JERRY AND CLINTON.
Soon after Oscar left Brookdale, Jerry’s father, who was interested
in the logging business, started for the head-waters of the Penobscot
river, to be absent several months. Large parties or gangs of loggers,
as they are called, encamp every winter in the forests of Maine, for
the purpose of cutting timber. After the trees are chopped down, the
logs are hauled by oxen to the banks of some stream, where they remain
until the ice breaks up in the spring, when they are rolled into the
water, and floated down the swollen river, to the mills. Such was the
business which kept Mr. Preston away from his home nearly half the year.
Jerry’s conduct had never been very dutiful toward his mother, nor
very affectionate toward his little sisters, during his father’s long
absences from home; but now it was soon evident that he was going to
give the family much more trouble than ever before. He obeyed his
mother only when her commands happened to be perfectly agreeable to him.
One day, Jerry’s little sister, Mary, came running into, the house,
saying:—
“O, mother, Jerry has got two beautiful little rabbits, the cunningest
little things you ever saw; and he says they are his, and he’s going to
make a house for them out of the old grain-chest in the barn.”
“No, he wont,” said Mrs. Preston; “he shan’t keep rabbits,—his father
has forbidden it over and over again. Go and tell him to come here this
minute; I want to see him.”
Mary ran out to the barn and told Jerry all that his mother had said.
He took no notice, however, of her command, but kept at work upon the
old chest, which he was converting into a rabbit-house. Mrs. Preston
was busy about her work, and did not go out to the barn to see what her
son was about. In fact, she soon forgot about the rabbits, and did not
think of them again until Jerry came in to supper. She then asked him
if he had brought some rabbits home.
“Yes,” replied Jerry.
“Well,” said Mrs. Preston, “you had better carry them off again just as
quick as you can, or I shall get James to kill them.” James was a young
man who lived on Mr. Preston’s farm.
“I should like to see Jim kill my rabbits,” replied Jerry; “I guess it
wouldn’t be healthy for him to do it.”
“But you know,” replied his mother, “that your father has always
refused to let you keep rabbits. They may do a great deal of mischief,
and are of no use whatever. They’ll be a real trouble to you, too, and
you’ll soon get sick of them. Come, I wouldn’t keep them. Send them
off, and I will make it up to you in something else.”
“What else?” inquired Jerry, who was always ready to listen, when his
mother proposed to “buy him off” from doing anything she did not like.
“O, I don’t know now,” she replied; “you’ll want something or other
by-and-by, and if you send the rabbits off, I shall probably let you
have it.”
Jerry did not accept this rather indefinite offer, and pretty soon
the topic of conversation was changed. The next day he completed the
quarters for his rabbits, in spite of the threats of James, and the
feeble remonstrances and coaxings of his mother. He kept them shut up
several days, that they might learn to feel at home; after which, he
left their door open, giving them the run of the barn and garden.
The rabbits had enjoyed their liberty but three or four days, when one
morning James discovered, to his astonishment, that they had completely
stripped the bark, as high up as they could reach, from about thirty
young apple and pear trees, which Mr. Preston had set out two or three
years previous. The excitement which this discovery produced in the
family was so great as almost to make even Jerry tremble for a while.
The trees thus destroyed were choice varieties, and it would require
several years’ time, as well as much care and money, to make good the
loss. The blame was, of course, thrown entirely upon Jerry, to whom it
belonged; and it was many days before he heard the last of the scolding
and fretting in consequence of this mishap. As to the rabbits, he never
saw them again; and, as he made no inquiries, he never knew what fate
befel them. James, in the heat of his wrath, had despatched them both,
without jury or trial, on the morning when their depredations were
first discovered.
