_A puzzling Position.--How to meet the Emergency.--A strange
Suggestion.--Diamond cut Diamond, or a Donkey in a Garret.--Surprise
of Jiggins on seeing the Stranger.--The fated Moment comes.--The Donkey
confronts the Garret Noises.--The Power of a Bray._
THE boys remained in the cupola for some time longer. Once Bruce had
the satisfaction of feeling the string become suddenly tight in his
hands. He held it thus for a moment, as though to assure himself of the
fact and then gave it a sudden pull.
It yielded!
The whole string was in his hands.
Bruce fell down on the floor, and his whole frame shook with smothered
laughter.
“What in the world’s the matter with you, Bruce?” cried Bart.
“The string! ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! The string!--ha, ha!--The string!”
“The string? Well, what about the string?”
“Why, I’ve got it. I felt it grow tight,--ha, ha, ha!--and I gave it
a jerk,--ha, ha, ha!--and it came,--ha, ha, ha, ha!--and now Pat’s
wondering what’s become of it,--ha, ha, ha, ha!--and he’s thinking that
the ghost he was shamming must be a real one, after all!”
Either Bruce’s laughter was contagious, or else the boys saw something
irresistibly funny in Pat’s supposed consternation at losing the string;
but whatever was the cause, the boys burst forth also into fits of
laughter, which, however, they tried to smother as well as they could.
And now the question was--what to do.
At first they were going to take the string away, but they finally
decided to leave it just as it was, so as to see what Pat would do under
the circumstances.
After coming to this conclusion, they decided to go to bed for the
night, and defer any further consideration of the subject till the
following day, when they would feel fresher and less fatigued. So they
descended once more, and separated for the night.
The next morning they found the excitement greater than ever. All who
were in the main building had heard the noises of the night, and some in
the boarding-house had heard the toll of the bell. Jiggins was sad and
exceedingly solemn. Bogud went about saying that none of them could
tell what might happen; which language might be taken to signify an
undeniable truism; or, on the other hand, it might be considered as a
suggestion of the existence of some profound, gloomy, and inscrutable
mystery. Bogud rather preferred that it should be taken in that light.
Muckle, Johnny, Sammy, and Billymack, all announced that they thought
there was something in it, and shook their heads with dark meaning and
impressive emphasis over the whole business. Pat was as usual, only a
little more so. He was active in all kinds of hints. He refused to tell
his own experience of the night, but suggested something grand, gloomy,
and peculiar. He looked like one who wished none to question him about
the secrets of his prison house. He expressed a mournful resignation to
that hard fate which made him the neighbor of the fearful denizens of
the garret, and meekly, but firmly, refused the offers of several boys
to give him accommodation till the trouble should cease. Also, Pat had
an excellent appetite, and his ruddy face and bright eyes belied the
cultivated mournfulness of his expression. Bart had gone up into the
cupola before breakfast, and had found that the string was taken away.
He at once concluded that Pat had been up, and had quietly removed
it for the day. If he had felt any consternation at having the string
jerked from his hands, he had, no doubt, got completely over it, and
probably attributed it to some ordinary cause, very different from the
real one.
Pat’s demeanor was such that the boys saw his evident determination to
keep up the excitement. He went about as before among the small boys,
heightening their fears, and giving any number of dark suggestions to
their excited imaginations. Bogud, and Jiggins, and Sammy, and Johnny,
and Billymack, and Muckle also sought Pat’s society, and left it more
confirmed than ever in their opinions. Jiggins was more than ever
convinced that it was a deeply solemn season. In fact, he kept saying so
to everybody all day long.
The teachers could not be ignorant of the excitement, but they took no
notice of it. They thought it was some, harmless trick of some of the
more mischievous boys, which did not call for their intervention as yet,
but would probably be revealed in the natural course of things. So the
boys were all left to themselves.
At nine o’clock the school was once more opened, after so many delays,
and the duties of the new term commenced.
Alas, the first day of a new term! What a horror it brings to the heart
of a boy! Fresh from the green fields, from the blue sky, from the
fragrant woods, the babbling brook, the sounding shore, the lofty
precipice, the bounding wave,--from all these he enters into the gloom,
and darkness, and confinement of the school-room. Can there be any
wonder that the fresh, young, boyish heart should quail, and his
bounding young life droop, and his uproarious spirits flag on that
dreary first day? Where is his life, in which of late he so exulted?
Where is that grand face of Mother Nature, so dear to every boy?
