The Little Gold Miners of the Sierras and Other Stories Part 11

"Aye!" shouted the boys.

"Ayes have it," said the Back. "Now, you know, everybody knows you within ten miles by the name of the b.u.t.ton Boy, and I wouldn't seek any more notoriety if I was you--I'd be content to come in second best on leap-frog and say no more about it."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BOY GLARED AT HIM. "YOU LET MY CLOTHES ALONE!" SAID HE.]

All the boys began to hoot and laugh--none of them sympathized with him in his moments of superiority, and his scornful air failed to impress them as of old.

The b.u.t.ton Boy choked by anger and mortification could not reply. But after a moment, "All right for you; I'll be even with you," he said, with a nod to the chief laugher, and went away.

It was some time before he had his chance, and during that time things went from bad to worse with his conspicuous dress, forcing him to be unostentatious, exact--for his goings and comings could be seen for a mile--even retiring. He found now that he began to think of some acts and some speeches of his, in the time when he was not a b.u.t.ton Boy, with as much mortification as the b.u.t.tons often gave him; and he often checked himself when half-way into some piece of conceited folly. Yet he never forgot that he owed the Back "one," nor that it was he who had given him the worst smart of this miserable period.

At last an event occurred in the family; the Uncle arrived unexpectedly and stated his intention of spending the night. "That is," he said, "if you will give me something better for my supper than a lot of quotations and rules of grammar. I can't eat them, you know."

The family thought this a very odd speech and a very grumpy old gentleman--but they didn't tell him so. He put on his spectacles and looked at the b.u.t.ton Boy very attentively, but the Boy didn't mind; he was too conscious of fulfilling faithfully for six months his part of the contract, and, beside, he stood before the designer of the b.u.t.tons.

But when he took the gla.s.ses off and said, "Well, you must be pretty fond of money. I don't think double the sum could hire me to make such a show of myself," the Boy minded it exceedingly. He sat down for half an hour and considered whether he wasn't doing a sort of mean thing after all, and he became exceedingly miserable in the conclusion that he was not at all the n.o.ble pattern of a boy he used to think he was.

In the morning the Uncle declared his intention of taking a walk and invited his nephew to go with him. Very sure that the peculiar disposition of the old gentleman was capable of bringing him into plenty of unpleasant situations before they reached home again, the Boy found himself almost indifferent to them. A feeling had been growing on him that anything short of meanness or wrongdoing was not worth being mortified about; he felt calm even at a public exhibition of the b.u.t.tons, he was so disturbed by the discovery of the unworthy motive which had supported him in making a show of himself.

But the Uncle made himself such delightful company on their walk--they left the town--that at last he forgot himself, forgot himself until they saw before them a boy running. He knew him; it was the Back. He stumbled, pitched, fell, picked himself up slowly, limped painfully to the roadside and sat down there holding on to his ankle. The Boy and the Uncle soon came up.

"Humph; sprained your ankle," said the Uncle.

"I think so," replied the Back, looking very white.

The Uncle took out his handkerchief, tore it in two, and dipping it in the cold waters of the brook, tied it tightly about his limb.

"Thank you, sir," said the Back, almost groaning, "I guess I can't walk just yet, I'll stay here till something comes along to take me in. The trouble is--the trouble is, I ought to be going on, I ought not to lose a moment."

"Humph!" said the Uncle. "You might better have thought of that before you fell."

"What time is it, if you please?" asked the Back anxiously.

"Twenty minutes of eleven," replied the Uncle.

"Oh, dear," sighed the Back, "only hard running would do it now. I left my sketch at home this morning, I took up another by mistake; it is to try for the prize sketch, and the Master said, if I would get it into the studio by eleven he would accept it, but he couldn't later, because the rule is, any coming after that hour can't compete. I've worked so hard at it, and I thought I had a good chance--oh, dear!"

"Let me see," considered the Uncle, turning to the Boy; "you stopped with yours this morning and we saw a number there. Yours was undoubtedly very good. Now open your portfolio and let me see yours," he added to the Back.

The Back hesitated, glanced at the b.u.t.ton Boy, then yielded.

"Humph!" observed the Uncle, and put on his gla.s.ses. "Well, I declare, whom have we here? 'The Arrogant Page'; eh? well, I declare; look at this, nephew--here you are with your b.u.t.tons and your most scornful expression--disdaining to pick up the little Prince's hat! Where did you learn to draw like this, you rascal?"

"I had plenty of chances with the model," said the Back slyly; then he sighed. "If I had got the prize I would have been sent to the Academy; I can't go without. And I'm sure it is very original!"

"Tie up your portfolio, quick!" said the b.u.t.ton Boy. His face was working. His eyes shone! They outshone his b.u.t.tons seven dozen times.

"What are you going to do, you foolish fellow," cried the Uncle, "run with it? It will take the prize from under your very nose and make a show of you, too."

"Will you trust me?" asked the b.u.t.ton Boy of the Back, not minding his Uncle. "You know I've often said I owed you one, but I don't mean it."

"O b.u.t.tons!" cried the Back, "will you? will you really do it?"

"There, Uncle," cried the b.u.t.ton Boy stripping off his jacket, "I can't run in that tight thing. And if you choose to count this, you may. I give up the money, sir."

In vain the Uncle shouted after him, "You young rascal! I'll be done with you; what an exhibition you'll make now;" away he ran, fleet as a deer. Then the Uncle clapped his hands vociferously, burst out with--"I _knew_ there was something in that lad!" chuckled till he was purple in the face, and finally sat down by the Back and blew his nose very hard.

"Look here," said the Uncle to the b.u.t.ton Boy that evening, "I had a purpose in putting you in this livery. You may guess, if you like, what it was and I think it hasn't been a failure. Now, if you will go home with me for the rest of the year we will hold to the contract and suspend the b.u.t.tons."

"Really," said the Mother, with her mild smile, "already, Brother, I don't recognize my Boy; and I should like to ask you--"

"I am very much afraid," interrupted the Father, busily, "you will let his mind vegetate; he is certainly not as thoroughly intellectual as before he wore those b.u.t.tons. I should like to ask you--"

"My dear Uncle," broke in the Sharp-eyed Sister, "if you will please invent some kind of head-gear for the brains as good as this for the heart, I--"

"Yes," said the Elder Brother hastily, "I should like to ask you--"

But the Uncle was seized with such a severe sneezing fit that no one could ask him after all.

DAN HARDY'S CRIPPY.

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."