Beautiful Joe - Marshall Saunders (the reading strategies book .TXT) 📗

get yellow cream like this in the

village, Mr. Maxwell?"

 

"No, Mrs. Wood," he said; "ours is a much paler yellow," and then there

was a great tinkling of china, and passing of dishes, and talking and

laughing, and no one noticed that I was not in my usual place in the

hall. I could not get over my dread of the green creature, and I had

crept under the table, so that if it came out and frightened Miss Laura,

I could jump up and catch it.

 

When tea was half over, she gave a little cry. I sprang up on her lap,

and there, gliding over the table toward her, was the wicked-looking

green thing. I stepped on the table, and had it by the middle before it

could get to her. My hind legs were in a dish of jelly, and my front

ones were in a plate of cake, and I was very uncomfortable. The tail of

the green thing hung in a milk pitcher, and its tongue was still going

at me, but I held it firmly and stood quite still.

 

"Drop it, drop it!" cried Miss Laura, in tones of distress, and Mr.

Maxwell struck me on the back, so I let the thing go, and stood

sheepishly looking about me. Mr. Wood was leaning back in his chair,

laughing with all his might, and Mrs. Wood was staring at her untidy

table with rather a long face. Miss Laura told me to jump on the floor,

and then she helped her aunt to take the spoiled things off the table.

 

I felt that I had done wrong, so I slunk out into the hall. Mr. Maxwell

was sitting on the lounge, tearing his handkerchief in strips and tying

them around the creature where my teeth had stuck in. I had been careful

not to hurt it much, for I knew it was a pet of his; but he did not know

that, and scowled at me, saying: "You rascal; you've hurt my poor snake

terribly."

 

I felt so badly to hear this that I went and stood with my head in a

corner. I had almost rather be whipped than scolded. After a while, Mr.

Maxwell went back into the room, and they all went on with their tea. I

could hear Mr. Wood's loud, cheery voice, "The dog did quite right. A

snake is mostly a poisonous creature, and his instinct told him to

protect his mistress. Where is he? Joe, Joe!"

 

I would not move till Miss Laura came and spoke to me. "Dear old dog,"

she whispered, "You knew the snake was there all the time, didn't you?"

Her words made me feel better, and I followed her to the dining room,

where Mr. Wood made me sit beside him and eat scraps from his hand all

through the meal.

 

Mr. Maxwell had got over his ill humor, and was chatting in a lively

way. "Good Joe," he said, "I was cross to you, and I beg your pardon It

always riles me to have any of my pets injured. You didn't know my poor

snake was only after something to eat. Mrs. Wood has pinned him in my

pocket so he won't come out again. Do you know where I got that snake,

Mrs. Wood?"

 

"No," she said; "you never told me."

 

"It was across the river by Blue Ridge," he said. "One day last summer I

was out rowing, and, getting very hot, tied my boat in the shade of a

big tree. Some village boys were in the woods, and, hearing a great

noise, I went to see what it was all about They were Band of Mercy boys,

and finding a country boy beating a snake to death, they were

remonstrating with him for his cruelty, telling him that some kinds of

snakes were a help to the farmer, and destroyed large numbers of field

mice and other vermin. The boy was obstinate. He had found the snake,

and he insisted upon his right to kill it, and they were having rather a

lively time when I appeared. I persuaded them to make the snake over to

Apparently it was already dead. Thinking it might revive, I put it

on some grass in the bow of the boat. It lay there motionless for a long

time, and I picked up my oars and started for home. I had got half way

across the river, when I turned around and saw that the snake was gone.

It had just dropped into the water, and was swimming toward the bank we

had left. I turned and followed it.

 

"It swam slowly and with evident pain, lifting Its head every few

seconds high above the water, to see which way it was going. On reaching

the bank it coiled itself up, throwing up blood and water. I took it up

carefully, carried it home, and nursed it. It soon got better, and has

been a pet of mine ever since."

 

After tea was over, and Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura had helped Adele finish

the work, they all gathered in the parlor. The day had been quite warm,

but now a cool wind had sprung up, and Mr. Wood said that it was blowing

up rain.

 

Mrs. Wood said that she thought a fire would be pleasant; so they

lighted the sticks of wood in the open grate, and all sat round the

blazing fire.

 

Mr. Maxwell tried to get me to make friends with the little snake that

he held in his hands toward the blaze, and now that I knew that it was

harmless I was not afraid of it; but it did not like me, and put out its

funny little tongue whenever I looked at it.

 

By-and-by the rain began to strike against the windows, and Mr. Maxwell

said, "This is just the night for a story. Tell us something out of your

experience, won't you, Mr. Wood?"