It was natural that Jerry should greatly miss Oscar, with whom he had
associated continually, day and night, for several months. Indeed,
he began to think seriously of running away from home, and going to
Boston, that he might be with his cousin again, and participate with
him in some of the marvellous scenes and adventures which Oscar had
so often described. In his lonesomeness, Jerry now began to seek the
company of Clinton more than ever. The district school soon commenced
for the season, and as both boys attended it, they were thrown together
much oftener than in the summer months. In going to and from school,
Clinton had to pass Jerry’s house, and they usually kept each other
company by the way. For some reason or other,—probably a suspicion that
Clinton’s parents did not like him very well,—Jerry seldom went to
Mr. Davenport’s house. Of course, Mr. Davenport did not know that any
particular intimacy existed between his son and Jerry. He occasionally
spoke of the latter as a boy whose end, he feared, would not be good;
and more than once he expressed a wish that Clinton would avoid him
as much as possible. But this, Clinton found it rather difficult to
do. Jerry sought his company, and he could not bear to say no. He knew
Jerry was a bad boy, and that he did wrong to put himself under his
influence; but he had not sufficient decision of character to terminate
an acquaintance which had been so long continued. So the intimacy was
kept up, to the great injury of Clinton.
At school, Jerry was not only a dull scholar, but a very troublesome
one. Having never been taught to obey at home, he was rude and
ungovernable in the school-room, and was more frequently punished for
disobedience and inattention to his duties than any other boy in the
school. After the novelty had worn off, Jerry began to grow tired of
attending, and occasionally played truant, always contriving, however,
to escape detection, by representing that he was detained at home by
his mother. But after a while these absences grew so frequent, that
the master began to suspect all might not be right; and one morning,
on calling Jerry to account for his absence the preceding afternoon,
he told him he should not excuse him unless he brought a note from his
mother in the afternoon, certifying that he was kept at home.
Jerry was put to his wit’s end, by this new and unexpected demand. He
had been off on a skating frolic the afternoon previous, while his
mother supposed him to be at school, and he could not, therefore,
ask her for a note of excuse. What could he do? If he did not
bring an excuse in the afternoon, he was afraid the matter would
be investigated, and lead to the discovery of his other frequent
truancies; and in this case, he knew he would not escape a severe
punishment. At first he thought of writing a note himself, and signing
his mother’s name to it; but then he wrote such an awkward hand, and
was such a poor speller, that he was afraid he could not deceive the
teacher. After thinking the matter over, all the forenoon, he at last
resolved to do one of two things,—either to persuade some one to write
the excuse for him, or else never to enter the school-room again.
When school was dismissed, Jerry walked home with Clinton, as usual.
After they had got beyond the hearing of the other scholars, Jerry
said:—
“Clinty, I’ve got into a bad scrape, and I don’t know how to get out of
it, unless you help me.”
“How can I?” inquired Clinton, who at once comprehended the situation
of affairs.
“I’ll tell you of a plan I’ve thought of,” continued Jerry; “and if
you’ll only say yes, I guess we can fix it easy enough. You see it
wont do for me to ask the old woman for a note,”—_the old woman_ was
the disrespectful title by which he usually spoke of his mother,—“and
if I go to school without one, I’m afraid that old Eaton will find out
that I’ve been playing truant all along, and he’ll give me a regular
trouncing. Now if _you_ will write the note, nobody will ever know the
difference, for you can write just like a woman. I would do it myself,
if I could write as well as you can.”
“What!” said Clinton, with some signs of astonishment; “you don’t mean
that you want me to write an excuse, and sign your mother’s name to it,
do you?”
“Yes, that’s it, exactly; unless you can tell me of a better way to get
out of my trouble.”
“I should like to help you out of it,” replied Clinton; “but I couldn’t
do that.”
“Then,” added Jerry, in a decided tone, “I shall never see the inside
of the old school-house again. I don’t know of anybody else that I can
get to write the note, and I am not going there without it, to have the
breath beat out of my body. I shall go to Boston, and take my chance,—I
wont stay about here any longer.”
“Don’t talk so,” said Clinton. “Why not tell your mother that you
didn’t go to school yesterday afternoon, and ask her to write an
excuse? She would do it, I guess, if you made the confession, rather
than have you punished.”
“She do it!” exclaimed Jerry, with some bitterness; “no, more likely
she would write a note requesting old Eaton to lick me like blazes.
But,” he continued, “why wont you write the excuse, Clinty?”
