The severity of the duties, pastoral and paternal, that fell to the lot
of Elder Weaver, wore rapidly upon the constitution of that worthy
gentleman, and when "Dodd" was nine years old his father found it
necessary to retire from the pulpit, for a year at least, and, as is
usual in such cases, he went to that refuge for fagged out ministers of
all denominations, the old homestead of his wife's parents.
From this rustic domicile he had led the youngest daughter, a buxom
bride, ten years before; to it he now returned with her and with seven
small children besides. An ambitious young man and a healthy young
woman, a decade before, they came back to the threshold from which they
had gone out, he, broken in spirit and as poor in purse as in purpose;
she, worn and faded, yet trying hard to seem cheerful as she came
within the sunlight of the old home again.
The old people lengthened the cords and strengthened the stakes of
their simple home, and made the Elder and his wife, and the seven
children ("seven devils," an irreverent sister once called them in a
burst of indignation at the state of affairs) as comfortable as
possible. To be sure grandpa and grandma Stebbins were old, and it was
long since there had been children in the house, but they had enough
and to spare in crib and pantry, and they had lived sufficiently long
in this world to accept the inevitable without a murmur.
But for all of that, the children were a source of a good deal of
annoyance to the old people, especially until they were brought
somewhat under subjection by the faithful hand of the old gentleman,
who found that he should have to stand up for his own in the premises
or submit to the unendurable.
The first real climax occurred on the second day of the quartering of
the family thus, and "Dodd" was the boy who brought matters to a focus.
The month was October, and down in the yard, a few feet from the
bee-hives, just beyond the shadow of the weeping-willow that stood near
the well, and along the row of gooseberry bushes under which the hens
were wont to gather and gossip--standing on one leg and making their
toilets meanwhile--there stood a barrel, out of whose bung-hole
protruded a black bottle turned bottom side up. The barrel was filled
with the best cider made that season, a special run from apples that
had been sorted out, and from which every worm-hole and specked place
had been cut by the thrifty hand of Grandma Stebbins. This was for the
family vinegar for the year, and the cask was thus left in the sun duly
to ripen its contents.
"Dodd" had not been in the yard five minutes before his quick eye
caught sight of this, and his eager imagination transformed it into a
horse in a twinkling. He did this the more easily, too, because it was
raised from the ground a foot or more, being supported by blocks of
wood which in the mind's eye of the boy did well enough for legs, while
a spicket, protruding from one end, below, made a head for the animal,
which, though small, was available for bridling purposes.
It was the work of but a minute to jerk a string from his pocket,
bridle the beast, and mount him for a ride.
"Dodd" had but fairly started on this escapade, however, when his
grandfather appeared in the yard and at once saw the danger that
threatened his carefully garnered cider. He quietly approached his
little grandson, and, telling him that he could not permit him to play
with the barrel, began gently to lift him to the ground.
But against this the boy rebelled. He clutched his little legs about
the cask and held to his seat with all his might, and when at last he
was forced to yield, he took the black bottle with him as a trophy.
His grandfather set him down and explained to him how the cider was
turning to vinegar; that if it was jarred it would spoil it, and how
the black bottle "drew the sun."
But "Dodd" heard little of all this, and cared less, even, for what he
did hear. He was used to having his own way. He wriggled and squirmed
during the explanation, and as soon as he was released, he made
straight for his coveted seat again, even in the very face of the old
gentleman, and when his grandfather caught him once more and led him
away somewhat rapidly, he kicked the shins of his captor in a very
malicious and wicked fashion, and yelled lustily the while. The old
man took the boy to his mother and explained matters, assuring "Dodd"
and the other children, who stood about in a ring, that they must in no
case touch the cask in question, and then left the room.
Mrs. Weaver scolded her first-born roundly, told him he was "a very
naughty boy," and ended by taking from behind the clock a small and
brittle switch--an auxiliary that she had made haste to provide herself
with before she had been on the premises an hour, and without which she
felt that her family government would be but sounding brass and a
tinkling cymbal--and striking "Dodd" one or two slight strokes over his
hips.
This was Mrs. Weaver's way of "training" her children. From "Dodd's"
earliest infancy he had been used to this sort of thing. His mother
believed in the maxim, "spare the rod and spoil the child," and this
was her method of endeavoring to fulfill both the spirit and the letter
of the precept. There was always a small, brittle switch behind the
clock, and it was taken down numberless times each day, only to make a
child bawl for a minute, as he was threatened or struck lightly with
the harmless stick.
The usual result was that he went ahead and did the very thing he was
forbidden to do.
"Dodd" yelled lustily while his mother laid on, though in truth he
scarcely felt the blows, and then sulked for the rest of the day,
teasing the other children and making life a burden to everybody and
everything he came near.
