in progress when the study bell sounded, and their parents called them
to their books. They begged a quarter of an hour’s grace, to finish
wiping the dishes and putting them away. It was granted, and before the
expiration of the time, everything was carried back to the kitchen, put
in its place, the children at their studies, and Alfred having said
good-bye, was about to start home.
Before leaving, he called me to him, and seeing that I approached, he
ran to me, caressing and thanking me by his words and pattings for the
service I had rendered him. I received this expression of gratitude
with pleasure. It confirmed me in the opinion that Alfred was much
better than I had at first judged him, that he was neither revengeful
nor malicious, and also, that if somewhat cowardly and stupid, it was
not his fault.
I had occasion a few days afterwards to render him a new service.
XXVII.
THE BOAT.
James—“What a pity we cannot cook a breakfast every day, as we did last
week, it was so amusing!”
Louis—“And what a good breakfast!”
Maud—“The best thing to me was the potato salad and veal with vinegar
sauce.”
Beatrice—“I know why very well; it is because your mamma forbids you
eating such things constantly.”
“Very likely,” said Maud, laughing, “what we seldom get to eat always
appears best, especially when it is something we like naturally.”
William—“What shall we do to-day for amusement?”
Elizabeth—“Sure enough, it is Thursday, we have holiday until dinner.”
Henry—“If we could get a mess of fish from the big pond—”
Maud—“What a splendid idea! we will have a dish of fish for to-morrow,
Friday!”
Beatrice—“How will we fish? have we fishing lines?”
William—“We have hooks enough but we want rods.”
Henry—“Shall we send one of the servants to the village to buy them?”
William—“They are not sold in the village, we would have to send to the
city and that is very far.”
Maud—“Oh! here comes Alfred, perhaps they have some lines at his house;
and we can send some one on the pony for them.”
James—“I will ride over on Cadichon.”
Henry—“You cannot go so far alone.”
James—“It is not far, only half a league.”
“What is it, my friends, you are going to get with Cadichon?” said
Alfred as he came up.
William—“Fishing lines; have you any, Alfred?”
Alfred—“No; and there is no necessity for going so far; with knives, we
can make as many ourselves, as we want.”
Henry—“To be sure! why did we not think of it before?”
Alfred—“Come quick to the woods to cut them. Have you knives? mine is
in my pocket.”
William—“I have an excellent one that Maud brought me from London.”
Henry—“And I also have one that Beatrice gave me.”
James—“I have one.”
Louis—“And I.”
“Come along then,” said Alfred, “whilst we cut the rods, you may strip
off the bark and little twigs.”
“And what shall we do in the meantime?” asked Maud, Beatrice and
Elizabeth.
“Make the other necessary preparations,” said William: “get the bread,
the worms, the hooks.”
And they all dispersed, each one to his or her post.
I then went very quietly towards the pond, and in something over half
an hour, the children arrived, running each one with his line, and
bringing the hooks and other necessary appurtenances.
“We must beat the water, must we not, to bring the fish to the
surface,” said Henry.
William—“Just the contrary, we must keep quiet as possible, for if we
frighten the fish, they will all go down to the bottom in the mud.”
Maud—“I think a good way of attracting them, would be to throw some
crumbs of bread in the water.”
Beatrice—“Yes, but not much; if we feed them plentifully, they will not
bite at the hooks.”
Elizabeth—“Let me do it, you prepare the hooks, whilst I throw in the
bread.”
Elizabeth took the bread, and at the first crumb she threw, half a
dozen fish pounced upon it. She repeated the process, assisted by
Louis, James, Helen and Ruth, until the fish were surfeited and would
eat no more.
“I believe we have given them too much,” said Elizabeth in an undertone
to Louis and James.
James—“What difference does that make? they will eat the rest this
evening or to-morrow.”
Elizabeth—“But they won’t bite at the bait now, they are no longer
hungry.”
James—“Oh! oh! our cousins will be displeased.”
Elizabeth—“Say nothing about it, they are busy with their hooks;
perhaps the fish will bite all the same.”
“The lines are ready,” said William; “each of you take one and cast it
in the water.”