Clinton hesitated what reply to make to this question. If he had
honestly confessed his feelings, he would have said, “It would be
wrong, very wrong, to do such a thing;” for his conscience told him
this, and this alone was the objection that weighed in his mind. And
yet Clinton, though a well-trained and virtuous boy, had a foolish
dread of confessing that he was afraid to do a wrong act. This was
especially the case in his intercourse with Jerry, who, he knew,
seldom had scruples of this kind, and whose ridicule he dreaded more
than that of his other associates. So, after a brief pause, he said,
“Why, there would be a great risk in doing that. If Master Eaton should
discover that I wrote the excuse, it would be a bad piece of business
for both of us.”
“But _how_ can he find it out? He doesn’t know my mother’s
hand-writing, and if you write it neat and fine, he wont suspect
anything. Come, you write it when you get home, and bring it with you
this afternoon, and I’ll meet you on the road. If you don’t I shan’t go
to school, that’s all.”
By this time they had reached Mr. Preston’s house, and after a few more
words of coaxing and entreaty, Jerry left his friend, with a pretty
confident feeling that he would accede to his wishes. True, Clinton did
not actually promise to write the note; but Jerry knew how difficult it
was for him to say no, to any pressing suitor, and he felt almost sure
that his wicked plan would be successful.
When Clinton was left to his own thoughts, there came on a severe
struggle in his mind. He could not bear the idea of lending himself to
such a mean and wicked piece of deception, and yet he feared to meet
Jerry with a refusal. He thought, also, what the consequences would
be to himself, should the fraud be discovered. And then he thought of
Jerry’s threat to leave school and run away from home, if he did not
write the excuse. If he could prevent this great sin on the part of
Jerry, might it not atone in a measure for the lesser sin of writing
the note? This question arose in his mind, and many an older head has
been led astray by a similar suggestion. No, Clinton, you must not do
evil that good may come, or greater evil be prevented. You must not
commit a sin, even in kindness to a friend. But he did not hear the
voice, and when he reached his home, he was as undecided as ever what
to do.
Clinton’s long walk to and from school, left him little more than time
enough to eat his dinner. The noon meal not being quite ready, when he
entered the house, he went to his father’s desk, and began to scribble
something in the form of a note of excuse. After writing several,
to see how they would look, he was called to dinner; and hastily
selecting the best looking of the notes, he put it in his pocket, for
future consideration, and destroyed the others. Even now, he was no
nearer a decision than he was at first.
When Clinton arose from the dinner-table, it was time to start for
school. He had not proceeded far before he overtook Jerry, who was
loitering along, in expectation of his approach.
“I’ll take that note now,” said Jerry, stretching out his hand to
Clinton, as the latter came up with him.
“I don’t know about that,” said Clinton; “I’ve been thinking it all
over, and have about come to the conclusion that I can’t agree to your
proposal. But haven’t you thought of some other way to get out of the
scrape?”
“No,” replied Jerry, “there is no other way; but you have written the
note, haven’t you?” he added, with some appearance of alarm.
“I have written something,” replied Clinton, “just to see how it would
seem; but I rather guess I shan’t let you have it.”
“Let me look at it, then, wont you?”
“I guess so!” said Clinton, with a laugh.
“But I’m in earnest,” added Jerry, “just let me look at it, and I can
tell in a minute whether it will answer. Perhaps it wont do, and then I
shan’t want it, at any rate. Come, let me see it, and if you don’t want
me to keep it, I wont.”
Clinton took the excuse from his pocket, and allowed Jerry to look at
it. It read as follows;—
“Mr. Eaton will please excuse Jerry for absence from school,
yesterday, as he was needed at home.
ELIZA PRESTON.
_Jan. 5th._”
After reading the note, Jerry said it would do first rate; but instead
of returning it to Clinton, as he promised, he put it into his own
pocket. Clinton reminded him of his promise, and tried to get the paper
back again, but in vain; and Jerry carried on the contest in such a
good-natured, bantering spirit, that Clinton could not take offence.
Thus the deed was done, so far as Clinton was concerned, without his
coming to any decision about it. In such cases as this, no decision at
all, is often equivalent to a wrong decision.
As Jerry entered the school-room, that afternoon, he handed the forged
note to Master Eaton, who read it, and, without saying anything, tore
it up. The deception was successful.