It was the next day, about two o'clock, that the boy once more got into
the yard and made straight for his coveted seat. The fact is he had
never given up his purpose to return at the first opportunity.
He fastened the bridle to the spigot and mounted in hot haste, kicking
his little heels into the bleached staves, and plying the riding whip
like a young fury. The horse acted badly ("Dodd's" horses always acted
badly), and he jerked smartly on the bridle rein to subdue him. It was
rare sport, and the lad fairly reveled in it, in his little heart
defying those who had forbidden him this pleasure, and glorying in his
triumph.
But "the way of sinners is as darkness, they know not at what they
stumble," and "Dodd" was destined to "take a header" forthwith. The
jerks on the reins drew the spigot from its place, and the first he
knew it was dangling in the air over the end of the barrel. He leaned
over, fully to observe this fact, and saw the cider shooting out in an
amber stream and flooding all the ground.
"Hurray," he yelled, "that's a bully waterfall!" and he thrust his whip
into the stream to see it spatter, hopping about meantime.
It was just at this instant that grandfather Stebbins came out of the
barn, and, hearing the shout of the boy, looked over that way and took
in the situation. He was over seventy, but he covered the ground from
barn to barrel in most excellent time.
"Hi! hi!" he shouted as he ran. "Stop it up! Stop it up!"
"Dodd" saw the old man coming, and realizing something of the
situation, he began to beat a retreat, taking the spigot with him.
"Here! you young Benjamite" ("Dodd" was left-handed, and the old
gentleman was well posted in Bible lore), "bring back that spigot."
But the boy ran like a white-head that he was, and a race of several
yards ensued before he was caught. But the old man was wiry and was
urged to his topmost speed by the press of the circumstances. He
caught "Dodd," and collared him with a grip such as the boy had never
before felt. He dragged the young rogue back to the barrel in no
gentle manner, and thrust the plug into the hole, saving a mere remnant
that remained of the contents of the cask, and then devoted himself to
the little scamp whom he still held.
For a few times in a lifetime Fortune puts into our hands the very
thing we most want at the very time we most want it, and this was one
of the times when the fickle goddess favored the old man Stebbins.
"Dodd" had dropped the riding whip that he had been using, beside the
barrel, and it lay where it fell. It was a tough bit of rawhide,
hard-twisted, and lithe. The old man's hand caught it instinctively,
as if drawn to it by an irresistible attraction, and before the young
lawbreaker, whom he held by the collar, could say, or think, "what
doest thou?" he plied it so vigorously about his legs and back that the
culprit thought for a moment that he had been struck by lightning. He
yelled from very pain for the first time in his life, from such a
cause, and tried to find breath or words to beg for a respite, but in
vain, for the blows fell thick and fast and they stung terribly, every
one.
"I'll teach you," the old man shouted as he laid on. "Perhaps you
think this is a little switch, and that I shall only tickle you with
it."
He paused a minute to let "Dodd" catch up with the general line of
thought, in his somewhat distracted mind, and while the youth danced
about, he proceeded.
"Young man, I have got to teach you to mind! I told you to keep away
from this barrel and you paid no attention, and now I'm going to whip
you till you will pay attention!"
At the words "going to whip you" "Dodd" tried to find words to beg, but
they came too slowly, and once more the old man wrapped the supple lash
about the smarting understandings of his grandson.
It seemed to "Dodd" as though his legs were fairly whipped off, and as
if the place for the general reception of the strokes had left him
altogether; as though he could not endure another blow, but still the
supply was unexhausted. He fell limp to the ground, and fairly roared
for mercy.
It was the first time in his life that he had really yielded to any
one, but he never thought of that; he only groaned and begged for
reprieve.
The old man stopped when he felt that he had quite fulfilled his duty,
as he understood it, and then spoke as follows to the boy, who lay
collapsed on the ground:
"There, my young man, get up and go into the house, and after this,
remember and do just exactly as I tell you. That's all I want, but
that I must have, and you must understand it. I don't want to be cruel
to you, and I won't be,--but you must learn to mind, and you had better
learn it now than later. Don't you ever do again what I tell you not
to do, or I shall have to punish you even harder than this!"
"Dodd" rubbed his stinging legs and wondered if there was anything
beyond what he had suffered. He staggered to his feet and went to the
house as limp as a rag. He did not seek his mother, but went straight
up stairs and threw himself upon the bed in the back room, where he
cried for half an hour, and finally fell asleep.
As for the old gentleman, he went back to the barn all in a tremble,
his hands shaking like an aspen and his heart in a flutter.
He busied himself here and there for a few minutes, but finally broke
down completely and retired in to the granary, where be fell upon his
knees, and with penitential tears besought the Lord to forgive him if
he had done wrong, and to help him, in his last years, to keep the
devil out of his heart and life. He prayed for the boy too, and asked
the God in whom he trusted to lead him in the right way as he grew out
of youth into manhood.
