A GALLANT RESCUE AND ITS REWARD.
Arthur had hardly left his perch before he was startled by a perfect
babel of sounds coming from where the children were at play. There were
yells and shouts of laughter, mingled with cries of pain and an angry
screaming, together with piteous calls of “Arthur! oh, Arthur! Come and
make ’em stop!”
Like a young deer the boy bounded out of the brush and over the fence,
followed, much more slowly by Uncle Phin. Arrived upon the scene, he
quickly comprehended the situation. In an unfortunate moment, just as
the well was completed and ready to be shot, Cynthia’s dearly loved
little white kitty came demurely walking in that direction looking for
her mistress. At sight of the little animal a brilliant idea flashed
through Dick’s mind, and he at once proceeded to carry it out. He said:
“We can’t have much fun shooting a dry well anyhow, ’cause there won’t
be any oil to fly up in the air; but I’ll tell you what. Let’s have an
execution by ’lectricity. It’ll be immense, and here’s the prisoner
already waiting to be executed.”
Thus saying, the cruel boy snatched up the little white kitty, and,
bidding the others hold Cynthia, who was ready to make a furious
struggle in defence of her pet, he ran with it to the derrick. Here,
with the make-believe drill rope, he hung it by the tail, so that the
little pink nose was but a few inches from the ground. Then, lighting
the fuse of the great cannon-cracker, he placed it directly beneath the
victim, who was now uttering piteous cries of pain and terror, and ran
to where the others were shouting with delight over the new and
thrilling diversion so unexpectedly prepared for them.
Poor, desperate little Cynthia, kicking, biting, scratching, but
struggling in vain with the young rascals who held her fast, began, as a
last resort, to call upon Arthur, the brave Prince who had defended her
against the big dog, and she did not call in vain.
Hatless and breathless, with the fire of righteous wrath blazing in his
blue eyes, the plucky boy came flying to the rescue. He had no thought
of the overwhelming odds against him. The princes of his fairy tales
fought whole armies single-handed, and why should not he? His impetuous
speed carried him right through the shouting group assembled to witness
the execution of the hapless kitty, and two of them were flung to the
ground before they knew of his presence. An instant later he reached the
little derrick. The fuse had burned down into the body of the big
cracker, and in another second it would explode. Without the faintest
trace of hesitation, the little fellow seized it and flung it behind
him.
An explosion followed almost instantly, and was accompanied by a yell of
pain. The moment Dick recognized Arthur, and perceived his intention, he
sprang after his cousin, and was directly in line when the
cannon-cracker came flying toward him. It struck him and fell to the
ground, exploding as it did so, and burning his bare feet painfully.
Furious with rage the cowardly young bully rushed at Arthur, who was
releasing the white kitty from her unhappy position, and with a savage
blow knocked the little fellow down. Then he jumped on him and began to
pummel him, screaming “Take that, will you! And that! I’ll teach you!
I’ll show you who’s boss round here!”
All at once these cruel cries were changed to yells of dismay, as,
whack! whack! whack! a shower of stinging blows fell upon Dick’s
shoulders. Uncle Phin, who had followed Arthur as fast as he was able,
had arrived just in time to save his “lil Marse” from any severe injury
at the hands of his enraged cousin, and to administer, with a stout
stick, the thrashing that the young rascal so well deserved.
In less than a minute cowardly Cousin Dick and his frightened followers
were scampering away towards the house, where they proposed to lay their
side of the case promptly before their mother. Cynthia had gone after
her beloved kitty, and brave little “Prince Dusty,” who had flung
himself into Uncle Phin’s arms, was sobbing as though his heart would
break.
“Soh, Honey, soh, don’t you cry now,” murmured the old man, in soothing
tones. “’Member dat while you is a Dustin by name, you’s a Dale by
breedin, an comes of Dale stock. You’s mos a man now, a young gen’lm’n,
an it won’t nebber do fer sich as you is to cry like a lilly gal. Soh,
now, Honey, soh.”
Neither of them heard the quick, determined step that approached them
from behind, and so occupied was poor, troubled Uncle Phin in soothing
and comforting his charge, that it was an easy matter for Mrs. Dustin to
snatch the trembling boy from his arms. Then she marched rapidly away,
without a word; but dragging her victim relentlessly after her.
