"You needn't waste any more time talkin' about it, Benjamin; you can
jest take that puppy-dog and carry him off. I don't care what you do
with him; you can carry him back where you got him, or give him away, or
swap him off; but jest as sure as you leave him here half an hour
longer, I'll call Jimmy up from the hay-field and have him shoot him. I
won't have a dog round the place, nohow. Couldn't keep Seventoes a
minute; he's dreadful scart of dogs."
"Grandsir--"
"Take that puppy-dog and go along, I tell ye. I won't have any more talk
about it."
Benjamin Wellman, small and slight, sandy-haired and blue-eyed, stood
before his grandfather, who sat in his big arm-chair in the east door.
Benjamin held in his right hand an old rope, which was attached to a
leather strap around a puppy's neck. The puppy pulled at the rope,
keeping it taut all the time. He also yelped shrilly. He did not like to
be tied. The puppy was not a pretty one, being yellow and very clumsy;
but Benjamin thought him a beauty. He had urged to his grandfather that
there would not be a dog to equal him in the neighborhood when he was
grown up, but the old man had not been moved.
There were tears in Benjamin's pretty blue eyes, but his square chin
looked squarer. He tried to speak again. "Grandsir--" he began.
"Not another word," said his grandfather.
Benjamin looked past his grandfather into the kitchen. His mother sat in
there stemming currants. He went around to the other door and entered,
dragging the puppy after him.
"Mother," he said, in a low voice, "can't I keep him?"
His grandfather in the east door looked around suspiciously, but he
could hear nothing; he was somewhat deaf.
"No; not if your grandfather don't want you to," said his mother; "you
know I can't let you, Benjamin."
The puppy was whining piteously, and Benjamin seemed to echo it when he
spoke. "I don't see why he don't want me to. It ain't as if Cæsar was a
common puppy. You ask him, mother."
"No," returned his mother; "it won't do any good. You know how much he
thinks of Seventoes, and the dog might kill him when he was grown."
"Wouldn't care if he did," muttered Benjamin; "nothing but a cross old
stealing cat; don't begin to be worth what this puppy is."
"Now, Benjamin, you mustn't talk any more about it," said his mother,
severely. "Grandsir does too much for you and me for you to make any
fuss about a thing like this. Take that puppy and run right along with
it, as he tells you to."
Grandsir's suspicions suddenly took shape then. "Benjamin, you run right
along," he called out; "don't stand there teasing your mother about it."
So Benjamin gathered the puppy up into his arms with a jerk--it was
impossible to lead him any distance--and plunged out of the house. He
gave two or three little choking sobs as he hurried along. It was a hot
day, and he was tired and disappointed and discouraged. He had walked
three miles over to the village and back to get that puppy, and now he
had to walk a mile more to give it away. He had no doubt whatever as to
the disposal of it; he knew Sammy Tucker would give it a hearty welcome,
for there was an understanding to that effect. Benjamin had been a
little doubtful as to the reception the puppy might have from his
grandfather; but when Mr. Dyer, who kept the village grocery store, had
offered it to him three weeks before, he had not had the courage to
refuse. Sammy Tucker, too, had been in the store, buying three bars of
soap for his mother, and he had looked on admiringly and enviously. When
Benjamin had mentioned hesitatingly his doubts about his grandfather,
Sammy had pricked up his ears.
"Say, Ben, you give him to me if your grandfather won't let you keep
him," he had whispered, with a nudge. "Father said I might have a dog
soon as there was a good chance, and Mr. Dyer won't want it back. He's
giv away all but this, and he wants to get rid of 'em. They're common
kind of dogs, anyhow. I heard him say so."
Benjamin had looked at him stiffly. "Oh, I guess grandsir'll let me keep
this puppy, he's such a smart one," he had answered, with dignity.
"Well, you ask him, and if he won't, I'll take him," said Sammy.
But Benjamin had not asked his grandfather. He had not had courage to
run the risk. He had waited the three weeks which the store-keeper had
said must elapse before the little dog could leave its mother, and then
had gone over to the village and brought it home, without a word to any
one, trusting to the puppy's own attractions to plead for it. It had
seemed to Benjamin that nobody could resist that puppy. But Grandfather
Wellman had all his life preferred cats to dogs, and now he was
childishly fond of Seventoes. Benjamin's mother often said that she
didn't know what grandsir would do if anything happened to Seventoes.
