JACK PULLS OFF THE WARM JACKET.
Bertie sharpened his knife and prepared to commence operations, Charley,
Amy and Flora looking on.
"You begin on the inside of the hind leg," said Charley.
"Oh, I know where to begin and where to leave off; but the thing is to
do it neatly, without making a botch. Here goes."
Bertie flourished his knife and began to cut. He made a long slit on the
inside of one hind leg.
"Treat them both alike," said Charley.
Flora, who had been watching the operation, suddenly cried out:
"Take your arms down and go away. You are a bad boy. Charley Waters says
so; and I do."
Bertie turned quickly to see what, was the matter; and there stood Jack,
with folded arms, resting upon the fence. He tried to call Flora off;
but she flew at Jack with all the fury of a little terrier, her light
curls flying and her dark eyes flashing.
"You are a bad boy, and you must go away. You cut his head off and his
feet. I looked under the table. He hadn't any clothes on. Had drumsticks
on. Couldn't walk with drumsticks on. Bad boy!"
Here was a revelation that made Jack feel very small indeed. He came as
near blushing as was possible. The red blood actually showed through his
dark, grimy skin. Bertie was sorry for him. He hastened to open the gate
and bid him come in, a movement that astonished Flora. She had not
another word to say. When the boy that killed the calico-rooster was
invited to walk in at the gate, as if nothing had happened, she was
struck dumb.
"You were very good to look in upon us," said Bertie, kindly, trying to
make Jack comfortable. "Walk right along. You are in the nick of time;
we had only just started."
Jack was completely taken aback by Flora's reception, for he was sure
now that the fate of the calico was well known. There had been a
pleasant doubt in his mind before. He had always said to himself, "They
can't prove nothing." He hung his head in an awkward way, and blamed
himself for getting into a scrape.
"I thought I'd peek in and see how you were getting along," he answered,
sheepishly; "and now I am here, I may as well be a-lending a hand. Give
us yer knife."
"I had barely got his stockings off," said Bertie, passing the knife.
Jack felt the edge and then examined Bertie's work.
"Pooty well done to begin with, I call it."
"Do you, though?"
"For a green-horn, you know."
"Oh, yes, I know."
Jack began where Bertie left off, and he worked so skilfully that in a
few minutes legs and arms were free, and the warm jacket was turned and
pulled over the animal's head.
"He isn't quite so much of a beauty, come to peel him," said Jack.
"He is frightful!" declared Amy. "What a net-work of blue veins! They
make me shudder."
"He looks like a map, with rivers running all over him," said Charley.
"And how he shines. Ugh!"
Bertie held up the empty skin.
"He is as much beholden to dress as anybody that ever I saw, and he
wears the best of cloth too. Custom made, and no danger of a misfit.
None of your slop work about _that_ garment!"
"I hope you don't call that a garment," said Amy.
"It is a wardrobe in itself, hat and boots included. He did not carry a
'Saratoga' when he went journeying."
"Not much," said Charley.
"What is Jack doing now?"
He was detaching the little sacks that hold the musk, and he passed them
to Bertie, with the remark that they were worth as much as the critter's
hide.
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Charley, examining them curiously.
"Flora ought to be here. I suppose the 'fumery' belongs to her."
"To the little miss, is it?"
"Yes."
"There is scent enough in one of them bags," said Jack, "to drive the
whole family out of the house."
Bertie thought if that was the case, one would be better for Flora than
two; so he put one aside and gave the other to Jack, who carefully
wrapped it in paper and dropped it into his roomy pocket. The skin was
then stretched on a board to dry, and, after receiving hearty thanks for
his timely assistance, Jack left the garden, feeling much better
satisfied with himself than when he entered it. He felt that he had
shown his good will, and that the score against him was partially rubbed
out. And so it was. Charley and Bertie were more kindly disposed towards
him than they had ever expected to be, and they concluded that he was
not such a very bad boy, after all.
"I believe there is good in every one," said Bertie, "if you can only
get at it."
"Of course there is," said Amy, quickly. "Have you just found that out?"
"I admit that I have always looked upon Jack as bad clear through."
"Same here," confessed Charley.
"Nobody is," declared Amy, with emphasis.
"It takes these girls to stand up for a fellow, doesn't it?"
"That's so, Charley. Girls in general, and our Amy in particular."
"She always did side with Jack; but she was down on me when the poor
calico turned over her garden."
"Why, Charley!"
"It is a fact. I leave it to Bert."
"Don't ask me," said Bertie.
"You flared up and were truly eloquent on the subject."
"I never was eloquent in my life."
"And you never flared up?"
"I did not say that. But whatever I may be, I am not a genius of any
sort, not even a poet."
"There's a sly dab at you, Charley."
"I have not made any poetry lately," said Charley, dubiously.
"Perhaps the fire in your soul has gone out," said Bertie. "Can't you
kindle it up again?"
"I am out of kindlings at present. Can I borrow of you, Amy?"
"It wouldn't be the first time," observed Amy, with a merry twinkle in
her eye.
"Stabbed again!" declared Bertie, who knew that Charley was in the habit
of borrowing.
Amy's purse being well fed, was always fat, and Charley's was ever lean
and hungry. Amy was obliging, and Charley not backward in asking favors,
so the lean and hungry purse often brought its pressing needs to the
notice of its rich relation.
"Amy is a trump!" said Charley, penitently, "and I take it all back. I
am as good a friend to Jack as she is, but I can't exactly swallow the
rooster. He sticks in my throat yet."
"That will wear away in time," said Bertie.
"If the rooster troubles you, what do you think of Jack? He has a bigger
lump in his throat than you have, and one that will not go down in a
hurry, I'll warrant."
"And I pity him," added Amy. "He stole the poor rooster and murdered him
in cold blood, but he is sorry for it, and would bring him to life again
if he could. But he cannot do that. He must be haunted forever by its
ghost instead."
"Ghost of a rooster!" murmured Charley, in an undertone. But Amy heard
it.
"Ghost of an evil action," she said, looking at Charley, severely. "He
would be rather a respectable boy, if he was not a Midnight. You cannot
expect much of a born Midnight."
"No," said Charley.
It was agreed that to be a born Midnight was a serious misfortune, which
might happen to anybody. It did happen to poor Jack, and so they pitied
him.