Uncle Phin half started to his feet when he first realized what was
happening; but sank back again with a groan, and a murmured “De good
Lawd hab mussy on His Lamb.”
Then he bowed his frosted head on his knees and the hot tears trickled
slowly between his black fingers.
While he thus sat helpless and despairing, poor Arthur was taken to the
house and there whipped, until the apple-tree switch broke, and his Aunt
Nancy’s strength was exhausted. Then, telling the boy that this was a
lesson for him to remember as long as he lived, she bade him go to the
woodshed, which was his sleeping-room, and stay there until she should
release him.
During this undeserved punishment not a cry had escaped from the boy,
nor had a tear found its way to his eyes. He bit his under-lip and
clenched his hands, but not a sound did he utter. He remembered what
Uncle Phin had just told him. He was almost a man now, and no man,
especially a Dale, would cry for a whipping. So, though the little face
was drawn and white, and the boy trembled until he could hardly stand,
he held out to the end as bravely as ever a martyr under torture, and
when he was thrust into his cheerless shed, he sat on the edge of his
rude bed rigid and tearless. His mind was in a furious whirl, but above
all was the overwhelming sense of injustice and outrage.
Finally he sprang to his feet, crying, “I hate you! I hate you! I hate
you!” and then, flinging himself on his bed, he gave way to a burst of
passionate weeping.
“Oh, mamma!” he cried, “my own mamma! why don’t you come for me and take
me away from this dreadful place? I can’t stay here any longer! Indeed I
can’t, mamma! oh, come for me; do come! Please, mamma, come for me, and
take me to where you are!”
For nearly an hour the forlorn child cried for the dear ones who had
left him; then his sobs gradually died away, and, utterly exhausted, he
fell into a troubled sleep.
In the meantime little Cynthia, who only found her dear kitty after a
long search, met her father coming home from his work, and when he
inquired what was the matter with his daughter, and who had made her
cry, she told him the truth of all that had happened, so far as she knew
it. Mr. Dustin had begun to suspect that Arthur was ill-treated by his
cousins, and as he listened to Cynthia’s story, his face grew very
stern, and he said: “This matter must be looked into.”
When they reached the house, and he was told that Arthur had been
severely punished for trying to kill Cynthia’s kitten, and for fighting
with Dick who had rescued it, and that Uncle Phin had beaten Dick, Mr.
Dustin’s anger could not be restrained. He said:
“Wife, I am afraid you have made a terrible mistake, and punished an
innocent child for performing a noble act. If what Cynthia tells me is
true, and I believe it is, Master Dick is the boy who tormented his
little sister, and would have killed her pet. Master Dick is the coward
who thrashed a little fellow two years younger than himself, for bravely
rescuing the victim of his cruelty. Master Dick is the one who told a
lie to hide his own wickedness and cause his cousin to receive the
punishment he himself deserved. And Master Dick is the boy who is aching
for the whipping that I shall give him before he is many minutes older.
“In regard to my dead brother’s child, I want it understood that so long
as he remains under my roof he is never again to be punished for any
fault, real or fancied; and if anybody has any complaints to make
against him, they must make them to me. As for Uncle Phin, if it is true
that he beat one of my children, he must leave this place, and look for
a home elsewhere, which I shall tell him to-morrow.”
Every word of this was heard by the old negro, who was sitting on a
bench in the little vine-colored porch, close under an open window, of
the room in which Mr. Dustin stood. The old man, who had not known of
the cruel punishment inflicted upon his “lil Marse,” was waiting
patiently for Arthur to come out and bring him his supper, as the boy
had done every evening since they came there to live.
Now he said to himself: “Dat’s all right, Marse Dustin. I did beat yo
boy, an I do it agin if heem tetch my honey lamb; but yo sha’n’t nebber
hab de chance to tun ole Phin Dale from yo house. No, sah; he done go of
his own sef, befo ebber he ’lowin you to do sich a ting. An when he go
he isn’t gwine erlone. No, sah.”
Just then little Cynthia came out with his supper, and said that Arthur
was asleep. The old man ate his frugal meal in silence; but a train of
thoughts was passing through his head much more rapidly than usual. They
were all travelling in the same direction, and it was back toward his
old Virginia home.