Benjamin, going out of the yard with the puppy under his arm, could see
Seventoes sitting on the shed roof. That and the ledge of the old well
behind the barn were his favorite perches. Grandfather Wellman thought
he chose them because he was so afraid of dogs. Benjamin looked at him,
and wished Cæsar was big enough to shake him. He had named the puppy
Cæsar on his way home from the village. There was a great mastiff over
there by the same name. Benjamin had always admired this big Cæsar, and
now thought he would name his dog after him. It was the same principle
reduced on which Benjamin himself had been named after Benjamin
Franklin.
Benjamin trudged down the road, kicking up the dust with his toes. That
was something he had been told not to do, so now in this state of mind
he liked to do it. The sun beat down fiercely upon his small red cropped
head in the burned straw-hat, and his slender shoulders in the calico
blouse. The puppy was large and fat for his age, and made his arms ache.
The stone-walls on both sides of the road were hidden with wild-rose and
meadowsweet bushes; the fields were dotted with hay-makers; now and then
a loaded hay-cart loomed up in the road. Many boys no older than
Benjamin had to work hard in the hay-fields, but Grandfather Wellman was
too careful of him; he would not let him work much in vacation; he had
never been considered very strong. But Benjamin did not think of that.
One grievance will outweigh a hundred benefits. He hugged the struggling
puppy tight in his arms and trudged on painfully, brooding over his
wrongs.
He muttered to himself as he went, "Wanted a dog ever since I was born.
All the other boys have got 'em. 'Ain't never had nothing but an old
cat. Sha'n't never have a chance to get such a dog as this again. Wish
something would happen to that old cat; shouldn't care a mite." He
stubbed more fiercely into the dust, and it flew higher; a squirrel ran
across the road, and he looked at it with an indifferent scowl.
When he reached Sammy Tucker's house he saw Sammy out in the great north
yard raking hay with his father. Sammy looked up and saw Benjamin
coming.
"Holloa!" he sang out, eagerly. Then he dropped his rake and raced into
the road. His black eyes winked fast with excitement. "Say, won't he let
you keep him, Ben?" he cried.
"No; he won't let me keep nothing."
"Going to let me have him, then?"
"S'pose so."
Sammy reached forth his eager hands, and took the kicking puppy from
Benjamin's reluctant arms. "Nice fellar--nice little fellar," said he,
tenderly.
"I've named him Cæsar," said Benjamin.
"That's a good name," assented Sammy. "Hi, Cæsar! Hi, sir!"
Sammy's father came smilingly forward to the fence; he was fond of dogs.
He also took the puppy, and talked to it. Benjamin thought to himself
that he wished his grandfather was more like Sammy's father. He looked
on gloomily.
"Hate to give it up, don't you, Ben?" said Mr. Tucker, kindly.
"Sha'n't never have such a chance again."
"Oh yes, you will; your grandfather'll let you have a dog some time."
"No; he won't never let me have nothing."
"Oh, don't you give up yet, Ben."
Benjamin shook his head like a discouraged old man, and turned to go
home.
"Sammy'll feed him, and take real good care of him, and you can come
over here and see him," Mr. Tucker called after him, as he went down the
road.
Benjamin thought to himself that he should not want to, as he marched
wearily homeward. His arms were lightened of the puppy, but his heart
seemed heavy within him. Two boys whom he knew sang out to him from a
load of hay, but he gave only a grim nod in response. "_They've_ got a
dog," he muttered; and indeed the pretty shepherd dog was following
after the load.
Benjamin, when he came in sight of home, thought he would take a
short-cut through the orchard. He meditated stealing up the back stairs
to his chamber, staying up there, and saying that he did not want any
supper; he was not hungry. They had not cut the grass in the orchard,
and he plunged through clover, feathery grass, and daisies to his waist.
He felt pleased to think how he was making a furrow through his
grandfather's hay. He emerged from the orchard, and went on towards the
barn; directly back of it was the old well. When he reached that he
stopped short. There was Seventoes--beautiful great yellow
cat--stretched in the sun, all his wonderful seven-toed paws spread out.
The ledge of the old well was a strange place for a cat, but Seventoes
was fond of it, and stayed there much of the time when he was not on the
shed roof.
