When he had rehearsed his story from beginning to end, Teacher Meadows
said, in deliberate and awful tones that cut Steve to the quick, and
fairly made his hair stand on end: “I have a few remarks to make, but I
will not detain you long. Your ‘trick’ may have been strikingly novel
and daring, the inspiration of a genius; but that it was dishonorable
and brutal, unworthy of a citizen of this glorious republic, I presume
no one will attempt to deny. You have created a great sensation in
our peaceful little village, but what you have done will not redound
to your credit; you have forfeited the esteem and friendship of your
school-fellows; you have, I doubt not, mortally wounded the feelings of
Professor Rhadamanthus, the great philosopher and able speaker, as well
as cast opprobrium upon our school; you have terrorized the children,
and even fatal results might have ensued; and by sequestering yourself
from the scene of conflict, you have laid yourself open to the stigma of
cowardliness. Though great harm has been done, I will not punish you, for
the odium of this affair and the prickings of your conscience will be
sufficient punishment. Your dog, the sportive Tip, is dead, as I suppose
you know. You will acknowledge that no one except yourself is to be
blamed for that. But one word more: I advise you all to hasten to your
homes, to try to forget this shameful occurrence, and never to practice
cowardly tricks.”
Steve did not know that Tip was dead, and he gave a convulsive gasp and
then burst into a flood of tears, for he loved his dog. Poor fellow,
his heart was so full of grief and remorse that his eyes mechanically
pumped the tears cut of their reservoir. And that reproof! His former
misdemeanors had generally been overlooked by the kind-hearted teacher,
and this oratorical reproof stung him to the quick.
As for the teacher himself, his own eloquence had a wonderfully soothing
effect on him. No one, except a few gaping, trembling school-children,
was there to hear him, it is true; but for all that, he was pleased with
his little speech, and--surprised at it! In fact, it did his headache as
much good as an application of hartshorn and alcohol.
Fearing, perhaps, that the teacher might change his mind and re-open
school, the juveniles set off for home at a round pace. Steve was not
wholly avoided by the boys; on the contrary, several gathered round him,
to condole with him or to blame him, as the case might be. Not a few
envied him the “notoriety” to which he had attained.
“Well, Steve, are you a ‘citizen of this republic’ or not?” Charles
anxiously inquired. “I couldn’t settle that point from what Mr. Meadows
said.”
The unworthy citizen smiled mournfully, but said nothing.
“Steve,” Charley pursued, “I hope that between the phenomenon Mr. Prof.
Rhadamanthus, yourself, and your dog, the ‘little ones,’ ‘big ones,’ and
every one present, will have a tolerably clear idea of hydrophobia and
mad dogs.”
“Please don’t speak of Tip, boys,” Steve said pleadingly.
“No, Steve, we won’t,” George replied. “But really, now,” he added, “I
wasn’t so flurried as the rest of them; and I took it coolly; and I
doubted all the time whether the dog was mad. You see, I’ve read a good
deal on the subject lately, and he hadn’t the build of a dog that would
go mad. Mad dogs always look--”
At this point the Sage was interrupted by a burst of laughter, in which
even Stephen joined feebly.
“Then, George, I suppose you understood that lecture?” Will asked.
“Y-e-s,” George said, with some hesitation.
“Steve, it was me that killed your dog;” Will said doubtfully. [Though
the writer has heard hundreds of boys say, “it’s me,” “it’s him,” etc.,
he never knew but one boy to say, “it is I.” That boy did not say it
because he knew it to be correct, but because necessity compelled him to
do so. The phrase occurred in a sentence which he was reading.] “It was
me that killed your dog; but I thought I was killing a mad dog at the
time. I’m sorry for it, Steve.”
“No, Will; you did all right: I don’t blame you a bit;” Steve replied.
“Don’t!” said Marmaduke, softly. “Respect Steve’s grief, and talk about
something else.”
The excitement in the village was appeased at last; but great indignation
was felt towards Stephen when it became known that he was the author of
it all.
The poor boy who had been bitten was in great terror, and his parents
sent for the doctor in hot haste. That worthy--who had a theory of
his own about hydrophobia, and was only waiting and longing for an
opportunity to put it into practice--chipperly trod his way to the rescue
with a case of surgical instruments, and was about to perform some
horrible operation on the hapless youth, when the news came that the dog
was not mad. Then he applied a soothing poultice to the bite, and wearily
plodded his way back to his office, full of bitterness because he had not
been able to try his little experiment.
The bitten boy, however, was of a malicious disposition, and he vowed to
take dire revenge for the indignities heaped upon him.
