BOYISHNESS.
Two or three days after Wallace arrived at Franconia, he and Phonny
formed a plan to go and take a ride on horseback. They invited
Stuyvesant to go with them, but Stuyvesant said that Beechnut was
going to plow that day, and had promised to teach him to drive oxen.
He said that he should like better to learn to drive oxen than to take
a ride on horseback.
There was another reason which influenced Stuyvesant in making this
decision, and that was, that he had observed that there were only two
horses in the stable, and although he knew that Beechnut could easily
obtain another from some of the neighbors, still he thought that this
would make some trouble, and he was always very considerate about
making trouble. This was rather remarkable in Stuyvesant, for he was a
city boy, and city boys are apt to be very inconsiderate.
So Wallace and Phonny concluded to go by themselves. They mounted
their horses and rode together out through the great gate.
"Now," said Phonny, when they were fairly on the way, "we will have a
good time. This is just what I like. I would rather have a good ride
on horseback than any thing else. I wish that they would let me go
alone sometimes."
"Won't they?" asked Wallace.
"No, not very often," said Phonny.
"Do you know what the reason is?" asked Wallace.
"I suppose because they think that I am not old enough," replied
Phonny, "but I am."
"I don't think that that is the reason," said Wallace. "Stuyvesant is
not quite so old as you are, and yet I shall let _him_ go and ride
alone whenever he pleases."
"What _is_ the reason then?" asked Phonny.
"Because you are not _man_ enough I suppose," said Wallace. "You might
be more manly, without being any older, and then people would put more
trust in you, and you would have a great many more pleasures."
Phonny was rather surprised to hear his cousin Wallace speak thus. He
had thought that he _was_ manly--very manly; but it was evident that
his cousin considered him boyish.
"I do not know," continued Wallace, "but that you are as manly as
other boys of your years."
"Except Stuyvesant," said Phonny.
"Yes, except Stuyvesant," said Wallace, "I think that he is rather
remarkable. I do not think that you are _very_ boyish,--but you are
growing up quite fast and you are getting to be pretty large. It is
time for you to begin to evince some degree of the carefulness, and
considerateness, and sense of responsibility, that belong to men.
"There are two kinds of boyishness," continued Wallace. "One kind is
very harmless."
"What kind is that?" asked Phonny.
"Why if a boy continues," said Wallace, "when he is quite old, to take
pleasure in amusements which generally please only young children,
that is boyishness of a harmless kind. For example, suppose we should
see a boy, eighteen years old, playing marbles a great deal, we should
say that he was boyish. So if _you_ were to have a rattle or any other
such little toy for a plaything, and should spend a great deal of
time in playing with it, we should say that it was very boyish or
childish. Still that kind of boyishness does little harm, and we
should not probably do any thing about it, but should leave you to
outgrow it in your own time."
"What kind of boyishness do you mean then, that is not harmless?"
asked Phonny.
"I mean that kind of want of consideration, by which boys when young,
are always getting themselves and others into difficulty and trouble,
for the sake of some present and momentary pleasure. They see the
pleasure and they grasp at it. They do not see the consequences, and
so they neglect them. The result is, they get into difficulty and do
mischief. Other people lose confidence in them, and so they have to be
restricted and watched, and subjected to limits and bounds, when if
they were a little more considerate and manly, they might enjoy a much
greater liberty, and many more pleasures."
"I don't think that I do so," said Phonny.
"No," rejoined Wallace, "I don't think that you do; that is I don't
think that you do so more than other boys of your age. But to show you
exactly what I mean, I will give you some cases. Perhaps they are
true and perhaps they are imaginary. It makes no difference which they
are.
"Once there was a boy," continued Wallace, "who came down early one
winter morning, and after warming himself a moment by the sitting-room
fire, he went out in the kitchen. It happened to be ironing day, and
the girl was engaged in ironing at a great table by the kitchen fire.
We will call the girl's name Dorothy.
"The boy seeing Dorothy at this work, wished to iron something,
himself. So Dorothy gave him a flat-iron and also something to iron."
"What was it that she gave him to iron?" said Phonny.
"A towel," said Wallace.
"Well," said Phonny, "go on."
"The boy took the flat-iron and went to work," continued Wallace.
"Presently, however, he thought he would go out into the shed and see
if the snow had blown in, during the night. He found that it had, and
so he stopped to play with the drift a few minutes. At last he came
back into the kitchen, and he found, when he came in, that Dorothy
had finished ironing his towel and had put it away. He began to
complain of her for doing this, and then, in order to punish her, as
he said, he took two of her flat-irons and ran off with them, and put
them into the snow drift."
"Yes," said Phonny, "that was me. But then I only did it for fun."
"Was the fun for yourself or for Dorothy?" asked Wallace.
