Come. Mr. MaxwcIJ " 
 
 Che young man put the guinea pig in his pocket, 
 -eked up his crutches, and we started down the sun nr 
 village street. He left his guinea pig at his boarding 
 house aa he went by but he said nothing about the ot "r 
 creature, so I knew he did not know it was there 
 
 .0 brlTt'aM T'^ ''^'° ^'''^ ^^'' ^^^^^^»- He seemed 
 ■o brigLt and happy, m spite of his lameness, which kept 
 
 hm from running about like other youn^ 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 toM 
 her too that h.s lameness made him love animals. Thoy 
 never laughed at him. or slighted him. or got impatient 
 because he could not walk quickly. They^er7aTrys 
 good to him, and he said he loved all animals while he 
 iiked very few people. 
 
 W^V^lfj^^^' ^ ^^' '""" ^^™P^"-^^ ^^0°^^' he said to Mrs. 
 vvood: I am getting more absent-minded every day 
 Have you heard of my latest escapade ? " 
 " No." she said. ^ 
 
 be'lli? ^M:" ^'n''P^¥- " ^ ^^ ^^'^^^ that it would 
 be ah ova the village by this time. I went to church 
 last Sunday with my poor guinea pig in my pockot. H. 
 hasn t been well, and I was attending to him beiore church, 
 and put him in there to get warm, and forgot about 
 
 Wl full, so I had to sit farther up ' m I usually do 
 During the first hymn I happened t'o .trike Pirytgain:; 
 
1C6 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 H* 
 
 ■i i » 
 
 r 
 
 the side of the 8c<it. Such an ear-splitting squeal aa be 
 eet up. It sounded asj 'f I was murdering him. The peo- 
 ple stared and stared, and I had to leave the church, 
 overwhelmed wivh confusion." 
 
 Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura laughed, and then they got 
 talkinf^ about other matters that were not interesting to 
 me, so I did not listen. But 1 kept close to Miss Laura, 
 for I was afraid thai green thing might hurt her. 1 won- 
 dered very much what its name was. I don't think I 
 should have feared ?t so much if I had Icnown 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 Ler little hand, and I licked it, 
 and wished so much that I could speak. 
 
 Sometimes I wisti very much that I had the gift of 
 ppeech, 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 aa 
 well, if they could speak. 
 
 When we reached tlie house, we got a joyful surprise. 
 There was a trunk standing on the veranda, and as soon 
 ae Mrs. Wood saw it, she gave a little shriek : " My dear 
 boy!" 
 
 Mr. Harrv was there, sure enough, and stepped out 
 through the open doo^. He took his mother in his arms 
 and kissed hor, 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 Mi^ Laura's feet and looked at Mr. Ilarrj'. He wa3 
 Buch 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. 
 
M MAXWELL AND MR. HARRY. 
 
 167 
 
 He seemed very fori of his mother and of Miss Laura, 
 and however grave his face might be when he waa looking 
 at Mr. Maxwell, it always lighted up when he turned to 
 them " What dog is that ? " he said at la^t, with a puz- 
 zled face, and pointing to me. 
 
 "Why, Harry," exclaimed Miss Laura, "don't you 
 know Beautiful Joe, that you r. ,cued from tha: wretched 
 milkman ? " 
 
 "Is it possible," he said, "that this well-conditioned 
 creature is the bundle of dirty skin and bones that we 
 
 nursed in Fairport? Come here, sir. Do you remember 
 me?" 
 
 Indeed I did remember him, and I Ucked his hands 
 and looked up gratefully into his face. " You're almost 
 handsome now," he said, caressing me with a firm kind 
 hand, " and of a solid build too. You look like a fighter 
 —but I suppose you wouldn't let him fight, even if he 
 wanted to, Laura," acd 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. 
 AVhen she finished, he put his head down to me, and mur- 
 mured, " 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 the> had done talking about me, she 
 asked m. Harry a number of questions about his college 
 life, and his trip to New York, for he bad not been study- 
 lug all the time that he was aw-iy. 
 
 i 
 
I ' 
 
 168 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 '^ 
 
 ' I 
 
 ii,-J« 
 
 *' What are you going to do ■;vith yourself, Gray, when 
 your college course is ended ? " asked Mr. Maxwell. 
 
 " I'm 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 pro- 
 fession." 
 
 "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 employ- 
 ment have you a surer living. I do not like the cities. 
 The heat and Just, and crowds of people, and buildings 
 overtopping one another, and the rush of living, take my 
 breath away. Suppose I did go to a city. J would sell 
 out my share of the farm, and have a few thousand aol- 
 lars. 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 tlie 
 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 Har- 
 vard. He says, scarcely one person in ten thousand bet- 
 ters himself permanently by leaving his rural home and 
 settling in a city. If one is a millionaire, city life is 
 agreeable enough, for one can always get away from it ; 
 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 seldom very poor or very rich. We stand 
 between the two dangerous classes — the wealthy and the 
 paupers." 
 
 " But most farmers lead such a dog's life," said Mr. 
 Maxwell. 
 
L'R. MAXWELL AND MR. HAERY, 1G9 
 
 "So they do ; farming isn't made one half m attractire 
 as It should be," said Mr. Harry. aitractire 
 
 Mr Maxwell smiled. "Attractive farming. Jurt 
 sketch an outline of that. .11 you, Gray V' ^ 
 
 tea7o'!,.*^fff .P''''''>^^ ^^'' ^"^^^' "^ ^''"^d like to 
 tear out of the heart of the farmer the thing that is b» 
 
 firmly implanted in him as it is in the heart of his cit7 
 
 thai t^^h'^' '""T' ''f '' '^^^^ "°^^ '^ ^-- «- -^ 
 than anything else under the sun " 
 
 ;; What is that ? " asked Mr. Maxwell, cur^'ously. 
 The thirst for gold. The farmer wants tc get rich 
 and he works so hard to do it that he wears him'self ot 
 soul and body, and the young people ...o.md fcm get so 
 disgusted with that way of getting rich, that thev go off 
 to the cities to find out some other way. or at least to 
 enjoy themselves, for I don't think many youn^ lZ2 
 ""'irT'^ by a desire to heap up monev/' "" ^ " 
 Mr. Maxwell looked amused. "There 'is certainly a 
 
 \V hat would be your plan for checking it ? " 
 
 hirl fr^^"^ °''^' 'i^l ^"'"" '" P^^''^^^"^ '^^' y^^ couldn't 
 hire the boys and g.rl. to leave it. I would have them 
 
 work, and work hard too. but whea their work was over 
 
 1 would let them have some fun. That is what they go to' 
 
 the ci y for. They want amusement and society, and to 
 
 get into some kind of a crowd whr their work is done. 
 
 Ihe young men and young women want to get together 
 
 a. IS o.ly natural. Now that ..ul. be done in the .1 
 
 try If farniers would be o^- .ted with smaller profits 
 
 and smaller farms. t..eir bo.,.es could le nea.er together. 
 
 Iheir children would have opportunities of social inter- 
 
 a)urse, there could be socici s and clubs, and that would 
 
 tend to a distribution of literature. A farmer ought to 
 
170 
 
 EEAUTTFUl. JOE, 
 
 
 i I 
 
 i. '. 
 
 1 ! 
 
 I 
 
 Eli 
 
 take five or six papers and two or three magazines. lie 
 would find it would pay Lira in the long run, and there 
 ought to be a law made, compelling him to go to the post 
 olfice 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 scnemcs 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 thf^ far- 
 mers around here spent so much time in discussing tiie art 
 of roadmakiug, as to whether it should be viewc^d fiuui 
 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 iu order, and so on, that we simply with- 
 drew. We keep our own roads iu order. Once a year, 
 father gets a gang of men and tackles every section of 
 toad 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 tLey have in some parta of 
 Europe, we would be able to travel comfortably over theoi 
 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." 
 
f 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE. 
 
 |riOM 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, waa yet glancing 
 at him admiringly. 
 
 _ When Mr. Harry was silent, he exclaimed, " You are 
 ng^t, 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, aua I tell you what vou would do too- you 
 uould empty the slums of the cities. It is the slowness 
 and dullness of country life, and not their poverty alone 
 tliat keep the poor in dirty lanes and tenement houses! 
 Ihey want stir and amusement too, poor souls, when their 
 day 3 work is over. I beheve they would come to the 
 country if it were made more pleasant for them." 
 
 " That is another question," said Mr. Harry, " a burn- 
 ing question in my mind-the labor and capital one. 
 W hen I was in New York, Maxwell, I was in a hospital, 
 and saw a number of men who had been dav laborers, 
 borne of them were oM and feeble, and others were young 
 men, broken down in the prime of life. Their limbs were 
 shrunken and drawn. They had been digging in the 
 earth, and working on high buildings, ancf confined in 
 
 17i 
 
 I 
 
172 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 ■H' 
 
 I' ! 
 
 dingy basements, and had done all kindaof 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 for- 
 saken. I looked at them, and they reminded me of the 
 martyrs c*" 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. Wo 
 should take better care of them, we should not herd them 
 together like cattle, and when wo 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 tliere," said a voice be- 
 hind him, and looking round, wo saw ]\Ir. Wood stand- 
 ing in the doorway, gazing down proudly at his step- 
 son. 
 
 Mr. Ha-ry smiled, and getting up, said, " Won't you 
 have my chair, si'* ?" 
 
 " No, thank you, your mother wishes us to come to tea. 
 There are muffins, and you know they won't improve 
 with keeping." 
 
 They all went to the dining room, and I followed them. 
 On the way, Mr. Wood said, " Right on top of that talk 
 of yours, Harry, I've got to tell you of another person 
 who is going to Boston to live." 
 
 " Who is it? " said Mr. Harry. 
 
 " Lazy Dan Wilson. I've been to see him this after- 
 noon. 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 be thinks maybe he'll get some lio-ht job 
 there." *' 
 
 
 i* " 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE. 173 
 
 Mr Harry looked grave, and Mr. Maxwell said "Tl. 
 ^•iJl starve, that's what he will do " ' 
 
 ^!L; I- • P'"'""' generation has a marvelous 
 way ot skimraiuir around anv H,„J ^f i "" , ^^'^^^ 
 },nn.?a rr, ,,° "^y""^ anykiud of work with their 
 Hands. They 11 work their brains fill f],« i "/'^^^^ 
 
 their uoses in a lot o Cob and trieTrfi ™"'"""' 
 
 gcJnau'ed, 'uJh" .Tr'"^"""^ Mr. Wo^d, with a 
 tr SOD aX ,„ " . 7u I'rcscut generation consists of 
 Bcr SOD, and tlie past of her husband. I don't thinl; all 
 
 to snppon au onr;:itra;;e:r:n'rdorr Thof:- 
 
 light a Ittle more, and raise so.,,, more criminal, and 
 v= ve got to takoto eating pies an,i donghnntsTr teak 
 
 wm TT; "' '°"?,°'°" J™"S ^P-outs"rom the col t 
 Will go a begr^iiig." ""'^o^^ 
 
 "You don't mean to undervalue the advantages of a 
 good educatjoD do you, Mr. H'ood ?" said Mr mIx^H 
 ^°; "°. look at Harry there. Isn'c he pegging a^vr at 
 h studies wth my hearty aj.proval? and h?sg5-"t„'be 
 uoth ng but a p a,n, common farmer. But he'll be a better 
 ce tLau I ve been though, because he's got a La .d 
 
 ii 
 
174 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 i'H 
 
 I ; 
 
 I 
 
 » ! 
 
 rte 
 
 I, 
 
 r I 
 
 f I 
 J 
 
 mind. I found that out when he was a lad going to the 
 village school. He'd lay out hia 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 way or other we're running more to brains and less 
 to hard work than our forefathers did." 
 
 Mr. Wood was beating on the table with his forefinger 
 while he talked, and 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 yeilow cream like this 
 in the village, Mr, Maxwell ? " 
 
 " No, Mrs. AVood," he said, " ours is a much paler yel- 
 low," and then there was a g-eat tinkling of china, and 
 passing of dishes, and talking and laughing, and no ono 
 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 
 friE:utened Miss Laura, I could jump up and catch it. 
 
 When tea was half over, she gave a little cry. I 
 sprang up on h^r lap, and there, gliding over the tablo 
 tov.-ard her, was the wicked-looking, green thing. I 
 stopped on the table, and had it by the middle before it 
 could gei 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 un- 
 comfortable. 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 dis- 
 tress, and ^Ir, Maxwell struck me on the back, so I let 
 the thing go, and stood sheepishly looking about mo. 
 i^Ir. Wood was leaning back in his chair, laughing with 
 all his might, and ilrs. Wood was staring at her untidy 
 
I 
 
 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE. 175 
 
 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 
 
 ha[/'Vr^M ^ ^'n ^°^^^^^«"^' «o I slunk out into the 
 }l\ ^^'Z Maxwell was sitting on the lounge, tearing his 
 handkerchief in strips and tying them around the frea 
 ture where my teeth had stuck in. I had been careful 
 not t« h,rt,t much, for I knew it was a pet of his bu 
 he did not know that, and scowled at me, sayin. "'you 
 rascal you've hurt my poor snake terribi;.''^ - ^°" 
 I ielt so badly to hear this that I went and stood with 
 my head in a corner. I had almost rather be whipped 
 han scolded. After a while. Mr. Maxwell went back 
 into the room, and they all went on with their tea I 
 could hear Mr Wood's loud, cheery voice, "The dog did 
 quite right. A snake is mostly a poisonous creature and 
 
 I wmild not move till Miss Laura came and spoke to 
 me Dear old dog." she whispered, "vou knew the 
 snake was there all the time, didn't you?'' Her wo dl 
 made me fee better, ana I followed her to the ZZ 
 room, where Mr. Wood made me sit beside him and eat 
 scraps from his hand all through the meal. 
 
 tin! "i'n rr^l ^'^ ^'' ''''' ^'' "^ ^^^^'^' -"^ -as chat- 
 ting in a hvely way. "Good Joe," he said- "I was 
 
 cross to you, and I bog your pardon. It alwav; riles m" 
 
 poor snake was only after something to eat. Mrs. Wood 
 has pinned him in my pocket so he won't come out a- JiH 
 where I got that snake, Mrs. Wood ? "^ 
 
 Do 
 
 No," she said ; "you neve 
 
 It was 
 
 er told me. 
 
 across the river by Blue Ridge." he said. " One 
 
\\ I ' 
 
 :SU-: 
 
 17G 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 
 :ill 
 
 • I 
 
 day last summer I was out rowing, and, getting very hot, 
 tied my boat in the shade of a big tree. Some village 
 boys were in the woods, and hearing a great noise, I went 
 to see what it was all about. They were Band of Mercy 
 boys, and finding a country boy beating a snake to death, 
 they were remonstrating with him for iiis cruelty, telling 
 him that some kinds of snakes were a help to the farmer, 
 and destroyed large numbers of field mice and other ver- 
 min. The boy was obstinate. He had found the suake, 
 and he insisted upon his right to kill it, and they were 
 having rather a lively time when I appeared. I per- 
 suaded 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 how 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 followed it. 
 
 " It swam slowly aud 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, 
 throwmg up blood aud water. I took it up carefullv, 
 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 MI. , Laura 
 had helped Adele finish the work, they all gathered in 
 the parlor. The day had beeu quite warm, but now a cool 
 wind had sprung up, and Mr. Wood said that it was blow- 
 ing up rain. 
 
 Mrs. Wood said that she thought a fire would be pleas- 
 ant ; so they lighted the sticks of wood in the open grate, 
 aud all sat round the blazing fire. 
 

 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE. 177 
 
 Mr. Maxwell tried to get me to make friends with the 
 httle snake that he held in his hands toward the blaze 
 and now that I knew that it was harmless I was not afraid 
 ot 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 win- 
 dows, and Mr Maxwell said, "This is just the night for 
 
 yZL S ""^'"^^^^ ^"^ ^' ^°"' ^^P^"^-^' -^'* 
 
 nr^^'^'l''^'^! ^''^^ ^'"^" ^^ '^'^' good-humoredly. 
 
 He was sitting between his wife and Mr. liarry, 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 runnmg in my head for many a day. There 
 IS a good deal of talk nowadays about kindness to domes- 
 tic animals, but I do not hear much about kindness to 
 wild ones. The same Creator formed them both ' do 
 not see why you should not protect one as well a- the 
 other. I have no more right to torture a bear than a 
 
 'T; , • M ^ "'i'^ '''''"'^^' ^'^""^ ^^'^ a^e getting pretty 
 well killed off, but there are lots in other places. I used 
 to be fund of hunting when I was a boy, but ' hav- got 
 rather disgusted with killing 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 snort we had when 
 1 was a youngster?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," they all exclaimed. 
 
 II 
 
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 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ., H 
 
 TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS. 
 
 JELL," 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 ausky 
 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 slioots 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 whatever comes in 
 their way. They hate mosquitoes, and when they're tor- 
 mented by them its just as well to be careful about ap- 
 proaching them. Like all other creatures, the Lord has 
 put into them a wonderful amount of sense, and when a 
 female moose has her one or two fawns she goes into tho 
 178 
 
 H 
 

 
 
 r 
 
 Mciose wore our l.est oaine "-/. 17N. 
 
h 
 
 m 
 
 
 It 
 
 ?! 
 
 1 i 
 
 
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 Hiiiii 
 
 
 i^^^H "'*'*' 
 
 1 ■ 
 
 
 
 ^^^^^HKjStij 
 
 1... 
 
TRAPPIXG WILD ANIMALS. 
 
 179 
 
 deepest part of the forest, or swims to islands in large 
 lakes, till they are able to look out for themselves. 
 
 Well, we used to like to catch a moose, and we had 
 different ways of doing it. One way was to snare them. 
 We'd make a loop in a rope and hide it on the ground 
 under the dead loaves in one of their paths. This was 
 connected with a > oung sapling whose top was bent down. 
 When the moose stepped on the loop it would release the 
 sapling, and up ic 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, raging and tearing around, and 
 scratching the skin off his legs. That was cruel. I 
 wouldn't cat(;h 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 tli(> summer they wander about over the forest, 
 and in thn autumn they come together in small groups, 
 and select a liundred or two of acres where :here is plenty 
 of heavy uridergrowth, and to which they usually confine 
 themselves. They f^o this so that their tracks won't tell 
 their enemies where they are. 
 
 "Any of 1 hese places where there were several moose 
 we called a moose yard. We went through the woods 
 till we got oil to the tracks of some of the animals belong- 
 ing to it, th.-, t the dogs smelled them and went ahead to 
 start them. If I shut my eyes lOW I can see one of our 
 moose hunts. The moose running and plunging through 
 the snow cru?f , and occasionally risin, up and striking at 
 the dogs that hang on to his" bleeding ilanks and legs. 
 The hunters' lifles going crack, crack, crack, soraetimep 
 
■i 
 
 180 
 
 BSAUTIPUL JOE. 
 
 killing or wounding dogs as well as moose. Thfct 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 
 uiorning. 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 answer- 
 ing grunt? would start oflf 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 listen, and then the caller had to be 
 very careful and put his trumpet down close to the 
 ground, so as to make a lower sound. If the moose 
 felt doubtful he'd turn ; if not, he'd come on, and un- 
 lucky for bira if he did, for he got a warm reception, 
 either from the rifles in our hands as we lay hid near 
 the ( ler, 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 
 
TBAPPD^O WIL1> ANIMALS. 
 
