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Oxen appear to possess mental qualifications of a certain kind in a very high degree. They are especially remarkable for their sagacity in finding good places to drink in the fields and pastures where they feed or are employed at work, and for their good memory in recollecting where they are. An ox may be kept away from a particular field or pasture quite a long time, and yet know exactly where to go to find water to drink when he is admitted to it again.
Stuyvesant looked at the oxen as they went down the path, and then proposed to follow them.
“Let us go and see,” said he.
So he and Beechnut walked along after the oxen. They found a narrow, but very pretty road, or rather path, overhung with trees and bushes, which led down to the water. The road terminated at a broad and shallow place in the stream, where the sand was yellow and the water very clear. The oxen went out into the water, and then put their heads down to drink. Presently they stopped, first one and then the other, and stood a moment considering whether they wanted any more. Finding that they did not, they turned round in the water, and then came slowly out to the land. They walked up the bank, and finally emerging from the wood at the place where they had entered it, they went toward home.
When they reached the house the cattle went straight through the yard, toward the barn. Beechnut and Stuyvesant followed them. Beechnut was going to get them some hay. Stuyvesant went in with Beechnut and stood below on the barn floor, while Beechnut went up the ladder to pitch the hay down.
During all the time that Beechnut and Stuyvesant had been coming up from the field, conversation had been going on between them, about various subjects connected with farming. Stuyvesant asked Beechnut if Phonny could drive oxen pretty well.
“Pretty well,” said Beechnut.
“Does he like to drive?” asked Stuyvesant.
“He likes to begin to drive,” said Beechnut.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Stuyvesant.
“Why, when there is any driving to be done,” replied Beechnut, “he thinks that he shall like it, and he wants to take a goad stick and begin. But he very soon gets tired of it, and goes away. You seem to have more perseverance. In fact, you seem to have a great deal of perseverance, which I think is very strange, considering that you are a city boy.”
Stuyvesant laughed.
“City boys,” continued Beechnut, “I have always heard said, are good for nothing at all.”
“But you said, a little while ago,” replied Stuyvesant, “that city boys had a great deal of skill.”
“Yes,” said Beechnut, “they are bright enough, but they have generally no steadiness or perseverance. They go from one thing to another, following the whim of the moment. The reason of that is, that living in cities, they are brought up without having any thing to do.”
“They can go of errands,” said Stuyvesant.
“Yes,” said Beechnut, “they can go of errands, but there are not many errands to be done, so they are brought up in idleness. Country boys, on the other hand, generally have a great deal to do. They have to go for the cows, and catch the horses, and drive oxen, and a thousand other things, and so they are brought up in industry.”
“Is Phonny brought up in industry?” asked Stuyvesant.
“Hardly,” said Beechnut. “In fact he is scarcely old enough yet to do much work.”
“He is as old as I am,” said Stuyvesant.
“True,” said Beechnut, “but he does not seem to have as much discretion. Do you see that long shed out there, projecting from the barn?”
This was said just at the time when Beechnut and Stuyvesant were passing through the gate which led into the yard, and the barns and sheds were just coming into view.
“The one with that square hole by the side of the door?” asked Stuyvesant.
“Yes,” said Beechnut, “that was Phonny’s hen house. He bought some hens, and was going to be a great poulterer. He was going to have I don’t know how many eggs and chickens, – but finally he got tired of his brood, and neglected them, and at last wanted to sell them to me. I bought them day before yesterday.”
“How many hens are there?” asked Stuyvesant.
“About a dozen,” said Beechnut. “I gave him a dollar and a half for the whole stock. I looked into his hen-house when I bought him out, and found it all in sad condition. I have not had time to put it in order yet.”
“I will put it in order,” said Stuyvesant.
“Will you?” said Beechnut.
“Yes,” said Stuyvesant, “and I should like to buy the hens of you, if I were only going to stay here long enough.”
“I don’t think it is worth while for you to buy them,” said Beechnut, “but I should like to have you take charge of them. I would pay you by giving you a share of the eggs.”
