A man and his wife were driving through the woods up among the mountains, and hearing a queer sound looked about them till they spied two baby bears in a tree.
"Those must be the cubs2 of the old bear that was[164] killed last week," said Mr. Hitchcock, much interested all at once.
"Poor little things! how will they get on without their mother? They look half scared to death, and cry like real babies," said the kind woman.
"They will starve if we don't take care of them. I'll shake them down; you catch them in your shawl and we'll see what we can do for them."
So Mr. Hitchcock climbed up the tree, to the great dismay of the two orphans3, who growled4 funny little growls5 and crept as far out on the branch as they dared.
"Shake easy, John, or they will fall and be killed," cried the wife, holding out her shawl for this new kind of fruit to fall into.
Down they came, one after the other, and at first were too frightened to fight; so Mr. Hitchcock got them into the wagon6 safely bundled up, and Mrs. Hitchcock soothed7 their alarm by gentle pattings and motherly words, till they ceased to struggle, and cuddled down to sleep like two confiding8 puppies, for they were not much bigger.
Mr. Hitchcock kept the hotel that stood at the foot of the king of the mountains, and in summer the house was full of people; so he was glad of any new attraction, and the little bears were the delight of many children. At first, Tom and Jerry trotted10 and tumbled about like frolicsome11 puppies, and led easy lives,—petted, fed and admired, till they grew so big and bold that, like other young creatures, their pranks12 made mischief14 as well as fun.
Tom would steal all the good things he could lay[165] his paws on in kitchen or dining-room, and cook declared she couldn't have the rascal15 loose; for whole pans of milk vanished, sheets of ginger-bread were found in his den16 under the back steps, and nearly every day he was seen scrambling17 off with booty of some sort, while the fat cook waddled18 after, scolding and shaking the poker19 at him, to the great amusement of the boarders on the piazza20. People bore with him a long time; but when he took a lively trot9 down the middle of the long dinner-table one day, after eating all he liked, and smashing right and left as he scampered21 off, with a terrible clatter22 of silver, glass, and china, his angry master declared he wouldn't have such doings, and chained him to a post on the lawn. Here he tugged23 and growled dismally24, while good little Jerry frisked gayly about, trying to understand what it all meant.
But presently his besetting25 sin got him into trouble likewise. He loved to climb, and was never happier than when scrambling up the rough posts of the back piazza to bask26 in the sun on the roof above, peeping down with his sharp little eyes at the children, who could not follow. He roosted in trees like a fat brown bird, and came tumbling down unexpectedly on lovers who sought quiet nooks to be romantic in. He explored the chimneys and threw into them any trifle he happened to find,—being a rogue27, and fond of stealing hats, balls, dolls, or any small article that came in his way. But the fun he liked best was to climb in at the chamber28 windows and doze29 on the[166] soft beds; for Jerry was a luxurious30 fellow and scorned the straw of his own den. This habit annoyed people much, and the poor bear often came bundling out of windows, with old gentlemen whacking31 him with canes32, or ladies throwing water after him.
One evening, when there was a dance and every one was busy down stairs, Jerry took a walk on the roof, and being sleepy, looked about for a cosey bed to take a nap in. Two brothers occupied one of these rooms, and both were Jerry's good friends, especially the younger. Georgie was fast asleep, as his dancing days had not yet begun, and Charlie was waltzing away down stairs; so Jerry crept into bed and nestled down beside his playmate, who was too sleepy to do anything but roll over, thinking the big brother had come to bed.
By and by Charlie did come up, late and tired, and having forgotten a lamp, undressed in the moonlight, observing nothing till about to step into bed; then, finding something rolled up in the clothes, thought it a joke of the other boys, caught up a racket and began to bang away at the suspicious bundle. A scene of wild confusion followed, for Jerry growled and clawed and couldn't get out; Georgie woke, and thinking his bed-fellow was his brother being abused by some frolicsome mate, held on to Jerry, defending him bravely, till a rent in the sheet allowed a shaggy head to appear, so close to his own that the poor child was painfully reminded of Red Riding Hood34's false grandmother. Charlie was speechless with laughter at this discovery, and while Jerry bounced about the bed[167] snarling35 and hugging pillows as he tried to get free, terrified Georgie rushed down the hall screaming, "The wolf! the wolf!" till he took refuge in his mother's room.
Out popped night-capped heads, anxious voices cried, "Is it fire?" and in a moment the house was astir. The panic might have been serious if Jerry had not come galloping36 down stairs, hotly pursued by Charlie in his night-gown, still belaboring37 the poor beast, and howling, "He was in my bed! He scared George! I'll thrash him!"