 J81 
 
 bear-creeping on them, and they'd be up and awav 
 Their sense of hearing is very keen, but they're not so" 
 
 ^^^hir-nor^^^^^^'^^^-^^'--^^ 
 
 Thpffl^'"'"? ^ ^^.^'^'^ "'"'■"^"^ ^*y to ki" a moose 
 Then they haven t the fright and suflenng of the cha^'' 
 
 1 don t see why they need to be killed at aU." said 
 t^^; "f n 7^^,!^-- that forest back of the'mou; 
 tarns was full of wild creatures, I think I'd be glad of it 
 and not want to hunt them, that is, if they were harmlea; 
 and beautiful creatures like the deer " 
 
 "You're a woman," said Mr. Wood, "and women are 
 more merciful tnan men. Men want to kill and slay 
 They re like the Englishman, who said : ' What a fi^ 
 day It 13 ; let's go out and kill something.' " 
 
 "Please tell us some more about the dogs that hebed 
 
 you catch the moose, v.ncle," said Miss Laura. I was 
 
 ^° Ir" V^ ''.'^'^^^ ^'''^^ ^''' ^i^tening to every 
 
 """' w n T °°^ '^'^' ^""^ '^^ ^^ f^^dli^g my head. 
 
 Well, Laura when we camped out on the snow and 
 slept on spruce boughs while we were after moose, the 
 dogs used to be a great comfort to us. They slept at our 
 feet and kept us warm. Poor brutes, they mostly had a 
 rough time of it They enjoyed the running an/ch^ng 
 as much aa we did, but when it came to broken ribs and 
 jore heads It was another matter. Then the porcupines 
 bothered them. Our dogs would never learn to let them 
 alone. It they were going through the woods where there 
 were no signs of moose and found a porcupine, they'd kill 
 It The quills wouiQ 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, ^metimes our jack- 
 knives, and pull out the nasty things. If we got hold of 
 
 m 
 
182 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 tho dogs at once, we could pull out the quills with our 
 fingers. Sometimes the quills had worked in, and the 
 dogs would go home and lie by the fire with ru. ning 
 •ores till they worked out. I've seen quills work right 
 through dogs. Go in on one side, and come out oa 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 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 hunt- 
 ing 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 "^bout 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 ot 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 
 
TRAPPING WILD ANIMAU. 
 
 183 
 
 US to hear them, the bears would worry them till they 
 were dead. ' 
 
 " As for the sheep, they never made any resistance, 
 llieyd meekly run in a corner wi.3n they saw a bear 
 coming, and huddle together, and he'd strike hl them 
 and scratcii 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 any- 
 thing 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 vengeance against that bear He'd 
 be almost sure to come back for more, so for a while after 
 that we ahvays put the sheep in the barn at nights, and 
 set a trap by the remains of the one he had eaten 
 
 "Ever>'body hated bears, and hadn't much pity for 
 tbem ; still they were only getting their meat as other wild 
 anmials 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. AVhen he at- 
 tempted 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 fore- 
 leg that was caught, and he would put his hind feet 
 against the jaws of the trap, and then draw by pressing 
 with his feet, tiU be would stretch those tendons to their 
 utmost extent. 
 
184 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 Ml' 
 
 
 ij 
 
 .1 
 
 i(.> \ 
 
 HI 
 
 " I Lave known them to work away till they really 
 pulled these tendons out of the foot, and got off. It wan 
 a great event in our neighborhood when a bear was 
 caught Whoever caught him blew a horn, and the men 
 and boys came trooping together to see the sight. I've 
 known them to blow that horn on a Sunday morning, 
 and I've seen the men turn their backs on the meeting 
 house to go and see the bear." 
 
 " Was there no more merciful way of catching them 
 than by this trap ? " asked Miss Laura. 
 
 " Oh, yes, by the deadfall— that is by driving heavy 
 Bticks 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. An- 
 other way, was to fix bait in a certain place, with cords 
 tied to it, which cords were fastened to triggers of guns 
 placed at a little distance. When the bear took the bait, 
 the guns went off, and he shot himself 
 
 " Sometimes it took a good many bullets to kill them. 
 I remember one old 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 hb winter's sleep. A Jot 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 through the 
 trees espied a bear. He was standing up on hit^ hind legs 
 inufiuig in every direction, and just about the time I 
 
 II 
 
TRAPPINO WILD ANIMALS. 
 
 186 
 
 espied hira, he espied me. I had no dog and no gun, so 
 1 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 wood»-hat gone, jacket flying, arms out, eyes roll- 
 ing over my shoulder every little while to see if the bear 
 waa gaming on me. He was a benevolenMookiag olc^ fel- 
 low, 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 slashing down the corn v 'th her 
 paws, to get at the ears. She smelled me. and getting 
 frjghtened, 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 
 Carm she and her cubs took into a tree. I sent my dog 
 home, and my father and some of the neighbors came. It 
 had gotten dark by this time, so we built a fire under the 
 tree, and watched all night, and told stories to keep each 
 other awake. 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. 
 
 ■\A 
 
186 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOB. 
 
 " No, my dear, we shot it." 
 
 " How cruel 1 " cried Mrs. Wood. 
 
 "Yea, weren't we brutes?" said her husband; "but 
 there was so'ae excuse for us, Hattie. The bears ruined 
 our farms. This kiud of huuting that hunts and kills 
 for the mere sake of slaughter is very dilforent 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, muu-eating tigers, or 
 animals that destroy property, it would be a different 
 thing." 
 
^7^t^ 
 
 ^im<mmc^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE RABBIT AND THE HEN. 
 
 OU had foxes ip in Elaine, I suppose, Mr. W^'ood, 
 hadn't you ? " asked Mr. Maxwell. 
 " Heaps of them. I always want to laugh 
 when I think of oui foxes, for they were so cute. Never 
 a fox did I catch in a trap, though ^'J sot many a one. 
 I'd take the carcass of some creature that ha died, a 
 sheep, for instance, and put it in a field near the woods, 
 and the foxes would come and cat 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 tir 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 thin^ 
 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. Theyd catch an ani-nal by 
 the leg and sometimes break the bone. The leg would 
 bleed, and below the jaws of the trap it would freeze, 
 there being no circulation of the blood. Those steel tri ^ 
 
 187 
 

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 jP;" 
 
 ^^{ 
 
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 J 
 
 •» 
 
 188 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 are an abomination. The people around here use one 
 made on the same principle for catching rats. I wo aldn't 
 have them on my place for any money. I believe we've 
 got to give an account for all the unnecessary suffer- 
 ing we put on animals." 
 
 " You'll have some to answer for, John, according to 
 your own story," said Mi-s. 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 I was pretty carefully 
 brought up too, according to our light in those days. I 
 often think that if I was cruel, with all the instruction I 
 had to be merciful, what can be expected of the children 
 that get no good teaching at all when they're young." 
 
 " Tell us some more about the foxes, Mr. Wood," said 
 Mr. Maxwell. 
 
 " "'Veil, \,e used to have rare sport hunting them with 
 fo'- jouiids. 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 fr rth, 
 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 
 behind. He was leader in scent, but he did rot lika 
 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 fol- 
 lowed him in single file, going pretty slow, so as to er.abl* 
 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 wa8 disturbed, he would leave his bed under some 
 
 If 
 
 i'il 
 

 
 ^2^^ 
 
 THE RABBIT AND THE HEN. 
 
 189 
 
 thick flr or spruce branches near the ground. This flung 
 hia 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. The'i he. cunning 
 creature, would begin to bother them. He wou.i 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, ^nd 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 climb 
 a leaning tree, and then jump to the ground. This trick 
 would soon be found out. Then he'd try another. He 
 would make a circle of a quarter of a mile in circumference. 
 By making c loop in his course, he would come in behind 
 the hounds, and puzzle them between the scent of his first 
 and followiu- 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 Cv.uld, 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 apprnach it on the windward side. If the fox got 
 
 
m 
 
 !l^ 
 
 1 
 
 a ' 
 
 190 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 a sniff of human scent, he would leave his circle very 
 quickly, and make tracks fast to be out of tl tnger. 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, 
 1 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 indistinct. 
 The shooting had to be quick. As soon as the report of 
 the gun was hcurd, the hounds ceased to bay, and made 
 for the spot. If the for was dead, they enjoyed the scnnt 
 of his blood. If only wounded, they went after him 
 with all speed. Sometimes he was overtaken and killed, 
 and sometimes he got into his burrow in the earth, or in 
 a hollow los, 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 
 gt.ve 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, aud the fox was light, 
 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, 
 
■^^r* 
 
 THE RABBIT AND THE HEN. 
 
 191 
 
 ^^t hTm "^"^^ "^ """"^ '^^' ^ """^ """'^ unwilling to 
 
 •'^^c" "^'"^ ^*'"'' ^^^^^ *^^P= '^^^e cruel things, uncle " 
 said Miss Laura. " Why didn't you have a deadfall for 
 tbe toxes 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 thev are obli-od 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 pole, that would 
 throw them 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 
 bia boat and roweJ across, when the fox got up and ran 
 away ? " <= t- 
 
 "Now, uncle," said IMiss Laura, "you're laughine at 
 me. That couldn't be true." 
 
 "No, no," said Mr. Wood, chuckling, "but they'ro 
 mighty cute at pretending they're dead. I once shot ono 
 in the morning, carried him a long way on ray 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 foicrned 
 doath. 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. 
 
 • "?\^ ^umber. Otters and beavers-we caught them 
 in deadfal.. and in steel traps. The mink we usually 
 took in dcdfalls, smaUer, of course, than tJie ones we 
 
'''y*-7: 
 
 - ^! •''^■^•.JXr'r— 
 
 ■*'''S?- 
 
 
 mm 
 
 I'. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 lued for the bears. The musk-rat we caught in box traps 
 like a mouse trap. The wild-cat we raa down like the 
 loup cervier " 
 
 " Wiiat kind of an animal is that ? " asked Mr. Max- 
 well. 
 
 "It is a lynx, belonging to the cat species. They used 
 to prowl about the country killing hens, geese, and some- 
 times sheep. They'd fix their tushes in the sheep's neck 
 and suck the blood. They did not think much of the 
 sheep's flesh. We ran them down with dogs. They'd 
 often run up trees, and we'd shoot them. Then there 
 were rubbits 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 killing dumb 
 creatures, and the older I get, the more chicken-hearted 
 I am about it." 
 
 " Chicken-hearted — I should think you are," said Mrs. 
 Wood. " Do you know, Laura, he won't even kill a fowl 
 for dinner. He gives it to cue of the men to do." 
 
 " * Blessed are the merciful,' " said Miss Laura, throw- 
 ing her arm over her uncle's shoulder. "I love you, 
 dear Uncle John, because vou 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 upEtairs. Mr. Wood turned 
 
THE RABBIT AND TKE HEN. I93 
 
 to Mr. Maxwell "You're going to stay all night with 
 U3, aren't you ? " o"" «"■" 
 
 smile.' ^^''' ^^"""^ ''^'''" ''P^^'^ *^' y°"°g °^^' ^th a 
 "Of course," she said. "I couldn't think of ^ettin- 
 you go back to the village such a night as this. It's rain^ 
 ng cat. ana dogs-but I mustn't say that, or there'l be 
 no ge ting you to stay. I'll go and prepare your old 00m 
 uext to Harry's." And she bustled away 
 
 -nd mi'r ^Z^'^'ir']' '' '^' P^"^'->' ^'^' d«"."hnuts 
 'Good I ' '". ■, ^^'"^ '''"^ gazing down at mo. 
 
 Good dog he saul, "you looked as if you sensed th.t 
 talk to-n,gut. 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 do 
 I .oye human beings; and the saddest time of dav for 
 
 2ei ^"' '' '^ ''''''''' ^■••^- *^'- -^^le th!; 
 
 r„n o^ A ^7"" ^^'' ^^^ '^'•^°=^^ ""^'^^ the house, 
 run out and bark. Don't be chasing wild anim.ls in 
 P.ur s ecp, though. They say a dog l the only an m 
 that dreams. I wonder whether it's true?" Then he 
 went iut<^ the house and shut the door 
 
 r had a sheepskin to lie on, and a verv good bod it 
 rif \;lf^'?^^-^'y^^^-lon:rtirne; then 1 waked up 
 
 and daikucss everywhere, it wiis quite light. The rain 
 was over, and the moon was shining beautifully. I ral 
 
 The nV " '1 ''•'''' ""'• '^ "^ ^^"^-^ - li/ht as da," 
 f-^rnTZ "''/r^ ^"«^* all around the house amJ 
 farm buildings, and I could look all about and see that 
 there was no one stirrmg. I took a turn around the yard 
 
m^ 
 
 ii 
 
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 * I 
 
 11 
 
 194 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
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 and walked around to the side of the house, to glance up 
 at Mis3 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 sniuil, whiie 
 things moving away down the lane. I stood on the ve- 
 randa and watched them. When they got nearer, I saw 
 tiiat there was a white rabbit hopping up the road, iui- 
 lowed by a white hen. 
 
 It seemed tome 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. 1 ran down 
 on the road and stood in frunt of them. 
 
 Just as soon as the hen saw mc, she fluttered in front 
 of the rabbit, and spreading out her wings clucked an- 
 grily, and acted as if she would peck my "jyes out if I 
 came nearer. 
 
 I saw that they were harmless c-eatures, and remember- 
 ing my adventure with the snake, I stepped aside. Besides 
 that, I knew by their smell that they had been near Mr. 
 Maxwell, so perh-ips 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 I'ell behind. It seemed to me that the hen was sleepy, 
 and didn't like to be out so late at night, and was only 
 following the rabbit because she thought it was her duty. 
 
 He was going along in a very queer fashion, putting 
 his nose to the ground, and rising up on his hind leg?, 
 and sniffing the air, first on this side and then on the 
 other, and his nose going, going all the time. 
 
 Ke smelled all around the house till he came to Mr. 
 Maxwell's room at the back. It opened on the veranda 
 by a glass door, and the door stood ajar. The rabbit 
 squeezed himself in, and the hen stayed out. She watched 
 
THE KABBIT AND THE HEN. 
 
 195 
 
 for a while, and when he didn't come back, she flew up 
 on the back of a chair that stood near tlie door, and put 
 nor head under her uiu-'. 
 
 I went back to my bed, f„r I knew they would do u<> 
 liarm. Early in the morning, when I was walking around 
 the house, I heard a great shouting -ind laughing from 
 Mr. Maxwell's room, lie and Mr. Hurrv had just dis- 
 covered the hen and the rabbit; and Mr. ir^rrv was Gall- 
 ing his mother to come and look at ihcm. The rabbit 
 had slept on the foot of the l)ed. 
 
 Mr. Harry was chaffing Mr. Maxwell very much, an.l 
 was telling nim that any one who entertained him was in 
 lor a traveling menagerie. Tiiey had a great deal of 
 fun over It, and Mr. Maxwell said that h. had had that 
 pretty, white hen as a pet f u- a long time in IWoi. 
 Once when she had some little chickens, a fricrhientd rab- 
 bit that was being chased by a dog, ran into the yard 
 In his terror he got right under the hen's wings, and she 
 she tered him, and pecked at the dogs eyes, and kept him 
 ott till help came. The rabbit belonired to a neighbor's 
 boy, and Mr. Maxwell bought it from hi,n. From the 
 day the hen protected him, she became his friend, and 
 lollowed him everywhere. 
 
 I did not wonder that the rabbit wanted to see his mas- 
 ter There was sometliing about that young man that 
 made dumb animals just delight in him. When .Mrs 
 Wood mentioned this to him he said, " I don't know why 
 they should-I don't do anything to fascinate them " 
 ^ " You love them," she said, " and they know it. That 
 IS the reason." 
 
|i I 
 
 CHArTER XXV. 
 
 A HAPPY IIOKSE. 
 
 r;i 
 
 'or a ?nod whilo after I wont to Din^ley Farm 
 1 was vorv shy of the horses, for I was afraid 
 tlkC'V m'lL'ht kick me, thinking; that I was a bad 
 dog like Bruno. However, they all had such good faces, 
 and looked at me so kindly, that 1 was beginning to get 
 over my fear of them. 
 
 Flectfoot, Mr. Harry's colt, was my favorite, and one 
 afternoon, when Mr. Ilarry and Miss Laura were going 
 out to see him, I followed thera. Fleetf lot was amusing 
 himself by rolling over and over on the grass under a 
 tree, hut when he saw Mr. Harry, he gave a shrill 
 \\hinnv. 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 ' ow." 
 He gave tlie colt some sign, and immediately he began to 
 paw the ground and shake his head. 
 
 Mr. Harry laughed and went on : " Here is her dog 
 Joe, I want you to like him too. Come here, Joe." I 
 was not at all'afraid, for I knew Mr. Harry would not let 
 him hurt me, so I stool in front of him, and for the first 
 time had a good look at him. They called him the colt, 
 196 
 
 •m 
 
A HAPPY HORSE. 
 
 197 
 
 but he was rea ly a full-grown horse, and had alreadr 
 
 had a well-shaped body and a long, hiindsome hoa.l Ld I 
 never saw ,n the head of a n.an or be:., a .ore be".: fu 
 air of eyes than that colt had-large, full, brown eyes 
 ^ey were that he turned on n.e almostasa ,er Jwoui? 
 He looked me all over as if to say : " Are' vou a good 
 dog. and will you treat n,e kindly, or are vou' a bad one 
 hke Bruno, and wHl you ch.se xne and snap at my hel 
 and worry me. so that I shall want to kick vou v^'^ 
 
 and 1 ftcMl myself on my hind legs toward him. hJ 
 emed pleased and put down his nose to sniifat me an 1 
 
 then we were inends. Friends, and such good frien^.X 
 
 nex to J,m and Bdly, I have loved Fleetwood. 
 
 Mr Harry pulled some lumps of sugar out of his 
 
 pocket, and givmg them to Miss Laura, told her to pu 
 
 tZod^ C 1'T 'r' ''"' '-'' '' out^attlLd 
 her with hi. -1 ? '^'' '"="' ^"^ ^•^ '^' ti"^« eved 
 
 ex cla^ What' T"/-' ^''"^^' ''"'' -^^^ "^^ 
 excjaim . \v hat a wise-lookni'^- colt ' " 
 
 "He is like an old horse," said Mr. Plarrv. "When 
 he hears a sudden noise, he stops and looks all aboui hi.u 
 to hnd an explanation." 
 
 ^'He ha.s been well trained," said Miss Laura. 
 
 "Realin r'"f ^"""^ '""''^^^y" ''^'^^ ^^^- Harrv. 
 coTt H./h ' ^^^" .^^^'-^ted more like a dog than 'a 
 
 thing^I^handle, and seems to want to know the reason of 
 
 "Yourniother says," replied Miss Laura, "that she 
 found you both asleep on the lawn one day 4t summ 
 and the colt's head was on your arm." ''"mmer, 
 
198 
 
 r.TJAurrFtTL joe. 
 
 I 
 
 Mr. Harry Emiied and threw liis arm ovor the colt'a 
 11. ck. "We've been comrades, haven't we, Fleetfoot? 
 I've been alraost a-^hamcd of his devotion. lie has fol- 
 lowed me to the villajre, and lie always wants to \:o iisli- 
 iiyy with me. He's four years old now, so he ought to 
 get over those coiti.-li ways. I've driven liim a good 
 (l(>al. We're going out in the bug'jy tliis aCtornoon, will 
 you come? " 
 
 •' Where are yon croine ? " a.«ked INIiss Laura. 
 
 "Just ior a short drive back of the river, to cidlect 
 some money for father. I'll be home long before tea 
 time." 
 
 " Yes, I shoul.l like to go," said Miss Laura. " I will 
 go to the house and get my other hat." 
 
 "Come on, Fleotfoot," said :\Ir. Harry. And he led the 
 way from the pasture, the colt followiiig behind with me. 
 I waited about the veranda, and in a short time Mr. 
 1 larry drove up to the front door. The buggy was black 
 and shining, and Flcetfoot had on a silver-mounted har- 
 ness that made hira look very fine. He stood gently 
 switching his long tail to keep the flics away, and with 
 liis head turned to see who was going to get int"> 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 racing down the lane by his side, so 
 happy to think he was my friend. He l^ked 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 Flcetfoot gave his head a little 
 toss in a certain way, I knew that he wanted to have a 
 race. He had a beautiful even gait, and went very 
 swiftly. Mr. Harry kept speaking to him to check him. 
 