Stephen’s position was not one to be envied. He was so thoroughly ashamed
of himself that he latibulized in the house for four livelong days; and,
for a boy of his restless disposition, that was unheard-of penance. What
passed between him and his scandalized parents would not benefit or
interest the reader, consequently it is not recorded here. He mustered
his resolution and took to reading his sisters’ “little books,” which he
had always abhorred and eschewed with the unreasonable and implacable
hatred of boyhood, and gladdened his mother’s heart with his staidness
and meekness. For one whole month he refrained from playing off or
studying up any trick, and those most interested in him began to hope
that his reformation in that respect was sincere.
Alas! such hopes were built on quicksands! His father, taking pity on the
_dogless_ boy, had bought him a frisky Newfoundland pup, which he cared
for lovingly and almost idolized; and as the memory of poor Tip gradually
faded from his mind, he forgot the many morals and precepts that had
been held up to him by his well-meaning parents. In a merry moment Steve
named this pup “Thomas Henry;” but as this provoked the laughter of his
school-fellows, in sheer desperation he nicknamed it “Carlo.”
At the end of that one month, the street urchins got tired of teasing
him about mad dogs, and he recovered his spirits and his love of
mischief, and returned to his former pursuits with gusto. In a word,
Stephen became himself again.
_Chapter XIII._
THE SIX GO TO A PICNIC.
About this time a picnic was planned by the villagers, to be held in
a grove beside the river. Everything was arranged beforehand, so that
no hitch might occur; but, for all that, a hitch _did_ occur, since
seventeen plum-cakes and five hundred and nine tarts were baked. A fire
was to be lighted on an “island” in the river, and another on the shore;
and over those fires, something, no one could have told exactly what,
was to be boiled. Boats were to be provided to ferry the picnickers to
and from the said island. By the way, this pigmy island was prettily
clothed with grass and flowers, and presented a fine appearance from
the river; therefore, by the poetical, it was appropriately named “The
Conservatory.” It was also roundish in shape, and therefore, from the
vulgar, it received the unique nickname of “The Saucer.” Our heroes
generally gave it the latter name.
The children of the school, of course, to be present in all their finery,
with their elders in attendance, to keep them from destroying themselves.
Now, Stephen knew all the plans that had been formed, and it occurred
to him that it would be a capital joke if he should take a bunch of
fire-crackers along with him, and introduce it secretly into one of the
two fires.
“Of course,” he said to himself, “I wouldn’t poke ’em in while any of the
ladies or little youngsters were around; I’d do it while none but boys
were there. No; for I don’t want to get mixed up in any more tricks!”
The longer Steve meditated this, the more determined he was to do it; for
he had not yet learned that an action, harmless in itself, may lead to
unpleasant, if not serious, results.
On the day before the picnic, he applied to a shop-keeper for the
crackers. In vain; the “Glorious Fourth” was passed too long. “But,
to accommodate you, I can get some in a few days, I suppose,” the
shop-keeper said, with great benevolence. “How many bunches do you want?”
“No, I want them to-day, or not at all;” Steve said, as he turned to leave
the shop.
But he did not give up hope yet. He thought of Will, and the next minute
was on his way to see him. By what fatality was he sent there?
“Oh, yes, Steve; I happen to have a whole bunch of them;” said Will. “You
see, I had more than I wanted last Fourth, so I was saving these, but you
can have them all.”
“Yes,” said Stephen; “but I guess you’re the only boy I ever heard of
that couldn’t fire off all his crackers. Why, I could make use of a
barn-yard full of them!”
“So could I, Steve; but I scorched my hand, and _had_ to stop firing
them.”
“Yes, I remember it, Will; that’s the reason I came to you. But I don’t
see why you didn’t fire ’em when your hand got well.” Then to himself:
“Just like Will; wonder he didn’t scorch his head off.”
“Well, Steve, let us look for those same crackers,” said Will.
But they had been mislaid, and the two boys conducted the search almost
at random. In length of time they came upon a little wooden box.
“Here they are, Steve!” Will exclaimed. “This is the very box I put them
in; but I don’t know how they got here, among father’s guns. But then I
wasn’t keeping track of them--in fact, I had forgotten that I had them
till you spoke about them.”
“Thank you, Will!” said Steve, with a broad grin, as he took the box.
Then, with thumb and forefinger, he tried to open it, to take out the
crackers and gloat over them. But he could not force it open. “What’s
the matter with this box, Will?” he asked. “I can’t open it at all.”
“That’s queer,” said Will; “likely the lid has swollen. Well, take them,
box and all, Steve; and if you break it in opening it, it won’t be any
great loss.”
Steve mumbled a feeble remonstrance, but pocketed the box and turned to
go.