 

"What shall I tell you?" he said, good-humoredly. He was sitting between

his wife and Mr. Harry, and had his hand on Mr. Harry's knee.

 

"Something about animals," said Mr. Maxwell. "We seem to be on that

subject to-day."

 

"Well," said Mr. Wood, "I'll talk about something that has been running

in my head for many a day. There is a good deal of talk nowadays about

kindness to domestic animals; but I do not hear much about kindness to

wild ones. The same Creator formed them both. I do not see why you

should not protect one as well as the other. I have no more right to

torture a bear than a cow. Our wild animals around here are getting

pretty well killed off, but there are lots in other places. I used to be

fond of hunting when I was a boy; but I have got rather disgusted with

killing these late years, and unless the wild creatures ran in our

streets, I would lift no hand to them. Shall I tell you some of the

sport we had when I was a youngster?"

 

"Yes, yes!" they all exclaimed.

 

 

 

 

 

       *       *       *       *       *

 

CHAPTER XXIII (TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS)

 

"Well," Mr. Wood began. "I was brought up, as you all know, in the

eastern part of Maine, and we often used to go over into New Brunswick

for our sport. Moose were our best game. Did you ever see one, Laura?"

 

"No, uncle," she said.

 

"Well, when I was a boy there was no more beautiful sight to me in the

world than a moose with his dusky hide, and long legs, and branching

antlers, and shoulders standing higher than a horse's. Their legs are so

long that they can't eat close to the ground. They browse on the tops of

plants, and the tender shoots and leaves of trees. They walk among the

thick underbrush, carrying their horns adroitly to prevent their

catching in the branches, and they step so well, and aim so true, that

you'll scarcely hear a twig fall as they go.

 

"They're a timid creature except at times. Then they'll attack with

hoofs and antlers whatever comes in their way. They hate mosquitoes, and

when they're tormented by them it's just as well to be careful about

approaching them. Like all other creatures, the Lord has put into them a

wonderful amount of sense, and when a female moose has her one or two

fawns she goes into the deepest part of the forest, or swims to islands

in large lakes, till they are able to look out for 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 leaves in one of their paths. This

was connected with a young sapling whose top was bent down. When the

moose stepped on the loop it would release the sapling, and up it would

bound, catching him by the leg. These snares were always set deep in the

woods, and we couldn't visit them very often. Sometimes the moose would

be there for days, raging and tearing around, and scratching the skin

off his legs. That was cruel. I wouldn't catch a moose in that way now

for a hundred dollars.

 

"Another way was to hunt them on snow shoes with dogs. In February and

March the snow was deep, and would carry men and dogs. Moose don't go

together in herds. In the summer they wander about over the forest, and

in the autumn they come together in small groups, and select a hundred

or two of acres where there is plenty of heavy undergrowth, and to which

they usually confine themselves. They do this so that their tracks won't

tell their enemies where they are.

 

"Any of these places where there were several moose we called a moose

yard. We went through the woods till we got on to the tracks of some of

the animals belonging to it, then the dogs smelled them and went ahead

to start them. If I shut my eyes now I can see one of our moose hunts.

The moose running and plunging through the snow crust, and occasionally

rising up and striking at the dogs that hang on to his bleeding flanks

and legs. The hunters' rifles going crack, crack, crack, sometimes

killing or wounding dogs as well as moose. That, too, was cruel.

 

"Two other ways we had of hunting moose: Calling and stalking. The

calling was done in this way: We took a bit of birch bark and rolled it

up in the shape of a horn. We took this horn and started out, either on

a bright moonlight night or just at evening, or early in the morning.

The man who carried the horn hid himself, and then began to make a

lowing sound like a female moose. He had to do it pretty well to deceive

them. Away in the distance some moose would hear it, and with answering

grunts would start off to come to it. If a young male moose was coming,

he'd mind his steps, I can assure you, on account of fear of the old

ones, but if it was an old fellow, you'd hear him stepping out bravely

and rapping his horns against the trees, and plunging into any water

that came in his way. When he got pretty near, he'd stop to listen, and

then the caller had to be very careful and put his trumpet down close to

the ground, so as to make a lower sound. If the moose felt doubtful he'd

turn; if not, he'd come on, and unlucky for him if he did, for he got a

warm reception, either from the rifles in our hands as we lay hid near

the caller, or from some of the party stationed at a distance.

 

"In stalking, we crept on them the way a cat creeps on a mouse. In the

daytime a moose is usually lying down. We'd find their tracks