“What could I do with the eggs?” asked Stuyvesant.
“Why you could sell them, or give them away, just as you pleased. You might give them to Mrs. Henry, or sell them to her, or sell them to me. If you will take the whole care of them while you are here, I will give you one third of the eggs, after all expenses are paid.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Stuyvesant.
“Why, if we have to buy any grain, for instance, to give the hens, we must sell eggs enough first to pay for the grain, and after that, you shall have one third of the eggs that are left.”
Stuyvesant was much pleased with this proposal, and was just about to say that he accepted it, when his attention was suddenly turned away from the subject, by hearing a loud call from Phonny, who just then came running round a corner, with a box-trap under his arm, shouting out,
“Stuyvesant! Stuyvesant! Look here! I’ve got a gray squirrel; – a beautiful, large gray squirrel.”
Chapter IV
Negotiations
It is necessary in this chapter to return to Phonny and Wallace, in order to explain how Phonny succeeded in getting his squirrel.
He was quite in haste, as he went on after leaving the squirrel, in order to get down to the mill where Espy lived, before the squirrel should have gnawed out. The road, he was quite confident, led to the mill.
“I should like to buy the squirrel, if Espy will sell him,” said Phonny.
“Do you think that your mother would be willing?” asked Wallace.
“Why yes,” said Phonny, “certainly. What objection could she have?”
“None, only the trouble that it would occasion her,” replied Wallace.
“Oh, it would not make her any trouble,” said Phonny. “I should take care of it myself.”
“It would not make her much trouble, I know,” said Wallace, “if you were only considerate and careful. As it is I think it may make her a great deal.”
“No,” said Phonny, “I don’t think that it will make her any trouble at all.”
“Where shall you keep your squirrel?” asked Wallace.
“In a cage, in the back room,” said Phonny, promptly.
“Have you got a cage?” asked Wallace.
“No,” said Phonny, “but I can make one.”
“I think that in making a cage,” replied Wallace, “you would have to give other people a great deal of trouble. You would be inquiring all about the house, for tools, and boards, and wire, – that is unless you keep your tools and materials for such kind of work, in better order than boys usually do.”
Phonny was silent. His thoughts reverted to a certain room in one of the out-buildings, which he called his shop, and used for that purpose, and which was, as he well knew, at this time in a state of great confusion.
“Then,” continued Wallace, “you will leave the doors open, going and coming, to see your squirrel, and to feed him.”
“No,” said Phonny, “I am very sure that I shall not leave the doors open.”
“And then,” continued Wallace, “after a time you will get a little tired of your squirrel, and will forget to feed him, and so your mother or somebody in the house, must have the care of reminding you of it.”
“Oh, no,” said Phonny, “I should not forget to feed him, I am sure.”
“Did not you forget to feed your hens?” asked Wallace.
“Why – yes,” said Phonny, hesitatingly, “but that is a different thing.”
“Then, besides,” said Wallace, “you will have to go and beg some money of your mother to buy the squirrel with. For I suppose you have not saved any of your own, from your allowance. It is very seldom that boys of your age have self-control enough to lay up any money.”
As Wallace said these words Phonny, who had been riding along, with the bridle and his little riding stick both in his right hand, now shifted them into his left, and then putting his right hand into his left vest pocket, he drew out a little wallet. He then extended his hand with the wallet in it to Wallace saying,
“Look in there.”
Wallace took the wallet, opened it as he rode along, and found that there was a quarter of a dollar in one of the pockets.
“Is that your money?” said Wallace.
“Yes,” said Phonny.
“Then you are not near as much of a boy as I thought you were. To be able to save money, so as to have a stock on hand for any unexpected emergency, is one of the greatest proofs of manliness. I had no idea that you were so much of a man.”
Phonny laughed. At first Wallace supposed that this laugh only expressed the pleasure which Phonny felt at having deserved these praises, but as he gave back the wallet into Phonny’s hands, he perceived a very mysterious expression upon his countenance.