“But what are you going to do with the fire-crackers?” Will suddenly
asked, as a dread suspicion entered his mind.
Steve looked disconcerted, and said something like, “Oh, you’ll see.”
Now, when a boy falters and says, “you’ll see,” it is generally safe to
infer that he is plotting mischief.
Will evidently thought so, for as Steve whisked out of the house and over
the gate, he said to himself, “I believe Steve is working up some trick
again. And to-morrow is the picnic! Well, Stunner, I’ll just keep an eye
on you!”
On reaching home, Stephen found that he could not open the box without
tearing it to pieces, and he decided that he would put the fire-crackers,
box and all, into the fire.
“That’ll be the easiest way to open the pesky old box,” he said. “Of
course the crackers won’t go off till it is burnt, but a rousing old fire
will soon burn it.”
Having formed this determination, the boy’s mind was at rest. If,
however, he had succeeded in opening the box, he would have found not
fire-crackers, but _gunpowder_; for Will had made another blunder, and
given him a box filled with powder. This box belonged to Mr. Lawrence;
he having bought it a few days before, filled it with powder, and put it
away among his guns. The reader now understands that it was not the box
Will thought it was. The reason why Steve could not open it, was because
the lid caught with a hidden spring.
If that box should be introduced into the fire, it would make more of
a “stir” than fire-crackers, and give somebody a little employment in
setting things to rights.
The next day was the picnic. The sun shone bright, and promised a
peerless September day. This was agreeable; and the juveniles flocked
to the scene in good time, with a hungry look in their eyes--a look that
always plays over a boys visage when pursuing his way to a picnic, or
“anniversary.” Stephen, of course, was there; full of animal spirits, and
with the box straining the lining of his coat-pocket.
A fire was soon lighted on the island, but Steve did not find an
opportunity to put his crackers into it so soon as he expected; for, warm
as the day was, the little boys crowded eagerly around it, discovering
their delight in exultant shouts, and heaping on more brush with
never-ending amusement.
Steve idled about patiently a few minutes, and then determined to leave
the island for awhile, till the youngsters had either sought some newer
source of pleasure, or else burnt their fingers or scorched their
garments.
Unknown to Steve, Will, who had guessed how and when the boy intended to
use the fire-crackers, was watching him sharply. Will had also discovered
the mistake that had been made, and consequently was all the more anxious
to keep a watchful eye on Steve. He had planned, moreover, to turn the
tables, and play a knavish trick of his own on incorrigible Stephen.
Mr. Lawrence had said to him, “Now, Will, seeing that Steve is preying
on my valuables, you must make the best of it, and teach the idleheaded
fellow a lesson. You may do whatever you please; but don’t let an
explosion take place. The powder, I think, got damp the other day, and so
it wouldn’t explode for some time--even if he should drop the box plump
into the fire. In fact, unless he has succeeded in opening it, which is
doubtful, he will probably put it into the fire. Let him do it; you can
snatch it out again. If, on the other hand, he has forced the box open,
both his trick and your trick will be spoiled. Perhaps that would be
best. Now, Will, above all, _do not frighten other people_.”
It will be seen that Mr. Lawrence had guessed Steve’s intention.
But he was wrong in permitting his son to meddle in the trick. The
straightforward way would have been to tell Stephen what the box really
held, and then he would have given it up directly.
No doubt, gentle reader, you are tired of these beggarly little “tricks.”
But have patience a little longer, O reader, for when this last trick is
finished, we shall wing our way along smoothly throughout the rest of the
book without any tricks whatever.
When Will saw Stephen leave “Conservatory Isle” he thought himself at
liberty to take his ease for awhile, and coolly taking possession of an
unoccupied boat, rowed over to the shore.
While drifting along the shore, a spruce gentleman hailed him, and asked
to be ferried across the river.
“Yes, sir,” said Will, placing the boat in a favorable position for the
gentleman to enter it. He sprang in lightly, saying, “I’ve forgotten
something over there: take me as fast as you can.”
In nervous haste to do his best, Will gave the boat a vigorous shove,
and then looked his passenger full in the face. The latter also looked
at Will. The recognition was mutual; for if Will recognized the peculiar
features of the newspaper genius whom he had shot with poison in his
youth, the newspaper genius likewise recognized the remarkably talented
son of the lady who had been his hostess when he visited the neighborhood
some years previously.
Letting his emotions get the better of his principles, the man uttered a
cry of horror, mechanically rose to his feet, and fetched a random leap
for the shore. But the motion that Will had communicated to the boat
had placed it some distance from the shore, and the impetus of the leap
adding to that distance, the leaper found himself in deep water, in the
exact position the boat had occupied a moment before. Any boy at all
acquainted with the navigation of boats, rafts, or anything floatable,
can substantiate this.