Then the alarmed ladies and gentlemen laughed and grew calm, while the boys all turned out and hunted Jerry up stairs and down, till he was captured and ignominiously38 lugged39 away to be tied in the barn.
That prank13 sealed his fate, and he went to join his brother in captivity40. Here they lived for a year, and went to housekeeping in a den in the bank, with a trough for their food, and a high, knotted pole to climb on. They had many visitors, and learned a few tricks, but were not happy bears; for they longed to be free, and the older they grew, the more they sighed for the great forest where they were born.
The second summer something happened that parted them forever. Among the children that year were Fred and Fan Howard, two jolly young persons of twelve and fourteen. Of course the bears were very interesting, and Fred tried their tempers by tormenting41 them, while Fan won their hearts with cake and nuts, candy and caresses42. Tom was Fred's favorite,[168] and Jerry was Fan's. Tom was very intelligent, and covered himself with glory by various exploits. One was taking off the boards which roofed the den, so that the sun should dry the dampness after a rain; and he carefully replaced them at night. Any dog who approached the trough got his ears smartly boxed, and meddlesome43 boys were hugged till they howled for mercy. He danced in a way to convulse the soberest, and Fred taught him to shoulder arms in such a funny imitation of a stout44 old soldier of the town that the children rolled on the grass in fits of laughter when the cap was on, and the wooden gun flourished at word of command by the clumsy hero.
Jerry had no accomplishments45, but his sweet temper made many friends. He let the doves eat with him, the kittens frolic all over his broad back, and was never rough with the small people who timidly offered the buns he took so gently from their little hands. But he pined in captivity, refused his food, and lay in his den all day, or climbed to the top of the pole and sat there looking off to the cool, dark forest, with such a pensive46 air that Fan said it made her heart ache to see him. Just before the season ended, Jerry disappeared. No one could imagine how the chain broke, but gone he was, and never came back, to Fan's satisfaction and Tom's great sorrow. He mourned for his brother, and Mr. Hitchcock began to talk of killing47 him; for it would not do to let two bears loose in the neighborhood, as they sometimes killed sheep and did much harm.
"I wish my father would buy him," said Fred,[169] "I've always wanted a menagerie, and a tame bear would be a capital beginning."
"I'll ask him, for I hate to have the poor old fellow killed," answered Fan. She not only begged papa to buy Tom, but confessed that she filed Jerry's chain and helped him to escape.
"I know it was wrong, but I couldn't see him suffer," she said. "Now if you buy Tom I'll give you my five dollars to help, and Mr. Hitchcock will forgive me and be glad to get rid of both the bears."
After some consultation48 Tom was bought, and orders were sent to have a house built for him in a sunny corner of the garden, with strong rings to chain him to, and a good lock on the door to keep him in. When he was settled in these new quarters he held daily receptions for some weeks. Young and old came to see him, and Fred showed off his menagerie with the pride of a budding Barnum. A bare spot was soon worn on the grass where Tom's parade ground was, and at all hours the poor fellow might be seen dancing and drilling, or sitting at his door, thoughtfully surveying the curious crowd, and privately49 wishing he never had been born.
Here he lived for another year, getting so big that he could hardly turn round in his house, and so cross that Fred began to be a little afraid of him after several hugs much too close to be safe or agreeable. One morning the door of the house was found broken off, and Tom gone. Fred was rather relieved; but his father was anxious, and ordered out the boys of the[170] neighborhood to find the runaway50, lest he should alarm people or do some harm. It was an easy matter to trace him, for more than one terrified woman had seen the big, brown beast sniffing51 round her back premises52 after food; a whole schoolful of children had been startled out of their wits by a bear's head at the window; and one old farmer was in a towering rage over the damage done to his bee-hives and garden patch by "the pesky critter, afore he took to the woods."
After a long tramp poor Tom was found rolled up in a sunny nook, resting after a glorious frolic. He went home without much reluctance53, but from that time it was hard to keep him. Bolts and bars, chains and ropes were of little use; for when the longing54 came, off he went, on one occasion carrying the house on his back, like a snail55, till he tipped it over and broke loose. Fred was quite worn out with his pranks, and tried to sell or give him away; but nobody would buy or accept such a troublesome pet. Even tender hearted Fan gave him up, when he frightened a little child into a fit and killed some sheep, in his last holiday.
It was decided56 that he must be killed, and a party of men, armed with guns, set out to carry the sentence into effect. Fred went also to see that all was properly done, and Fanny called after him with tears in her eyes:—
"Say good by for me, and kill him as kindly57 as you can."