Where are the odor of the fields, the balsamic air of the forest, the
invigorating smell of the salt sea? These are the loved memories that
afflict him at his dingy desk. The first day at school for a boy is
homesickness in its broadest sense. I don’t think anybody can be so
homesick as a boy may be; nor can a boy at any other time be so homesick
as at such a time as this. Homesickness, moreover, is not merely a
pining for one’s actual home, but it is also a yearning for pleasures
that have fled,--some lost grace of life,--some sweet charm which has
passed away.
Now, none of our boys were at all inclined to what they called
“spooniness” but still they could not help feeling the common evil of boy
humanity. The school hours passed slowly and heavily, and they tried to
cheer themselves with the thought that it would not be so unpleasant in
a few days, after they had become used to it.
After school was over, the “B. O. W. C.” engaged in an earnest
discussion over the situation. One common resolution was in all their
minds, and that was, to put an end to the ghost in the garret. But how
was it to be done?
“We might quietly go and tell the fellows all about it,” said Tom.
“Yes,” said Bart, “but that would be too clumsy. What I want is
something more artistic; I want a dramatic close, in which there shall
be a scene full of effect. If we could only work it so as to let the
thing bring itself to a conclusion in some effective way, it would be a
great deal more satisfactory to all concerned.”
“I should like some way,” said Bruce, “in which Pat would be conscious
that he was completely used up; and I think that among us five we might
arrange a counterplot against his plot.”
“Pat certainly deserves some sort of punishment for the way he has been
frightening the small boys. He has been at it all day; I dare say he’s
at it now. Of course before dark he’ll sneak up and fasten his string
to the tongue of the bell again, so as to get all ready for the night’s
operations.”
“We can easily find some way, I should think,” said Arthur, “of
paying off Pat, without being cruel in any way to him. A smart shock,
administered delicately and neatly, would about suit my idea of the
case.”
“Yes, but how can we get something which will be mild, yet
smart,--delicate, yet effective? That’s the point which we don’t seem
able to decide.”
As they talked in this way they were walk? ing up the hill towards the
old French orchard? As they neared the place Bart’s eyes wandered over
the adjoining pasture field, and rested on the form of that donkey which
had borne so large a share in the experiences of the past few days.
“I have it!” he cried, suddenly.
“What?” asked they.
“The donkey!”
“What about it?”
“He shall help us.”
“How?”
“The donkey’s our plan. We’ll play him off against the ghost, and Pat!
The donkey was once a ghost himself. He’ll be the very one to do the
thing up properly; he’s had experience. After performing so successfully
at the hole, at our expense, you can’t place any limit to his capacity.
Yes, boys, the donkey’s the very man.”
“I don’t see what good the donkey’s going to be,” said Phil.
“What good?--the very thing we want.”
“How?” asked Bruce.
“Pat won’t come up here to get frightened,” said Arthur.
“And his room is too far up for us to make the donkey bray under it,”
said Tom.
“.All very true,” said Bart; “but then what’s to prevent our marching
the donkey up into the garret?”
“What?”
“Marching him up into the garret.”
The boys looked puzzled.
“Can you get him up?”
“Of course we can.”
“But think of the horrible racket he’d make going up. We couldn’t keep
it secret.”
“O, yes, we could. We could fix him so that he could go up without any
noise in particular.”
“How?”
“Why, by putting bits of carpet around each of his feet. We could then
get him up stairs somehow. A basket of oats, for instance.”
The boys thought for a time, and then burst into fits of laughter at the
idea.
“You see,” said Bart, “it would be the most magnificent thing ever
undertaken on this hill. Besides, how splendid it would be to bring our
ghost face to face with Pat’s own private ghost, and let them confront
each other. What a tremendous, stupendous, overwhelming, and altogether
unparalleled uproar there would be! Pat would then be confronted with
something different from anything that he had been calculating on. We’d
break down the panic of the boys, and it would all end in a roar of
laughter.”
“But what a row there’ll be!” exclaimed Phil.
“I wonder which party’ll begin,” said Arthur.
“Pat’s side, of course,” said Bruce.
“I hope,” said Tom, “that our side’ll do his duty.”
“O, we’ll have to keep him up to it. Donkey’s that can bray, and won’t
bray, must be made to bray.”
“He’s such an obstinate brute,” said Arthur, “that I don’t believe we’ll
be able to do anything.”
“O, we’ll manage that,” said Bruce. “The five of us are strong enough to
pull him along if he won’t go himself.”
“We can get a whip, or a stout stick somewhere,” said Phil.