A HAPPY HORSE. 
 
 199 
 
 " You don't like him to go too fast, do you ? " said Misa 
 
 " No," ho returno<l. " I think we could make a rP-nr 
 '.t lum if uc liked, hut father and I don't go in for fast 
 horses. There id too much said alx.ut fast trotters and 
 race horses. On s.jme of th.e farms around here, the 
 [)r< pie have go jc mad on hreeding fast horses. An ol.l 
 lari.K'r out in the country had a common cart-horse that 
 ho suddenly tound out had great po\vcr3 of ppee<i and 
 < ndurance. He sold him to a speculator for a bi- price 
 .•nui it^ has set everyhody wild. If the people who give 
 ^11 their time to it can't raise fast horses, I don't see how 
 the iarmers can. A fast horse on a farm is ruination 
 to the boys, for it starts them racing und bettu.cr. Father 
 says he is g ,ing to oll'er a prize for the fastest w'alker that 
 (an be bred in New Hamp^l.ire. That Dutchman of 
 '>'-irs, heavy as he is, is a fair walker, and Cleve and Pacer 
 (an each walk four and a half miles an hour." 
 
 " Why do you lay such stress ou their walking fast? " 
 r.sked Miss Laura. 
 
 " Because so much of the farm work must be done at r 
 Tralk. Ploughing, teaming, and drawing produce to 
 Market, :ind goin- up and down hills. Even for the 
 cities It is good to have fast walkers. Trottin^r on city 
 pavements is very hard on the dray horses. If°they are 
 allowed to go at a quick walk, their legs will keep stron- 
 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 wavs we are a great 
 (leal better off in this new country than the p--^.Ie 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 bard 
 
 i 
 
 

 r:S5jt^;i,, 
 
 ^r 
 
 200 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOf:. 
 
 usage. Poor brutes, there U a better time coming for 
 thorn though. Wiioa electricity is more fully developed, 
 we'll see some wonderful changes. As it is, last year iu 
 (iillerent places, about thirty thousand horses were 
 released Iroui thoso aboniiuabie hursc ears, by having 
 eieetricily intn^duced on the roads. Well, Fleetioot, do 
 yoa want another spin ? All rigiit, my boy, go ahead." 
 
 Away we went again along a bit of level road. Fleet- 
 toot had no cheek-rein on his bei'.utiAd nuck, and when 
 lie trotted, he could hold his head in an eas'., natural 
 position. With his wonderful eyes 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 %>hen Mr. Harry spoke to him to 
 slow up again, he tossed his head with impatience. But 
 he was too sweet-tempered to dis(jbey. In all the years 
 that I have known Fleetfoot, I iiave never once seen biia 
 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 F'eetfoot, I'd knock him down.'" His voice 
 was so severe that I glanced up into the buggy. Ho 
 looked just as he did the day that he stretched Jenkins on 
 the grcu.'' 1, and gave him o beaiing. 
 
 '*' I am glad ^ ou don't," said Miss Laura. " You 
 are iiice the Russians. Many of them control their horses 
 by their voices, and call them such pretty names. But 
 you have to use a whip for some horses, dcn't you, Cousin 
 Harry ? " 
 
 *• Yea, Laura. There are many vicious horses that 
 
HAPPY ilORSE. 
 
 can't be controlled cthorwise. and then with -nany horses 
 oue^requ.ro.s a whip iu case of necessity for urging th.u, 
 
 ;| I suppose Fleotfoot n.vor lmlk3." said Miss Laura. 
 ^o,_ replied Mr. Harry ; " Dutchman sometimes do.- 
 and we .a^e two e.uvs lor him. hoth . ,ually good. Wc 
 uke up a furehn^t and .trike his .hoe two or three times 
 ^Mt . astone The operation alway. interests him -nvatlv 
 and l-.e usually start... If he do^.u't go fur that. wc^pass'J 
 -e round lus for.le,, at the k:,.e joint, then go in'Z,t 
 o lam and draw on the lin . Father won't l^t the men 
 use a whip, unless tliey an- '-iven to it." 
 
 "Fleetfoot has had a happy iHe. hasn't he?" said Mi.s 
 Laura. looking admiringly at him. <• Jiow did he <ret to 
 III-', you so naich, Harry?" * 
 
 "1 broke him in after a fjishion of my own. Father 
 gave him to me, and tlie lir.t time I saw him on hi« feet 
 i wen. up earefully and put my hand on him. His mothe; 
 
 wasrathershyofme.forwehadn'thadherlong.anditmade 
 •im shy too. so I soon left him. The next time I stroked 
 liim ; he next time I put my arm p^-ound him. So<;n he 
 acted like a hig dog. I could lead him about by a strnn 
 and 1 made a little halter and a bridle for him. I didn't 
 Bee why I shouldn't train him a little while he was youn. 
 and manage..ble. I think it is cruel to let colts run till on^ 
 i.as to employ severity in mastering them. Of course I 
 did not let him do much work. Colts are like boys-a 
 boy snouldn t do a man's work, but he had exercise every 
 day, and I trained him to draw a light cart behind hini 
 I used to do all kinds of things to accu:tom him to un- 
 usual sounds. Father talked a good deal to me about 
 Ivarey, the great horse tamer, and it put ideas into my 
 head. He said he once saw Rarey come ou a stage ia 
 
202 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 lioston with a tiinid horse that he wa? joiner to accustom 
 to a loud nobo. First a i)ii,<;le was blown, then some 
 louder instrument, and so on, till there was a whole brass 
 band troing. Ilarey reassured the animal, and it was not 
 afraid." 
 
 "You like horses hotter than any otiier animals, don't 
 von, Harry?" a>ked ^liss Laura. 
 
 •' I believe I do, thmv^h I am very fond of that doG: of 
 vours. I think 1 kni'.v more about horses than dogs. 
 have you notiecd Scamp very much?" 
 
 " Oh, ves ; I ofter 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 niau who couldn't 
 manage her, and she came to us with a legion of bad 
 tricks. Father has taken solid comfort though, in break- 
 ing her of them. She is his pet among our stock. I 
 suppose you know that horses, more than .my other ani- 
 mals, 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 
 d(. 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 
 lather as if she was going to bite, and then lOok under his 
 arm to see if the stick is there, lie 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. Slie 
 pulled father over once, and another time she ran the 
 phaft of the sulky clean through the barn door. The 
 next time father brought her in, be got ready for her. 
 
A HAPPY HORSE. 
 
 203 
 
 He twisted the linos around his liands, and thti minute 
 she l)egan 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 irave her 
 the word. Often now, you'll see her throw her head 
 back wiien slie is being unhitched, lie only did it once, 
 yet she remembers. If we'd had tiie training of Scamp, 
 she'd be a very diiferont animal. It's nearly all in the 
 bringing up of a colt, whether it will turn out vicious or 
 irentle. W any one were to strike Fieetf )ot, he would not 
 Icnow what it meant. He has been brought up dilierently 
 i'rom Scamp. 
 
 "She was probably trained l)y some brutal man who 
 inspired her wlih distrust of tlie human species. She 
 never bites an animal, and srciiis attaclied to all the 
 other hoi-ses. She loves Fleetloot and Cleve and Pacer. 
 Those three are her favorites." 
 
 " 1 love to go for drives with Cle-.-e and Pacer," said 
 IVIiss 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, who said that those two horses 
 knew more than most ' humans.' " 
 
 "That was old Davids," said :\[r. Harry; "when wc 
 had him, he was courting a widow who lived over in 
 iloytville. About once a fortnight, he'd ask father for 
 < aie of the hoi-ses to go over to see her. He always stayed 
 pretty late, and on the way home he'd tie tiie rrins to the 
 wliip-stock and go to sleep, and never wake up till Cleve 
 or I'accr, whichever one he happened to have, would draw 
 up in the barnyard. They would piiss any rigs they hap- 
 pened to nieet. and turn uut a little for a man. If Davids 
 wasn't asleep, he could always tell by the ditierence in 
 their gait, which they were passing. They'd go im'ickly 
 
 !» 
 
204 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 i' 
 
 i^h 
 
 ♦ 
 
 i« 
 
 I 
 
 f i 
 
 fi^ 
 
 ■• " * 
 
 i:i 
 
 past a man, and much slower, vith rr.cre of a turn out, if 
 it was a team. But I dare say father told you this. He 
 has a ,1,'reat 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. " 1 love to ta !; 
 about uninuds. I think the best stcry about Cleve and 
 Pacer, is the one that uncle told me last evening. I don't 
 think you were there. It was about stealing tlie 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 bis box, 
 uncle says, and found t\.o bags of oats, and he took one 
 in his teeth and dropped it before Cleve, and ate tbe otlier 
 himself, and uncle was so amu^-ed that he let them eat a 
 long time, and stood a. id -latcb.ed thcn\" 
 
 " That teas a clever trick," said Mr. Harry. " Father 
 r.iust have forgotten to tell nie. Those two horses have 
 been mates ever since I can remember, and I believe if 
 they were separated, they'd pine away and die. You have 
 noticed how low the partitions are between the boxes i)i 
 the horse stable, father says }ou wouldn't put a lot of 
 people in s parate uoxes in a room, where they couldn'u 
 see each other, and horses are just as fond oi company as 
 we are. Cleve -^.nd Pacer are always nosing each other. 
 A horse has a long memory. Father has had horses 
 r?coguizc him, that he has been parted from for twenty 
 years. Speaking of tlieir memories, reminds me of an- 
 other good story about Pacer, that T never heard till 
 yesterday, and that I would not talk about to any v»ne but 
 vou and ni>ther. Father wouldn't write mo about it, for 
 he never will put a line on paper where any one's rcputii- 
 tion is couceruLu." 
 
 jiiji 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE ROX OF MONEY 
 
 HIS Story," said Mr. Harry, "is about one of the 
 hired men we had last winter, whose name was 
 Jacobs. Hewas a cunninir fellow, with a hang- 
 dog look, and a great cleverness at stealinir faun produce 
 from father -^n the sly, and selling it. Father knew per- 
 lectly well what he was doing, and was wondering what 
 would be the best way to deal with him, when one dav 
 soraet..ing happened that bron^rlit matters to a climax " 
 "Father had to go to Su<lhurv for farmin- tools' and 
 took Pacer and the cutter. There are two wavs of goin.^ 
 there-one the Sudbury Road, and the other ihe old Po't 
 J toad, which IS longer and sehlom used. On this occasion 
 father took the Post Rond. 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 davs before 
 He wa^ a miserable old creature, known as ISfis.^r Jerrold 
 and he lived alone with his .lauehter. He had «aved a 
 little money that he kept in a box under his 1)0(1. AVhen 
 father got near the place, he was astonished to see by Pa- 
 cer's actions that he had been on this road before and re- 
 cently too. Father is so sharp aboit horses, that they 
 never do a thir^ that he doesn't attach a meaning to So 
 he let the reus bang a little loose, and kept his eye on 
 
 206 
 
206 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 I! ♦ 
 
 k^' 
 
 ^ 
 
 f I 
 
 Pacer. The horse wont alon^ the road, and seeing father 
 didn't direct him, turned into the lane leadin;^ to the 
 house. There wiis an old red gate at tli3 end of it, o" 
 he stopped in front of it, and waited fur father to 
 out. Then he pusied thruugli, and instead of ^oing up to 
 the house, turned around, and stood with his head toward 
 the r(jad. 
 
 " Father never said a word, hut he was doing a lot ot 
 thinking, lie went into the house, anc found the old 
 man sitting over th? lire, rubbing his hands, and hall- 
 crying about ' the few poor dollars,' that he said he had 
 '. d stolen from him. Father had never seen him before, 
 but he knew he had the nu.ao of being half-silly, did 
 question him a.s much as he liked, ho could make nothin ■; 
 of him. The daughter said that rliey h;id gone to bed ui 
 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 downstairs, she found him sit- 
 ting up in bed, and the window wide open. He said a. 
 man had sprung in upon liint, stuffed the bedclothes into 
 his mouth, and dragging his box from under the bed, had 
 made otf with it. She ran to the door and looked out, 
 but there was no one to be seen. It was dark, and 
 snowing a little, so no traces cf footsteps were to be per- 
 ceived in the morning. 
 
 " Father found that the neighbors were dropping in to 
 bear the old man company, so he drove on to Sudbury, and 
 then returned home. When he got back, he said Jacobs 
 was hansjing about the stable in a nervous kind of a wav, 
 and said he wanted to speak to him. Father said, very 
 good, but to put the horse in first. Jacobs unhitched, 
 and fathf^r sat on one of the stable benches ana watched 
 him till came lounging along with a straw in his 
 
 n-i ' 
 
THE BOX OF MOXEY. 
 
 207 
 
 mouth and said he'd made up his mind to go West, au.l 
 be d like to set ofl' at once. 
 
 "Father said again, very good, but first he had a little 
 account to settle with him, and he took out ofhis pocket a 
 paper, where he had jutted <lown a^^ far iis he could, every 
 quart of uats, and every ba^^ of grain, and every quarter 
 Ota dollar ul market muiiey that Jacbs had defrauded 
 umof Father said the felh.w turned all the colors of 
 the rainbow, for he thought he had covered up his tracks 
 so cleverly that he would never be found out. Then fa- 
 ther said, ' tin down, Jacobs, for I have got to have a lon-^ 
 talk with you.' m hud him there about an hour, and 
 jvhen he hnished, the fdlow was completely broken down. 
 ± ather told him that there were ju.t two courses in life lor 
 a young man to take, and he had gotten on the wron- 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 wa.s 
 nothing but tlie State's prison ahead of him, for he needn't 
 thmk he was going t(^ gull and cheat all the world, and 
 never be lounu out. Father said he'd give him all tno 
 help in his power, if he had his word that he'd try to be 
 an honest man. Tiien he tore up the paper, and said 
 there was an end of his indebtedness to him. 
 
 "Jacobs is only a young fellow, twcntv-threeor tfiere- 
 about, and father says he sobbed like a baby. Ihen 
 without looking at him, 11- her gave an account of his 
 afternoon's d:.s'e, just as if he was talking to himself. 
 He said that Pacer never to his knowledire had been on 
 that road before, and yet he seemed perfetJy fami.'iar 
 with It, and that he stopped and turned all ready 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 a-au 
 
 if 
 
■ 
 
 
 m 
 
 : tr-. 
 
 » 
 
 1 
 
 "i 
 
 
 
 r 
 
 IB 
 
 ■1 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 ii. 
 
 
 208 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 lu the course of his remarks, fatlicr mentioned the fact 
 that on Monday, tlie evening that tlic robbery was com- 
 nitted, Jacobs had borrowed Pacer to go to the Junction, 
 but had come in with the horse stoaraing, and looking as 
 if ho had been driven a much longer distance than that. 
 Father said tiiat when he got done, Jacobs had sunk down 
 all in a heap on the stable floor, witii his hands over his 
 /ace. Father leC: him to have it out with himseiii and 
 went to the house. 
 
 " The next morning, Jacobs looked just the same as 
 usual, an-^ went about with the other men doing his work, 
 but saying nothing about going West. Late in the after- 
 noon, a farmer going by hailed father, and asked if he'd 
 heard tlie news. Old Miser Jerrold's box had been left 
 on his door-step some time through ihe night, and he'd 
 found it in the morning. The money was all there, but 
 the old fellow was so cu.;e that he wouldn't tell any one 
 how much it was. Tlie neighbors had persuaded him to 
 bank it, aud he was coming to town the next miyrning with 
 it, and that night some of tnem were going to help him 
 mount guard over it. Father told the men at milking 
 time, and he ^oid Jacobs looked as unconscious as possi- 
 ble. However, from that day there wr.sa change in him. 
 lie 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 iuceusely interested in this story. 
 " AVhere is he now, Cousin Harry ? " she a^ked, eagerly. 
 " What became of him? " 
 
 Mr. Harry laughed in such amusement that I stared up 
 at him, and even Fleetwood turned his head around lo see 
 
THE BOX OF MONEY. 
 
 209 
 
 jvl at the joke was. Wo were goinc. very slowly up a 
 long, steep lull, aud i„ the clear, still air/we could Lear 
 f^very word spoken in the buggy. 
 
 J^M ^.f P^'^ ""^ '''' '^""^"^^ '^'^ '^^^t' to my mind/' 
 
 along Sudbury wa> , and Miss Jerrold got to be considered 
 quite a desirable young person among some of the youth 
 near there, though she is a frowsy-heade.l creature, and 
 not as neat in her personal attire as a young girl should 
 be Among her suitors w.is 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 sprino-, and 
 said he was going to marry old Miser Jerrold's dau'^hter 
 He wanted to quit father's employ, and he thanked him 
 in a real manly way for the manner in wliich he l.ad al- 
 ways treated him. Well, Jaco])s left, and mother saj's that 
 father won d sit and speculate about him, as to whether 
 he had fallen in love >-th Eliza Jerrold, or whether 
 be was determined to re ain 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 de-ree of 
 imbecility, and was marrying the girl 'so that he could 
 take care of him, or whether it was something else, and 
 so on, and so on. He had a dozen theories, and then mo- 
 ther says he would burst out laughing, and say it was one 
 ol the cutest tricks that he had ever heard of. 
 
 "In the end, Jacobs got married, and father and 
 mother went to to the wedding. Father gave the bride- 
 groom a yoke of oxen, and mother gave the bride a lot 
 of household linen, and I believe they're as happy as the 
 day IS long. Jacobs makes his wife comb her hair, aiid 
 
 I 
 
w 
 
 
 ! 
 
 JKl 
 
 
 fPl 
 
 1 
 
 210 
 
 BEAUTIFUT, JOE. 
 
 » 
 
 ill! 
 
 m 
 
 he waits on the old man as if he was his gon, and he is 
 improving the farm that was going to rack and ruin, and 
 I hear he is going to build a new house." 
 
 "Harry," exclaimed Miss Laura, "can't you take me 
 to see them." 
 
 *' Yes, indeed ; mother ofleu drives over to take them 
 little things, and we'll go too, sometime. I'd like to see 
 Jacobs myself, now that he is a decent fellow. Strange 
 to say, though he hadn't the best of character, no one has 
 ever suspected him of the r'bbery, and he's been cun- 
 ning enough never to say a word about it. Father says 
 Jacobs is like all the rest of us. There's a mixture of 
 good and evil in him, aud sometimes one predominates 
 and sometimes the other, liut 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 replied. 
 " There's an Englishman on a •?maU clearing that he 
 calls Penhollow. Father loaned him some money three 
 years ago, and he won't pay eicher interest or principal." 
 
 "I think I've heard of him," said JMiss Laura, 
 " Isn't he the man whom the bov3 call Lord Chester- 
 field?" 
 
 "T*^e 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 Englishmen only," said Miss Laura, warmly; 
 " Chinamen, and Negroes, and everybody. There ought 
 to be a brotherhood of nations, Harry." 
 
 " Yes, Miis Enthusiasm, I suppose there ought to be," 
 
THE BOX OF MONEY. 
 
 211 
 
 and lookin^r up. I could see that Mr. Harry was gazinff 
 aanuringly into his cousiu'a face. 
 
 "PW tell mc soujo more about the Englishman." 
 said Miss Laura. 
 
 _ ■' There isn't much to tell He lives aloue, onlv com- 
 ing occasionally to the village for euppliea. and tho'ugh he 
 IS poorer than poverty, he despises every soul within a 
 en-mile radius of him, and looks upon us as no better 
 than an order of thrifty, well-trained lower animals." 
 ^^ hy is ..at?" asked Miss Laura, in surprise. 
 He IS a gentleman. Laura, and we are onlv common 
 people. My father can't hand a lady in and out of a car- 
 nage as Lord Chesterfield can, nor can he make so grand 
 a bow, nor docs he put on evening dress for a late dinner 
 and we never go to the opera nor to the tlieatre, and know 
 nothing of polite society, nor can we tell exactly whom 
 our great-great-grandfather sprang from. I tell vou 
 there is a gulf between us and that Englishman, wider 
 than the oae young Curtius leaped into." 
 