"Why, for me," said Phonny.
"And it made only trouble for Dorothy," said Wallace.
"Yes," said Phonny, "I suppose it did."
"That is the kind of boyishness I mean," said Wallace, "getting fun
for yourself at other people's expense; and so making them dislike
you, and feel sorry when they see you coming, and glad when you go
away."
Phonny was silent. He saw the folly of such a course of proceeding,
and had nothing to say.
"There is another case," said Wallace. "Once I knew a boy, and his
name was--I'll call him Johnny."
"What was his other name?" asked Phonny.
"No matter for that, now," said Wallace. "He went out into the barn,
and he wanted something to do, and so the boy who lived there, gave
him a certain corner to take charge of, and keep in order."
"What was that boy's name?" asked Phonny.
"Why, I will call him Hazelnut," said Wallace.
"Ah!" exclaimed Phonny, "now I know you are going to tell some story
about me and Beechnut." Here Phonny threw back his head and laughed
aloud. He repeated the words Johnny and Hazelnut, and then laughed
again, until he made the woods ring with his merriment.
Wallace smiled, and went on with his story.
"Hazelnut gave him the charge of a corner of the barn where some
harnesses were kept, and Johnny's duty was to keep them in order
there. One day Hazelnut came home and found that Johnny had taken out
the long reins from the harness, and had fastened them to the branches
of two trees in the back yard, to make a swing, and then he had loaded
the swing with so many children, as to break it down."
"Yes," said Phonny, "that was me too; but I did not think that the
reins would break."
"I know it," said Wallace. "You did not think. That is the nature of
the kind of boyishness that I am speaking of. The boy does not
_think_. Men, generally, before they do any new or unusual thing, stop
to consider what the results and consequences of it are going to be;
but boys go on headlong, and find out what the consequences are when
they come."
While Wallace and Phonny had been conversing thus, they had been
riding through a wood which extended along a mountain glen. Just at
this time they came to a place where a cart path branched off from the
main road, toward the right. Phonny proposed to go into this path to
see where it would lead. Wallace had no objection to this plan, and so
they turned their horses and went in.
The cart path led them by a winding way through the woods for a short
distance, along a little dell, and then it descended into a ravine, at
the bottom of which there was a foaming torrent tumbling over a very
rocky bed. The path by this time became quite a road, though it was a
very wild and stony road. It kept near the bank of the brook,
continually ascending, until at last it turned suddenly away from the
brook, and went up diagonally upon the side of a hill. There were
openings in the woods on the lower side of the road, through which
Wallace got occasional glimpses of the distant valleys. Wallace was
very much interested in these prospects, but Phonny's attention was
wholly occupied as he went along, in looking over all the logs, and
rocks, and hollow trees, in search of squirrels.
At last, at a certain turn of the road, the riders came suddenly upon
a pair of bars which appeared before them,--directly across the road.
"Well," said Wallace, "here we are, what shall we do now?"
"It is nothing but a pair of bars," said Phonny. "I can jump off and
take them down."
"No," said Wallace, "I think we may as well turn about here, and go
back. We have come far enough on this road."
Just then Phonny pointed off under the trees of the forest, upon one
side, and said in a very eager voice,
"See there!"
"What is it?" said Wallace.
"A trap," said Phonny. "It is a squirrel trap! and it is sprung!
There's a squirrel in it, I've no doubt. Let me get off and see."
"Well," said Wallace, "give me the bridle of your horse."
So Phonny threw the bridle over his horse's head and gave it to
Wallace. He then dismounted--sliding down the side of the horse safely
to the ground.
As soon as he found himself safely down, he threw his riding-stick
upon the grass, and ran off toward the trap.
The trap was placed upon a small stone by the side of a larger one. It
was in a very snug and sheltered place, almost out of view. In fact it
probably would not have been observed by any ordinary passer-by.
Phonny ran up to the trap, and took hold of it. He lifted it up very
cautiously. He shook it as well as he could, and then listened. He
thought that he could hear or feel some slight motion within. He
became very much excited.
He put the trap down upon the high rock, and began opening up the lid
a little, very gently.
[Illustration: THE TRAP.]
The trap was of the kind called by the boys a box-trap. It is in the
form of a box, and the back part runs up high, to a point. The lid of
the box has a string fastened to it, which string is carried up, over
the high point, and thence down, and is fastened to an apparatus
connected with the spindle.
The spindle is a slender rod of wood which passes through the end of
the box into the interior. About half of the spindle is within the box
and half without. There is a small notch in the outer part of the
spindle, and another in the end of the box, a short distance above the
spindle. There is a small bar of wood, with both ends sharpened, and
made of such a length as just to reach from the notch in the end of
the box, to the notch in the spindle. This bar is the apparatus to
which the end of the string is fastened, as before described.
