"'N' those children told me I 'd got to go up into the woods at twelve
o'clock at night, when the screech-owls was yellin' bloody murder, to
show I wasn't scairt of nothin'; 'n' I went."
"Oh, Chi, was n't it awful?"
"Kinder scarey; but they gave me the dinner horn 'n' told me to blow a
blast on that when I was up there, so they 'd hear, 'n' know I was
_clear_ into the woods; for they was all on hand watchin' from the back
attic window--what they could in a pitch-black night--to see if I 'd
back down."
"And you did n't, Chi?" said Hazel, eagerly.
"You bet I did n't, 'n' I brought home an old screecher just to prove I
was game."
"How did you catch him, Chi?"
Chi clapped his hands on his knees, and shook with laughter; then he
grew perfectly sober:--
"I took a dark lantern along with me, just to kind of feel my way in the
woods--but the children did n't know about that--'n' when an old
screecher gave a blood-curdlin' yell, just as near my right ear as the
engine down on the track when you 're standin' at the depot at Barton's
River,--just then I turned on the light full tilt, and the feller sat
right still on the branch, kind of dazed like, 'n' I took him just as
easy as I 'd take a hen off the roost after dark, 'n' brought him home.
'N' just as I was goin' up into the attic in the dark, the shed stairs'
way, 'n' the children was all listenin' at the top in the dark, the
dummed bird gave such a screech that the children all tumbled over one
another tryin' to get back to their beds, 'n' such screamin' 'n'
hollerin' you never heard--the bird was n't in it."
Again Chi laughed at the recollection, and Hazel joined him.
"Did they make you do anything more, Chi?"
"By George Washin'ton! I should think they did," said Chi, soberly.
"That last was March's idea, but Rose went him one more."
"What could Rose think of worse than that?" demanded Hazel.
"Well, she did. She blindfolded my eyes 'n' took me by the hand, 'n'
turned me round 'n' round till I was most dizzy; 'n' then she gave me a
rope, 'n' she took one end of it 'n' made me take the other, 'n' kept
leadin' me 'n' leadin' me, 'n' the children all caperin' round me,
screamin' 'n' laughin'. Pretty soon--I calculated I 'd walked about a
quarter of a mile--the rope grew slack; all of a sudden the laughin' 'n'
screamin' stopped, 'n' I--walked right off the bank into the big pool
down under the pines, ker--splash! 'n' the children, after they 'd got
me in, was so scairt for fear I 'd lose my breath--I could n't drown coz
there was n't more than five feet of water in it--that they hauled on
the rope with all their might, 'n' pulled me out; 'n' I let 'em pull,"
said Chi, grimly.
"I hope they were satisfied after that," said Hazel, soberly.
"They appeared to be," said Chi, contentedly, "for they said I should be
president, coz I was so brave. But there 's other things harder to do
than that."
"What are they, Chi?"
"You 've got to keep the by-laws."
"What are those?"
"Rules of the Society. One of 'em 's, you must n't be afraid to tell
the truth. 'N' another is, you must be scairt to tell a lie."
Hazel grew scarlet at her own thoughts.
"Another is, to help other folks all you can; 'n' the fourth 'n' last
is, that no boy or girl as lives in this great, free country of ours
ought to be a coward."
Hazel drew a long breath.
"Those must be hard to keep."
"Well, they ain't always easy, that's a fact; but they re mighty good to
live by," he added, picking up the bean-bag. "I lived with Ben
Blossom's father when I was a little chap as chore boy, 'n' he gave me
my schoolin' 'n' clothes; 'n' I 've lived with his son ever since he was
married, 'n' he's been the best friend a man could have, 'n' I 've
always got along with him in peace and lovin'-kindness; 'n' those four
by-laws his father wrote on my boyhood; 'n' by those four by-laws I 've
kept my manhood; 'n' so I think it 'll do anybody good to join the
Society."
"Well," said Hazel, stoutly, "I 'll show them I 'm not afraid of some
things, if I did run away from the turkey-gobbler."
"That's right," said Chi, heartily, "'n' more than that--betwixt you 'n'
me--you 've no cause to be scairt _whatever_ they do; now mark my words,
_whatever they do_," repeated Chi, emphatically.
"I don't care what they do so long as you 're there, Chi," said Hazel,
looking up into his weather-roughened, deeply-lined face with such utter
trust in her great eyes that Chi caught up the bag over his shoulder and
hurried out to the barn, muttering to himself:--
"George Washin'ton! How she manages to creep into the softest corner of
a man's heart, I don't know; I expect it's those great eyes of hers, 'n'
that voice just like a brook winnerin' 'n' gurglin' over its stones in
August.--Guess there's luck come to this house with Lady-bird!" And he
went about his work.