SWEET AND SOUR
[Illustration: Music]
"Oh, we're down in the land where the jasmine blows,
And the cypress waves and the orange grows,
[Illustration: Music]
And the song bird nests in the climbing rose--
And all the girls are beautiful, and milk and honey flows."
HORATIO paused in his playing and looked at Bosephus, who was ready to
sing another stanza.
"Look here, Bo," he said gravely, "that sounds very pretty and may be
very good poetry and true enough, but I wouldn't get to singing too much
about jasmine and song birds and climbing roses if I were you, and
especially girls. You are only a little boy, and besides, I can't see
that there is any difference in girls, except that some are plump and
some are not, and that isn't any difference to me, now," and the Bear
sighed and strummed on his violin gently.
"Oh, pshaw, Ratio! There's lots of difference. Some girls are yellow and
sour as a lemon, while some are as pink and sweet and blooming as a
creole rose"----
"Bosephus," interrupted the Bear gravely, "you've got a touch of the
swamp fever. Let me see your tongue!"
Bo stuck out his tongue.
"My tongue's all right," he grinned. "That kind of fever's in the
heart."
Horatio looked alarmed.
"You must take something for it right away, Bo," he declared. "I can't
have you singing silly songs about jasmine and cypress and girls in milk
and honey. You know we haven't seen any honey since we left Arkansaw,
and I'd travel all the way back there on foot to rob one good honey
tree. I'm getting tired of so much of this stuff they call sugar and
cane and the like."
"Why they have honey here, Ratio, too. I haven't seen any bee trees, but
I've seen plenty of bees. I suppose they are in hives--boxes that people
keep for them to live in."
"Where do they have those boxes, Bo?"
"Well, in their yards mostly; generally out by the back fence."
"Could we rob them?"
"Well, I shouldn't like to try it."
The Bear walked along some distance in silence. The boy was also
thinking and singing softly to himself. He was very happy. Presently he
looked up and saw just ahead, in a field near the road, a tree loaded
with oranges.
"Look, Ratio!" he said. "Don't you wish we had some of those?"
The Bear looked up and began to lick out his tongue.
"Climb over and get some, Bo," he said eagerly.
"Not much. I haven't forgotten the roasting ears and the watermelon we
got from old man Todd in Arkansaw. We might go to the house and ask for
some.
"Nonsense, Bosephus. Watch me!"
He handed Bo the fiddle, and running lightly to the hedge cleared it at
a bound.
"Fine!" shouted Bo.
Horatio, without pausing, hurried over to the tree.
"Funny they should leave those oranges so late," thought the little boy
as he watched him.
Swinging himself to the first limb, the Bear shook off a lot of the fine
yellow fruit, and climbing down, gathered in his arms all he could
carry. As he did so there came a loud barking of dogs, and without
looking behind him he started to run. He dropped a few of the oranges,
but kept straight on, the two huge dogs that had appeared getting closer
and closer. As he reached the hedge he once more made a grand leap, but
the oranges prevented him doing so well as before. His foot caught in
the top branches and he rolled over and over in the dusty road, the
oranges flying in every direction. The dogs behind the hedge barked and
raged.
Horatio rose, dusty and panting, but triumphant.
"You see, Bo," he said, "what it is to be brave. You can fill your
pockets now with these delicious oranges."
He picked up one as he spoke, and brushing off the dust, bit it in half
cheerfully. Then Bo, who was watching him, saw a strange thing take
place. The half orange flew out of the Bear's mouth as from a popgun,
and his face became so distorted that the boy thought his friend was
having a spasm. Suddenly he whirled, and making a rush at the fallen
oranges, began to kick them in every direction, coughing and spitting
every second. The two dogs looking over the hedge stopped barking to
enjoy the fun. One of the oranges rolled to Bo's feet. He picked it up
and smelled it. Then rubbing it on his coat he bit into it. It was not a
large bite, but it was enough. The tears rolled from his eyes and every
tooth in his head jumped. Such a mixture of stinging sour and bitter he
had never dreamed of. It grabbed him by the throat and shook him until
his bones cracked. The top of his head seemed coming loose, and his ears
fairly snapped. Then he realized what Horatio must be suffering, and
laughed in spite of himself.
[Illustration: FLEW OUT OF HIS MOUTH AS FROM A POP GUN.]
"They are mock oranges, Ratio," he shouted, "and they are mocking us for
stealing them!"
Horatio had seated himself by the roadside and was snorting and clawing
at his tongue.
"I must have some honey, Bo," he said, "to take away that dreadful
taste. You must find me some honey, Bo."
"You see, Ratio," said the little boy, "it doesn't pay to take things."