 Miss Laura was laughing merrilv. « How funnv that 
 sounds, Harry. So he despises you'," and she glan^^ed at 
 her good-looking cousin, and his handsome bu--y and 
 well-kept horse, and then burst into another merrv^peal of 
 Jaughter. ' ^ 
 
 Mr. Harry laughed too. " It does seem absurd. Some- 
 times when I pass him jogging along to town in his 
 rickety old cart, and look at his pale, cruel face, and 
 know' that he is a broken-down gambler and man of the 
 world, and yet considers himself infinitelv superior to me 
 -a young man in the prime of life, with a good constitu- 
 tion and happy prospects, it makes me turn awav to hide 
 ^- smile. 
 
 By this time we had left the river and the meadows for 
 
 I 
 
li! 
 
 212 
 
 DF-AUTIFUL J<»E. 
 
 k 
 
 i 
 
 boiiiud u?, aiid were passing through a tliick ^vood. The 
 road w:i= narrow aud very broken, an<l Flectfoot was 
 oblii^cd to pick his way carefully. " Wliy docs the Eng- 
 lishman live in this out-of-the-way place, if he is so fond 
 of C'ty life?" said Miss Laura. 
 
 "I'don't know," said Mr. lli.-iy " Fuihcr is afraid 
 that he has committed some niis^ec d, and is in hiding ; 
 but we sav nothing about it. We have not scju him for 
 some weeks, and to tell the truth, this trip is as much to 
 -•ee 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 h^t 
 time that we knew of his couiing to the village was i 
 dvaw qrite 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 hisrclativea \p England supply him with 
 fundn. Here we are at the ' itrance to the mansion of 
 Penhoi: w. I must get out uid open the gate that will 
 admit us to the winding avenue." 
 
 We had arrived in front of some bars which were laid 
 across an opening in the snake fence that ran along one 
 side of the road. I sat down and looked about. It was 
 a straiuje, lonelv place. The trees almost met overhead, 
 and it was very'dim and quiet. Tlic sun could only send 
 little strag;:1in'g beams through the branches. There was 
 a muddv p'ool of vater before the bars that Mr. Harry 
 was letting down, and he got his feet wet in it. " Con- 
 found that EngUshman," he said, backing out of the 
 water, and wiping his boots on the grass. " He hasn't 
 even gumption enough to threw down a load of stone 
 there. Drive in Laura and I'll put up the bars." Fleet- 
 foot took us through the opening, and then Mr. Harry 
 jumped into the buggy and took up the reins again. 
 
■-^• 
 
 TUE BOX OF MOXEV. 
 
 213 
 
 We had to -o very slowly up a narrow, rough roa.l. 
 The hushc3 scr itcnci and ..-raped again.t the buggy, and 
 Mr. Harry looked verv miu-h annoved 
 •'No man liveth to him.s.li;- said Mi.s Laura, sorUv. 
 Ihis mans carelessness is giving you trouble. Why 
 dot n t he cut these branohog that overhang the roadv" 
 ' lie cant do It because his abominable laziness won't 
 leth.m. sa.d Mr. Harry. "I'd like to be behind him 
 ior a week, and I'd make him step a little faster We 
 liave 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 
 acro.ss the clearing was a roughly built hoii.e of unpainte.l 
 hoards. The Ir.mt door was propped open by a «tick 
 .Some of the panes of glass in the windows were broken 
 and the wliole house had a melancholy dilapidated look' 
 1 thought that I had never seen such a sad-looking place 
 "It seems as if there was no one about," faid Vt 
 Harry, with a puzzled face. "Barron must be away" 
 Will you hold Fleetfoot, Laura, while I go and see' " 
 
 He dr^w the buggy up near a small log building that 
 had evidently been used for a stable, and I lay dowu 
 beside it and watched .Miss Laura. 
 
 
 ^i 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 A NEGLECTED STABLE. 
 
 HAD not becu on tlie ground more tlian a few 
 seconds, before I turned my (;yes from M>s 
 Laura to tlie log hut. It was deathly quiet, 
 there was not a souiiil coming from it, but the air was 
 full of queer smells, and I was so uneasy that I could not 
 lie still. Tlicre was souiethiug the matter with Fleetfoot 
 too. He was pawing the ground, and whinnying, and 
 looking, not after Mr. Harry, l,ut toward the log building. 
 
 " Joe," said Miss Laura, " what is the matter with you 
 and Fleetfoot? Why don't you stand still? Is ther.. 
 any stranger about ? " and she |)eered out of the bugrry. 
 
 I knew there was something wrong somewhere, but I 
 didn't know what it was ; so I stretched myself up on the 
 ftep of the bugiry, ana licked her hand, and barking, to 
 ask her to exc^e me, I ran off to the other side of the 
 log hut. There was a door ther.', 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 ia, 
 so I jumped against the door, and tore and bit at the 
 plank, till Miss Laura came to helj) me. 
 
 " You won't find anything but rats in that ramshackle 
 
 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 sensi- 
 
 214 
 
A NEGIJ]<-TED STABLE. 
 
 23--> 
 
 m 
 
 ble dog, and usually uave a rcaaon for having your own 
 way, so I am going to let you Lave it." 
 
 The plank 1«11 down ad she spoke, and she pulled open 
 the rough door and looked in. There waa no window 
 •"=^ide, only the light that streamed through the door, e,> 
 that for an instant she could see nof u-g. "Jg any one 
 h.^re?' she asked, in her clear, sweet voice. There waa 
 no answer, except a low moaning sound. - Why some 
 poor creature is in trouble, Joo," said Miss Laura, cheer- 
 lully ' Let us see what it is," and she stepped inside. 
 
 1 shall never forget seeing my dear Miss Laura goin«^ 
 mto tiiat wet and filthy log house, holding up her whito 
 dress .n her hands, her face a picture of pain and horror, 
 ihere were two rough stalls in it, and in the first one waa 
 tied a cow. with a calf lying beside her. I could never 
 ha /e ucuc od, ,f I had not seen it with my own eves, that 
 an animal .ould get so thin as that cow was. Her back- 
 bone rose up high and sharp, her hip bones stuck away 
 out, and all her body seem. -( ,n run ken in. There were 
 sores on her sides, and the s.nell from her stall was terri- 
 ble. Miss Laura gave one cry of pity, th^n with a very 
 pa e face she dropped her dress, and seizing a little pen- 
 kiife from her pocket, she hacked at the rope that tied 
 the cow to the manger, and cut it so that the cow could 
 lie 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 wa.3 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, th-^ moaning noise stopped, 
 for she had been making it. lyfiss Laura ran outdoors, 
 snatched a handful of griiss and took it in to her Tho 
 
216 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 
 M « 
 
 ■ 1 
 
 1' 
 
 cow ate it gratef lly, 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 lears, gaunt-looking animal lying on the 
 ground, that seemed as if he was dead. Tiiere w:us a 
 nc.^vy rope knotted round his nock, and fastened to his 
 empty rack. ^liss Laura stepped carefully between hia 
 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 
 stagcijeriug outdoors alter Miss Laura, who kept encour- 
 aging him, and then he fell down on the grass. 
 
 Fleetfoot stared at the miserable-looking creature as if 
 he did not ki.ow 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, mr-t 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 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 ex- 
 pression 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 topped and looked at the 
 the horse, not in amazement, but very sorrowfully. 
 
 irni; 
 
A N-EOLECTED STAHLi:. 
 
 217 
 
 "Barron is frone," he said, and cnnnplin<,' up a piece of 
 papc , he put it in his pocket. " Wliat is to be done for 
 these animals ? There is a cow, isn't tliere ? " 
 
 He steppo'i to the door of the lo- hut, glanced in, and 
 said, quickiy : " Do you feel able to drive home? " 
 
 "Y(s," said Miss Laura. 
 
 "Sure? " and he e^ed 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 thin^ to 
 eat here. He'll know what to do. I'll .Irive you° to 
 the road." 
 
 Miss Laura got into the buggy and Mr. Harry jumped 
 m 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 minutes 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. Dej all occupied way off." 
 "Then you help me, Ad^le, like a good girl," said 
 Miss Laura, hurrying into the house. " We've found a 
 flick horse and cow. What Ghall I take them?" 
 
 4, 
 

 1 
 
 1(1 'j 
 
 m 
 
 ■J 
 
 \ i'. i" 
 
 mm' 
 
 0. 
 
 (. 
 
 (i' 
 
 <» 
 
 I ! 
 
 ? 4i 
 
 pMJf ;. 
 
 218 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 " Nearly all anim'\)'^ like de bran masb," said Ad^le. 
 
 " Good," cried Miss Laura. " That is the very thing. 
 Put in the thiugs 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-morrow, and please run up 
 to the barn Adele, and get some hay, and corn, and 
 oats, not mu'h, for we'll be going back again; but 
 Lurry, for the poor things are starving, and have you 
 uny milk for the pig? Put it in one of those tin kettles 
 with covers." 
 
 For a few minutes. Miss Laura and Adele flew about 
 .he kitchen, then we set oti" again. Miss Laura took me 
 in the buggy, for I was out -f breath and wheezing 
 greatly. I had to sit on the seat beside her, for the bot- 
 tom 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 gavly waving over the dashboard. 
 
 Miss Laura said a few words to him, and with a very 
 grave face he got in beside her. In a short time, wo 
 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 . -v a sensitive girl like you." 
 
 "I thought I mi'jht be of ome use," said she, gently. 
 
 " So you can," said Mr. \Vood. " You go into the 
 bouse and sit down, and Harry and I will come to you 
 when we want cheering up. What have you been doisg, 
 Harry?" 
 
 " I've watered them a little, and got a good fire going. I 
 scarcely think the cow will pull through. X think we'll 
 
 ! r 
 
 ' IV i 
 
A .VEGLECTED STABLE. 
 
 21 D 
 
 save the horse. I tried to get the cow out-doors, but she 
 can t move," 
 
 "I^et her alone." said Mr. Wood. "Gi- her some 
 luod and her strengtli v.iil come to her. What have you 
 got here? "and he began to take tlie tilings out of the 
 buggy "Bless the child, ehe's thouglit of evervthin.^ 
 even the salt. Bring those things into the house, Harry' 
 and we'll make a bran mash." 
 
 For more than an hour thev were fussing over thr ani- 
 mals Then they came in and sat down. The inside of 
 the Englishman's house was as untidy as the outside, 
 ibere was no upstairs to it-onlv one lur-e room with a 
 Jlirty curiam stretched across it. On one "^idc was a low 
 bed with a heap of clothes on it, a chair an i a washstand. 
 Un the other was a stove, a table, a shaky rockir -chair 
 that Miss Laura was sitting in, a few mging ,helve.s 
 with some Jishes and books on tlicm, and two or three 
 small boxes that had evidently been used for seats. 
 
 On the walls were tacked some pictures of grand 
 houses and ladies and gentlemen in hue clothes, and Miss 
 Laura said that some of them were noble people. " Wei' 
 I'm glad this particular nobleman has left us," said Mr' 
 ^\ ood, seating himself on one of the boxes, "if nobl-man 
 he is. I should call him in plain English, a scoundrel. 
 Did Harry show you his note ? " 
 " No, uncle," said Miss Laura. 
 "Read it aloud," said Mr. Wood. 
 
 again. 
 
 " I'd like to hear it 
 
 Miss Laura read : 
 
 J. Wood, Esq. Dear Sir :— It is a matter of great 
 regret to me that I am suddenly called away from mv 
 place at Penhollow, and will, therefore, not be able to db 
 myselt the pleasure of calling on you and settling my lit- 
 
\. < 
 
 ,4 
 
 ■i 
 
 ,U:i 
 
 u 
 
 mm" 
 
 ■lii Jill 
 
 
 , i i 
 |1 
 
 i 
 
 
 ^20 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 tie account. I sincerely hope that the possession of my 
 live stock, which I makj entirely over to you, will more 
 than reimburse you for any trilling expense which you 
 may hp,ve incurred on my account. If it is any gratifica- 
 tion to you to know that you have rendered a siight 
 assistance to the son of one of England's noblest noble- 
 men, you have it. With expression:) of the deepest 
 respect, and hoping that my stock may be in good condi- 
 tion when you take possession, 
 
 1 ara, dear sir, ever devotedly yours, 
 
 Howard Algernon Leduc Barron. 
 
 Miss Laura dropped the paper. " Uncle, did he leave 
 those anmials 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 gnawed 
 and bitten by them in their torture for food. Wouldn't 
 he have sent me that note, instead of leaving it here on 
 tho table, if he'd wanted rae 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 hun- 
 dred 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 anima' 
 lying dead. 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 dollars more if I could make them 
 live and have Barron know it." 
 
 They left the room, and Miss Laura sat turning the 
 sheet of paper over and over, with a kind of horror in 
 her face. It was a ve/y 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 
 
A NEGLECTED STABLE. ooj 
 
 tho gra..s know hor. Ho lifted his head, ::nd what a dif- 
 fcrent expre^.on ho had now that his hunger had been 
 panly satisfied. Miss Laura stroked and patted him 
 tl^-sheealled to her cousin, <■ Harry, will'^hi^t 
 
 He took the paper from her, and said : " That is i 
 crest slnn.ng through the different strata of dust and 
 grime, probably th.t of his own family. We'll have 
 It cleaned, and it will enable us to track the villain. You 
 want hun punished, don't you ? " he said, with a little, sly 
 iaugii at Miss Laura. ^ 
 
 She made a gesture in tho direction of tho suffering 
 i-orsc, and said, frankly, " Yes, 1 do." '' 
 
 "Well, my d'.ar girf," he said, "Father and I are with 
 you. If we cac. hunt Lurron down, we'll do it." Tneu 
 he muttered to himself as she turned awav, "She is -^ 
 rea Puruan, gentle, and sweet, and good, and yet severe" 
 Regards for the virtuous, punishments f.r the vicious,'^ 
 and he repeated some poetry : 
 
 "She was so charitable and so piteous 
 She would weep if that slie saw a mouse 
 Caught m 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 horsef so she 
 wandered down to a hollow ar tho back of th. house 
 where the Lnghshman had kept his pig. J„st now. he 
 looked more like a greyhound than a pig. His le^^ ;ere 
 
 hiriT' Trr.r f '"P' "^^ ^^"^^^' ^"^^^^'J of making 
 bim stupid like the horse and cow, had made him moil 
 ively I think he had probably not suffered so much as 
 tJey 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 
 
 
 t 
 
 m 
 
222 
 
 BEAUTIFUL, JOE. 
 
 he discovered that pig. He must have been asleep or ex- 
 hausted 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. Hurry said he was raging around his pen, 
 digging the ground with his snout, fulling down and get- 
 ting up again, and by a miracle, escaping death by chok- 
 ing 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 wiis half-full of good, 
 sweet milk. Mr. Harry suid taut a starving animal, like 
 a starving person, should only be fed a little at a time ; 
 but ihe Kugliihnian's animals had always been fed 
 poorly, and tiieir 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 Jlr. Wood. Mr. Harry was go- 
 ing to stay all "ight with the sick animals, and his mother 
 would send him thiuirs to make him comfortable. She 
 was better by the time we got humc, and was horrified to 
 hear the tale of ^Ir. Barron's neglect. Later in the even- 
 ing, she sent one of the men over with a wnole box full of 
 things for her darling boy, and a nice, hot tea, done up 
 i'or 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 tre.s. 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. 
 
CHAFfER XXVril. 
 
 THE END OF THE ENGLISHMAN'. 
 
 N a few days, thanks to Mr. Harrv's constant 
 care, the horse and cow were able to walk. It 
 waa a mournful procession that came into the 
 yard at Dmgley 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 Pen- 
 hollow to Dingley 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 wh- *o do. Her eyes were 
 bright and shining, and she went trom one to another with 
 such a happy fa.e. The queer little pig that Mr. Harry 
 had christened " Daddy Longleg^," 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 abundance of 
 food with the air of a prince. Why, he would be clean 
 ar.J dry here and all his life he had been used to dirty, 
 damp Penhollow, with the trees hanging over him, and 
 us little 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. 
 
 228 
 
 fl 
 
•I 
 
 224 
 
 b::autiful joe. 
 
 ! 
 'I 
 
 < 
 
 
 His tiny tail was ciiileJ so tight tlmt it was almost in a 
 kuot. Mr. Wood said that was a sign that he was healthy 
 and happy, and tliar when poor Dmldy was at I'enhollow, 
 he had noticed • luit lus tail hun;,' as limp and loose as tho 
 tail of a rat. lie came and leaned over the pen with 
 INlitfs 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 
 wore as clever as dogs. One little black pig that he 
 had once sold to a man away buck 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 xuuch. 
 
 He said that the most knowing pigs he ever saw, were 
 Canadian pigs. One time he was having a trip on a 
 Bailing 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 op- 
 posite the place where the ship was anchored, and overy 
 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 shore. Their 
 instinct 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 
 making friends with the other littlf 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, because he was the smartest. Though he had been 
 brought up in such a miserable way, he soon learned to 
 
THE END OP THE ENGLISHMAN. 226 
 
 take very good care of himself at Dingley Farm, and it 
 waa amusmg to see him when a storm waa coming on 
 runmng about in a state of great excitement, carrying lit-' 
 Ue bundles of straw in his mouth to make himself a bed 
 He was a white pig, and waa always kept very clean. Mr 
 Wood said that it is wrong to keep pigs dirty' They like 
 
 t^t^:T "" T"- "" '"'^'^ ""'"^^^' ^°^ if tfaey were 
 kept so, human beings would not get so many diseases 
 from eating their flesh. ^ oiseaaes 
 
 The cow. poor unhappy creature, never as long as she 
 hvedon Dingley Farm, lost a strange, melancholy look 
 from her eyes. I have heard it said that animals forget 
 
 pas unhappiness. and perhaps some of them do. I know 
 that I h. ,,,g^^^^^ ^^^ ^ 1 k^ow 
 
 Jenkins, and I have been a sober, thoughtful dog in Ion 
 sequence of it. and not playful like some dogs who have 
 never known wh.i it is to be reallv unhappy 
 
 tJXf^^^fr"^"^ '". "^^ '^"' the Englishman's cow was 
 thinking of her poor dead calf, starved to death by her 
 
 lith .r?.'- ^^' ^"^ "'^^ ^^"^^^' ^°d ^^°^« --d went 
 
 Chen I w'?r T^' ?°!;"°^^ ^ ^"PPy ^ '^^y' but often 
 when I watched her standing chewing her cud. and look- 
 
 j^o away in the distance. I could see a difference between 
 
 her face and the faces ofthe cows that had always been 
 
 r^f/n";? ?r'^^^^^ ^^'°'- ^^^° ^b« 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 pu into the cow stable, where Mr. Wood's cows all 
 stood at night upon raised platforms of earth covered over 
 with 8 raw litter, and she was tied with a Dutch halter 
 
 Z^A . T!^ ^^ ^°^° ^°^ g° *« «^^«P when she 
 
 Z .w. ^^.'" '^' ^'' ^^"' '^' ^^ F-^t out to pas. 
 ture with the other cows. ^ 
 
 p 
 
 i ' i 
 
226 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 The horse they named "Sciuo," becauso he could never 
 be, under any circumstances anything but a broken-down, 
 plain-looking animal. He wa3 put into the horse stable 
 in a slall next Fieetfoot, aud as the partition waa low, 
 they could look over at each other. In time, by dint of 
 much doctoring. Scrub's hoofs became cleun and ^ound, 
 and he was able to do some work. Miss L; a petted him 
 a great deal. Slie often took out apples to the stable, and 
 Fieetfoot wor/:d throw up his beautiful 'lead aud look 
 reproachfully over the partition at her, for she always 
 stayed longer with Scrub than with him, and Scrub al- 
 ways got the larger share of whatever good thing waa 
 going. 
 
