Among the flock of geese that toddled in and out of Farmer Hardy's
barnyard last winter, hissing in protest at the ice which covered the
pond so that there was no chance of a swimming match, was one remarkable
neither for its beauty, nor its grace. This particular goose was gray,
and was looked upon with no especial favor by Mrs. Hardy, who had great
pride in all the flock but the gray one.
When it was a little, fluffy, drab-colored gosling, one of the sheep had
stepped on it, crushing out its life so nearly that Mrs. Hardy had no
idea it would ever recover, but Dan begged for its life. He felt sure he
could set the broken leg, and he pleaded so hard that his mother finally
allowed him to make the attempt.
And he did succeed. The gosling was naturally a strong little thing,
and, thanks to Dan's nursing, was soon able to limp around the shed that
had been converted into an hospital. One of its legs was nearly a
quarter of an inch shorter than the other; but the little fellow
increased in strength as rapidly as he did in size, and seemed to
consider Dan as his owner and especial protector.
Like Mary's lamb, it followed Dan about whenever the opportunity
offered, until "Crippy"--which was the name Dan had given it--was known
in the village quite as well as the boy was.
Many were the long walks, confidential chats, when the boy talked and
the goose cackled, that Dan and Crippy had, and when the preparations
for the Thanksgiving festival were begun, the gray goose was decidedly
the fattest in the flock. Dan had always given Crippy a share of his
luncheon, or had supplied for him a separate and private allowance of
corn, and by this very care of his pet did he get into serious trouble.
"Dan's goose is the largest and the fattest, and I think we had better
kill him for the Thanksgiving dinner," Dan heard his father say three
days before Thanksgiving; and Mrs. Hardy replied:
"I had thought of that; gray feathers never bring as much money as white
ones, and the goose is terribly in the way; he is always in the house,
and always directly under foot."
Dan could hardly believe his own ears. The thought of killing and eating
Crippy seemed wicked. Why, he would as soon have thought his parents
would serve him up for dinner, as Crippy, and as for eating any of his
pet, it would, to his mind, be little short of cannabalism.
"You wouldn't be so wicked as to kill Crippy, would you, mother?" he
asked, while the big tears came into his eyes, almost spilling over the
lashes.
"Why not?" Mrs. Hardy was so busily engaged in her work of making mince
pies that she did not notice the sorrow on Dan's face. "Why not? He's
only a goose, and gray. We've got to have one, and Crip is the fattest."
"But mother, I couldn't have poor Crippy killed. He an' I do love each
other _so_ much."
"Now don't be foolish about a goose, Danny. Come help me stem these
raisins."
Dan said nothing more, for he knew by the way she had spoken that his
mother had fully made up her mind and that it would be useless to try to
induce her to change her cruel plans. He stemmed the raisins as she had
requested; but he worked as quickly as possible, and when the task was
done he ran out to the barn.
When the gray goose toddled toward him immediately he opened the
barn-door, cackling and hissing with delight at seeing his young master,
the tears which Dan had managed to keep back, came at last, and, with
the goose in his arms, he seated himself on the barn floor with a
feeling in his heart that he and Crippy were the two most unhappy and
abused fellows in the world.
"O Crippy! they say they're goin' to kill you, an' I'd a heap sooner
they'd kill me! What shall we do, Crippy?"
The goose made no reply; he was perfectly content to nestle down in
Dan's arms, and, so far as he could see, he and his master were in
remarkably comfortable quarters.
Much as the goose had been petted by Dan, the affection bestowed upon
him just then seemed to surprise him, and while the boy was still crying
over him, he struggled until he got away, when he limped over to the
corn-bin as a gentle reminder that grain would please him far better
than tears.
During that day and the next Dan spent his time alternately begging for
Crippy's life and petting him; but all to no purpose, so far as inducing
his mother to change her mind was concerned. On the following morning
the gray goose was to be killed, and Dan could see no way to save him.
That afternoon he spent the greater portion of his time with the doomed
Crippy, crying and talking until all the fowls must have wondered what
the matter was, for, there being no almanac in the barn, of course they
could have no idea Thanksgiving was so near. Suddenly Dan thought of a
plan by which Crippy might be saved. It was a desperate one, and almost
frightened him as he thought it over; but with his pet's life in the
balance he could not hesitate at anything.
"I'll tell you what we'll do, Crippy," he said as he succeeded in
making the goose remain quietly in his arms by feeding him with corn.
"Uncle Robert lives in New York, an' he's awful good. I know if we could
find him he could save you. Now I'll get up in the night, an' come out
here for you. It's only seven miles, an' I'm most sure we could walk
there in a day. Then if he won't come out here to see mother,
Thanksgiving will be gone, an' they can't have you for dinner."
Crippy swallowed the corn greedily, and Dan looked upon this as a sign
that he not only understood what had been said, but was eating an
unusually hearty meal by way of preparation for the journey.
Under any less desperate circumstances Dan could not have been persuaded
to go away from home for an hour without asking his mother's permission,
and even as he was situated then, he felt that he was about to do
something which was almost wicked. But since he could save Crippy's life
in no other way, what could he do? He almost felt as if by taking the
goose away he was preventing his parents from committing a crime, for
it could hardly be less than one to kill so intelligent and loving a
creature.
But though he tried to persuade himself that what he was doing was,
under the circumstances, a favor to his parents, there was a big lump in
his throat as he did his work that night, and realized that in a few
hours neither his father nor his mother would know where he was. He was
more than usually careful about the kindling-wood and the water, and
when his mother spoke to him so kindly, he had the greatest difficulty
in keeping his secret.
It was only the thought that he was by no means "running away," that
prevented him from telling his mother what he intended to do. He argued
with himself that he was only going to uncle Robert's on business, and
that he should return the day after he arrived there; that would be
entirely different from running away.
During the evening Dan worked hard at a message which he was to leave
for his parents, feeling obliged to take every precaution lest they
should see what he was about, and, after the most painful efforts he
succeeded in printing this note:
CRIP & ME HAVE GORNE TO UNKLE ROBERTS TO GET HIM TO COME UP HERE TO
KOAX YOU NOT TO KILL CRIP. WE WILL COME RIGHT BACK.