UNCLE JOHN'S "OLD TIMER"
Betty cried at the station when Aunt Florence went home. Billy felt
like crying, but he wouldn't. Aunt Florence was sorry to leave the
children, and even Gerald felt sad enough as her train disappeared
among the pines, and the whistle sounded at the crossing down the bay
shore.
"Well, she's gone," was his cheerful remark.
"But she said she'd come again next summer," Betty sobbed, "and just as
soon as she gets to the city she's going to send me a beautiful doll to
dress for Samone."
"Perhaps Samone won't be here then," said Gerald.
"Won't be here! Why not?" asked Betty, wiping her eyes and staring at
the boys.
"Well, you know Antoine's been drinking again, and I heard some men
saying if he keeps on they are going to take Samone away from him.
They're going to send her to the House of Correction,--no, I don't
believe that's the name of the place, either, but it is some home for
children that don't belong to anybody."
"Oh, what will Antoine do?" exclaimed Betty.
"He'll fight," suggested Billy, "and so I will, too."
"I'll tell you, boys, what we can do," advised Betty. "You know, it
won't be long now before Uncle John comes to go hunting. Of course,
Aunt Florence will tell him all about Antoine and Samone, and how she
couldn't make him stop drinking, because she didn't know how to begin
talking to him about it. Now, everybody says that if Antoine would make
up his mind to be a different kind of a man, he could, and everybody
likes him, even now, so I'm just going to ask Uncle John to go down to
his house and make him stop. That's a fine plan. Folks always listen to
Uncle John because he's so good-looking."
When Uncle John came, he laughed at Betty. "Why, child, I'm not a
temperance lecturer," he protested. "I came up here to hunt deer, not
Frenchmen. Besides that, what's the use of my trying to do what you and
Aunt Florence couldn't?"
"Aunt Florence didn't half try," answered Betty, "and, of course, I've
never tried at all. I wouldn't dare."
Again Uncle John laughed. "If you don't dare venture, Betty, let's give
up. What do you say, Billy?"
"I say, let me go hunting with you," replied the boy.
"Hunting the Frenchman?"
"No, hunting deer and bears. Will you take me sometime?"
Betty turned away much troubled. There was no use of talking to Uncle
John, she could see that plainly. Betty liked Antoine so well she
couldn't understand why every one laughed when anything was said about
trying to make him do right. She knew, too, how dearly the Frenchman
and his family loved the little Samone, and how kind they were to
the child. She also knew what Antoine was beginning to suspect: a
number of men in the village who were interested in Samone, and whose
decisions were always carried out, were talking of sending the little
one to the State School at Coldwater.
Betty said no more about Antoine to Uncle John, but, while the frost
fairies painted the maple leaves crimson and brightened the borders
of the evergreen woods with many a dash of colour, she listened as
eagerly as Billy and Gerald to all he had to say of forest wonders.
At the same time, down in her heart, Betty was hoping that Uncle John
wouldn't get a deer that season. "If he don't kill a deer," she told
herself, "then the Coldwater school don't get Samone. That's my new
superstition, though I'll never tell even Billy. Some things you must
keep to yourself."
Those were the days when Billy hated bedtime with all his might. It
always came in the middle of some tale of adventure, often at the point
where Uncle John almost shot a bear.
Evening after evening, Mr. Larzalere, a neighbour, called to see Uncle
John, and many a tale of the woods he told that made Gerald stare.
Billy often wondered why such great hunters as Mr. Larzalere and his
Uncle John could go forth each day, knowing exactly where to find deer,
and yet return without one.
"Should think you'd begin to get discouraged," he said at last.
Uncle John and Mr. Larzalere only smiled at the idea, and advised
Billy to wait. In the meantime, they talked with great enthusiasm
of salt-licks, runways, bucks, does, and fawns, and a certain "Old
Timer" that interested Billy more than anything else that lived in the
woods. The little boy dreamed of the "Old Timer," and one never to be
forgotten morning he saw him.
Mr. Larzalere had promised to meet Uncle John at the "Big Stone," and
Billy had begged to be taken along. He hadn't the least idea where the
"Big Stone" was, but, from listening to the daily talk of the hunters,
he believed that all the animals in the woods trooped by that enchanted
spot ever day; possibly they formed a procession and marched past.
Mr. Larzalere and Uncle John seemed always to reach the place either
too late or too early to see all that happened. Uncle John told Billy
that, when he was bigger, he would gladly take him hunting, but little
boys seven years old were too small to think of shooting "Old Timers."
"But, Uncle John, of course, I don't want to shoot the 'Old Timer,'"
persisted Billy. "I just want to see his big horns, and if you'll let
me go, I'll climb up on the 'Big Stone' and sit right still until you
come after me. You and Mr. Larzalere can leave me there while you hunt."
"Couldn't think of it, Billy," replied Uncle John. "When Mr. Larzalere
and I drag in the Old Timer, then you'll see him."
"That isn't the way I want to see him," said Billy to his mother. "I
want to see him while he is alive. I've seen hundreds of dead deer down
to the depot. What I want to see is the 'Old Timer' holding his own
horns high,--high and running fast,--fast as if he was happy and wasn't
afraid of hunters."
Early the next morning Billy was up and gazing wistfully out-of-doors.
In spite of the rain pelting against the window, Billy wanted to go
hunting, and wondered how his Uncle John could lie in bed and sleep
after daylight. Suddenly the small boy rubbed his eyes and stared.
Across the common, in front of Mr. Larzalere's house, he saw the "Old
Timer." A moment later the deer lifted his wide, spreading horns, stood
quietly gazing toward the house, then came bounding across the common,
pausing a moment at Billy's gate before making a dash for the woods.
"Oh, I saw him! I saw him!" cried Billy, rushing from window to window,
hoping for another glimpse of the deer.
In a little while Mr. Larzalere came, calling loudly upon Uncle John
to get his gun and follow the deer. He was wet to the skin, and a more
excited man Billy never saw.
"Where--where's your gun?" asked Billy. "Uncle John isn't dressed yet;
he says he'll hurry."
"My gun's at home," explained Mr. Larzalere. "You see that deer was
grazing by the big pine in front of my house, and when I raised the
shade I must have startled him. I told my wife to get my gun quick, but
I didn't dare wait for it, because I didn't want to lose sight of my
deer. Tell your Uncle John to come quick's he can! I'm going back for
my gun!"
As Mr. Larzalere ran for his gun, Billy flew through the house
shouting: "Gerald! Betty! Selma! Everybody! Get up and see where there
was a deer! Come on quick and I'll show you his tracks out in the sand!
You'll have to hurry if you want to see the tracks, 'cause it's raining
pitchforks!"
After chasing through the storm for an hour or more, Mr. Larzalere went
home to breakfast, though broiled venison wasn't on the bill of fare.
Whether dogs drove him out of the woods, or whether the deer overheard
Mr. Larzalere and Uncle John planning his downfall at one of the
meetings by the "Big Stone," and walked into the village to show how
little fear he had of hunters, Billy never knew, and the "Old Timer"
was never again seen in that region. Whereat rejoiced Betty, the
superstitious.
Soon after, Uncle John went home; but he always declared that he should
have killed the deer had he stayed long enough.