This time Tom had been gone a week and had evidently made up his mind to be a free bear; for he[171] had wandered far into the deepest wood and made a den for himself among the rocks. Here they found him, but could not persuade him to come out, and no bold Putnam was in the troop, to creep in and conquer him there.
"Bullets will reach him if we can't, so blaze away, boys, and finish him off. We have fooled away time enough, and I want to get home to supper," said the leader of the hunt, after many attempts had been made to lure58 or drive Tom from his shelter.
So they "blazed away," and growls of pain proved that some of the bullets had hit. But Tom would not budge59, and having used up their ammunition60, the disappointed hunters went home resolving to bring dogs next day and finish the job. They were spared the trouble, however, for when Fred looked from his window in the morning he saw that Tom had returned, and ran down to welcome the rebel back. But one look at the poor beast showed him that he had only come home to die; for he was covered with wounds and lay moaning on his bed of straw, looking as pathetic as a bear could, his shaggy coat full of burrs, his head and breast full of shot, and one paw apparently61 broken.
Fanny cried over him, and Fred was quite bowed down with remorse62; but nothing could be done, and soon, with a vain effort to lick the hands that stroked him, poor Tom lifted his great paw for a farewell shake, and died, with his great head on his master's knee, in token of forgiveness. As if to atone63 for their seeming cruelty, Fanny hung the[172] little house with black while Tom lay in state, and Fred, resisting all temptations to keep his fine skin, buried him like a warrior64 "with his martial65 cloak around him," in the green woods he loved so well.
II. Boys.
The next tenants66 of the little house were three riotous67 lads,—for Fred's family moved away,—and the new comers took possession one fine spring day with great rejoicing over this ready-made plaything. They were queer fellows, of eleven, twelve, and fourteen; for, having read the "Boys' Froissart" and other warlike works, they were quite carried away by these stirring tales, and each boy was a hero. Harry68, the eldest69, was Henry of Navarre, and wore a white plume70 on every occasion. Ned was the Black Prince, and clanked in tin armor, while little Billy was William Tell and William Wallace by turns.
Tom's deserted71 mansion72 underwent astonishing changes about this time. Bows and arrows hung on its walls; battle-axes, lances, and guns stood in the corners; helmets, shields, and all manner of strange weapons adorned73 the rafters; cannon74 peeped from its port-holes; a drawbridge swung over the moat that soon surrounded it; the flags of all nations waved from its roof, and the small house was by turns an armory75, a fort, a castle, a robber's cave, a warrior's tomb, a wigwam, and the Bastile.
The neighbors were both amused and scandalized by the pranks of these dramatic young persons; for[173] they enacted76 with much spirit and skill all the historical events which pleased their fancy, and speedily enlisted77 other boys to join in the new plays. At one time, painted and be-feathered Indians whooped78 about the garden, tomahawking the unhappy settlers in the most dreadful manner. At another, Achilles, radiant in a tin helmet and boiler-cover shield, dragged Hector at the tail of his chariot (the wheel-barrow), drawn79 by two antic and antique steeds, who upset both victor and vanquished80 before the fun was over. Tell shot bushels of apples off the head of the stuffed suit of clothes that acted his son, Cœur de Leon and Saladin hacked81 blocks and cut cushions à la Walter Scott, and tournaments of great splendor82 were held on the grass, in which knights84 from all ages, climes, and races, tilted85 gallantly86, while fair dames87 of tender years sat upon the wood-pile to play Queens of Beauty and award the prize of valor88.
Nor were more modern heroes forgotten. Napoleon crossed the Alps (a muck heap, high fence, and prickly hedge), with intrepid89 courage. Wellington won many a Waterloo in the melon patch, and Washington glorified90 every corner of the garden by his heroic exploits. Grant smoked sweet-fern cigars at the fall of Richmond; Sherman marched victoriously91 to Georgia through the corn and round the tomato bed, and Phil Sheridan electrified92 the neighborhood by tearing down the road on a much-enduring donkey, stung to unusual agility93 by matches tied to his tail.
It grew to be an almost daily question among the young people, "What are the Morton boys at now?"[174] for these interesting youths were much admired by their mates, who eagerly manned the fences to behold94 the revels95, when scouts96 brought word of a new play going on. Mrs. Morton believed in making boys happy at home, and so allowed them entire liberty in the great garden, as it was safer than river, streets, or ball-ground, where a very mixed crowd was to be found. Here they were under her own eye, and the safe, sweet tie between them still held fast; for she was never too busy to bind97 up their wounds after a fray98, wave her handkerchief when cheers told of victory, rummage
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