Happy Days for Boys and Girls Part 23

Patrick chose a place in the stream where the channel was narrow, but deep, and waded in.

"Now, boys," said he, "yes all go above a little way, wade out into the sthrame, and bate the wather with yer fish-poles. This will drive thim down, and I'll see what I can do wid the basket."

The boys pulled off shoes and stockings, and rolled their trousers above the knees. Clarence sat on the bank, paddling with his bare feet in the stream. Stepping out into the creek, they hopped from one mossy stone to another, the water pleasantly laving their feet. Standing in a row across the stream, they began beating rather gently, at the same time walking slowly forward, hoping to drive the fish before them.

Presently Patrick brought up the basket, the water streaming from it as it did from Simple Simon's sieve, and in the bottom, wriggling and squirming, lay four fine trout. Tommy seized the basket, and in an instant the fish were within the cask, in their native element again, though in rather close quarters. The boys hung over the barrel, gazing at the pretty creatures with intense delight. The sun shone down into the water, making the bright spots on their sides look like gold.

"Never mind, little trout," said Franky; "you are not going to be hurt--only moved to our fish-pond."

Do you not think they enjoyed that day far more because there was no cruelty in their sport?

Their amus.e.m.e.nt was varied by a delicious lunch, and an occasional ramble through the woods. Towards evening they drove home, elated with their success. The cask contained nearly as many fish as could swim.

The second cask was filled with fresh water, to replace that in the first when it should no longer be fit for the use of the fish. These delicate little trout are so sensitive to any impurity, that they could not have remained in the same water during the drive home without suffering. Indeed, they might have died before reaching the pond.

My young readers may not know that fish breathe an element of the water which is a part of air also. In fact, the same element which sustains us sustains them also, viz., oxygen. Only one ninth part of water, however, is oxygen, while of air it is one fifth. I dare say you have all seen goldfishes, shut up in crystal prisons, swimming their endless round in a quart or two of water. Perhaps you have observed them lifting their heads above the surface, mouths wide open, gasping for breath. The oxygen is exhausted from the water, and unless it be speedily changed their mistress will lose her beautiful pets.

The trout were put into the pond--a small beginning, to be sure; but it _was_ a beginning. How lonely they must have been at first! What a boundless ocean it must have seemed to them!

We will hope they found some cosy harbor in the gra.s.sy-lined sides of the island, where they could meet together and talk over their strange experience of moving. Plenty of company came soon, however; for all the boys in the neighborhood were interested in stocking the pond.

A boat was in progress in Mr. Davy's tool-house. The boys watched every inch of its growth, from the shaping of the skeleton frame to the last dash of the paint-brush. When it was done, the seats put across from side to side, the coatings of white paint laid on, and elevated upon four stakes to dry its glistening sides, the boys thought nothing was ever half so beautiful; but when they saw it upon the pond, gently rocking from side to side, the oars hanging in the locks, and lazily swaying to the motion of the water, it seemed to them more beautiful still.

This is not all a fancy sketch, dear boys and girls. Perhaps some of the farmer children who read it may persuade their papas to make a fishing-pond of some unsightly "hollow in the pasture" upon their own farms.

L. M. D.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE LITTLE SAVOYARD AND HIS DOG.]

STORIES ABOUT DOGS.

A Newfoundland dog belonging to a gentleman in Edinburgh was in the habit of receiving a penny each day from his master, which he always took to a baker's shop and bought a loaf of bread for himself. One day a bad penny was given him by a gentleman by way of frolic. Dandie ran off with it to the baker's, as usual, but was refused a loaf. The poor dog waited a moment, as if considering what to do; he then returned to the house of the gentleman who had given him the bad coin; and when the servant opened the door, he laid it at her feet and walked away with an air of contempt.

Some dogs are fond of music, while others seem not to be affected by it in the slightest degree. These two anecdotes are related by the author of a recent volume. He is speaking of a friend: "As soon as the lamp is lighted and placed on the sitting-room table, a large dog of the water-spaniel breed usually jumps up and curls himself around the lamp. He never upsets it, but remains perfectly still. Now, my friend is very musical, but during the time the piano is being played the dog remains perfectly unmoved, until a particular piece is played. He will not take the slightest notice of loud or soft pieces, neither sentimental nor comic, but instantly the old tune ent.i.tled 'Drops of Brandy' is played, he invariably raises his head and begins to howl most piteously, relapsing into his usual state of lethargy as soon as this tune is stopped. My friend cannot account for this action of the dog in any way, nor can we learn from any source the reason of its dislike.

"Again, the wife of a hotel-keeper, lately deceased, possessed a pet lap-dog which delighted in listening to its mistress playing on the piano; if the usual hour for her daily practice pa.s.sed by, the dog would grow impatient, snap and bark, and be perfectly uneasy until the lady consented to gratify its wishes by sitting down to the instrument and playing a few tunes. During this operation the dog would sit motionless on a chair by her side; and when the music was ended, he would jump down, quite satisfied for that day."

A CHILD'S PRAYER.

Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me; Bless thy little lamb to-night; Through the darkness be thou near me, Keep me safe till morning light.

