Joe
It was recess. The laughter and shouts of the boys, as they chased
each other and wrestled, mingled with the song of the wren and other
birds that inhabited the woods surrounding the school. Not less merry
or boisterous were the laughter and calls of the girls, although
their territory for play was limited and fenced in, to keep them from
too free a communication with the rougher sex. Study and work were
forgotten, and every boy and girl romped in the sunshine, and the
atmosphere around seemed to be alive with happiness.
Suddenly the boys began to gather curiously around two objects upon
the ground. The girls, seeing this unusual stir, came running to their
fence, climbed up as far as they dared, and asked the nearest boys what
it was that attracted so large a crowd.
It was a pitiful scene,--there, sitting on the green grass, was a
crippled old woman of about seventy or eighty years, speaking in the
kindest and gentlest of tones, with inflections of the voice hard to
describe, but which brought to one's mind the twittering of a mother
bird to its young, and passing her crooked fingers and wrinkled hands
over the brown back of a miserable, naked, little boy who was digging
his chubby fists in his eyes to squeeze away the tears that flowed
incessantly.
"Don't cry! my little grandson," she was saying; "don't cry! These
White-chests are kind; they will clothe and feed you. I can no longer
take care of you, so I must give you to them. See these boys, what nice
caps and coats and pants they have! You will have these things, too,
and you will have plenty to eat. The White-chests will be good to you;
I will come and see you very often. Don't cry!"
But the boy cried all the harder, twisting his fists into his eyes, and
the old woman continued her caressing twittering.
The bell rang, and there was a rush for the school-room. When the hard
breathing, coughing, and shuffling into position at the desks had
ceased, the door was gently pushed open, and the old woman entered,
tenderly urging the unwilling little brown body forward into the room,
still weeping. Addressing Gray-beard, who was watching the scene with a
queer smile on his lips, the old woman said:
"I have brought my little boy to give him to the White-chests to raise
and to educate. On account of my age and feebleness, I am no longer
able to care for him. I give him to you, and I beg that he be kindly
treated. That is all I ask."
Without waiting for an answer, the poor creature, with tears streaming
down her furrowed cheeks, limped out of the room, making a cheerless
clatter with her heavy stick as she moved away. The little boy,
recovering from his bewilderment, turned to see if his grandmother was
still near by, and, finding that she had gone, gave a piteous wail, and
fell to the floor, sobbing violently.
Who was this wretched little boy? He was his mother's son, that's all.
He had no father, that is, none to caress and fondle him as other
boys had. A man had presented the name of the boy to the Agent to be
entered on the annuity rolls, only to that selfish extent recognizing
the lad as his son.
The mother died while the child still needed her tender care, and the
little one was left all alone in this great world that plays with the
fortunes of men and nations. The place of death was in a dreary little
tent, the rags of which flapped and fluttered in the force of the
merciless winds, as though in sympathy with the melancholy situation.
No loving husband or father was there to prepare the body for its last
resting-place, and to give the helpless babe the nourishment for which
it cried. Not even a relative was there; the dead woman had none among
the people; she belonged to another tribe.
As the mother lay an unburied corpse, and her child wailing, a figure
bent with age was plodding by. It was an old woman; slowly she put
her heavy stick forward, then took a step, as though measuring every
movement. When she came near the tent, she stopped, for the distressing
wail had pierced her ears. She raised her trembling hand to her brow,
looked up to the tent, then to the surroundings. The wailing went on,
and the decrepit old woman hastened toward the tent as fast as she was
able to go, and entered. For a moment she stood still, contemplating
the scene before her, then from the fountains of her tender heart arose
tears, impelled not by the sympathy that naturally springs from the
love of friend or kindred, but by that nobler and higher feeling which
lifts one toward God,--the sympathy for human kind.
Thus it was that this kind-hearted old woman took the homeless little
child to her tent and cared for him. The two were inseparable until
the grandmother, as she was called by the boy, felt that she was fast
approaching the time when she would be summoned to join her fathers in
the spirit-land; so, to provide for the child's future, she had brought
him to the school.