They did so, and waited a few minutes in breathless silence; the fish
would not bite.
Alfred—“This is not a good place, let us go farther.”
Helen—“I believe there are no fish here, look at those bread crumbs not
eaten.”
Maud—“Let us go to the end of this pond, near the boat.”
William—“The water is very deep there.”
Elizabeth—“What difference does that make? Are you afraid the fish will
be drowned?”
William—“Not the fish, but one of us might fall in.”
Henry—“How would we fall in? we are not going near enough to the edge
to slip or roll in.”
William—“Very true, but for all that, I do not wish the little ones to
go there.”
James—“Oh! yes, William, do let me go with you? we will keep at a
distance from the water.”
William—“No, no, stay where you are; we will soon be back, for I don’t
think we will find any more fish there than here. Moreover,” he added,
lowering his voice, “it is your fault we have caught none, you gave the
fish ten times too much bread, I saw the whole thing; I do not wish to
tell Henry, Alfred, Maud and Beatrice, but it is only right that you
should be punished for your thoughtlessness.”
James insisted no more, but told the other little culprits what William
had said. They resigned themselves to remain where they were, and
continued to throw their lines, still wishing the fish would bite, and
still meeting with no success.
I had followed William, Henry and Alfred to the end of the pond. They
also cast their lines, but it was of no use; in vain did they move, and
change their hooks, the fish would not bite.
“Friends,” said Alfred, “I have an excellent idea, instead of worrying
ourselves waiting for the fish to come to us, let us fish on a big
scale, and take fifteen or twenty at a time.”
William—“How can we take fifteen or twenty at a time, when we have not
taken one yet?”
Alfred—“With a sweep-net.”
Henry—“But it is very difficult to manage; papa says, one must
understand it.”
Alfred—“Difficult! what nonsense! I have cast the sweep-net myself ten,
yes, twenty times! It is very easy.”
William—“Did you take many fish?”
Alfred—“I did not take any because I did not cast it in the water.”
Henry—“Where then, and how did you cast it, if not in the water?”
Alfred—“On the grass or the ground, only to learn how.”
William—“But that is not the same thing at all, I am sure you would
cast it very awkwardly on the water.”
Alfred—“Awkwardly! Do you really think that? I will convince you of
the contrary. I am going to get the sweep-net which lies in the yard,
drying in the sun.”
William—“Please don’t Alfred, if anything should happen, papa would
scold.”
Alfred—“And what can happen? I tell you, that at home, we always fish
with it. I am going, wait for me, I’ll not be long.”
And away ran Alfred, leaving William and Henry anxious and
dissatisfied. He soon returned dragging the sweep-net after him.
“Here it is,” said he, spreading it out on the ground. “Now fish,
beware!”
He cast the net with tolerable dexterity, and began to draw it in
cautiously and slowly.
“Draw it in faster,” said Henry, “we will never finish at that rate.”
“No, no,” replied Alfred, “it must be drawn very gently, so as not to
break the meshes and let the fish escape.”
He continued to draw it “very gently,” as he said, but only to find it
empty, not one fish had been caught.
“Oh!” said he, “the first time does not count, we must not be
discouraged, let us commence again.”
He did commence again, and succeeded no better the second time than the
first.
“I know what is the matter,” said he, “I am too near the edge of the
pond, the water is not deep enough here, I am going to get in the boat,
which is very long, consequently, the farther end of it will give me
sufficient depth of water to unfold my net.”
“No, Alfred,” said William, “keep away from the boat; you may get that
sweep-net entangled in the oars, or cordages and have an upset.”
“William, you are just like a two year old baby,” replied Alfred, “for
my part I have more courage, you’ll see the result.”
And he darted into the boat, which swayed from side to side. Although
he pretended to laugh, Alfred was really afraid, and I saw that he
would inevitably make a blunder, or do some mischief. He unfolded and
spread out his net, notwithstanding the motion of the boat; but his
knees shook under him and his hands were unsteady. Self-love, however,
urged him on, and he cast the net. But the movement being arrested by
his fear of falling, the net caught on his left shoulder, and gave him
such a jerk that he fell headlong into the water. William and Henry
uttered a scream of terror, in unison with that which escaped the
unfortunate boy as he fell. Being enveloped in the net which crippled
all his movements, his efforts to regain the shore were in vain. The
more he struggled, the more entangled he became in the net. I saw him
gradually sinking, a few minutes more and he would have been beyond
hope. William and Henry could give him no assistance, neither of them
knowing how to swim, and before they could have run for help, Alfred
must certainly have perished.