 Poor old Scrub ! I think ^^o loved Miss Laura. He 
 was a stupid sort of a horse, f ad always acted as if he 
 was blind. He would run his nose up and down the 
 front of her dress, nip at the buttons, 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 
 be would be delighted to see her. He was not blind 
 though, for Mr. A^'ood 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 ter- 
 rible end, but for a long time no one knew anything 
 about it. Mr. Wood and ]SIr. Harry were so very angry 
 with him, that they said they would leave no stone un- 
 turned to have him punished, or at least to have it known 
 what a villain 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 
 
THE END OF THE EXGLISnM.iN. 227 
 
 highly esteemed family, pnd .ome carl was at the head of 
 It. X hey were all honorable people in this family except 
 one man, a nrphew, not a son of the late earl. Ho was 
 the black sheep of them all. As v voun- man, he had 
 lc( a wild and wicked life, and had ended by forgincr the 
 name of one of his friends, so that ho was obliged to 
 leave England and take refu-c in America. By tho 
 description of this man, Mr. Wood knew that ho must be 
 Mr Barron, so he wrote to these En-lish people, and 
 told them what a wicked thing cheir relative Lad done 
 in leaving his animals to starve. In a short time, he got 
 an answer :rom them, whicli was, at the same time, very 
 proud and very touching It came from Mr. Barron's 
 cousin, and he said quite frankly that ho knew his rela- 
 tive was a man of evil habits, but it seemed as if nothin- 
 could be done to reform him. His family was accus" 
 tomed to send a quarterly allowance to him, on condition 
 that he led a quiet life in some retired place, but their 
 last remittance to him was lying unclaimed in Boston, 
 and they thought he must be dead. C... i 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 
 
 " 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 le I here. Ho is not the man to leave it 
 long unclaimed. Something must have happened to 
 him. Where do you suppose he would go from Pen- 
 hollow." 
 
 " I have no idea, sir," sa Sir. Harry. 
 
 " And how would he go ? " said Mr. Wood. " He did 
 
 r 
 
 
 \ 
 
 4i 
 
 ' /' 
 
«^ 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 not leave flivcrdale Statioa, because he would have been 
 spotted by some of bis creditors." 
 
 ''Perhaps lie would cut through ihe woods to the Junc- 
 tion," said Mr. Harry. 
 
 "Just what he would do," said Mr. Wood, slapping his 
 knee. " I'll be driving over there to-morrcw to sei 
 Thompson, and I'll make inquiries." 
 
 Mr. Harry sp^ke to his father the next night when he 
 came home, and asked him if he had found out anything. 
 "Only thiri," said Mr. Wood. "There's no one answer- 
 ing to Barron's description, who has left Iliverdale Junc- 
 tion within a twelvemonth. He must have struck some 
 other station. We'll let him go. The Lord looks or.t 
 for fellows like that." 
 
 " We will look out for him if ever he comefc back to Riv- 
 erdale," 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 handlcc' if he h 1 dared return. 
 
 Months passed away, and nothing was beard 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 abou 
 the woods, looking for lost cattle, and in their wanderings 
 came to an old stone quarry that had beer, 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 wixs quite easy to get into it. They 
 found that by some means 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 curicaity, resolved to go down and look at her. Thty 
 clambdrcd down, found the cow, and to their horror aikd 
 
•niE END OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 229 
 
 amn2cmcnt, discovere^l ucar by the skeleton of a man. 
 Ihere was a heavy walKin.c:-stick by hia si.lo. which they 
 recognized ai one that the Englishman had carried. 
 
 He was a dnnking man. and perhaps he had taken 
 someth.ng that he thought would stren^hen him :or hS 
 mornings walk, but which had. on the contrary, bewild- 
 ered him an^ .nade him lose his way ad fall into tho 
 quarry Or he m.giit have started before aavbreuk, and 
 m he darkness have slipped and fallen down this steep 
 AaU of rock. ^ One leg wo. doubled under him. and if ho 
 had not been instantly killed by the fall he must have 
 been so disabled that he coulJ not move. In that lonely 
 place, he would call for help in vain, so he may have per- 
 i^hed by the terrible death of starvation-the death he 
 had thought to mete out to his suffering animaJa 
 ^ Mrs. Wood said that there was never a sermon preached 
 in Riverdale, that had the effect that the death of thi3 
 picked man had, and it reminded her of a verse in *he 
 
 fnf V rf t "^^'A ^'' ^°^ ^' ^'-^^ •^' ^•id i3 faUcn 
 nto the ditch which he made." Mrs. Wood said that her 
 husband had written about the finding of Mr. Barron'a 
 body to his English relatives, and had received a letter 
 from them in which they seemed rePevcd to hear that he 
 was dead They thanked Mr. Wood for his plain speak- 
 ing in telling them of their relative's misdeeds, and said 
 hat from all they knew of Mr. Barron's past conduct, 
 bis influence would be for evil and not for good, in anv 
 place tnat he chose to live in. They were havinc, their 
 inoney sen. 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 doin-^ in 
 liiverdale. ° 
 
 When this money came. i. .mounted to some hundreds 
 
 *••» 
 
I *! 
 
 230 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 of dollars. Mr. Wood would have nothing to do with it 
 He handed it over to the Band of Mercy, and hey 
 formed what they call the "Barron Fund," which they 
 drew upon when they wanted money for buying and cir- 
 culating humane literature. Mr. Wood said that the 
 fund w'L being added to, and the child^'cn were sending 
 all over the State, leatlets and little books which preached 
 the gospel of kindness to God's lower creation. A 
 Btranter picking one of them up, and seeing the name of 
 the ^vicked Englishman printed on the title page, would 
 think that he was a fncnd and benefactor to the Riverdale 
 people-the very opposite of what he gloried in being. 
 
 I * 
 
 » ■■ , 
 
 '■■J,! I 
 
 I 
 
 i1 1 1 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A TALK ABOUT SHEEP. 
 
 ISS LAURA was very much interested in the 
 shoep 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 dia 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 plea- 
 sure, and trying to push their noses through to get the 
 carrot or turnip, or whatever he waa handing to them. 
 He called them his little Southdowns, and he said ho 
 loved his sheep, for they were the most gentle and inoffen- 
 sive creatures that he had on his farm. 
 
 One day when he came into the kitchen inquiring for 
 salt, Miss Laura said, " Is it for the sheep ? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied ; " I am going up to the woods pasture 
 to examine my Shropshires." 
 
 " You would like to go too, Laura," said Mrs. Wood. 
 " Take your hands right away from that cake. I'll fini&h 
 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, alo°ng a 
 path that led ua through the fields to the pasture. " What 
 
 231 
 
232 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 fi 
 
 f t 
 
 
 r# Pf 
 
 ♦I 
 
 are you going to do, uncle ? " she said ; " and what are 
 those funny things in your hands ? " 
 
 " Toe-clippers," he replied ; " and I am going to ex- 
 amine the sheeps' hoofs. You know we've had warm, 
 moist leather all through July, and I'm afraid of foot 
 rot. Then they're sometimes troubled with over-grown 
 hoofs." 
 
 " What do you do if they get foot rot ? " asked Misa 
 Laura. 
 
 " I've various cures,'* he said. " Paring and clipping, 
 and dipping the hoof in blue vitriol and vinegar, or rub- 
 bing it on, as the English shepherds do. It destroys tho 
 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, vigorously; 
 " 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 ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! with time and attention. There are dif- 
 ferent 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 .^o 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. 
 
A TALK ABOUT SHEEP. 
 
 233 
 
 i'hi.n°°'' "T^ ««^swering them. Have you ever seen 
 Bneep pass through a gate or door ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, often." 
 
 " And how do they act ? " 
 
 far2t\r '^^^'l'^ They hang back, and one -ait, 
 for another; and finally, they all try to go at once." 
 
 Precisely; when one goes they all want to go, if it 
 WH h ""^^ '°'' a bottomless pit. Many aheep\;e in- 
 
 very wide. Now let us call them up." There wasn't 
 one .n sight, but when Mr. Wood li Jd up hisToic:" d 
 cried: " Ca nan, nan, nan ! » black facts began to peer 
 
 T. T. IT^ *^' ^"'^^' ^^"^ ^'"^^ l^l'-^ck legs, carry, 
 ng white bodies, came hurrying up the stonv paths from 
 the cooler parts of the pasture. Oh how glad they wer^ 
 to get the salt ! Mr. Wood let Miss Lau'ra spread iTon 
 some flat rocks, then they sat down on a lo^. under a tree 
 
 ftlrf ' '"'V-^'r' ^^^"^ ''^''^^ the rocks when 
 It was all gone. Miss Laura sat fanning herself with her 
 
 hat and smiling at them. " You funny, woolK thinc^," 
 
 she said; ^You're not so stupid as some people think 
 
 run away.'^'' ^' '" '^"" ^°""'''' ''^^ ""^ 
 
 I crouched behind the log, and only lifted my head oc- 
 casionally to see what th3 sheep were doing. Some of 
 them ^ent back into the woods, for it was very hot in this 
 
 It M t . P""?'"' ^"' '^' "^^^^ «^ 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 blackest legs, and largest body 
 oi those near us. -^ 
 
 bni7'''/^'f ' ^^^ ^'^''^' ^" ^'^ °°^i«« how She's 
 Holding her head dose to the ground? " 
 
234 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 ^ii 
 
 " 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 fron 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 
 sniS" and run as if they were crazy, still holding their 
 noses close to the ground. When I was a boy, an' 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 raonth during 
 hot weather, we put a few drops of it on the nose of every 
 sheep in the flock." 
 
 " I suppose farmers are like other people, and are al- 
 ways 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 grand- 
 father would open his eyes in amazement, and ask me if 
 I was an old woman petting her cats, if he were alive, 
 ard 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 ofl* in 
 flesh, and half of them lose their lambs in the spring, 
 was an expected thing. He would say I had them ken- 
 nelled, 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 
 ran out again. Indeed, I like to get them in, and have a 
 
 .1'! 
 
A TALK ABOUT SHEEP. 
 
 235 
 
 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, Aviuter 
 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 sell for two dollars each. That's some- 
 thing 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 selling 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 
 quality. I don t make as much on them as I do on these 
 Shropshires. For an all-around sheep I like the Shrop- 
 shire. It's good for mutton, for wool, and for rearing 
 lambs. There's a great demand for mutton nowadays, 
 all •'^i rough our eastern cities. People want more and 
 mo. f it. And it has to be tender, and juicy, and finely 
 flavored, 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 little shudder. 
 
 " I do," said her uncle, " but never an animal goes off 
 my place that I don't know just how it's going to be put 
 
236 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 to death. None of your sending sheep to market with 
 their legs tied together, and jammed in a C£»rt, and sweat- 
 ing and suffering, for me. They've got to go standing 
 comfortably on their legs, or go not at all. And I'm go- 
 ing to know the butcher that kills my animals, that have 
 been petted like children. I said to Davidson, 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 kiiife 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 though I didn't 
 stay long, I saw enough to convince me that he spoke the 
 truth. He has different 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." 
 
 " Thfcje 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 "Windham'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 calvej 
 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 l.wered horns, and a business look in their 
 eyes. The sheep in the orchard are safe enoufrii, for 
 they're near the house, and if a strange dog came around, 
 
A TALK ABOUT SHEEP. 
 
 237 
 
 th? ^r Y' ' ®?"'^^°^^« ^iil be changed up here, and 
 the Shropsh:re8 will go down to the orchard. I like to 
 keep one flock under my fruit trees. You know there I 
 an old proverb 'The sheep has a golden hoof.' They 
 
 orchard for ten years, and don't expect to plough it for 
 ten years more. Then your Aunt Hattie's hens are so 
 obhgmg that they keep me from the worry of finding 
 ticks at shearing time. All the year roun^I let them 
 run among the sheep, and they nab every tici they se^" 
 
 How closely sheep bite," exclaimed Miss Laura point- 
 ing to one that was nibbling almost at his master s'feet 
 
 Very close and they eat a good many things that 
 cows don't rehsh-bitter weeds, and bria^, andTklbs 
 and the young ferns that come up in the spring." 
 
 lambs "I'/m""^? ^"' ^'^^ "^ °°^ °^ *b°«« ^'^^ Jittle 
 lambs said Miss Laura. " See that sweet little blackie 
 back m the alders. Could you not coax him up ? " 
 I'll .^^^^","^^/<:°«^«tere>" said her uncle, kindly, " but 
 
 elZ ^?? -"^ ^'' ^°"'' ^' ^«^' ^^^ after several 
 eObr^ succeeded m capturing the black-faced creatur^ 
 and bringing him up to the log. He was very shv of 
 Miss Laura, but Mr. Wood held him firmlv, ani let'her 
 troke h« head as much as she liked. " Y^u call him lit- 
 vou'irfindh' '^"''" "^^y-P"t your arm around him. 
 
 niddr ; . '' ''' ^^' "^ '^"'^' b«'» be shorn the 
 middle of next month, and think he's quite grown up 
 Poor httle animal ! he had quite a struggle for life The 
 sheep were turned out to pasture in April. They Jn't 
 
238 
 
 BEAUTIFUL. JOE. 
 
 il 
 
 4l-n 
 
 bear conSnement 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 slieep might not suffer from lying out-doors, the lambs 
 would get chUled. 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 tlie house, made a fire, and 
 heated some milk. Your Aunt Hattie heard me and got 
 up. She won't let me give brandy even to a dumb beast, 
 80 I put pome ground ginger, which is just as good, in the 
 milk, anc' forced it down the lamb's throat. Then we 
 wrapped an old blanket rouad 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 little 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 difierent ex- 
 pressions, and have diff'erent dispositions." 
 
A TALK AB0T7T SHEEP. 
 
 239 
 
 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 yoir 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 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 followed him 
 to the fence. " These big troughs are for the sheep," said 
 Mr. Wood ; "and those shallow ones in the enclosure, are 
 for the lambs. See there is just room enough for them 
 to get under the fence. You shoulc see the small crea- 
 tures 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 in cramming animals. I feed them aa 
 
m 
 
 240 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 
 i 
 
 ■J t;' 
 
 ll 4 f 
 
 much as is good for them and not axLj 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 cume and sat down 
 beside us. He talked some more about sheep-raising; 
 then he said, "You may stay here longer if you like, but 
 1 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 1 more sheep business. I've set out some young 
 tree'3 in the orchard, and unless I get chicken wire around 
 them, my sheep will be barking them for me." 
 
 " I've seen them," said Miss Laura, " standing up on 
 their hind legs and nibbling at the trees, taking off every 
 shoot they can reach." 
 
 " They don't hurt th? ol(? 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 sometime. Now 
 you had better get 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-keeping," 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 whentver they like. Give them gjod 
 water, good food, and a variety of it, good quarters — cool 
 
TALE ABOUT SHEEP. 
 
 241 
 
 in summer, comfortable in winter, and keep them quiet, 
 and you'll make them happy and make money on ibem." 
 
 "I think I'd like sheep- raising," said Miss Laura; 
 " won't you have me for your flock-mistress, uncle? " 
 
 He laughed, and said he thought not, for she would 
 cry every time any of her charge were sent to the butcher. 
 
 ji'ifler this Miss Laura and I often went up to the pas- 
 ture to see the sheep and the lambs. We used to get into 
 a shady place where they could not see us, and watch 
 ♦.hem. One day I got a great surprise about cho sheep. 
 I had heard so much about their meekness that I never 
 dreamed that they would fight ; but it turned out that 
 they did, .• i they went about it in such a bus'aess-like 
 way, that I could not help smiling at them. I suppose 
 that like most other animals they had a spice of wicked- 
 ness 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 calling out and frightening them apart. 
 I thought that the lambs were more interesting 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. 
 Suddenly 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 they would come rush- 
 ing back again. It was pretty to see them playing 
 together and having a good time before the borrowful day 
 of their death came. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 A JEALOUS OX. 
 
 iR. "WOOD had a dozen calves that he —as rais- 
 ing, and Mias Laura sometimes went up to the 
 stable to see them. Each calf was in a c ib, and 
 it was fed with milk. They had gentle, patient faces, and 
 beautiful eyes, and looked very meek, as they stood quietly 
 gazing about thom, 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 thev were old enough to be let out, I 
 went ur with Miss Laura to the yard wh'^re they were 
 kept. Sucli (juecr, ungainly, large-boned creatures they 
 Nvere, and such a good time they were having, ruaning 
 and jumping and throwing up their heels. 
 
 Mrs. Wood was with us, and she said that it was not 
 good for calves to oe closely penned aft'^-' 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 awkward gambols. They wanted to play, but they 
 did not seem to know how to use their limbs. 
 
 They were lean calves, and j\Iiss Laura asked her aunt 
 why all the nice milk they had taken, had not made them 
 ftit. " The fat will come all in good time," said Mrs.- 
 Wood. ' A lat calf makes a poor cow, and a fat, small 
 242 
 
A JEALOTJS OX. 
 
 243 
 
 calf isn't profitable to fit for sending to the butcher. It's 
 better to have a bony one and fatten ih. If you come here 
 next summer, you'll see a fine she v of young cattle, with 
 lat 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 tc ture such a harmless 
 creature as a calf ^ " 
 
 ;' No, indeed," replied ^'^, Laura. "Who has been 
 doing It? " 
 
 •' Who has been doing it ? " repeated Mrs. Wood, bit- 
 terly ; "they are doin., it all the time. Do vou know what 
 makes the nice, white veal one gets in 1 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 :br 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 Hovt- 
 ville and snuxil country places. Oh, those big cities are 
 awful places, Laura. It seems to me that it makes peo- 
 ple wicked to huddle them together, I'd rather live in a 
 
 desert than a cit^ 's Ch o. Every night since 
 
 I ve been there I . the Lord either to change the 
 
 hearts of some of tne wicked people in it, or t- , e^troy 
 them off the face of the earth. You kno^ three years ago 
 ^ got run down, and your uncle said I'd cot to have a 
 
 change, so he sent me ofl'to niv l)rother*s in Ch o I 
 
 stayed .nd enjoyed myself pretty well, for it is a wonder- 
 » I city, till one day some Western men came in, bo 
 had been visiting the slaughter-iiouses outside the c- y 
 1 sat and listened to their talk, and it seemed to me that 
 1 was nearing the description of a jrreat battle. These 
 men were cattle dealers, and had been sending stock to 
 ^^ °' ^^^ t^ey were furious that men in their rage for 
 
244 
 
 BEAaXIFUL JOE. 
 
 I- $ 
 
 ;■ « 
 
 wealth, would so utterly ignore and trample on all decent 
 
 and humane feelings, as to torture animals as tne Ch o 
 
 men were doing. 
 
 " It is too dreadful to repeat the sights they saw. I lis- 
 tened till they were describing Texan steers kicking in 
 agony under the torture that was practised, and then 1 
 gave a loud scream, and faiuted 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, 
 aid saw animals dripping with blood, aiid crying am 
 moaning in their tnguioh, 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 saying ? you're as wh!*:o 
 aa a sheet. Come see thocow stable. John's just had it 
 whitewashed." 
 
 Miss Laura took he aunt's arm, and I walked slowly 
 behind them. The cow stable was r. long building, well- 
 hnh. and with no chinics in the walls, as Jenkins's stable 
 had. There were large windows vhere ihe 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 saw du&t and leaves, and the ceiling and 
 tops of the walls were whitewashe-^.. Mrs. Wood said 
 that her husband would not have the walls a glare of 
 white right down to the floor, because he thought it in- 
 jured the animals' eyes. So the lower parts of the walls 
 were stained a dark, bro„u olor. 
 
 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 
 tn the stalls, both doors were never allowed to be open at 
 the same time. Mr. Wood was m^st particular to havu 
 
 m 
 
A JEALOUS OX. 
 