The naming of a new pupil was usually an occasion for much merriment,
but this time there was no enthusiasm. The school seemed to be in
sympathy with the grandmother who went away weeping. Instead of raising
their hands, as was their wont, to suggest names, they sought to hide
their feeling by poring over their books.
"Come," said Gray-beard, "we must have a name for this youngster. Be
quick and suggest one."
There was no response. Finally a big boy, who was busy over his
lessons, said without lifting his head, "Call him Joseph."
So Gray-beard entered that name on the school Register.
Joe, as he was called by the boys, grew rapidly, but the helplessness
of infancy clung to him. Because he could not fight, he became the
butt of every trick a school-boy could devise, and there was no one
who would do battle for him. If a big boy looked hard at him he would
howl, and if one of his size rushed at him threateningly, he would
shrink with fear. He was incapable of creating any mischief, yet he was
continually stumbling into scrapes.
One sultry afternoon as I was sitting in the shade of the walnut tree
in front of the school, busy making a sling for Bob out of an old
shoe, Joe came up to us, and dropped on his hands and knees. With the
greatest interest he watched me cut the leather into a diamond shape;
after a while he ventured to ask, "What yer makin'?"
"Wait and see," I answered, and went on working. When I had finished
the sling-strap or pocket, I cut from the lappets of my buckskin
moccasin two strings, making a noose at the end of one, and then
fastened both strings to the sling-strap. Although I did not say
anything about it, I had determined to make one for Joe as soon as I
had shown Bob how to use the sling. He tried to find out from Bob what
I was making; but that little chap would not speak to him.
When the sling was finished, I told Bob to gather some rusty nails and
pebbles. He was off with a jump, and returned with a good supply in an
amazingly short time. Joe still sat watching, with eyes and mouth wide
open. I put a nail in the sling-strap, and, to show Bob how to use the
sling, swung it around three or four times, then threw out my arm with
force, letting one end of the string slip, and the nail sped on its way
through the air, singing. Bob clapped his hands with delight.
A crow was flying lazily over head, croaking as he went. I sent a stone
whizzing up to him; it barely missed his head, and he turned a complete
somersault in the air, to our great amusement.
"I'm goin' to make one too!" said Joe, suddenly rising and hunting
around for materials.
I paid no attention to him, but went on teaching Bob how to throw
stones with the sling, little thinking that we were drifting toward an
incident which gave Joe much pain temporarily and left an impression
on my immature mind unfavorable to the White-chests which lasted many,
many years.
"Mine's done!" exclaimed Joe, holding up a sling he had made out of
rotten rags.
"Don't use it," I made haste to say, "and I'll make you a good one."
He paid no heed to my words, but went on trying to balance stones in
the old piece of rag. The stones dropped before he could swing the
sling and throw them. Bob kept me busy throwing stones for him, for he
was afraid of hitting the boys who were on the hillside near by playing
tag, or of sending a pebble over the fence, where the girls were
singing and chatting over some of their games.
"Look now, look!" cried Joe. I turned to see what he was doing. He had
succeeded in balancing a clod of earth nearly as large as his head in
the rag sling, and was about to swing it.
Just at this moment Gray-beard came out of the carpenter's shop and,
shading his eyes with a newspaper, he called loudly to one of the boys
who was playing tag, "Ulysees! Ulysees!" He inflated his lungs to call
for the third time, and with greater volume of voice. Joe had swung
the clod of earth around for the second time, and it was half way up
for the third round when the string broke; released from its holdings,
the clod flew into the air, revolving, and dropping loose particles as
it went. I held my breath as I watched it, for I saw just where it was
going to strike.
In throwing a stone at some object, I used to imagine that by keeping a
steady eye on the stone and bending my body in the direction I desired
it to go, I could make the missile reach the place aimed at. In this
instance, although I did not throw the clod, I unconsciously bent my
body sidewise, keeping my eyes steadily on the lump of earth to draw it
away from the spot for which it was making. The two other boys watched
with frightened faces.
Gray-beard, with head thrown back, lips parted, and chest expanded,
called, "Uly--!" when the diminutive planet, which I was trying to
guide by my force of will, struck him in the chest, and burst in a
thousand bits. For a moment there was coughing and sputtering; then
Gray-beard drew out his handkerchief, dusted his beard, and his white
shirt front. He looked around to see where the missile that struck him
came from. I wished that we three could sink into the earth, or else
turn into nothing, as Gray-beard's eyes rested upon us.