[Illustration: I climbed the very steep bank, still dragging
Alfred.—(Page 263.)]
I decided upon my part at once; resolutely plunging into the water,
I swam towards him, and diving (for he had already sunk considerably
beneath the surface), I seized with my teeth the net which enveloped
him. Then swimming back, pulling it after me, I climbed the very steep
bank, still dragging Alfred (no doubt giving him a few bruises on the
stones and roots in our path,) and laid him on the grass, motionless
and unconscious.
William and Henry, pale and trembling, ran to him, and with
considerable difficulty, succeeded in ridding him of the net which was
wrapped around him. They then sent Maud and Beatrice to the house for
help.
The little ones, who, from a distance had seen Alfred fall, also
came running to the spot, and assisted William and Henry to wipe his
face and dripping hair. The servants soon appeared, and lifting the
unconscious Alfred from the grass carried him to the house. The other
children remained with me.
“You splendid Cadichon!” exclaimed James, “it was you who saved
Alfred’s life! Did you all see how courageously he plunged into the
water?”
Louis—“Yes, certainly, and how he dived to get hold of Alfred.”
Elizabeth—“And how carefully he drew Alfred to the shore.”
James—“Poor Cadichon! how wet he is!”
Helen—“Don’t go near him James, you will get your clothes wet, just
look how the water drips off of him.”
“Ah! bah! what difference does it make if I am a little wet?” answered
James, putting his arms around my neck, “I shall not be as wet as
Cadichon.”
Louis—“Instead of hugging him and paying him compliments, you had
better take him to the stable, and let us rub him down with a little
straw, and then give him some oats to warm him up and revive him.”
James—“That is true, you are right. Come, my Cadichon.”
I followed James and Louis who went towards the stable, making me a
sign to follow them. Both began to rub me down with such vehemence
that they were soon in a perspiration, but for all that, neither of
them would stop until I was dry. Meanwhile, Helen and Ruth employed
themselves combing and brushing my tail and mane. I was superb when
they had all finished, and I partook with extraordinary appetite, of
the oats which James and Louis gave me.
“Helen,” said little Ruth in a low tone to her cousin, “Cadichon has a
great quantity of oats, he has too many.”
Helen—“That’s no matter, Ruth; he has been very good, and we have given
him the oats as a reward.”
Ruth—“I would like to have a few of his oats myself.”
Helen—“For what?”
Ruth—“To give our poor rabbits, that love oats so much, and never get
any.”
Helen—“If James and Louis see you taking oats from Cadichon, they will
scold.”
Ruth—“They shall not see me, I will wait until they are not looking.”
Helen—“Then you will be a thief, for you would be stealing oats from
poor Cadichon, who cannot complain, because he cannot speak.”
[Illustration: Ruth ran joyously to her rabbits.—(Page 268.)]
“So I would,” said Ruth sadly, “My poor rabbits would be too glad to
have a few oats.” And she seated herself near my trough and watched me
as I ate.
“Why are you sitting there, Ruth?” asked Helen. “Come with me to
inquire for Alfred.”
“No,” said Ruth, “I would rather wait till Cadichon finishes eating,
so that if he leaves any oats, I can take them for my rabbits without
stealing.”
Helen insisted, but Ruth refused to go, and Helen at last went off with
her cousins.
I ate slowly, wishing to see if Ruth would yield even once to the
temptation of regaling her rabbits at my expense. From time to time she
looked in the trough.
“How he eats,” said she, “he will never finish—he cannot be hungry, for
he is always eating—the oats are disappearing, if he would leave only a
few, I should be so delighted.”