Then the unfortunate man said something very wicked--too wicked, in fact,
to be set down in a story like this. Then he struggled to reach the
shore, but Will said, politely, “Don’t try to get ashore, sir, or you
will get covered with mud. The best thing to do is to climb into the boat
again; I’ll help you.”
This was clearly the wiser proceeding of the two, and the man, feeling
very foolish, scrambled out of the water into the boat.
Bending a ferocious gaze on the innocent boatman, he asked roughly, “Can
you row?”
Will proudly answered in the affirmative, and the disgusted
picnicker--elaborating a dolorous sigh as he flirted his eyes over his
tousled and mud-spattered garments, and experiencing an emotion of regret
as he thought of a new cabinet photograph of himself, that was tucked
away in his coat-tail pocket--said snappishly:--
“Then take me to some sheltered place where I can wring out my clothes a
little, and afterwards I’ll find my way to the fire on the island. Can I
get dry there in peace, and alone?”
“I think so, after a few minutes,” said Will, tugging stoutly at his oars.
“Well,” mused the dripping newspaper man, as he sat dejectedly in the
boat, with his head resting on his disordered cravat, “I--I--was very
foolish to jump overboard; but it is strange that I should encounter this
wretch when I least expected it. Much amusement I shall have to-day, in
these wet clothes. Well,” firmly, “I will never return to this village
while this bane of my life inhabits it!”
After landing the luckless Mr. Sarjent at a sequestered spot, Will
pointed his way back to the island, to look after Stephen. He arrived
just in time. Steve and a choice band of his school-fellows were grouped
about the fire, and the little folk had sought other quarters.
At first Will feared that he was too late; but he was reassured on seeing
Stephen dodging around the fire, evidently trying to shove the box into
it without being observed.
Keeping a vigilant look-out, Will soon had the pleasure of seeing Steve
poke the box into the extreme edge of the fire.
“Good!” Will chuckled. “Pa was right--and so was I. I can snatch it out
without any trouble, and then won’t Steve wonder what has become of it!
Just wait till I play my little trick on him!”
As soon as Steve looked in another direction, Will sidled up to the fire,
adroitly drew out the box, and slipped it into his pocket.
He had scarcely done so when Steve whirled around and saw him.
“Will!” he cried excitedly, “come away, or you’ll be burned!--The--the
fire is very hot, you know,” he added, by way of explaining his
solicitude.
“So it is,” Will assented, stepping back. To himself he added, “Poor
Steve! you thought I should be blown up by the fire-crackers, did you?
Well, it is a good thing you don’t know it is gunpowder, and it’s a good
thing I am here to prevent a catastrophe!”
Stephen waited eagerly and anxiously for the supposed crackers to go off.
He imagined that the boys would be struck with amazement and horror to
see the fire suddenly snap, and hiss, and roar, and vomit forth ashes and
coals. Then he would explain how it was done, and the boys would cheer,
and laugh, and say, “That’s a bully trick, Steve!” And then they would
saunter off, filled with admiration and envy, forced to admit that in
originality and daring Steve had no equal in the county.
But as no explosion took place, Steve became uneasy. He was of a restless
disposition, and a trifle was sufficient to make him fidgety. He had not
observed that the box was fabricated of wood that would not readily take
fire, and he expected to hear the crackers detonate almost immediately.
“Surely it ought to be burnt clear through by this time!” he mumbled to
himself. “What in the world is the matter? O dear! I hope they will go
off before the people come here to see to things! Why didn’t I at least
see how thick the pesky box was!”
“Oh, come along, boys, there’s no fun here, and it’s as hot as
pain-killer,” an owl-eyed booby exclaimed. “Come along, boys; let’s leave
this here Saucer.”
The others coincided with him, and they were actually getting into an old
boat, to punt their way across the river, when Steve said imploringly,
“Oh, don’t go, boys! Stay just a little longer, and you’ll see sport.”
“‘See sport’?” sneered one. “Sho! I guess all the ‘sport’ you’ll see
here, will be to see yourself sun-struck! No; it’s too hot here.”
And before the trick-player could give them a hint as to what the “sport”
would be, he experienced the vexation of seeing them leave the island in
a body! It was hard to be cheated thus! But the worst was yet to come. A
man was descried rapidly drawing near the island, in a gay little boat
decked in holiday attire. A few minutes later this man made the island,
and Steve recognized Mr. Lawrence. Good man, he came to see that the
powder was in safety.
