I love, I love, I love, I love,
I love to go to Sunday-school--
except Morris, who sang with a triumphant shout
I love, I love, I love, I love,
In-com-pre-hen-si-bil-i-ty!
and the boys gave him three cheers.
At that moment grandma purposely left the pantry door open, and there,
disclosed to view, was a land of promise; a row of delicious little
cakes, with chocolate frosting, smiling on the pantry shelf. The boys
instantly crossed over to this inviting land and took possession, while
grandma, who was sometimes rather unwise in her loving kindness, looked
greatly pleased.
"I do wish Benny was here," said she. "Boys," she added, as if a new
thought had come to her, "go and tell 'Bijah I want to speak to him."
The boys clattered out--a stampede of young colts, it seemed--and soon
returned, each doing his part in bringing 'Bijah, for every separate boy
had hold of him somewhere, as if at the least laxity on their part there
was danger of his escape. 'Bijah grinned broadly and bore it bravely.
"'Bijah," said grandma Potter, "I must have Benny here to dinner; I
can't have his place vacant. What can have kept him away?" she added,
as if to herself. "I hope he hasn't been doing anything he ought not
to--he's such a little rogue."
"Wal, I d' know's I should be for goin' so fur's to say _that_, Mis'
Potter, but Benny _is_ curis, and mebby he _has_ slipped over to Spain
or France before comin' round here," said 'Bijah.
"O dear!" groaned grandmother, the names of these far-away regions
giving her a sense of exposure and danger, "I hope nothing has happened
to my Benny. 'Bijah, you must harness up and go over and see what's the
matter."
"Yes'm," said 'Bijah, turning to obey, and every boy set up a petition
that he should go in the long wagon and let them go too. So in the long
wagon they went, shouting and whistling and singing along, with their
eyes wide open to catch a sight of Benny, if by chance he should be
coming, loitering on his way. But not one of them looked in the right
direction.
In spite of Benny's frequent little derelictions from the path he might
have been expected to walk in, his mother was greatly surprised and
troubled to hear that he had not arrived at his grandmother's, and,
furthermore, that he had not been seen on the road.
"Why, nothing could have tempted him to stay away from grandma's," said
she. "Still," she added after a moment's reflection, "he _may_ have gone
by the Brook road and met Johnny Barstow. If he has, and then stopped to
do a little fishing, he would never think how the time was flying. I
never saw a boy who had so little idea of time as Benny."
"Wal," said 'Bijah, "we'll go down the brook road way 'n see 'f we c'n
ketch this young trout."
So they returned by the Brook, but found no Benny, and Johnny Barstow
hadn't seen him.
Every ray of the calm smile which usually shone in grandma Potter's face
faded when she saw 'Bijah and the boys come back without Benny and heard
of their fruitless search. She sat silently down in her rocking-chair,
and her dear, sweet old face was pale.
"'Bijah," said she at length, "you must take the colt and the light
buggy and go--go somewhere--anywhere--everywhere, until you find him.
No, boys, you can't go. 'Bijah mustn't be hindered."
'Bijah was at a loss where to go, but he obeyed directions, and went
somewhere, anywhere, and it seemed as if he had been everywhere, and
inquired at every house in and about Still Harbor, along the shore, in
the woods and through the fields, but nobody had seen Benny since about
nine o'clock that morning.
At last he went again to see if Benny, perhaps, had got home.
"What!" cried Mrs. Briggs, when she saw 'Bijah come the second time, "he
hasn't come? You haven't found him? O, my boy, my boy!"
"O, now, Mis' Briggs, don't you go to worry about Benny," said 'Bijah.
"I never see a boy 't knew how to take care of himself better'n Benny.
He'll turn up all right, you'll see."
But in spite of his apparent cheerfulness, 'Bijah was a good deal
troubled himself. Where _could_ Benny be, unless at the bottom of the
Sound?