"Bosephus," said the Bear, "a man who will plant a tree like that so
near the road deceives wilfully and should be punished."
They walked along slowly, the two dogs barking after them from behind
the hedge.
Just beyond the next bend in the road a beautiful plantation came into
view. They turned into the cane yard and immediately the workhands
surrounded them. Horatio felt better by this time, and they began a
performance. First Bo sang and then Horatio gave a gymnastic exhibition.
Then at last Bo sang a closing verse as follows:--
[Illustration: Music]
"Now our little show is ended, and we hope you think it splendid,
And we trust we've not offended or displeased you anywhere,
[Illustration: Music]
You have paid us to be funny, and we thank you for the money,
But I'd like a little honey for the Old--Black--Bear.
Horatio smiled when he heard this, and the planter who was listening
sent one of the servants to the house. He came out soon with a piece of
fresh honey on a plate. He offered it to Horatio, who handed Bo the
violin, and seizing the plate, swallowed the honey at one gulp. This
made the crowd shout and laugh, and then Bo shook hands with the planter
and said good-bye, and all the darkies came up and wanted to shake
hands, too. When he had shaken hands all around the little boy turned to
look for Horatio. He was nowhere in sight. The others had not noticed
him slip away.
Bo was troubled. When Horatio disappeared like that it meant mischief.
He had promised reform as to pickaninnies, but Bo was never quite sure.
He was about to ask the people to run in every direction in search of
his comrade when there was a sudden commotion in the back door yard, and
a moment later a black figure dashed through the gate with something
under its arm. It was Horatio! The crowd of darkies took one look and
scattered. The thing under Horatio's arm was a square, box looking
affair, and out of it was streaming a black, living cloud.
"Bees!" shouted the people as they fled. "Bees! Bees!"
Bo understood instantly. The taste of honey had made Horatio greedy for
more. He had gone in search of it and returned with hive and all. There
was a clump of tall weeds just behind the little boy, and he dropped
down into them. They hid him from view, and none too soon, for the Bear
dashed past, snorting and striking at the swarm of stingers that not
only covered him, but fiercely attacked everything in sight. Howls began
to come from some of the hands that had failed to find shelter in time,
and Bo, peeping out between the weeds, saw half a dozen darkies
frantically trying to open the big door of the sugar house, which had
been hastily closed by those within, while the angry bees were pelting
furiously at the unfortunates.
[Illustration: THE BEAR DASHED PAST, SNORTING.]
As for Horatio, he was coated with bees that were trying to sting
through his thick fur. He did not mind them at first, but presently
they began to get near his eyes. With a snarl he dropped the hive and
began to paw and strike with both hands. Then they swarmed about him
worse than ever, and, half blinded, he began to run around and around
with no regard as to direction. Every darky in sight fled like the wind.
Some of them ran out of the gate and down the road, and without seeing
them, perhaps, the Bear suddenly leaped the fence and set out in the
same direction. Glancing back, they saw him coming and began to shriek
and scatter into the fields.
Bo waited some minutes; then, noticing that the maddened insects were no
longer buzzing viciously over him, he crept out and followed. He still
held the violin and was glad enough to get away from the plantation. The
bees had followed the fugitive, and the boy kept far enough behind to be
out of danger. By and by he met bees coming back, but perhaps they were
tired or thought he belonged to another crowd, for they did not molest
him. A mile further on he found Horatio sitting in the road rocking and
groaning and throwing dust on himself. His eyes and nose were swollen in
great knots, and his ears were each puffed up like little balloons. The
bees had left him, but his sorrow was at its height.
"Hello, Ratio! Having fun all alone?" asked Bo as he came up.
"Oh, Bo, this has been an awful day!" was the wailing reply. "First
those terrible oranges and then these millions and millions of murderous
bees. And now I am blind, Bo, and dying. Tell me, Bo, how do I look?"
"Oh, you look all right. Your nose looks like a big potato and your ears
like two little ones. I can't tell you how your eyes are, for they don't
show, but your whole skin looks as if it had been stuffed full of apples
and put on in a hurry."
"Bo," said Horatio meekly, "did you bring the fiddle?"
[Illustration: HE FOUND HORATIO SITTING IN THE ROAD, ROCKING AND
GROANING.]
"Well, yes; I thought it might happen that we'd need it again."
Horatio put out his paw for it. The boy gave it to him and he ran the
bow gently over the strings.
"Sing, Bo," he pleaded. "Sing that song about jasmine and cypress and
climbing roses. It will soothe me. Sing about girls, too, if you want
to, but leave out the oranges, Bo, and put in something else besides
honey in the last line."
"Ratio," said Bo, "you've got a touch of the swamp fever. Let me see
your tongue!"