 245 
 
 
 no drafts blowing upon his cattle. He would Dot have 
 them cbuied, and he would not have them overheated 
 One thing was as bad as the other. And durin- the 
 winter they were never allowed to drink icy water." He 
 took the chill off the water for his cows, just as Mrs. 
 VVood did foi 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 wct. They are so warm-blooded 
 that if they are cold, they have to eat a great deal to 
 keep up the heat of .'heir bodies, so it pays better to 
 hor^-^ and feed them well. They like quiet too. I never 
 kne.v that, til I married your uncle. On our farm, the 
 boys always shouted and screamed at the cows when thev 
 were driving them, and sometimes thev made them ri^rL 
 liiey re never allowed to do that here." 
 
 «I have noticed how quiet this farm seems," said Miss 
 I^ura "You have so many men about, and yet there is 
 60 little noise. ' 
 
 "Your uncle whistles a great deal," said Mrs. Wood 
 Have you noticed that? He whistles when he's about 
 his work, and hen he has a calling whistle that nearly all 
 of the ammo know, and the men run when they hear it. 
 You d see p.':ery crw in this stable turn its head, if he 
 whistled m a certain way outside. He says that 1 o crot 
 into the way of doing ic when he was a boy and went 
 for his fathcr'3 ccws. Ho trained them so that he'd just 
 stand m the ^usime and whistle, and they'd come to 
 him. 1 believo the first thing that inclined me to him 
 was his clear, hapny whistle. I'd hear him from our house 
 away down on the road, jogging along with his cart, or 
 driving in his buggy. He says there is no need of 
 screaming at any animal. It only frightens and angera 
 
 
tilj! 
 
 I 
 
 
 ! 
 
 246 
 
 DKAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 !( ' 
 
 them. They will miud much better if you speak clearly 
 and distinctly. He says there is only one thing an ani- 
 mal ha^-es more than to be shouted at, and that's to be 
 crept on — to have a person ^neak up to it and startle 
 it. John says many a man is kicked, because he 
 comes up to Ills horse like a thief. A startled animal's 
 first instinct is to defend itself A dog will bpring at you, 
 and a horse will let his heels fly. John always speaks or 
 whistles to let the stock know when he's approaching." 
 
 '' 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 its Duke ? " said Miss Laura. 
 
 "Yes, it is. I saw the star on his foreheal/' replied 
 Mra. Wood. 
 
 " I don't know when I have laughed at anything as 
 TOuch 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 barn- 
 yard, 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 : ' Ji:st look at him. Isn't he 
 a great, fat, self-satisfied creature, and doesn't he Lok 
 as if he thought the world owed him a Jiving, 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 atten- 
 tion to him bat went ^u carding Bright, and strokinrr 
 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 posh with his horns. Still 
 uncle took no notice, and Duke almost pushed him over. 
 
 i:, 
 
A JEALOUS OX. 
 
 247 
 
 Then uncle left off petting Bright, and turned to him. 
 He said Duke would have treated Lim roughly, if he 
 hadn't. I never saw a creature look as satisned as Dake 
 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 miserable to have 3'our ancle pj,y 
 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' mat- 
 ter; and suffer— how they can suffer, and so patiently 
 too. Where is the human being that would put up witii 
 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 be an animal," Mrs. Wood 
 went on, " no matter how ugly and repulsive it is, but 
 what has some lovable qualities. I have just been read- 
 ing 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 vengence,' Mr. Stead calls her. You 
 are too youn.or to know about her, but I remember read- 
 ing of her in 1872, during the Commune troubles in 
 France. She is an anarchist, and she used to wear a uni- 
 form, and shoulder a rifle, and help to build barricades. 
 She was arrested and sent as a convict to one of the French 
 penal colonies. Siie has a most wonderful love for animals 
 m her heart, and when she went home she took four cats 
 with her. She w:ia put into prison again in France and 
 
 I 
 
243 
 
 BEAUTIFTTL JOE. 
 
 •f-!! 
 
 ml 
 
 took the cata wi!" her. Rats came about her cell and 
 she petted them and taught her cata 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 *\'^t they came to 
 her cell without fear. Mother rats brought their young 
 ones and placed them at her feet, as if to ask her protec- 
 tion for them. The most remarkable thing about them 
 was their affection 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 understand me when I talk 
 about animals. I can't explain it," went on my dear young 
 mistress, laying her hand on her heart, " the feeling I 
 have here for them. I just love a dumb creature, and I 
 want to stop and talk to every one I see. Sometimes I 
 worry poor Bessie Drury, and I am so sorry, but I can't 
 help it. She says, ' What makes you so silly, Lauu ? ' " 
 
 Miss Laura was standing just where the sunlight shone 
 through her light-brown hair, and made her face all in a 
 glow. I thought she looked more beautiful than I had 
 had ever seen her before, and I think Mrs. Wood thought 
 the same. She t rned around and put both hands on 
 Miss Laura's shoulderp. "Laura," she said, earnestly. 
 
A JEALOUS OX. 
 
 249 
 
 "there are enough cold hearts in the world. Don't you 
 ever stifle a warm or tender feeling toward a dumb crea- 
 ture. That is your ch;ef attraction, my child ; your love for 
 everything that breathes and moves. Tear out the selfish- 
 ness 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 tliose bits of rock 
 salt in each stall? They are for the cows to lick when- 
 ever they want to. Now, come here, and I'U 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 punishment? " asked 
 Miss Laura, in surprise. 
 
 Mrs. Wood laughed heartily. "No, no; a place of 
 pleasure. F netimcs when the flicd are very bad and the 
 cows are > mght into the yard to be milked and a fresh 
 swarm seitles on them, they are nearly frantic; and 
 though they are th- best cows in New Hampshire, they 
 will kick a little. When tuey 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 carbolic 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 night- 
 dresses put on sometime 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. 
 
 WW 
 
 i: I' 
 
 1 'i I 
 
 
 I i M 
 
 IN THE COW STABLE. 
 
 llSN'T it a strange thing," said Miss Laura, " that 
 a little thing like 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." 
 
 " 1 on shall have some netting to put over your bed," 
 ssid Mrs. Wood ; " but suppose, Laura, you had no hands 
 to brush away the flies. Suppose your whole body was 
 covered with them, and you were tied up somewhere and 
 could not get loose. I can't imagine more exquisite tor- 
 ture myself. Last summer, the flies here were dreadiul. 
 It seems to me that they are getting worse and worse; 
 every year, and worry the animals more. I believe it's 
 because the birds are getting thinned out all over tho 
 country. There are not enough of them to catch tho 
 flies. John says that the ne:;t improvements we make 
 on the farm are to be wire gauze at all the stable win- 
 dows and screen doors to keep the little pests from tho 
 horses and cattle. 
 
 " One afternoon last summer, Mr. IMaxwell's mother 
 came for me to go for a drive with her. The heat was in- 
 tense, and when we got down by the river, she proposed 
 getting out of the phaeton, and sitting under the trees, to 
 250 
 
UH THE COW STABLE. 
 
 251 
 
 Bee if it would be any cooler. She was driving a horse 
 that she had got from the hetel in the village, a ro:«i 
 horse that was clipped, and check-reined, and had hi> tuil 
 docked. I wouldn't drive behind a tailless horse now. 
 Then, I wasn't so particular. However, I made her un- 
 fasten the check-rein befure I'd set foot in the carriaire. 
 Well, I thought that horse would go mad. He'd trtinble 
 and shiver, and look so pitifully at us. The flics were 
 nearly eating him up. Then he'd start a little. Mrs. 
 Maxwell had a weight at his head to hold him, but he 
 could easily have dragged that. He was a good-disposi- 
 tioned 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 grateful, and would keep touching my arm 
 with his nose. Mrs. ]\Iaxwell sat under the trees fanninir 
 herself and laughing at me, but I didn't care. How could 
 I enjoy myself with a dumb creature writhing in pain be- 
 fore me ? 
 
 " A docked horse can neither eat nor sleep comfortablv 
 in the fly season. In one of our New Eugand villages 
 they have a sign up, • Horses taken in to grass. I.ong 
 tails, one dollar and fifty cents. Short tails, one dollar!' 
 And it just means that the short-tailed ones are taken 
 cheaper, because 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 Buflfalo coal dealer's horse that was in such an agony 
 through flies, that he committee suicide. You know ani- 
 mals will do that. I've read of horses and dogs drowning 
 themselves. This horse had been clipped, and his tail was 
 docked, and be was turned out to graze. The flies stung 
 him till he was nearly crazy. He ran up to a picket fence, 
 
 ^ 1 
 
 ' 4 
 
 I 
 
I ' , 
 
 252 
 
 EEAUTTFDL JOE. 
 
 Jl 
 
 aud sprang up on the sharp spikes. There he hung, raak- 
 iug no eflbrt 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, aud 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 stronor 
 enough to do the work he's got to do, and man can't im- 
 prove on him. Docking is a cruel, wicked thing. Now, 
 there's a ghost of an argument in favor 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 chokinif. 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, overy k'nd 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 ani- 
 mals if he makes a study of them. Cows are wonderful 
 creatures, 1 think, and so grateful for good usage that 
 
 
 
IN THE COW STABLE. 
 
 263 
 
 they return every scrap of care given them, with interest. 
 Have you ever heard anything about dehorning, Laura? " 
 " Not much, auntie. Docs uncle approve of it ? " 
 
 " No indeed. He'd just aa soon think of cutting their 
 tails off, as of dehorning tliera. 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 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 aa well aa she could and get an extra quan- 
 tity of milk from her in addition. I don't know what to 
 think myself about dehorning. Mr. Windham's cattle 
 are all polled, and he has an open space in his barn for 
 them, instead of keeping them in stalls, and he says 
 they're more comfortable and not so confined. I suppose 
 in sending 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 horna. 
 Their horns are their means of defense." 
 
 "Do your cattle stand in these stalls all winter?" 
 asked Miss Laura. 
 
 " Oh, yes, except when they're turned out in the barn- 
 yard, and then John usually haa 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 
 like 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 
 
 m 
 
 nil 
 
•;»♦-,— — — «. -•♦j^^^ 
 
 lipr 
 
 254 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 Ml 
 
 much worse, and as for drinkinj^ the milk that coirea 
 from a cow that isn't kept clean, you'd better throw it 
 uwav and drink water. Wiien I was in Chicasro, mv 
 sister-in-law keptcomplainini;^ to her milkman about what 
 she called the ' cowy ' smel . to her milk. ' It's the animal 
 •jdor, ma'am,' he said, ' and it can't be helped. All milk 
 smells like tliat.' ' It's dirt,' I said, when she asked my 
 opinion about it. ' I'll wager my best bonnet that that 
 man's cows are kept dirty. Their skins are plastered up 
 with filth, and as the poison in tliem can't escape that 
 v/ay, it's coming out througlithe milk, and you're helpitii:: 
 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 poi- 
 soned 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 thir- 
 teen 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 ill it. Oh ! you city people are queer." 
 
 Miss Laura laughed heartily. " What a prejudice 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 sea' cr 
 tlie 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 bovs are oif to the cities, slav- 
 
IN THE COW 3TARLE. 
 
 :5fi 
 
 mg 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 mar- 
 ried 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 mannge 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 u 
 farm about twice as large as you can mana^'e. Don't 
 keep a hired man. Get up at daylight aud"elave 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 colta 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 to the post office oftcner 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 lie left lii.^ 
 work m the afternoon, and took me f )r a drive. Harrv 
 hold the reins in his tiny fingers, and John told him that 
 Dolly, the old mare we were driving, should be called 
 his, and tlie very next horse he bought sliould be called 
 his too, and ho should name it and have it for his o>vn • 
 and he would give him five sheep, and he should have 
 his own bank book, and keej) his accounts ; and Harrv 
 understood, mere baby though he was, and from that day 
 
'1 
 
 256 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 Ut 
 
 n- 
 v/oor 
 
 he loved John as his own father. If my father b-a fu: 
 the wisdom that John has, his boys wouldn't U i d- .'>i' ^ 
 poor lawyer and the other a poor doctor in two 
 cities ; and our farm wouldn't be in the hanHi •. 
 gers. It makes me sick to go there. I think '<f my 
 mother lying with her tired hands crossed ( • 
 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 
 tbv i .ng speech, and Miss Laura said aothing. I took a 
 tu. i or°two up and down the stable, thiuKiDg of many 
 things. No ir..'tter how happy human beings seem to be, 
 they always huve something to worry them. I was sorry 
 for Mrs. Wood, fur her face had lost the happy look it 
 usually wore. However, she soon forgot her trouble, 
 and said : 
 
 "xiow 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 for.ovred them. 
 
 lln 
 

 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 OUR RETURX HOME. 
 
 |N October, the most beautiful of all the montha, 
 \?e were obliged to go back to Fairport. Miga 
 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 kne°w she 
 ought to go home, and get back to her lessons. 
 
 Mr. Wood called October the golden month. Every- 
 thing was quiet and still, and at night and in the morn- 
 ings the sun had a yellow, misty look. The trees in the 
 orchard were loaded with fruit, and some of the leaves 
 were floating down, making a soft covering on the 
 ground. 
 
 In the garden there were a great many flowers in 
 bloom, in " vming 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, reg .c- 
 fu'ly, "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 only one place 
 where we could staui: ^.cruetual summer, and that's in 
 Leavea." 
 
 9sr 
 
 H 
 
^;p??s 
 
 258 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 lili 
 
 if i 
 
 Wi 
 
 '»« 
 
 
 
 " Do you suppose that it will always be summer there ? " 
 said M>:8 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 dou'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 
 Bubjsct. He says that among the best people of all ages 
 have been some who believed in the future hfe of animals. 
 Homer and the later Greeks, some of the Romans and 
 early Christians held this view— the last believing that God 
 Bent angels in the shape of birds to comfort sufferers for the 
 faith. St. Francb called the birds and beasts his brothers. 
 Dr. Johnson believed 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 compensation 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 ma.'^ters. They hang on our words and 
 looks, and are dependent on us in almost every way. For 
 m" 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, " animals 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." 
 
 .1^ 
 
OUR RETunx fIo^rE. 
 
 259 
 
 am, there s nothing definite about their immortal- 
 ity, saia Mr. Harry. "However, we've got nochin.^ to 
 do with that. If it's right for them to be m heaven, ^ell 
 find them there. All we Lave to do now is to deal with 
 the present, and the Bible plainlv tolls us that ' a rij^ht- 
 eous man regardetb the life of his beast.' " 
 
 "I chink I wf ild be happier in heaven if dear 
 o d Joe were there," said Miss Laura, looking wistfuUy 
 at me. He has been such a good dog. Just think how 
 he has lovea anc' protected me. I think I should be 
 loneiy without him." 
 
 "That reminds me of some poetry, or rather do-^erel " 
 saia . r. Harry, "that I cutout of a newspaper Ibr vo'u 
 yesterday ' and he drew from his pocket a iittlo slip'o" 
 paper, and read this : ^ 
 
 "Do doggies gang to heaven, Dad? 
 Will oor liuld Donald gang? 
 For noo to tak' him, faithar wi' us, 
 Wad be maist awfu' wrang." 
 
 There was a number of other versos, telling how many 
 kind things o d Donald the dog had done for his master's 
 lamily, 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 certai.x 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. 
 IVLixwell. Pie was holding out one hand to them, and ia 
 the other kept back a basket of large pears that Mr. Hariy 
 
 I 
 
260 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 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 shan'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 ray horse — how can I live with- 
 out 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 m^n — 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 paradise, all the 
 animals shunned him, and he sat bi.ccrly 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 sepa- 
 rated himself from all the other animals, and was trying 
 to comfort him. He became the chosen friend and com- 
 panion of Adam, and 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. ISIaxweil, " whc^n 
 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 liy by 
 the wayside, and every one that passed along J • g some 
 offensive epithet at him. Eastern dogs are not ute our 
 dogs, and seemingly there was nothing good about this 
 loathsome creature, but as our Saviour nt by, he said, 
 gentlv, ' Pearls cannot equal the whiteness of his teeth.' " 
 " What was the name of that old fellow," said Jlr. 
 
OUR RETURN HOME. 
 
 261 
 
 Maxwell, abruptly. « who had a beautiful swan that came 
 
 and\ H^ ^^^'''r^''' '' ^^-y its head in hisWm 
 ^nd feed .- m his hand, and would go near no other 
 human being?" ^ yj^^uvt 
 
 fhr?"1 V?> °^ ^•"""^"- ^^^« ^^^'^ a^out him at 
 the Bund of Mercy the other day," said Miss Laura. 
 
 I should thmk that he would have wanted to Lave 
 
 WJ^at a beautiful creature it must have been. Speakin^ 
 about animals going to heaven, I dare say some of them 
 Avould object to going, on account of the companv that 
 they ,v^u Id meet there. Think of the dog kicked to 
 death by his master, v .e horse .riven 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 firmlv believe 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- 
 reat their fellow-creatures. If a man's life has been a 
 long sencs of cruelty tr dumb animals, do you suppose 
 that he would enjoy himself in heaven, which will be full 
 of kindness to every one ? Not he, he'd rather be in the 
 other place, and th-^re he'll go, I fullv believe " 
 
 " When you've quite disposed of all vour Vellow-crea- 
 tares and the dum^ creation, JLarry, perhaps ycu will con- 
 oesccnd to go ou* in the orchard, and see how your 
 ^atiierisgetf o^ with picking lae apples." said Mrs. 
 Wood, join ,^.iiss Laura and the two young men, her 
 eyes twinki'..g and sparkling with amusement 
 
 "The anp?- vill keep, raof.her," said Mr. Ilarrv. put- 
 ting his an. around her. " I just came in for a moment 
 to g.t Laura. Come, Maxwell, we'll all go."' 
 

 iJil 
 
 "'H- 
 
 III 
 
 ,\\ 
 
 262 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 " And not another word about animals," Mrs. Wood 
 called after tiiem. " Laura will go crazy some day, 
 througli thinking of their sufferings, if some one doesn t 
 do something to stop her." 
 
 Miss Laura turned around suddenly. "Dear Aunt 
 Hattie," she said, " you must not say that. I am a 
 coward, I know, about hearing of annnak' pams, but 1 
 must get over it. I want to know bow they suffer, i 
 ought to know, for when I get to be a woman, I am go- 
 in-^ to do all I can to help them." 
 
 "And ril join you," said Mr. :Maxwell, stretching out 
 his hand to Mi=3 Laura. She did not smile, but looking 
 very earnestly at nim, she held it clasped in her own. 
 '« You will help me care for them, will you ? " she said. 
 
 " Yes, I promLse," he said, gravciy. " I'U give myseii to 
 the service of dumb animals, if yon wil^ '' 
 
 "And I too," said I^tr. Harry, in hisdoop voice, laying 
 hi^ hand across theirs. Mrs. Wood stood looking at 
 their three fresh, eager, young faces, with tears m her eyes. 
 Just ag they ail stood silently for an instant, the old vil- 
 lat'e clergvroan came into the room from the hall. IIo 
 must have heard what they said, for before they con d 
 move he had laid his hands on their three, brown heads. 
 " Bless vou, my children," he said, " God will lift up tho 
 licrhtof'his countenance upon you, for you have given 
 yourselves to a noble worV. In serving dumb creatures, 
 you are ennobling the human race." 
 
 Then he sat dcwn in a chair and looked at them. Ho 
 was a venerable old man, and had long, white hair, and 
 the Woods thought a great deal of him. He had come to 
 fret Mrs \v'ood to make some nourishing dishes for a sick 
 ^oraan i.i the village, and while he was talking to he-. 
 Mi ^3 Launi and the two young men went out of tn3 
 
 In I; 
 
M 
 
 OUR RETURN UOME. 
 