I could easily have eaten all that was before me, but the poor little
girl excited my pity. She touched nothing in spite of her desire to
regale the rabbits. Pretending to have enough, I quit my trough,
leaving the half of my oats; Ruth uttered a cry of joy, leaped to her
feet, and taking the oats by the handful emptied them into her black
taffetta apron.
“Oh! how kind you are, how obliging you are, my dear good Cadichon,”
said she. “I never saw such a donkey as you—It is very genteel not to
be a glutton—Everybody loves you because you are good—The rabbits will
be so pleased! I will tell them, it was you that gave them their oats.”
And Ruth who had finished gathering up the oats and putting them in her
apron, ran joyously to her rabbits. I saw her reach their little house,
and I heard her tell them how good I was, that I was not the least bit
of a glutton—that they must follow my example, and as I had left some
oats for them, so ought they to leave some for the little birds.
“I will soon return,” said she, “to see if you are as good as Cadichon.”
She shut their door and ran to join Helen.
Following her to hear something from Alfred, I was delighted on
approaching the castle, to see him seated on the grass with his
friends. He arose, and coming to me, covered me with caresses.
“Here is my deliverer,” said he; “but for him I would have died, I
became unconscious at the very moment, when Cadichon having seized
the net, began to draw me to land; but I have a distinct recollection
of seeing him plunge in the water and dive to save me. I shall never
forget the service he has rendered me, and I shall never come here
without speaking to Cadichon.”
“That is right, Alfred,” said the grandmother. “He who has a good
heart, is no less grateful to the lower animals than to men. As for me,
I shall always remember Cadichon’s services, and happen what will, I am
determined never to part with him.”
“But grandmother,” said Maud, “a few months ago you talked of sending
him to the mill. He would have been very miserable there.”
[Illustration: “Here is my deliverer.”—(Page 268.)]
“Yes, dear child, but I did not send him; I did think of it, it is
true, after the trick he played Alfred, both because of it, and the
numberless complaints from everyone on the place. But I decided to
keep him in acknowledgment of his former services, and I now say, that
not only shall he remain, but everything shall be done to render him
comfortable and happy.”
“Oh! thanks, grandma, thanks,” exclaimed James, throwing his arms
around his grandmother’s neck and almost pulling her to the ground.
“Let me be the one to take charge of my dear Cadichon, I shall love him
and he will love me more than he does any one else.”
“Why, my little James, do you wish Cadichon to care more for you than
for the others? That is not right.”
“Yes, yes, grandma, it is right, for I love him more than they do, and
besides, when he was bad, and everybody displeased with him, I still
cared a little for him, indeed, I might say, a great deal,” he added,
laughing, “Isn’t it so, Cadichon?”
I answered by coming up to him and laying my head on his shoulders.
Everybody laughed and James continued:
“Now, cousins, are you willing for Cadichon to love me more than he
does you?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” they all answered, laughing.
“And haven’t I always cared more for him than the rest of you have?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” was the unanimous reply.
“You see, grandma, that since it was I who brought Cadichon here, and
it is I who love him best, it is only fair that he should love me best.”
“I can say no more, dear child,” said the grandmother, smiling, “but
you cannot take care of him when you are not here.”
“But I shall always be here, grandma,” said James, eagerly.
“No, my dear child, you will not always be here, for your papa and
mamma take you away when they go.”
James became pensive and sad, he put his arm upon my neck and rested
his head on his hand. Suddenly his face brightened.
“Grandma,” said he, “will you give me Cadichon?”
“I will give you whatever you wish, my dear little one, but I cannot
let you take him to Paris with you.”
“No, to be sure not; but then he will belong to me, and when papa has a
castle we will take Cadichon.”
“I give him to you on that condition, my child, meanwhile he will stay
here where in all probability he will outlive me. Do not forget then
that Cadichon is yours, and to you is entrusted the charge of making
him comfortable and happy.”
Conclusion.
From that day my little master James seemed to love me more than
ever, whilst I, in turn, did my very best to make myself useful and
agreeable, not only to him, but to everyone about the place. I had no
reason to repent of my reformation, for it gained me the esteem and
affection of all. I continued to watch over the children, preserving
them from several accidents, and protecting them against bad people and
wicked animals.