'Bijah in his search had already been to Mr. Briggs' store to inquire
for Benny, and in starting to go there again, he met Mr. Briggs coming
home. He and 'Bijah discussed the possibilities and probabilities of
Benny's case, and Mr. Briggs agreed to send word over to grandma Potter
if Benny came home, and 'Bijah agreed to come directly over and tell
his father and mother if Benny should reach his grandmother's at the
eleventh hour.
The eleventh hour arrived, however, and still no Benny. The boys sat in
the barn door and wondered in voices hushed almost to whispers, where
Benny could be.
"Where is Benny?" asked little Fanny again and again. "O, where is
Benny?" moaned his poor mother; and the question sank like lead into his
father's heart. Grandma raised her gentle eyes and asked it of Heaven
itself, and you, my children, by this time are asking it of me. I feel
bound to tell you this much: Benny was--I shudder to say it--Benny was
enduring the fate once proposed for Mr. Jefferson Davis.
The sun was getting low, the shadows were long on the grass, and Benny's
pitiful shadow as it lengthened, stretched nearer and nearer home. Ah,
would he ever get there himself again?
It was milking time. 'Bijah sat milking the cows in the barnyard, when
in bounced Sandy. He hadn't come on Benny's account, that was plain. He
was thirsty, and begged for milk, which he had frequently had from
the hand of 'Bijah. He was no story-book dog--only quite a commonplace
fellow, who hadn't the faintest idea that he ought to have arrived here
hours ago, and won fame for himself by showing the way to Benny.
However, you'll see presently that he wasn't to blame for that.
[Illustration: THEY START IN SEARCH OF BENNY.]
'Bijah stopped milking and sprang to his feet.
"Hello!" said he, "Sandy, I vum! That means 't Benny ain't fur off. You
don't ketch that feller to stir a peg from Benny 'f he c'n help
himself."
'Bijah gave Sandy some milk, feeling sure that if Benny was on earth,
Sandy would go straight back again to where he had left him. Benny was
not on earth, but Sandy, having finished his refreshment, without even
waiting to return thanks, trotted off across lots at a great pace,
'Bijah following in hot pursuit. Away they splashed through the marshy
meadows; jump, they went over the stone walls. "Land!" said 'Bijah.
"Where _be_ you a-goin'?" as Sandy leaped across a ditch into the great
Kingsbury orchard. Mr. Kingsbury had died a year before. His wife had
closed the old homestead and gone to live with her daughter, and the
farm had been for sale ever since. 'Bijah sprang over the ditch and came
sprawling into the orchard.
When he had picked himself up, Sandy was nowhere to be seen. The
loneliness of the deserted farm and the soberness of approaching evening
were all about him.
"Hello!" he shouted, and he thought he heard a response. "Hello!" he
repeated, and he was sure of a faint, faint cry, towards which he
bounded, shouting, "Benny, Benny!" and presently directly over his head
he heard a voice which seemed to come from Heaven, saying:
"'Bijah, O 'Bijah, here, up here!"
'Bijah looked toward the sky, and behold, dangling from one of the
topmost branches of a famous big sour apple-tree, a pair of sturdy boy's
legs! And there was Sandy, lying on the ground beneath them.
"Jericho!" said 'Bijah; and he hadn't much more than said it before he
was scrambling up the tree like a great ourang-outang. With some
difficulty he unhooked Benny and brought him to earth, and his great
warm heart swelled with tender pity as he returned home with the poor
boy in his arms; and his shoulder was as wet with Benny's tears when he
reached there, as if he had been out in a thunder storm.
I dare say you will partly guess the story of Benny's misfortune, but
for the sake of those who are not good guessers, I shall tell you that
he had taken a fancy to cut across a corner of the Kingsbury farm that
morning, to make the distance to his grandmother's shorter, in his
unwise fashion, never considering that climbing walls and fences,
paddling through the marshy meadows and contriving to get over the ditch
would more than overbalance the few steps he saved.