When the trap is to be set, the bar is fitted to the notches in such a
manner as to catch in them, and then the weight of the lid, being
sustained by the string, the lid is held up so that the squirrel can
go in. The front of the box is attached to the lid, and rises with it,
so that when the lid is raised a little the squirrel can creep
directly in. The bait, which is generally a part of an ear of corn, is
fastened to the end of the spindle, which is within the trap. The
squirrel sees the bait, and creeps in to get it. He begins to nibble
upon the corn. The ear is tied so firmly to the spindle that he can
not get it away. In gnawing upon it to get off the corn, he finally
disengages the end of the spindle from the bar, by working the lower
end of the bar out of its notch; this lets the string up, and of
course the lid comes down, and the squirrel is shut in, a captive.
When the lid first comes down, it makes so loud a noise as to terrify
the poor captive very much. He runs this way and that, around the
interior of the box, wondering what has happened, and why he can not
get out as he came in. He has no more appetite for the corn, but is in
great distress at his sudden and unaccountable captivity.
After trying in vain on all sides to escape, by forcing his way, and
finding that the box is too strong for him in every part, he finally
concludes to gnaw out. He accordingly selects the part of the box
where there is the widest crack, and where consequently the brightest
light shines through. He selects this place, partly because he
supposes that the box is thinnest there, and partly because he likes
to work in the light.[A]
[Footnote A: To prevent the squirrels that are caught from gnawing
out, the boys sometimes line the inside of their traps with tin.]
There was a squirrel in the trap which Phonny had found. It was a
large and handsome gray squirrel. He had been taken that morning.
About an hour after the trap sprung upon him, he had begun to gnaw
out, and he had got about half through the boards in the corner when
Phonny found him. When Phonny shook the trap the squirrel clung to the
bottom of it by his claws, so that Phonny did not shake him about
much.
When Phonny had put the trap upon the great stone, he thought that he
would lift up the lid a little way, and peep in. This is a very
dangerous operation, for a squirrel will squeeze out through a very
small aperture, and many a boy has lost a squirrel by the very means
that he was taking to decide whether he had got one.
Phonny was aware of this danger, and so he was very careful. He raised
the lid but very little, and looked under with the utmost caution. He
saw two little round and very brilliant eyes peeping out at him.
"Yes, Wallace," said he. "Yes, yes, here he is. I see his eyes."
Wallace sat very composedly upon his horse, holding Phonny's bridle,
while Phonny was uttering these exclamations, without appearing to
share the enthusiasm which Phonny felt, at all.
"He is here, Wallace," said Phonny. "He is, truly."
"I do not doubt it," said Wallace, "but what are we to do about it?"
"Why--why--what would you do?" asked Phonny.
"I suppose that the best thing that we could do," said Wallace, "is to
ride along."
"And leave the squirrel?" said Phonny, in a tone of surprise.
"Yes," said Wallace. "I don't see any thing else that we can do."
"Why, he will gnaw out," said Phonny. "He will gnaw out in half an
hour. He has gnawed half through the board already. Espy ought to have
tinned his trap." So saying, Phonny stooped down and peeped into the
trap again, through the crack under the lid.
"Who is Espy?" asked Wallace.
"Espy Ransom," said Phonny. "He lives down by the mill. He is always
setting traps for squirrels. I suppose that this road goes down to the
mill, and that he came up here and set his trap. But it won't do to
leave the squirrel here," continued Phonny, looking at Wallace in a
very earnest manner. "It never will do in the world."
"What shall we do, then?" asked Wallace.
"Couldn't we carry him down to Espy?" said Phonny.
"I don't think that we have any right to carry him away. It is not our
squirrel, and it may be that it is not Espy's."
Phonny seemed perplexed. After a moment's pause he added, "Couldn't we
go down and tell Espy that there is a squirrel in his trap?"
"Yes," said Wallace, "that we can do."
Phonny stooped down and peeped into the trap again.
"The rogue," said he. "The moment that I am gone, he will go to
gnawing again, I suppose, and so get out and run away. What a little
fool he is."
"Do you think he is a fool for trying to gnaw out of that trap?" asked
Wallace.
"Why no,"--said Phonny, "but I wish he wouldn't do it. We will go down
quick and tell Espy."
So Phonny came back to the place where Wallace had remained in the
road, holding the horses. Phonny let down the bars, and Wallace went
through with the horses. Phonny immediately put the bars up again,
took the bridle of his own horse from Wallace's hands, threw it up
over the horse's head, and then by the help of a large log which lay
by the side of the road, he mounted. He did all this in a hurried
manner, and ended with saying:
"Now, Cousin Wallace, let's push on. I don't think it's more than half
a mile to the mill."