 263 
 
 house. They hurried across the veranda and over the 
 lawn, talking and laughing, and enjoying ther^selves 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 foathered charges, 
 Tommy, my lad ? " 
 
 " If it's the geese you mean," said the boy, half cry- 
 ing 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 ]\Ir. 
 Maxwell, teasingly. 
 
 "No, no," said the child, pettishly, "Mr. Wood he sets 
 me to watch the geese, and they runs in among the buck- 
 wheat and the potatoes, and I tries to drive them out, and 
 they doesn't want to come, and," shamefacedly, "I has to 
 switch thei^ feet, and I hates to do it, 'cause I'm a Band 
 of Mercy boy." 
 
 " Toraniy, my son," said Mr. Maxwell, solemnly, " You 
 will go right to heaven when you die, and your geese 
 will go with you." 
 
 "Hush, hush," said Mi^s Lrira ; "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 
 

 2G4 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 I 
 
 t \ t 
 
 have to drive them out. Take sorae 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 middle of the lane, devour- 
 ing 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, be- 
 cause 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, ihat 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 boarded with the married one, but 
 slept in his own house. 
 
 On this October day we found Mr. Wood hard at 
 v.'ork under the fruit trees. He had a good many differ- 
 ent kind of apples. Enormous red ones, and long, yellow 
 ones that they called pippins, and little brown ones, and 
 smooth-coated sweet ones, fJid bright red ones, and others, 
 more than I could mention. Miss Laura often pared one 
 ana 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 Fairpon, and some of Mr. Wood's apples traveled 
 along with us, for he sent a good many to the Boston 
 
 11 .; . 
 
 i1 i 
 
 i! 
 
 ill 
 
OUIi RETURN HOME. 
 
 265 
 
 market Mr. and xAIrs. Wood came to the station to see 
 us off. Mr. Harry could not come, for he had left Kiver- 
 dale the day before to go back to his college. Mra. 
 Wood said that she would be very lonely Avithout her two 
 young people, and she kissed Miss Lau.-a over and over 
 agam, 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 verv knowinrr 
 dog, and if he didn't treat me well, I'd be apt to write 
 bun up in the newspapers. The agent laughed, and quite 
 often on the way to Fairport, he came to mv box and 
 epoke kmdly to me. So I did not get so lonely and 
 Inghtened as I did on my way to Riverdale. 
 
 Hr. glad the Morrises were to see us coming back. 
 Ihe oys hi.d 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 
 luy paw to every one. Jim and little Billy licked mv 
 face, and Bella croaked out, " Glad to see you. Joe. Had 
 a good time ? How's your health ? " 
 
 We soon settl. 1 down for the winter. Mi.s Laura 
 began going to sclool, and came home every day with a 
 pile of books under her arm. The summer'in the coun- 
 try had done her so miich 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. 
 
, I 
 
 mi ^ 
 
 iv ""♦ I 
 
 .W:< 
 
 *■;■ . 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 PERFORMING ANIMALS. 
 
 WEEK or tvo after we got home, I heard thn 
 Morris boys talking about an Italian 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 rolling balls, and doing various tricks. I 
 wondered very much whether they would be able to do 
 all these extraordinary things, but it turned out that 
 I hey did. 
 
 The Italian's name was Bellini, and one afternoon 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, pull- 
 ing 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 tat 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 broad- 
 cloth, flower in hie buttonhole, and so on. He made a fine 
 bow, and he said he was ' pleased to see ze fine audience, 
 and he was going to show zem ze fine animals, ze finest 
 tir.iraals in zc world.' Then he shook a little whip that he 
 carried in his hand, and he said ' zat zat whip didn't mean 
 2CG 
 
 ;i'i ,! 
 
-ERFORMIXO ANIMALS. 
 
 2G7 
 
 zat he was cruel. He cracked it to show his animals 
 when to begin, end, or change their tricks.' Some boy 
 yelled, ' Hats ! you do whip them sometimes,' and the old 
 man made another bow, and said, ' Sairteenly, he whipped 
 zem just as /e mammas whip zc naughty bovs, to make 
 zem keep still when zey was noisy or stubl)oru.' 
 
 "Then everybody laughed at the bov. and the Italian 
 said the performance would begin by a irrand procession 
 oi all the animals, if s(.me lady would kindly step up to 
 the piano and play a march. Kina Smith-you know 
 ^ina, Joe, the girl tiiat luis black eyes and wears blue 
 ribbons, and lives around tlie corner-stepped up to 
 tiie piano, and banged out a fine loud march. The doors 
 at the side of the platform opened, and out came the ani- 
 mals, two by two, just like Noah's ark. There was a pony 
 witii a monkey walking beside it and holding on to its 
 mane, another monkey on a ponv's back, Uxo monkeys 
 hand m band, a dog with a parrot on his back, a goat 
 iiarncssed to a little carriage, another goat carrying a 
 bird-cage in its mouth with two canaries inside, dltlercnt 
 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 white zander that came in 
 last of all, and did nothing but uAljw one of the poniea 
 about, 
 
 "Theltalianspokeof the gander, and said it was a 
 stupid creature, und could learn no tricks, and he only 
 tejit it on account of its aflectiou for the pony. He had 
 got them both on a Vermont farm, when he was lookin^r 
 for show animals. The pony's master had made a pet of 
 hira, and had taught him to come whenever he whistled 
 for him. Though the pony was only a scrub of a crea- 
 ture, he had a gentle disposition, and every other auimjil 
 
268 
 
 CEAUTIFUL JOn. 
 
 ._— J 
 
 ou the farm liked him. A <;aii(l>'r, in particular, had such 
 an admiration for hira, that he followed 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 gab- 
 bled 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 conversation with 
 the goose. If the farmer whistled for the pony and ho 
 started to run to him, the gander, knowing he could not 
 keep up, would seize the pony's tail in his beak, and flap- 
 ping 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 otfered the I'armer a large price fur him, and took him 
 away. 
 
 " Oh, Joe, I forgot to say, that by this time all the ani- 
 mals had been sent off the stage except the pony and the 
 gander, and they stood looking at the Italian while he 
 talked. I never saw anvthing as human in dumb ani- 
 mals 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 hira 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 oa the stage, and it was too queer tor 
 
rEItFoRMr.VG A.VIMAIJS. 
 
 269 
 
 anytlnng to soe the thin-s the two of them did. They 
 helped tho Italian on with his coat, they pulled otf 
 his rubbers, they took his coat awav and brought liim a 
 chair, and dragged a table up to it. They brought hhu 
 letters and papers, and rung bells, and rolled barreb. 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 bovs would bo 
 wiih their hands, and they seemed to unde'rstand every 
 word their master said to them. 
 
 " The best trick of all was telling the time and doin^^ 
 questions in arithmetic. The Italian pulled his watch 
 out of his pocket and showed it to the first pony, whoso 
 name was Diamond, and said ' What time is it? ' Tho 
 pony looked at it, then scratched four times with his fore- 
 foot on the platform. The Italian said, ' That's good- 
 four o'clock. But it's a few minutes after four— how 
 many?' The pony scratched again fi -e 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 davs in a week 
 there were, how many months in a year, and he gavf. him 
 some questions in addition and subtraction, and the pony 
 answered them all correctly. Of course the Italian was 
 giving hira some sign, but though we watched him closely 
 we couldn't make out what it was. At last, he told tho 
 pony that he had been very good, and had done his les- 
 sons well ; if it would rest him, he might be naughty a 
 little while. All of a sudden a wicked look came into 
 the creature'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 whero ho had 
 

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 270 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
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 been rubbing out figures with a sponge held in his mouth. 
 The Italicn 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, gaV,bIing as fast aa 
 he could, and there was a regular roar of applause. 
 
 " After that, there were ladders brought in, Joe, ?nd 
 dogs came on, not thoroughbreds, but curs something like 
 you. The Italian says he can't teach tricks to pedigree 
 auimala 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 ; rwice, and they did backward what they 
 had done forward ; three times, and they stopped, and 
 every animal, dog.-, goats, ponies, and monkeys, after they 
 had finished their i ricks, ran up to theii' master, and he 
 gave them a lump cf sugar. They seemed fimd 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 oft" 
 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 with- 
 out getting off. H : looked as nervous as a cat, shaking his 
 
 11 
 
 vW 
 
 m 
 
PEKFOllMIXQ ANIMALS. 
 
 271 
 
 Old beard, and trying to keep his lour hoo6 close enough 
 together to keep him on the ball. 
 
 *• AVe had a funny little play at the end of the perform- 
 ance. A monkey dressed as a lady, in a 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 
 hght suit of clothes, and a tall hat on the side of his head, 
 bigh 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 ofi the stage ; then a crowd of monkers, chatter- 
 ing and wringing their hands, came on. Mr. Smith had 
 run away with their child. They were all dressed up 
 too, Therewere thefatherand mother, with grav wigs and 
 black clothes, and the young Greens in bibs and tuckers 
 Ibey were a queer-looking crowd. While they were go- 
 ing on m this way, the pony trotted back on the sta^e • 
 and they all flew at him and pulled ofi-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 od brown thing, and some of them seized the do. 
 and kicked his hat. and broke his cane, and stripped hi 
 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 
 hrm 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 
 dropped down as if he was dead. > ^ ^Q 
 
 "The monkeys stood looking at him, and then there 
 was the most awful hullabaloo you ever heard. Such 
 
.^flOWr"' 
 
 r » 
 
 h- 
 
 I 
 
 272 
 
 BEAUTIFTL JOE. 
 
 a barking and yelping, and half a dozen doga 
 rushed on the stage, and didn't they trundle those mon- 
 keys about. They nosed them, and pushed them, and 
 aljook thera, till they all ran away, all but Miss Green 
 who sat shivering in a corner. After a while, s} crept 
 up to the dead dog, pawed him a ittle, and didn't he 
 jump up as much alive as any of them? Everybody in 
 the room clapped and shouted, and then the curtain 
 dropped, and the thing was over. I wish he'd give 
 another performance. Early in tha 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 go- 
 ing 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 princi- 
 pal 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 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 nervous 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 letting 
 
s^-'^4: 
 
 PERFORMING ANIMALS. 
 
 273 
 
 his horse stop a minute to rest be kept urging him for- 
 ward. The poor horse kept looking at his master, his 
 eyes almost starting from Lis head in terror. He knew 
 that the whip was about to descend 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 
 influence with the driver. There was a very good hu- 
 mane society in Fairport, and none of the teamsters 
 dared ill use their horses if any of the members were 
 near. This was a quiet out-of-the-Avay street, with onlv 
 poor houses on it, and the man probably knew that none 
 of the members of the society would be likely to be living 
 m 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 was 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 tho poorly dressed woman, bitterlv • "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 bo frightened or miserable again, and I went 
 slowly on, thiuUug that death is the best thing that can 
 happen to tortured animals. 
 
 The Fairport Hotel was built right in the centre of the 
 town and the shops and houses crowded quite close about 
 U. It was a high, brick building, and it was called the 
 Fairport House. As I was runnir.g along the sidewalk 
 I heard some one speak to me, and looking up I saw 
 Charlie Montague. I had heard the Morrises say that 
 his parents wore staying at the hotel for a few weeks, 
 WiiUe their house was being repaired. He had his Irish 
 setter Brisk, with him, and a handsome dog ^ - was as he 
 Btood waving his silky tail in the sunlight. Charlie patted 
 
 a 
 
 I 
 
 f 
 
 i 
 
[' I 
 
 n 
 
 I 
 
 
 274 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 me, and then ho and his dog went into the hotel. I turned 
 into the stable yard. It Aua a small, choked-up place, 
 and aa I picked my way under the cabs and wagons 
 standing 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 \?cre two little ponies tied up in a stall, 
 two goats beyond thena, and dogs and monkeys in strong 
 traveling cages. I stood in the doorway and stared at 
 them. 1 was sorry for the dogs to bo 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 turned 
 around and looked at me with their gentle eyes, and then 
 went on munching their hay. I wondered very much where 
 the gander wai;, 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 made a jabber- 
 ing noise i.nd 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 
 tke 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 span- 
 iels, an Irish terrier, and a brown dog asleep in the 
 corner, that I knew must be Bob. He did look a littlo 
 
PERFOHMINa ANIMAUS. 
 
 275 
 
 like me, but h waa not quite so u^ly, for he had hia eaia 
 and his tail. 
 
 While I waa 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 Ian- 
 guage that I did not understand. So I knew that he was 
 the Italian. How glad the animals were to see him I The 
 gander fluttered 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-lounding 
 words. Then he took out of a bag on his arm, bones for 
 the dogs, nuts and cakes for the monkeys, nice, juicy car- 
 rots for the ponies, some green stuff for the goats, and 
 corn for the gander. 
 
 It waa a pretty sight to see the old man fcedintr his 
 pets, and it made me feel quite hungry, so I trotted h^ome. 
 I had a run down town again that evening with Mr. 
 Morris, who went to get something 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 the night. Then I 
 started up and ran outside. There was a'distant bell 
 riugmg, which we oftea heard in Fairport, and which 
 always meant fire. 
 
 »i! 
 
H'. 
 
 w^ 
 
 mi 
 
 i 
 
 I ■■• 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 A FIRE IN FAIRPORT, 
 
 HAD several times run to a fire with the hoys 
 and knew that there was always a great noite 
 and excitement. There was a light in the 
 house, so I knew that somebody waa getting up. I don't 
 think — indeed I know, for they were good boys — that 
 they ever wanted anybody 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 oflT 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 hurrv, and were thrusting: 
 their arms in their coats, and buttoning themselves up as 
 they went. Some of thcii: had hats and some of them 
 had none, and they all had 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 
 276 
 
A FIRE IN PAIRPORT. 
 
 277 
 
 blaze. Hope not How's the 
 
 supply 
 
 - water supply now 7 
 time for a fire." 
 
 It was the hotel. We saw that aa 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 agiinst 
 ta3 SKV. Jim and 1 kept close to Mr. Morris's heels, a« 
 ho pushed his way among the crowd. When we got 
 nearer the burning building, we saw men carrying lad- 
 ders and axes, and others were shouting directions and 
 rushing out of the hotel, carrying boxes and bundles and 
 lurniture in tlieir arms. From the windows above camo 
 a e^eady stream of articles, thrown among ths crowd A 
 mirror struck Mr. Morris on the arm, and a whole pack- 
 age of clothes fell on his head and almost smothered him ; 
 but he bra?]ied them aside and scarcely noticed them'. 
 There >v-a3 something the matter with' Mr. Morris— I 
 knew bj the worried sound of his voice when he spoke to 
 any one. I could not see his face, though it was as licrht 
 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 was, 
 had got separated from us. 
 
 Presently Mr. Morris raided bis voice above the uproar 
 and called, " Is every one out of the hotel ? " A voice 
 shouted back, " I'm going up to see." 
 
 "It's Jim Watson, the fireman," cried some one near. 
 ♦ He 8 risking his life 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 farw 
 thar than the second, anjrway." 
 
 
 I' 
 
 '!« I 
 
 t . 
 
 ,3 'If 
 
 u 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
BEAUTIFUL, JOE. 
 
 "Where are the Montai^iog? " shouted Mr. Morris. 
 " Has any one seen the Monta^ies ? " 
 
 " Mr. Morris ! Mr. Morris ! " said a frightened voice, 
 and young Charlie Montague pressed through the people 
 to us. " Where's papa ? " 
 
 '■1 dont 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 rao to 
 put on my clothes and go downstairs, and he ran up 
 to mamma." 
 
 • Where was she ? " asked Mr. ^torris, 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 ihe little boy, bursting into tears, " and I want 
 mamma." ^Ir. Morris soothed him as best he could, and 
 drew him a little 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 screaming, in broken Enghsh 
 that the fire was spreading to the stables, and his ani- 
 mals 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 
 
A FIRK IN FAIRPORT. 
 
 279 
 
 had been slajpiiig in the top of the hotel had not got out. 
 Tiioy said that at one of the top wiudusva a poor houat- 
 niuid was shrieking' for help. Here in the street we 
 could see no one at the upper windows, for sn-oke waa 
 pouring from tlieni. 
 
 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 little shirt, and 
 left me to watch him, while he helu his hands under 
 a leak in a hose that was fastened to a hydrant 
 near us. He ^;ot enough water to daah on Charlie's face 
 and breast, and then seeing tiiat the boy was reviving, he 
 sat down on the curbstone and took him on his knee. 
 Charlie lay in his arms and moaned. He waa a delicate 
 boy, and he could not stand rough usage as the Morris 
 boys could. 
 
 JMr. Morris was tcrril)ly 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 shrielvs 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 
 
 i1 
 
 '■ff 
 
280 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 ^'■■J^* 
 
 g^^jl 
 
 tr 
 
 with my paws. They would throw a piece of lighted 
 paper on tlie floor, and 1 would crush it with my fore- 
 paws ; 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 rr.i around the corner of the streeet 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 windows watching the fire, or packing up 
 their belongings 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, piercing noise, 
 that it made me shudder and stand still. The Italian's 
 animals were going to be burned up, and they were call- 
 ing 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 thank- 
 ful 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 remembered 
 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 
 
▲ FIRE IN FAIRPOr.T. 
 
 281 
 
 noise. Everybody stood gazing silently at tlie flarae*. 
 A man stepped quietly up to Mr. Morris, and looking at 
 liim, I saw that it was Mr. Montague. He was usually a 
 well-dressed man, with a kind face, and a head of thick, 
 grayish-brown hair. Now his face was black and grimy, 
 his hair was burnt fiom the front of his head, and hi» 
 clothes were half torn from his back. :Mr. Morris sprang 
 up when ae saw him, and said, " Where is your wife ? " 
 
 The gentleman did not say a word but pointed to the 
 burning building. " Impossible," cried Mr. Moi .is. " Is 
 there no mistake? Y ur beautiful young wife, Montague. 
 Can it be eo? " Mr. :Morris w.-'s trembling from head to 
 foot. 
 
 " It is true," said Mr. Montague, quietly. " Give me 
 the boy." Charlie had fainted again, and his father took 
 him in his arms, <ind turned away. 
 
 "Montague! " cried Mr. Morris, "my heart is sore foi 
 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. 
 
 M 
 
 'I 
 
•>;;_. 
 
 y4 i 
 
 $s^ftV 
 
 -ir '^ " 
 
 \^f^ %J 
 
 j.?vj-- 
 
 
 ^i^: 
 
 ^m^ 
 
 ^:^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXX V. 
 
 BILLY AND THE ITALIAX. 
 
 iii' 
 
 [R. MORRIS stayed no longer. He followed Mr. 
 Montague along the sidewalk a little way, and 
 then exchanged a few hurried words with some 
 men who were standing near, and hastened home through 
 streets that seemed daric and dull after the splendor of 
 the fire. Though it was still the middle of the night, 
 Mrs. Morris was up and dressed and waiting for him. 
 She opened the hall door with one hand and held a 
 candle in the other. I felt frightened and miserable, and 
 didn't want ' ■ leave Mr. Morris, so I crept in after him. 
 
 " Don'i, ::.ake 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," said Sirs. 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. 
 
 He dropped his hands from hio face, and *8ars were 
 running down his cheeks. "Ten lives lost," he said; 
 " among them Mrs. Montague." 
 
 Mrs. Morris looked horrified, and gave a little cry, 
 " William, it can't be so !" 
 
 It peeiued as if Mr. Morris could not sit still. He got 
 
 282 
 
EILLY A^'D THE ITALIAN. 
 
 233 
 
 up and walked to uud 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 
 delicate woman and her death agony." lie threw him 
 self in a chair and buried his face in his hands. 
 
 " Where was she ? How did it happen ? Was her 
 husband saved, and Charlie?" said Mrs. Morris, in a 
 broken voice. 
 