When he reached the Kingsbury orchard, where all the apple boughs were
trained in horizontal lines, with a view to making them bear well, his
head seemed to swim with suggestions of tight ropes. Around and above
the air was filled with golden opportunities as near to tight ropes as
Paradise is near to Heaven itself. These precious opportunities
whispered to Benny, the charming visions beckoned, and Benny felt that
if it cost him two and sixpence, he _must_ have a walk on some of those
enchanting boughs.
Everything was just as it had been left when Mr. Kingsbury died. Against
one of the trees stood a ladder, and scattered all about under the trees
were the limbs that had been lopped off, under his direction, the very
day when he fell with apoplexy. Here and there they had been gathered up
in bristling piles.
Benny ascended into one after another of these blissful trees. At first
he walked on the lowest boughs, but gradually went higher and higher,
until he promenaded fearlessly on the very topmost. He bowed, he kissed
his hand, he turned and returned, he was happy and time sped swiftly by.
He was so absorbed in his delight, that he heard, as one who hears not,
a wagon go rattling along the road, and the shouting, whistling and
singing of boys. It was past noon before he recalled the object with
which he had left home that morning. He sat upon the very pinnacle of
achievement--that is to say, he sat upon the very highest point in the
orchard, his head up, his spirits up, with such a decidedly upward
tendency that it was hard for him to make up his mind to descend to the
plane of common life. However, he thought it must be something past ten
o'clock, so he slipped himself off his pinnacle, or was in the act of
doing so, when he missed his hold and went off with a sudden jerk.
Something scraped the whole length of his back, and seemed to hold him
in a relentless grip. It was the stump of a small branch, which had
caught him by the bottom of his loose jacket, and slipped up under it
quicker than a wink, as Benny slid down. It was one of those things of
which we say, "You couldn't do it again to save your life."
And there Benny, exalted, hung. The tips of his toes just touched a
bough below; with the tips of his fingers and thumb he could reach and
pick at the end of a branch above. He tried to throw his legs up and
catch on some salient point. He struggled to reach his elbows up and
pull himself back. He would have unbuttoned his jacket, and, slipping
his arms out, dropped to the ground, but it looked a long way, and
directly below him was a pile of the lopped-off branches, with their
sharp ends sticking up towards him like the spikes of cruel
_chevaux-de-frise_, and he didn't fancy dropping on those. He shouted
for help, but there was no one to hear him on the deserted farm, and the
few farmers who rattled by in their wagons paid no heed to a boy's
shout. Boys are always shouting, and the more hideous the noises they
make the more it is like them. Sandy, who had remained asleep in the
grass while Benny performed his manoeuvres, thought no more of this
one than he had thought of the others. He supposed it was a part of the
fun--the very best part of it--as he opened one eye and saw those legs
dancing in air; and Benny's yells were the things to be expected of
Benny. But when Benny shouted, "Go, Sandy, go home!" and various other
commands to Sandy, hoping the dog might go and bring some one to his
rescue, as dogs always do in stories, Sandy sat upon his hind legs and
looked at Benny in amazement. These were remarks that had never been
made to him before, and he couldn't guess for his life what they meant.
_Never_ had he been sent home. He had stuck to Benny through thick and
thin, during all his eventful life, and he meant to do it now. So there
he did stick, until he saw by the shadows that it was about milking
time, and being thirsty, to say nothing of hungry, and observing that
Benny was still engaged in dancing and tilting on the tips of his toes,
Sandy excused himself, went after his milk, and brought back deliverance
to Benny, as we have seen.
Poor, poor Benny! The joy of his return called out more tears than
smiles. Worn and faint and nervous, he was put to bed at grandma
Potter's, and it was many days before he was the same old Benny Briggs
again. In one respect he was never quite the same. His views in respect
to tight ropes had met with a radical change.
* * * * *
P. S. If any of you boys should say as Charlie Potter did, "Pooh! if
_I'd_ been Benny Briggs _I_ could have got down out of that tree," I'll
say to you as Benny said to him:
"Humph! I'd like to see you try it!"