Alfred was often at the castle, and he never forgot his promised visit
to me, always bringing me some delicacy, an apple, a pear, bread and
salt of which I was particularly fond, a handful of lettuce or some
carrots—always something that he knew I fancied, which fully convinced
me how much mistaken I had been in my former opinion of the poor boy,
believing him bad, when he was only a little foolish and vain.
The idea of writing the story of my adventures was prompted by a
series of conversations between Henry and his cousins; Henry always
maintaining that I did not understand what I did nor why I did it,
his cousins, James especially, as stoutly asserting the contrary. I
profited by a very severe winter, which did not permit of my remaining
out-doors, to jot down some of the most important events of my life.
They may amuse you, perhaps, my young friends; at any rate, they will
teach you, that if you wish faithful service, you must treat kindly
those who serve you—that they who appear the most stupid are not always
so—that a donkey like everything else, has a heart to love his masters
and suffer from bad treatment, a will to be revenged or to show his
affection—that it depends upon his masters to make him either happy
or unhappy, a friend or an enemy, poor donkey as he is. I, myself, am
very happy, loved by every one, and cared for as a friend by my little
master James. I am beginning to grow old, but we donkeys sometimes live
a long time, and just as long as I am able to walk and be of any use
whatever, my services are at the disposal of my masters.
THE END.
JOHN B. PIET,
PUBLISHER AND PRINTER,
BALTIMORE.
Transcriber’s Notes
pg 26 Changed: As he eat, his tears ceased to flow
To: As he ate, his tears ceased to flow
pg 45 Changed: “Madamoiselle,” said she, “your mama has sent for you
To: “Mademoiselle,” said she, “your mama has sent for you
pg 54 Changed: support the fatiques and privations I have endured
To: support the fatigues and privations I have endured
pg 72 Changed: Isn’t he good, grandma, isn’t he? and musn’t we keep
him?
To: Isn’t he good, grandma, isn’t he? and mustn’t we keep
him?
pg 72 Changed: but she does not own him, he belengs to nobody
To: but she does not own him, he belongs to nobody
pg 84 Changed: and before they killed you,” answerd Beatrice
To: and before they killed you,” answered Beatrice
pg 115 Changed: Laughing at the young gunners’ discomfitted air
To: Laughing at the young gunners’ discomfited air
pg 139 Changed: No, you havn’t, the godfather has the best right
To: No, you haven’t, the godfather has the best right
pg 175 Changed: This unusual noise attracked the attention of all
To: This unusual noise attracted the attention of all
pg 175 Changed: young and old, had decended and formed a circle
To: young and old, had descended and formed a circle
pg 179 Changed: money necessary for their subsistance
To: money necessary for their subsistence
pg 188 Changed: must we not, dear ones?” sad Elizabeth.
To: must we not, dear ones?” said Elizabeth.
pg 193 Changed: He is better,” exlaimed James
To: He is better,” exclaimed James
pg 199 Changed: and indulged in penitent reflexions
To: and indulged in penitent reflections
pg 199 Changed: then pass my beautful ornamented bridle
To: then pass my beautiful ornamented bridle
pg 202 Changed: in reparation of the wrong I dad done him
To: in reparation of the wrong I had done him
pg 213 Changed: I waltzed, I polkied, and, I played on Ferdinand
To: I waltzed, I polkaed, and, I played on Ferdinand
pg 214 Changed: How prettily he files off,” said Ferdinand
To: How prettily he flies off,” said Ferdinand
pg 227 Changed: where they have commited numberless and audacious
thefts
To: where they have committed numberless and audacious
thefts
pg 228 Changed: you may assist at the exemination
To: you may assist at the examination
pg 230 Changed: Just wherever I could by cider
To: Just wherever I could buy cider
pg 231 Changed: a nickname given him at the prison in dirision
To: a nickname given him at the prison in derision
pg 251 Changed: and I was about to decend when you came
To: and I was about to descend when you came
pg 253 Changed: there was enought to make him regret
To: there was enough to make him regret
pg 260 Changed: his left shoulder, and gave him sech a jerk
To: his left shoulder, and gave him such a jerk