 " Yes ; Charlie and Mr. Montague are safe. Charlie will 
 recover from it. Montague's life is done. You know his 
 love for his wife. Oh, Margaret ! when will men cease to 
 be fools ? W^hat does the Lord think of them when they 
 say, ' Am I my brother's keeper ? ' And the other poor 
 creatures 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. Then she made 
 him lie down on the sofa, and she sat by him till day- 
 break, when she persuaded him to go to bed. I followed 
 her about, and kept t<mching 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 is a suffering world. It's well 
 there's a better one beyond it." 
 
 In the morning the boys went down town before break- 
 fast and learned all about the lire. It started in the top 
 
 '^1^ 
 
284 
 
 BEAUTIFUL, JOE. 
 
 hi I 
 
 storj of the hotel, in the room of some fast young men, 
 who were sitting up late playing cards. They had smug- 
 gled win 3 into tiieir room and had been drinking ti 1 they 
 were stupid. One of them upset the lamp, and when the 
 flames began to spread so that they -jould not extinguish 
 them, instead o^ 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 gocten upstairs ; 
 but he found the passageway to his wife's room so full of 
 flames and smoke, ihat, 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 bo>, 
 and took him to some rooms over his bank, and shut 
 himself up with him. 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 tiie most of them were so terrified 
 that they would not stir. 
 
 The Morris boys said that they found the old Italian 
 sitting on an empty box, lookmg at the smoking ruins of 
 the hotel. His head was hanging on his breast, and his 
 eyes were full of tears. His ponies were burned up, he 
 said, and the gander, 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 
 
 III 
 
BILLY AND THi^ ITALIAN. 
 
 286 
 
 to get this troupe of trained animals together, and now 
 they were swept from him. It was cruel and wicked, and 
 he wished he coulJ 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 fort}> questions, and 
 among other things, ..-ould take a watch and tell the time 
 of day. 
 
 Jack Morris told him tnat they had it safe at home, and 
 that it was very much alive, quarreling furiously with his 
 parrot Bella. The old man's faco I rightened at this, and 
 then Jack and Carl, finding that he had had no breakfast, 
 went off to a restaurant near by, and got him some steak 
 and coffee. The Italian was very grateful, and as he 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 the'r brealcfast 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 sepa- 
 rated 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 mistress. 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 omfortable place for the night Whea 
 
 § 
 
^ 
 
 286 
 
 BEAUTIPlJli JOE. 
 
 
 he came back, be said that he had found oat 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 to- 
 gether 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, and not two years old yet He could 
 teach him anvthinij." 
 
 There was a blank silence among the Morris children. 
 Pilly 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 frequeii; word as to Billy's 
 
 progress and welfare. 
 
 rn 
 
 M" 
 
CHAPTER XXXVT. 
 
 I 
 
 DANDY THE TRAMP. 
 
 [bout a week alter Billy left us, the Morris 
 family, much to its surprise, became 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 c'-uing 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 nevcv cared a bit, and just dozed ofi'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 in- 
 quiries 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 be wouldn't stay long in any 
 place. The Morrises were 30 amused with his impudence, 
 that they did not send him away, but said every dav, 
 " Surely he will be gone to-morrow." 
 
 287 
 

 -M: 
 
 r 
 
 2?8 
 
 BEAU^riFUL JOE. 
 
 n 
 
 t : 
 
 k 
 
 
 However, Mr. Dandy had gotten into comfortable 
 quarters, and he had no intention of changing them, for 
 a while at least. Then he was very handsome, and had 
 such a pleaaant way with him, that the family could rot 
 help liking him. I never cared for him. He fawned on 
 the Morrisea, and pretended he loved them, and after- 
 ward turned around uud laughed and sneered at them in 
 a way that made me very angry. I used to lecture him 
 somenmes, and growl about him to Jim, but Jim alwava 
 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 neign- 
 borhood. She was a thief and a runaway." Though he 
 provoked me so often, yet I could not help laughing at 
 tome 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, coaxingiy, " Don't 
 be CToiiS, 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 inter- 
 esting 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 bred in New 
 York. Swell stable. Swell coachman. Swell master. 
 3welled fingers of ladies poking at me, first thing I re- 
 member. First painful experieuce — being sent to vet. to 
 have ears cut." 
 
 " What's a vet. ? " I said. 
 
 "A veterinnry— animal doctor. Vet. didn't cut ears 
 enough. Master sent me back. Cut ears again. Sum- 
 mer time, and Hies bad. Ears got sore and festered, and 
 
DANDY THE TRAMP. 
 
 2S9 
 
 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 ma 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 
 neighborhood. 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. AYayback, a bull terrier's 
 ears are clipped to keep them from getting torn while 
 fighting." 
 
 " You're not a fighting dog," I said. 
 
 " Not I. Too much trouble. I believe in taking things 
 eatiy." 
 
 "I should think you did," I said, scornfully. "You 
 never put yourself out for any one, I notice ; but speak- 
 ing 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 well be out of 
 the world as out of the fashion. I don't care, now my 
 *,ars 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 s*able yard narrow and wondered what there 
 was outside it. I discovered a hole in the garden wall. 
 
 
 T 
 
290 
 
 DEAUTIFUI. JOE. 
 
 and used to sneak out nights. Oh, what fun it was. I 
 got to know a lot of street dog3, and we had gay timer, 
 barking under people's windows and making them mad, 
 and getting into back yards and chasing eats. We used 
 to kill a cat nearly every night. Policemen would chase 
 us, and we would run and run till the water just ran oflf 
 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 
 ou*! 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 sho 
 used to take them for drives in her phaeton in the park, 
 and ihey wore gold and silver collars. The biggest 
 poodle wore a ruby in his collar worth five hundred dol- 
 lars. 1 went driving too, and sometimes we met my 
 master. He often smiled, and snook 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 tbey hpd 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 ray master, used to say that 
 it was priggish aud tiresome to be too good To go on 
 with my story : I stayed with Mrs. Judge Tibbett till I 
 I got sick of her fussv 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 Mas er Tot, and Miss Tiny, a?.l 
 
I 
 
 DAKDY THE TRAMP. 
 
 201 
 
 Miss Fluff. One day they tried to make me sit in a 
 chair, and I got cross and bit Mrs. Tibbett, and she beut 
 mo cruelly, and her servants stoned me away from the 
 house." 
 
 " Speaking about fuola, 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 car- 
 riage, 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 children anyway. Ti-en dogs 
 like 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 1 said nothing, and he went on, patroniz- 
 ingly : "However, Joe, thou hast reason, as the French 
 say. Mrs. Judge Tibbett didn't give her dogs exercii-o 
 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 
 medicine, and call them her poor, little, 'weeny-teeny, 
 sicky-wicky doggies.' Bah! I got disgusted with her. 
 Wiieu I left her, I ran away to her 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 sensible, for her pug and I were rubbed 
 and scrubbed within an inch of our lives, and had to "^o 
 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 wa.1 Trotsey's business, to walk 
 
 i 
 
 # 
 
 r 
 
 
 in 
 
292 
 
 BRAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 dogs, and Miss Ball got a great many fashionable young 
 ladies who could not exercise their dogs, to let Trotsey have 
 them, and they eaid that it made a great diflerence in the 
 nealth pnd appearance of their pets. Trotsey got fifteen 
 cents an hour for a dog. Goodness, what appetites those 
 waliid gave us, and didn't we make the dog biscuita dis- 
 appear? But it was a slow life at Miss Ball's. We only 
 saw her for a little wliile every day. She slept till noon. 
 After lunch she played with us for a httle while in the 
 green-house, then she was off driving or visiting, and in 
 the evening she always had company, or went to a dance, 
 or to the theatre. I soon made up ray 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 
 bad been run over by a cart and killed, and I wasn't sorry. 
 My master never botliered his head about me, and I 
 could do as I liked. One day when I was having a walk, 
 and meeting a lot of dogs that I knew, a little boy came 
 behind me, and before 1 could tell what he was doing, he 
 had snatched me up, and was running ofi" with me. I 
 couldn't bite him, for he had stuffed 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 rooii^s for 
 8ev*»ral days ; and the brat of a boy that caught me, slept 
 with his arm around me at night. The weather was hot 
 and sometimes wo couldn't sleep, and they had to go up 
 on the roof. After a while, they chained me up in a filthy 
 
DANDY THE TRAMP. 
 
 293 
 
 yard at the back of tho house, and there I thought I 
 Bhould go mad. I would have liked to bite them all to 
 death, if I had dared. It'a awful to be chained, especi- 
 ally for a dog like me that loves his freedom. The flies 
 worried me, and the noises distracted nic, and my flesh 
 would fairly creep from getting no exercise. I was there 
 nearly a ramth, while *hey were waiting for a reward to 
 bo offereci. 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 gentle- 
 man got me for hia 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 policemen, and finally 
 got home more dead than alive, and looking like a Erele- 
 ton. I had a goo 1 time for several weeks, aiid then I 
 began to get restless and was off agair. 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 aiid lool-ed at him. What a handsome, good- 
 natured, worthless dog Le was. A few days later, he told 
 me the rest of his history. After a groat many wander- 
 ings, 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, bo that he could be an amusement on the pas- 
 sage to Fairport 
 
 It was in November that Dandy came to us, and hi» 
 stayed all winter. He made fun of the Morrises ail the 
 time, and said they had a dull, poky, old house, and he 
 only stayed because Miss Lai -a was nursing him. He 
 
 IH 
 
 III 
 
 
294 
 
 EEAUTIFLL JOE. 
 
 •l^' 
 
 rvi 
 
 had a littlo Bore on his hack that she soon found out was 
 mange. Her father said it was a had disease for dogs to 
 have, and Dandy liad hotter he eliot; but she bogged so 
 hard for his life, nnd ^nid she would cure him in a few 
 Mveeks, that slie was uUowcd to keep him. Dandy wasn't 
 <apahle of getting really angry, iiut he was as disturbed 
 about haviiig 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 lie was separated from us. !Mis8 
 I--aura kept him up in the loft vith the rabbits, where we 
 could not go ; and the boys ran him around the garden 
 for exercise. Siie tried all kinds of cures for him, and I 
 beard her say that though it w"3 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 rrsenic 
 every day, and washed the s'-:e, and, indeed his whole 
 body with tobacco water or carbolic soap. It was the 
 tobacco water that cured him. 
 
 Miss Laura always put on gloves when she went near 
 him, and used a brush to wash him, f )r if a person takes 
 mange fro.. -<> they may lose their hair . jd th:ir 
 
 eyelashes. BuL if hey art i:areful, no harm comes from 
 nursing a mangy dog, and I liave never knov/n of any 
 one taking the disease. 
 
 After a time, Dandy's sore healed, and he was s?t free. 
 He was right glad he said, for he had got heartily ick of 
 the rabbits. lie used to bark at them and makt them 
 
,.0il"^'%^^- 
 
 DA.KDY TnE TRAin*. 
 
 295 
 
 rnprrv. and they would rue around the loft, stamping their 
 bind feet at him, in the funny way that rabbita do. 1 
 think they disliked hini as much as he disliked them. 
 Jim iuid I did not get the mange. Dandy was not a 
 Htrong dog, and I thhiL his irregular way of living made 
 liim take diseases readily. He would stulT himself when 
 he was hungry, and he always wanf'd rich footi. If he 
 couldn't get what he wanted at the Morrises', he went out 
 and stole, or visited the dumps at the hack of the town. 
 
 When he did get ill, he was more stuj id about doctor- 
 ing himself than any dog that I have ever seen. He 
 never seemed to know when to eat erass, or herbs, or a 
 little earth, that would have kept hi ii :,'ood condition. 
 A dog should never be withi^ut grass. When Dandy got 
 ill, he justeid'ered till he got well again, and never tried 
 to cure himself of his aiiiall troubles. Some dogs even 
 know enough to amputate their limbs. Jim told me a 
 very interesting story of a dog the Morrises once had, 
 called Gyp, whose leg became paralyzed by a kick from a 
 horsb. 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 waiting for 
 the spring to leave ua, and I was not sorry. The first tine 
 day he was off, and during the rest of the spring and sum- 
 mer we occasionally met him running about the town 
 with a set of fast dogs. One day I stopped, and asked 
 him how he contented himself in such a quiet place as 
 Fairport, and he said he was dying to get back to New 
 York, and was hoping that hia master's yacht would come 
 and take him away. 
 
 Poor Dandy never left Fairport. After all, be was 
 not such a bad dog. There was sothing really vicious 
 
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 296 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 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 I utter that she was eating. He did not see the 
 larg« house-dog on the door sill, and before he could get 
 away, the dog had seized hira, 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 eat the food that 
 she put in his mouth, so she let him lick 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 
 eight. When I came back, Dandy was gone. I looked 
 till I found him. He had crawled into the darkest cor- 
 ner 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 be- 
 gan badly, and not being checked in his evil ways, had 
 come to this. Poor Daudy ! 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 bitterly to 
 Imow 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 ani giils 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 tiiiics, 
 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 
 easilv. 
 
 I was a year old when I went to the ^lorrises, and I 
 have been with them for twelve years. I am not living 
 in the same house with Mr. and Mrs. Morris now, but 1 
 am with my dear Miss Laura, who is Miss Laura no 
 longer, but IMrs. Gray. She married Mr. Harry four 
 years ago, and lives with him and Mr. and Mrs. Wood, 
 on Dingley Farm, Mr. and Mrs. Morris live in a cot- 
 tage near by. Mr. Morris is not very strong, and can 
 
 2'J7 
 
298 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 preach no longer. The boys are all scattered. Jack mar- 
 ried pretty Miss Bessie Drury, and li\-!S on a large farm 
 near here. Miss Bessie says that she bates to be a farm- 
 er's wife, but she always looks very happy and contented, 
 so I think that she must be mistaken. Carl is a merchant in 
 New York, Ned is a clerk in a bank, and Willie is study- 
 ing at a place called Harvard. He says that after he 
 finishes his studies, he is going to live with his f ither 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 Ci.arlie come every other summer. 
 Charlie always brings with him his ohl dog Brisk, who is 
 getting feeble, like myself We lie on the veranda in the 
 sunshine, and listen to the Morrises talking about old days, 
 :n\d sometimes it makes us fee' quite young again. In 
 addition to Brisk we have a Scotch collie. He is very 
 handsorne, and is a con&iant attendant of Miss Laura's. 
 "We are great friends, he and I, but he can get about 
 nmch better than I can. One day a friend of Miss 
 Laura's came with a little boy and girl, and "Collie " sat 
 l)etween the two children, and their father took their 
 picture with a " kodak." 1 like him so much that I told 
 him I would get them to put his picture in ny book. 
 
 When the Morris bovs are all here in the summer we 
 have gay times. All through the winter we look forward 
 to their 3oming, for they make the old farmhouse so 
 lively. Mr. Maxwell never misses a summer in coming 
 to Riverdale. He has such a following of dur^b animals 
 now, that he says he can't move them any farther away 
 from Boston than ibis, and he doesn't know what ho will 
 do ^»ith them, unless he sets up a menagerie. He asked 
 Miss Laura the other day, if she thought that the old 
 
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 THE END OF MY STORY. 
 
 290 
 
 Italian would take him into partnership. He did not 
 kno\^ what had happened to poor Bellini, so Mi^s Laura 
 told him. 
 
 A few years ago the Italian came to Riverdale, to ex- 
 hibit 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, ana 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' saks, 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 lieard nothing but 
 ^'ood news from them, till last winter. Then a letter 
 came to >.1[iss Laura from a nurse in a New York hospi- 
 tal. She said that the Italian was very near his end, and 
 he wanted her to write to Mrs. Gray to tell her that he 
 had sold all his rnimals 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 bless- 
 in" on the kind ladv and her familv that had befriended 
 him when he was in troubk 
 
 The next day Billy arrived, a thin, white scarecrow of 
 a dog. He was sick and unhappy, and would eat nothing, 
 and started up at the slighest sound. He was listening 
 for the Italian's footsteps, but he never came, and one 
 day Mr. Karry looked up from Lis newspaper and said, 
 " Laura, Bellini is dead." Miss Laura's eyes filled with 
 
300 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 tears, and Billy, who had jumped up when he heard his 
 masters name, fell back again. He knew what they 
 meant, and from that instant he ceased listening for foot- 
 steps, and lay quite still till he died. Miss Laura had 
 him put m a little, wooden box. and buried him in a cor- 
 ner of the garden, and when she is working among her 
 flowers, she often speaks regretfully of him, and of poor 
 Dandy, who lies m 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. 
 bome of them even get to be a hundred years old. If 
 that 13 the case. Beua will outlive all of us. She notices 
 that I am getting blind and feeble, and when I go down 
 to call on Mrs. Morris, she calls out to me. " Keep a stiff 
 upper hp. Beautiful Joe. Never say die. Beautiful Joe. 
 Jieep the game agoing. 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 savs 
 with a sly t^nnkle in his eye, "Come out into thegarden. 
 Be a, and he lies in a hammock under the tre^. 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 shock" Mrs. Mcrris with her 
 slfuig talk. 
 
 r am glad that I am to end my days in Riverdale. 
 * airport was a very nice place, but it was not open and 
 free hke this farm. I t.ke a walk every morning that 
 the sun shines. I go out among the horses and cowc, 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 littlo 
 
 M 
 
THE END OP MY STORY. 
 
 301 
 
 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 e.^t 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 hini, now that my legs are so stiff with rheu- 
 matism, and he takes delight in showing me how spry he 
 can be, darting around me and whisking his tail almost 
 iu 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 presents of foreign fruits and curiosi- 
 ties of different kinds. 
 
 Malta, the cat, is still living, and is with ^Irs. Morris. 
 Davy, the rat, is gone, so is poor old Jim. He went away 
 one day last summer, and no one evei knew what became 
 of him. The Morrises searched evei .where 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 bow mucii I suffer. 
 
 She is just as tender-hearted as ever, but she tries not 
 
302 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 
 
 \i\ 
 
 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 of good in Riverdale, and I do not 
 think that there is any one in all the country around 
 who id 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 kinda 
 of animal^. It is a model village not only in that respect, 
 but in others. It has seemed as if all other improvo- 
 meuts went hand in hand with the humane treatment of 
 animals. Thoughtfulness toward lower creatures has 
 made the people more and mure thoughtful toward them- 
 selves, and this little town is getting to have quite a name 
 through the State for its good schools, good society, and 
 g:od business and religious standing. Many people are 
 moving into it., to educate their children. The River- 
 dale people are very particular about what sort of stran- 
 gers 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 committtee of Riverdale citizens waited 
 on him, and said they had had a great deal of trouble to 
 root c't 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 or., to some other place. The 
 man was utterly astonished, and said he'd never heard 
 of such particular people. He had had no thought of 
 
THE END OF MY STOBY. 
 
 S03 
 
 being cruel. He didn't think that the kitten cared ; but 
 now when he turnec^ the thintj over in hia mind, he didn't 
 suppose crt3 liked being kicked about any more than he 
 would like it himself, and he would promise to be kind 
 to them iv future. He said too, that if the) had no ob- 
 jection, he would just stay on, for if the people there 
 treated dumb animab with such consideration, they 
 would certainly treat human bei»'^ better, and he 
 thought it would be a good place to bring up his chil- 
 dren in. Of course they let him stay, an 1 he is now a man 
 who is celebrated for his kindness to every living thing ; 
 and he never refuses to help ^liss Laura when she goes 
 tx) him for money to carry out any of her humane 
 schemes. 
 
 There is one most important saying of Misa Lauras 
 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 pun- 
 ished ; but to merely thoughtless people, don't say 
 "Don't "so much. Don't go to them and say, "Don't 
 overfeed 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 satis- 
 fied. No one can tell you how to treat your animal as 
 well aa you should know yourself, for you are with it ail 
 the time, and know its disposition, and just how t 'uch 
 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." 
 
304 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE, 
 
 Mi88 Laura says that if men and women are kind in 
 every respect to their dumb servants, they will be 
 astouishcd 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 i? 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, 
 Tny little story will not be written in vain. My last 
 words are, " Boys and girls, be kind to dumb animals 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."