"Come here!" he demanded with a vigorous gesture. Like so many guilty
curs we walked up to him.
"Which one of you did it?" he cried, grasping me by the collar and
shaking me until my teeth chattered.
Joe cringed and cried; it was a confession. I was about to say, "he
didn't mean to do it;" when the infuriated man turned, went into the
shop, and in a moment came back with a piece of board.
"Hold out your hand!" he said, addressing the shrinking boy.
Joe timidly held out his left hand, keeping his eyes all the while on
the uplifted board, which came down with force, but not on the little
hand that had been withdrawn to escape the blow. Gray-beard sprang
at the boy, caught his hand, and attempted to strike it; but the boy
pulled away and the board fell with a vicious thud on the wrist of the
man, who now turned white with rage. Catching a firm grip on the hand
of the boy, Gray-beard dealt blow after blow on the visibly swelling
hand. The man seemed to lose all self-control, gritting his teeth and
breathing heavily, while the child writhed with pain, turned blue, and
lost his breath.
It was a horrible sight. The scene in the school-room when the naked
little boy was first brought there by the old woman rose before me; I
heard the words of the grandmother as she gave the boy to Gray-beard,
"I beg that he be kindly treated; that is all I ask!" And she had told
the child that the White-chests would be kind to him.
Poor Joe, I did what I never would have done if a boy of his own size
had thrashed him, I took him by the hand and tried to comfort him, and
cared for his bruises.
As for Gray-beard, I did not care in the least about the violent
shaking he had given me; but the vengeful way in which he fell upon
that innocent boy created in my heart a hatred that was hard to conquer.
The day was spoiled for me; I partly blamed myself for it, though my
plans had been to make the two little boys happy, but misery came
instead. After supper I slipped away from my companions, and all alone
I lay on the grass looking up at the stars, thinking of what had
happened that afternoon. I tried to reconcile the act of Gray-beard
with the teachings of the Missionaries, but I could not do so from any
point of view.
All the boys had come together in the yard, and some one called out,
"Let's play pull." So they divided into two groups, grading each
according to the size of the boys. Two of the strongest were selected,
one from each side; they held a stout stick between them, then on
each side the boys grasped each other around the waist. When all were
ready, they began to pull, every boy crying, "Hue! Hue!" as he tugged
and strained. In the dusk the contending lines looked like two great
dark beasts tearing at each other and lashing their tails from side
to side. Bob and Joe were at the very end of one side; Bob had tied a
bit of rope around his waist, and Joe had hold of that with his only
serviceable hand. The pulling lasted for quite a while; finally one
side drew the other over the mark; the game ended, and the boys noisily
disbanded.
"Frank! Frank!" I heard; it was Edwin and the rest of the "gang."
"Here I am," I called out, and they gathered around me.
"Joe's hand is awful swelled up," said Bob, as he threw himself down
on the grass.
"What's the matter with him?" asked Warren.
"Gray-beard beat Joe's hand like everything; he was so mad I thought
he'd kill the boy." Then I recounted the scene, adding, "I can't think
of anything else; it was awful!"
"Did he do anything to you?" asked Edwin.
"He shook me right hard when he asked me who did it; but when he saw
Joe crying he knew who it was; then he let go of me and whipped him."
Brush had been listening to my story without a word; now he arose and
said, "Boys, stay here till I come back."
He went into the house and knocked at the superintendent's door.
"I'm glad to see you Brush," said the superintendent, kindly. "Have you
finished the book, and do you want another?"
"No, sir; I wish to speak to you about something that happened to-day,
which I don't think is quite right, and I thought you ought to know
about it." Then he told in a simple straightforward manner the story of
Joe's punishment.
When Brush had finished, the superintendent sent for Gray-beard. For
a long time the two men talked earnestly together. At length Brush
returned, and said, as he took his seat among us:
"Boys, that will not happen again. Gray-beard says he's sorry he did
it, and I believe him."