Benjamin walked close to the well and looked at Seventoes. His small
face was burning red with the heat; his blue eyes gleamed angrily. "You
lazy old cat," said he. He stood a second longer; then he thrust out his
right hand and gave Seventoes a push. There was a piteous yawl and a
great clawing, and Seventoes was out of sight. Benjamin ran. He gasped;
a white streak was settling around his mouth. He was well versed in
Bible stories, and he thought of Cain. What had he done? What would
happen to him? Could he ever get away from his guilt, run fast as he
would? Benjamin ran as he had never run before, his heart pounding,
although he did not know clearly what he was running for. He tore around
the barn, through the pasture bars, towards the house. When he came in
sight of the shed a great qualm of guilt and remorse forced him to
glance up at the place where poor Seventoes had so loved to sit, and
where he would sit no more. Benjamin glanced, then he stood stock-still,
fairly aghast with awe and terror--_there sat Seventoes_!
All the red faded out of Benjamin's cheeks. He had never been encouraged
in superstitious beliefs, but he was an imaginative child, and just now
bewildered and unstrung. He stared at the shed roof. Yes! he saw
Seventoes there, and Seventoes was at the bottom of the old well. Had he
not seen him fall, clawing, down?
Benjamin rushed staggering into the kitchen. "Oh, grandsir! oh, mother!"
he wailed--"oh, I've pushed Seventoes into the old well and drowned him,
and his ghost's sitting on the shed roof! Oh, mother!"
Grandfather Wellman was confined to his chair with rheumatism, but he
arose. "Pushed Seventoes into the well," he repeated, while Benjamin's
mother turned as pale as her son.
"I have--I have," sobbed Benjamin. "I didn't know I was going to, but I
have. And he's in the well, and he's sitting on the shed roof too. Oh!"
"What do you mean?" his mother gasped. "Stop acting so, and tell me what
you've done."
"I pushed Seventoes into the old well. I didn't know I was going to, but
I did; and he's dead in there, and he's on the shed roof. Oh, mother!"
"You 'ain't pushed that cat into the well?" groaned Grandfather Wellman.
"If you have--" He was trying to limp across the kitchen with his cane.
He, too, was pale, and trembling from head to foot. "Hannah," he said to
Benjamin's mother, "you come right along quick, and see if we can't get
him out. I wouldn't take a hundred dollars for that cat."
Benjamin's mother started. Benjamin, sobbing and trembling, was clinging
to her. Just then _Seventoes walked in through the east door_, his
splendid ringed tail waving a little uneasily, but not a hair of him was
hurt. A frightened cat can run faster than a guilty little boy, and
Seventoes had found his unusual number of claws of good service in
climbing a well and retarding his progress towards the bottom.
They all looked.
"Is it--Seventoes?" gasped Benjamin, with wild eyes.
"Of course it's Seventoes," growled his grandfather. "I'd like to know
what you've been cutting up so for. Pussy, pussy, pussy."
Benjamin's mother took him over to the sink, and put some water on his
head, and made him drink some. "There's no such thing as a ghost, and
you're acting very silly," said she; "but I don't wonder you are scared,
when you've done such a dreadful thing. It scares me to think of it. It
was 'most as bad as killing somebody. I never thought a boy of mine
would do such a thing. Grandsir good as he is to you, too."
"I--won't ever do so--again," sobbed Benjamin, all trembling. "I'm
sorry; I _am_ sorry."
Benjamin was not whipped, the scourging of his own conscience had been
severe enough, but he sat pale and sober in the kitchen, while grandsir,
with Seventoes on his knees, and his mother talked to him.
"If you ever do anything like this again, Benjamin," said his
grandfather, "I shall be ha'sh with you, ha'sher than I've ever been,
and you must remember it."
"I guess he must," said his mother. "It was a dreadful wicked thing, and
he should be punished now if I didn't think he'd suffered enough from
his own guilty conscience for this time, and would never as long as he
lived do such a terrible thing again."
"I won't--I--won't!" choked Benjamin.
At supper-time, when the new milk was brought in from the barn, Benjamin
filled a saucer with it and carried it to the door for Seventoes. He
filled it so full that he spilled it all the way over the clean kitchen
floor, but his mother said nothing. Seventoes lapped his milk happily;
Benjamin, with his little contrite, tear-stained face, stood watching
him, and grandsir sat in his arm-chair. Over in the fields the
hay-makers were pitching the last loads into the carts; the east sky was
red with the reflected color of the west. Everything was sweet and cool
and peaceful, and the sun was not going down on Benjamin's childish
wrath. His grandfather put out his hand and patted his little red
cropped head, "You're always going to be a good boy after this, ain't
you, sonny?"
"Yes, sir," said Benjamin, and he got down on his knees and hugged
Seventoes.