The Museum.
Let us now proceed to examine the other objects in the museum. A wide
shelf, elevated about four feet above the floor, extends entirely
around the room, and on this the specimens are mounted. On one side of
the door stands a tall, majestic elk, with his head thrown forward,
and his wide-spreading antlers lowered, as if he meant to dispute our
entrance. On the opposite side is a large black fox, which stands with
one foot raised and his ears thrown forward, as if listening to some
strange sound. This is the same fox which so long held possession of
Reynard's Island; and the young naturalist and his cousin were the
ones who succeeded in capturing him. The next two scenes are what
Frank calls his "masterpieces." The first is a large buck, running for
dear life, closely followed by a pack of gaunt, hungry wolves, five in
number, with their sharp-pointed ears laid back close to their heads,
their tongues hanging out of their mouths, and their lips spotted with
foam The flanks of the buck are dripping with blood from wounds made
by their long teeth. In the next scene the buck is at bay. Almost
tired out, or, perhaps, too closely pressed by his pursuers, he has at
length turned furiously upon them, to sell his life as dearly as
possible. Two of the wolves are lying a little distance off, where
they have been tossed by the powerful buck, one dead, the other
disabled; and the buck's sharp antlers are buried deep in the side of
another, which had attempted to seize him.
Well may Frank be proud of these specimens, for they are admirably
executed. The animals are neatly stuffed, and look so lifelike and the
positions are so natural, that you could almost fancy that you hear
the noise of the scuffle. The next scene represents an owl, which,
while engaged in one of his nocturnal plundering expeditions, has been
overtaken by daylight, and not being able to reach his usual
hiding-place, he has taken refuge in a clump of bushes, where he has
been discovered by a flock of his inveterate enemies, the crows. The
owl sits upon his perch, glaring around with his great eyes, while his
tormentors surround him on all sides, their mouths wide open, as if
reviling their enemy with all their might. The next scene represents a
flock of ducks sporting in the water, and a sly old fox, concealed
behind the trunk of a tree close by, is watching their motions,
evidently with the intention of "bagging" one of them for his supper.
In the next scene he is running off, at full speed, with one of the
ducks thrown over his shoulder; and the others, with their mouths open
as if quacking loudly, are just rising from the water. In the next
scene is a large black wolf, which has just killed a lamb, and
crouches over it with open mouth, as if growling fiercely at something
which is about to interrupt his feast. The next scene represents a
fish-hawk, which has just risen from the lake, with a large trout
struggling in his talons; and just above him is a bald-eagle, with his
wings drawn close to his body, in the act of swooping down upon the
fish-hawk, to rob him of his hard-earned booty. In the next scene a
raccoon is attempting to seize a robin, which he has frightened off
her nest. The thief had crawled out on the limb on which the nest was
placed, intending, no doubt, to make a meal of the bird; but mother
Robin, ever on the watch, had discovered her enemy, and flown off just
in time to escape. The next scene is a large "dead-fall" trap, nicely
set, with the bait placed temptingly within; and before it crouches a
sleek marten, peeping into it as if undecided whether to enter or
not.
All these specimens have been cured and stuffed by Frank and Archie;
and, with the exception of the deer and wolves, they had killed them
all. The latter had been furnished by Archie's father. The boys had
never killed a deer, and he had promised to take them, during the
coming winter with him up into the northern part of the state, where
they would have an opportunity of trying their skill on the noble
game.
But the museum is not the only thing that has given Frank the name of
the "young naturalist." He is passionately fond of pets, and he has a
pole shanty behind the museum, which he keeps well stocked with
animals and birds. In one cage he has a young hawk, which he has just
captured; in another, a couple of squirrels, which have become so tame
that he can allow them to run about the shanty without the least fear
of their attempting to escape. Then he has two raccoons, several
pigeons, kingbirds, quails, two young eagles, and a fox, all
undergoing a thorough system of training. But his favorite pets are a
pair of kingbirds and a crow, which are allowed to run at large all
the time. They do not live on very good terms with each other. In
their wild state they are enemies, and each seems to think the other
has no business about the cottage; and Frank has been the unwilling
witness to many a desperate fight between them, in which the poor
crow always comes off second best. Then, to console himself, he will
fly upon Frank's shoulder, cawing with all his might, as if scolding
him for not lending some assistance. To make amends for his defeat,
Frank gives him a few kernels of corn, and then shows him a hawk
sailing through the air; and Sam, as he calls the crow, is off in an
instant, and, after tormenting the hawk until he reaches the woods, he
will always return.
Not a strange bird is allowed to come about the cottage. The
kingbirds, which have a nest in a tree close by the house, keep a
sharp look-out; and hawks, eagles, crows, and even those of their own
species, all suffer alike. But now and then a spry little wren pays a
visit to the orchard, and then there is sport indeed. The wren is a
great fighting character, continually getting into broils with the
other birds, and he has no notion of being driven off; and, although
the kingbirds, with Sam's assistance, generally succeed in expelling
the intruder, it is only after a hard fight.