Will, who was the only one left, except Steve, stepped into the boat as
his father stepped out, and whispering, “All right, Pa,” rowed lightly
away, with a wicked chuckle of triumph.
Mr. Lawrence inclined his head in token of approval, and edged his way
up to Stephen. “Good morning, Stephen,” he said. “I see you have a fire
lighted early in the day.”
“Yes, sir,” Steve quavered. “O dear!” he groaned, “if people are going to
keep on coming here like this, the fire-crackers will go off right before
them! And then,” drawing an abysmal sigh, “there would have to be an
explanation.”
Mr. Lawrence walked round the fire two or three times--so close to it
that poor Steve shuddered. “If they should go off now,” he groaned, “Mr.
Lawrence would be scorched and hurt!”
Stephen became very uneasy. His heated imagination magnified the power of
fire-crackers, and he feared that there would ultimately be a deafening
explosion. Indeed, it seemed to him that they must be gaining strength
with each succeeding minute.
“Well, Steve,” said Mr. Lawrence, familiarly and pleasantly, “I hear you
are quite an expert in playing tricks. Your adventure with my donkeys,
now, was amusing, it is true; but, Steve, if you would keep clear of such
scrapes, it would be better for you. For instance, that experience with
the dog--that must have been very distressing to you, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” Steve acknowledged; “it was.”
“But I am pleased to hear of your good behaviour since that time, and I
hope that your reformation is real. I do not wish to vex you, Steve; I
take the liberty of speaking to you thus because I know you are good at
heart, and because you have always been a loyal friend to my son.”
Such “advice” had been dinned into the sufferer’s ears so incessantly
lately that he had come to expect it and to endure it with fortitude.
Still, he could not but see that Mr. Lawrence meant well, and he mumbled
“Yes, sir,” very meekly.
But his mind was filled with great dread. “If they should pop off now,”
he ruminated, “what would Mr. Lawrence think of me? He would think it was
all my doings, of course, and that I am as bad a boy as ever! How mad he
would be! Oh, why didn’t I leave those fire-crackers alone!”
“It is very warm on this island, Mr. Lawrence,” he said.
Mr. Lawrence, however, was in no humor to take hints from a school-boy,
and he simply said, “So it is, Stephen. Why do you stay here, in solitude
and misery? Why don’t you get up and enjoy yourself with the other boys?
Surely you find no amusement in keeping up this useless little fire!”
Steve looked confused, but contrived to say, “It needs some one to watch
the fire, sir; it might do a great deal of harm.”
“Oh, no, Stephen; it wouldn’t be any great loss if the fire should burn
up the whole island, and all the brush and firewood piled up on it. It
couldn’t spread any farther, of course. Come, come, Stephen; don’t make a
martyr of yourself by staying here and broiling your face. The face looks
better bronzed by the sun and the fresh air than by fire, anyway; though
some ladies are not aware of it.”
“Yes, sir; but the fire might go out.”
“I wish it would, Steve; I wish it would; for no one would light it
again. It was a downright shame to make a fire on this little gem of an
island; but some picnickers have more romance than poetry. Well, I am
going, anyway; good-bye.”
A good look at Steve’s face showed Mr. Lawrence that the graceless
trickster desired to be left alone. “I think this will be a lesson to the
poor boy,” he said in himself “for he is evidently suffering torments.”
Steve’s relief was great when he found himself alone. “Let me think how
it was,” he muttered. “Will didn’t know where the box was. He found a box
like his own, but was it the same? He didn’t open it, and I couldn’t; so
perhaps there were no fire-crackers in it, after all!”
A gleam of hope shot through his wrung heart; but that gleam was soon
effectually put out by this appalling thought:
“He found the box among his father’s guns--what if there is powder in it!”
He started up in horror. “But no,” he reflected, “if it had been powder,
it would have exploded as soon as the box got hot, or on fire. Now, was
Will playing a trick on me? No, for he didn’t know anything about it till
I asked him for the fire-crackers; and I followed him around while he
looked for the box. Oh, it must be some blunder of his.”
Steve could not shake off his doubts and fears, and his excited
imagination conjured up all sorts of horrors.
He had just resolved to find the hateful box, or scatter the fire to the
several winds, when a melancholy-looking individual, whose approach he
had not perceived, landed on the island, made his way hurriedly to the
fire, and sat down close beside it.
Stephen drew back in desperation, while the new-comer snatched up a stick
and savagely stirred up the rather dull fire.
“Sir,” Stephen began hesitatingly, “don’t sit so close to the fire; you
might get burnt.”
“Hold your tongue and let me alone, if you please! Can’t you see I’m all
wet?” fiercely shouted the new-comer.