“No,” said Bart; “no beating if we can help it. I’m averse, on
principle, to all corporal punishment. I formed a deep prejudice against
it in my early school days. No, boys: remember what Pope says:
‘If I had a donkey,
And he wouldn’t go,
D’ye think I’d wallop him?
No, no, no.’
On the contrary, I would endeavor, if possible, to secure his
cooperation with our plans by the gentler method of moral suasion--oats,
for instance.” “Or a good fat thistle.”
“Or a handful of sorrel.”
“Or a cold boiled turnip.”
“Or some delicate chickweed.”
After some further consideration they came to the conclusion to make an
attempt to carry out the donkey proposal that very night.
In the course of the evening various things were prepared. A number
of bits of old carpet with some cord were most conspicuous among these
preparations.
Their plan was based on the supposition that Pat had not heard this
donkey bray, and was, perhaps, unaware of its existence here. They were
quite sure that he had not been up near the pasture field since
the donkey came, and so he was probably unaware of its presence.
Consequently when Pat began his little tricks to-night, he would find a
startling cooperator.
The boys waited till all were in bed, and then brought down the donkey.
They had but little trouble in leading him along. They took him into a
grove in front of the Academy, and there tied bits of carpet around each
foot.
Then began their efforts to get him up stairs. Here was where they
anticipated failure. But to their surprise this was accomplished without
any very great difficulty. The little animal, tempted by turnips held in
front of his nose, encouraged by strokings, and pulled and pushed along,
made a rush up the first flight. He went up as nimbly as a goat, and
didn’t make more noise than six men pounding up with all their might.
The noise certainly exceeded all that they had calculated upon.
Then came the second flight. The donkey went up triumphantly; but by the
time he reached the top he had lost three of the four bandages in which
his feet were tied. Here they heard a door open at the foot of the
stairs, and Bogud’s voice calling,--
“What’s all that? Who’s there?”
“O, nothing. It’s only a new student,” said Bart, quietly.
Bogud’s door closed again.
They then led the donkey on. But just as they reached Jiggins’s door,
it opened, and Jiggins put forth his head, holding a candle out, and
blinking at them. To his horror he saw immediately in front of him
the shaggy companion of the “B. O. W. C.” But at the same moment he
recognized the boys, and this reassured him.
“What--what’s all this?” he gasped. “It’s a nightmare,” said Bart;
“we’re taking him up to fight the ghost.”
At this the donkey looked amiably at the figure in the doorway, and
making a step forward, put his head through, and was about entering when
the occupant of the room banged the door in his face.
The boys then resumed their journey. But the last flight was not passed
without a fearful racket, and the donkey lost the remaining bandage. At
length, however, they reached the top, and walking softly themselves,
they led the donkey over to a point near where Pat’s room was.
Leaving him here, they then retired.
The donkey was thus left alone to himself, and to a cold boiled turnip,
which Bart had put under his nose. After a short season of bewilderment,
he proceeded to regale himself on this.
The “B. O. W. C.” all separated, and went to bed.
The characters in this drama were left to take care of themselves.
Now Pat, in his room at the end of the long garret, had heard the racket
made by the donkey in coming up, and at first did not know what to make
of it. At length, however, the noise ceased, and for about half an hour
all was still.
Suddenly there came a loud, wild shriek from afar through the long
garret, followed by others in succession.
But Pat did not quake, or shiver--not he.
He waited for a few minutes with a pleasant smile of keen enjoyment on
his face. Then he went to the window of his room, and pulled a string,
which came in from the outside.
And there followed a deep, solemn toll, that broke upon the stillness
of the night with a gloomy and awful intonation, carrying terror to many
poor little boys, who heard it and quaked with superstitious fear.
The donkey had finished his turnip!
He had begun to reflect on the peculiarity of his situation!
All dark around. No pleasant pasture, no starlit sky--nothing but utter
darkness. He felt uncomfortable. He stood fixed in one spot, and the
very unusual situation told heavily upon his spirits.
Had he been in some comfortable stall, or some sequestered pasture, he
might have lain down and slept the sleep of the donkey. But he had been
badgered and deceived, and such a getting up stairs he never had seen.
And now, in the midst of these reflections, there came this uproar of
shrieks and tolling bells. It was too much. It was not at all what he
was accustomed to.
So he proceeded to enter a protest against the whole business.
The donkey raised his head!
He elevated his tail!
He spread his legs apart so as to gain a firmer attitude!
Then he burst forth:
He! haw! He! Haw!
Heeeeee! Haaaaaaw!
He! haw! He! haw!
He haaaaaaaaaw!
Heeeeeeeeeee!
Haaaaaaaaaaaaw!
Heeee! Haaaww!