Directly opposite the door that opens into the museum is another
entrance, which leads into a room which Frank calls his shop. A
work-bench has been neatly fitted up in one corner, at the end of
which stands a large chest filled with carpenter's tools. On the bench
are several half-finished specimens of Frank's skill--a jointed
fish-pole, two or three finely-shaped hulls, and a miniature frigate,
which he is making for one of his friends. The shop and tools are kept
in the nicest order, and Frank spends every rainy day at his bench.
The young naturalist is also a good sailor, and has the reputation of
understanding the management of a sail-boat as well as any other boy
in the village. He has two boats, which are in the creek, tied to the
wharf in front of the house. One of them is a light skiff, which he
frequently uses in going to and from the village and on his fishing
excursions, and the other is a scow, about twenty feet long and six
feet wide, which he built himself. He calls her the Speedwell. He has
no sail-boat, but he has passed hour after hour trying to conjure up
some plan by which he might be enabled to possess himself of one. Such
a one as he wants, and as most of the village have, would cost fifty
dollars. Already he has laid by half that amount; but how is he to get
the rest? He has begun to grow impatient. The yachting season has just
opened; every day the river is dotted with white sails; trials of
speed between the swiftest sailers come off almost every hour, and he
is obliged to stand and look on, or content himself with rowing around
in his skiff. It is true he has many friends who are always willing to
allow him a seat in their boats, but that does not satisfy him. He has
determined to have a yacht of his own, if there is any honest way for
him to get it. For almost a year he has carefully laid aside every
penny, and but half the necessary sum has been saved. How to get the
remainder is the difficulty. He never asks his mother for money; he is
too independent for that; besides, he has always been taught to rely
on his own resources, and he has made up his mind that, if he can not
_earn_ his boat, he will go without it.
Three or four days after the commencement of our story, Frank might
have been seen, about five o'clock one pleasant morning, seated on the
wharf in front of the house, with Brave at his side. The question how
he should get his boat had been weighing heavily upon his mind, and he
had come to the conclusion that something must be done, and that
speedily.
"Well," he soliloquized, "my chance of getting a sail-boat this season
is rather slim, I'm afraid. But I've made up my mind to have one, and
I won't give it up now. Let me see! I wonder how the Sunbeam [meaning
his skiff] would sail? I mean to try her. No," he added, on second
thought, "she couldn't carry canvas enough to sail with one of the
village yachts. I have it!" he exclaimed at length, springing to his
feet. "The Speedwell! I wonder if I couldn't make a sloop of her. At
any rate, I will get her up into my shop and try it."
Frank, while he was paying a visit to his cousin in Portland, had
witnessed a regatta, in which the Peerless, a large, schooner-rigged
scow, had beaten the swiftest yachts of which the city boasted; and he
saw no reason why his scow could not do the same. The idea was no
sooner conceived than he proceeded to put it into execution. He sprang
up the bank, with Brave close at his heels, and in a few moments
disappeared in the wood-shed. A large wheelbarrow stood in one corner
of the shed, and this Frank pulled from its place, and, after taking
off the sides, wheeled it down to the creek, and placed it on the
beach, a little distance below the wharf. He then untied the
painter--a long rope by which the scow was fastened to the wharf--and
drew the scow down to the place where he had left the wheelbarrow. He
stood for some moments holding the end of the painter in his hand, and
thinking how he should go to work to get the scow, which was very
heavy and unwieldy, upon the wheelbarrow. But Frank was a true Yankee,
and fruitful in expedients, and he soon hit upon a plan, which he was
about putting into execution, when a strong, cheery voice called out:
"Arrah, me boy! What'll yer be after doing with the boat?"
Frank looked up and saw Uncle Mike, as the boys called him--a
good-natured Irishman, who lived in a small rustic cottage not far
from Mrs. Nelson's--coming down the bank.
"Good morning, Uncle Mike," said Frank, politely accepting the
Irishman's proffered hand and shaking it cordially. "I want to get
this scow up to my shop; but I'm afraid it is a little too heavy for
me to manage."
"So it is, intirely," said Mike, as he divested himself of his coat,
and commenced rolling up his shirt-sleeves. "Allow me to lend yer a
helpin' hand." And, taking the painter from Frank's hand, he drew the
scow out of the water, high upon the bank. He then placed his strong
arms under one side of the boat, and Frank took hold of the other,
and, lifting together, they raised it from the ground, and placed it
upon the wheelbarrow. "Now, Master Frank," said Mike, "if you will
take hold and steady her, I'll wheel her up to the shop for you."
Frank accordingly placed his hands upon the boat in such a manner that
he could keep her steady and assist Mike at the same time; and the
latter, taking hold of the "handles," as he termed them, commenced
wheeling her up the bank. The load was heavy, but Mike was a sturdy
fellow, and the scow was soon at the door of the shop. Frank then
placed several sticks of round wood, which he had brought out of the
wood-shed, upon the ground, about three feet apart, to serve as
rollers, and, by their united efforts, the Speedwell was placed upon
her side on these rollers, and in a few moments was left bottom upward
on the floor of the shop.