Through the day thy hand hath led me, And I thank thee for thy care; Thou hast warmed and fed and clothed me, Listen to my evening prayer.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A man jumps from one steam locomotive to another}]

JOHN STOCKS AND "THE BISON."

One winter afternoon, as Archy Douglas sat studying his lessons, Mrs.

Falkoner, the housekeeper, came to invite him to have tea in her room.

While they were at the table, they heard the kitchen bell ring, at which Mrs. Falkoner seemed surprised, for she said the weather would incline few people to leave their own firesides.

It turned out, however, to be a visitor for Mrs. Falkoner herself, for in a few minutes one of the servants came to say a person who called himself John Stocks wanted to see her, and John presented himself in the doorway without further delay.

An active man, with the look, at first sight, of the mate of a ship, he stood gently stamping the snow off his boots on the door mat, laughing in a low tone, as if he was very much pleased to see the worthy Mrs. Falkoner, and was enjoying her stare of astonishment to the full.

"Dear bless me, John, is it really you?" said Mrs. Falkoner, almost running to meet him. "Whatever wind has blown you here?"

"No wind at all, Mary; nought but the snow," he said, laughing: but correcting himself, he added, "Ah, well, there was a wind, after all, for we're fairly drifted up a few miles t'other side of the Junction; and so I got leave to run over and see you: not often I get the chance--is it, now?"

All this time he had been taking off his outer coat; and when he was fairly in the room, Archy found he was a young man, certainly not more than thirty. He had crisp black hair, a bold, manly face, very red with exposure to the weather, and at the same time expressive of great determination of character. But one peculiarity about his face was, that though so young, his forehead was not only scarred and lined, but round his eyes and about his mouth it was puckered and wrinkled to a most extraordinary degree. Archy felt a great curiosity about him, but was not long left in doubt, for Mrs. Falkoner took care to make her visitor known to the young gentleman as her youngest half brother and an engine-driver on the main line.

A remarkably quiet man did John Stocks seem in regard to general conversation; he said very little about the weather, and less about things going on in the great world, and anything he did say on these topics had almost to be coaxed out of him. However, he evidently took great delight in giving all the family news, even to the most minute particular.

"Of course you've heard," he said, warming one hand at the fire, "that Bob's come home from America. Then that old Thompson has given up the shop."

"Yes; so I heard," said Mrs. Falkoner, pouring out another cup of tea, not appearing to take very great interest in them. "No accidents on your line lately, I hope."

"Not much," was the answer, and he again went back to the family news.

"Jenny's got a baby," he said, suddenly, with great glee, as if this piece of news was far before any other.

This intelligence at least was news to Mrs. Falkoner, and she listened to all he had to say about it with great interest.

But when Mrs. Falkoner was called away for a few minutes, it became necessary for Archy to entertain the visitor till her return.

Of course Archy had many questions to put about the railway and the engines, and dangers and catastrophes. John was excessively civil, and on this subject was full of intelligence; but when he was asked if his own engine had broken down in the snow, he became quite horrified, if not indignant.

"What, master, broke down?" he said. "Not a bit o't. I'd back the old Bison against a drift twice as heavy. But, d'ye see, when you comes and finds an engine and seven wagons o' minerals, and another engine, and wagons besides that all ahead o' ye, and stuck fast, why, I says, ye must give in. There ain't no use expecting yer engine to drive _through_ 'em, so must lie by till all's cleared, which won't be for five hours at least."

"How is it that the line's blocked up now?" asked Archy. "There has been no more snow all day."

"Ay, that's true, master," said the engine-driver. "But d'ye see, a mile from the Junction there's a bit of heavy cutting, with a steep sloping bank on either side. Now, this afternoon there was a slip; most all the snow drifted there, and part of the bank itself fell in, and so there is a block-up. As I said afore, the mineral train, she comes up first, and she sticks fast, and then we has to follow, as a matter in course. But had my old Bison been afront, he'd have done differently, I make no doubt."

"Is your engine a much stronger one?" said Archy, greatly amused to hear how funny it was to call a train she, while he called the engine he, and by an animal's name, too.

"It's not that he's stronger, sir, but he's got more go in him, has the Bison. He's an extraordinary plucky engine. I've seen him do wonderful things when Mat Whitelaw was driver, and me stoker to 'em.

I'll just tell you one on 'em, and then ye can judge what sort o'

stuff the Bison's made o'. It was one day in summer, some two years ago; we had just taken in water at the junction, and were about to run back to couple on the coaches, when an engine pa.s.sed us tearing along at a tremendous speed on the other line o' rail, but, mark me, without a driver or stoker, or aught else on it. I thought my mate was mad, when he got up steam, and off in the same direction; but in a moment I saw what he was up to. The Bison was going in the chase. 'See to the brake, John,' was all Mat said, when off we were after the runaway at full speed. It seemed to me nought but a wild-goose chase; for, d'ye see, master, we were on another line o' rails altogether. But Mat knew what he was about, and it was my place to do his bidding. I was always proud o' the old Bison before that morning, but I never knew till then what a good engine was, and what was depending on it.