And then he rose from his knees refreshed, and went about his business.
His heart was somewhat heavy, but he reviewed the whole situation and
concluded that he had done the best thing, and so was content. He knew
that he had not maimed the child in any way, but had only caused him to
suffer intense pain for a time, a sensation which would soon pass away,
but the memory of which, and the dread of a repetition of which, he
trusted, would endure for a lifetime.
At five o'clock he came into the house; and finding "Dodd" in fair good
humor, playing with the children in the kitchen, he asked him to go
with him and fetch the cows for milking. The boy was off for his hat
in an instant, and a moment later the two were seen, hand in hand,
going down the lane that led to the pasture.
They chatted pleasantly as they went along. They even referred freely
to the affair of three hours before. The old gentleman read him no
terrible lesson as to his depravity, and his probable end of life upon
the gallows if he persisted in so headstrong and wilful a course. The
story of the "forty she bears" he did not repeat to the youth, and no
reference was made to the awful death of Jack Ketch. He was too shrewd
an observer of human nature to present anything as attractive as these
things to the imagination of his grandson!
Tell a boy like "Dodd" that he is on the high road to ruin, the prison,
or the rope, and the chances are that you puff him up with pride at his
own achievement, or fill him with ambition to see the end of his own
career carried out in this line.
But grandpa Stebbins gave "Dodd" none of this. He simply told him that
it was the best thing for everybody that he should mind. He reviewed
the facts regarding the waste of the cider, and showed him how bad he
had been in doing as he had done, and why he was bad.
The boy offered no word of remonstrance, but, on the contrary,
acknowledged his fault, and assured his grandfather that he would
"remember" in future. With a light heart he ran for the cows, which
were taking a farewell feed along the banks of the brook that ran
across the pasture, and it was with a genuine pride that he headed them
for home, especially one contrary heifer, that preferred to have her
own way and not obey his command. He ran after her with much spirit,
and was quite delighted when he forced her to do his bidding.
And for you, good people, who do not believe in this sort of thing,
what about this case? It is a hard case, no doubt. There is no
pleasing feature in its early stages, but does not its outcome warrant
all its ugly phases?
Grant that it is all old fashioned; that to you it seems silly for the
old man to go alone and pray after trouncing the boy, or that you fear
the "boy's will was broken" by this episode, yet review the facts in
their entirety, and see if there is not a good in them that you are
wont to overlook.
The punishment was harsh, but it was just such as "Dodd" Weaver had
been needing for a long time, and the only thing that could reach him
just then. It would have been a crime to treat in like manner a gentle
little girl with a sweet disposition, but was it a crime in the case of
"Dodd?"
And if not a crime in "Dodd's" case, why in other cases like his? And
if the punishment was right, inflicted by the hand of the grandfather,
why not by the hand of the teacher who shall have occasion to resort,
even to this, to put a boy into the right way? I do not mean a
cold-blooded whipping, inflicted by a Principal for a trifling
transgression of a rule in some department of school, under one of the
assistant teachers, but a retribution, swift, sure, and terrible, that
is inflicted by the person against whom the wrong is done, and which
falls upon the willful transgressor to keep him from doing so again.
For this is the mission of penalty, to keep the wrong-doer from a
repetition of his wrong doing.
"Dodd" Weaver was a wrong-doer, and under the treatment he was
receiving from his parents, and had received from Miss Stone, he was
waxing worse and worse with each recurring day. This was really more
unfortunate for him than for the people whom he annoyed by his
lawlessness. There was no likelihood of his correcting the fault by
his own will, nor could persuasion lead him to reform, this having been
worn to rags by Miss Stone, till the boy laughed to scorn so gentle an
opposition to his bad actions.
But over all these misfortunes and follies alike came the lively
thrashing of grandpa Stebbins, and brought the boy to a realizing sense
of the situation. The young sinner found himself suddenly confronted
with the penalty of his sin, and when he found that this penalty was
really extreme suffering, he made up his mind that it was something
worth looking out for.
To be sure, it was not a high motive to right action, but it was a
motive that led to better deeds on the part of "Dodd" Weaver, and as
such is worthy a place in this record. There was one man and one thing
in the world that be had learned to have a decent respect for, and that
was a new acquisition at this period of his life. So long as grandpa
Stebbins lived, he and "Dodd" were fast friends, and when, years after,
the old man went to his reward, there was no more genuine mourner that
stood about his grave than the hero of these adventures.
Quarrel with the theory of corporal punishment as much as you choose,
beloved, but when you get a case like "Dodd's," do as well by it as
grandpa Stebbins did by him--if you can.