“That’s the money,” said Phonny, “that my mother just gave me for my next fortnight’s allowance.”
“Then you have had no opportunity to spend it at all?”
“No,” said Phonny.
Phonny thought that he was sinking himself in his cousin’s estimation by this avowal, but he was in fact raising himself very much by evincing so much honesty.
“He is not willing to receive commendation that he knows he does not deserve,” thought Wallace to himself. “That is a good sign. That is a great deal better trait of character than to be able to lay up money.”
Wallace thought this to himself as he rode along. He did not, however, express the thought, but went on a minute or two in silence. At length he said,
“So, then, you have got money enough to buy the squirrel?”
“Yes,” said Phonny, “if a quarter is enough.”
“It is enough,” said Wallace, “I have no doubt. So that one difficulty is disposed of. As to the second difficulty,” he continued, “that is, troubling the family about making the cage, we can dispose of that very easily, too, for I can help you about that myself. What shall we do about the third, leaving the doors open and making a noise when you go back and forth to feed him?”
“Oh, I will promise not to do that,” said Phonny.
“Promise!” repeated Wallace, in a tone of incredulity.
“Yes,” said Phonny, “I’ll promise, positively.”
“Is it safe to rely on boys’ promises about here?” said Wallace. “They would not be considered very good security in Wall Street, in New York.”
“I don’t know,” said Phonny; “I always keep my promises.”
“Are you willing to agree, that if you make any noise or disturbance in the family with your squirrel, that he is to be forfeited?”
“Forfeited!” said Phonny, “how do you mean?”
“Why, given up to me, to dispose of as I please,” said Wallace.
“And what should you do with him?” asked Phonny.
“I don’t know,” said Wallace. “I should dispose of him in some way, so that he should not be the means of any more trouble. Perhaps I should give him away; perhaps I should open the cage and let him run.”
“Then I think you ought to pay me what I gave for him,” said Phonny.
“No,” said Wallace, “because I don’t take him for any advantage to myself, but only to prevent your allowing him to make trouble. If you make noise and disturbance with him, it is your fault, and you lose the squirrel as the penalty for it. If you do your duty and make no trouble with him, then he would not be forfeited.”
“Well,” said Phonny, “I agree to that. But perhaps you will say that I make a disturbance with him when I don’t.”
“We will have an umpire, then,” said Wallace.
“What is an umpire?” asked Phonny.
“Somebody to decide when there is a dispute,” replied Wallace. “Who shall be the umpire?”
“Beechnut,” said Phonny.
“Agreed,” said Wallace.
“And now there is one point more,” he continued, “and that is, perhaps you will neglect to feed him, and then we shall be uncomfortable, for fear that the squirrel is suffering.”
“No,” said Phonny, shaking his head; “I shall certainly feed him every day, and sometimes twice a day.”
“Are you willing to agree to forfeit him, if you fail to feed him?”
“Why – I don’t know,” said Phonny. “But I certainly shall feed him, I know I shall.”
“Then there will be no harm in agreeing to forfeit him if you fail,” rejoined Wallace; “for if you certainly do feed him, then your agreement to forfeit him will be a dead letter.”
“But I might accidentally omit to feed him some one day,” said Phonny. “I might be sick, or I might be gone away, and I might ask Stuyvesant to feed him, and he forget it, and then I should lose my squirrel entirely.”
“No,” said Wallace, “you are not to forfeit him except for neglect. It must be a real and inexcusable neglect on your part, Beechnut being judge.”
“Well,” said Phonny, “I agree to it.”
“And I will give you three warnings,” said Wallace, “both for making trouble and disturbance with your squirrel, and for neglecting to feed him. After the third warning, he is forfeited, and I am to do what I please with him.”
“Well,” said Phonny, “I agree to it.”
A short time after this conversation, the road in which Wallace and Phonny were riding emerged from the wood, and there was opened before them the prospect of a wide and beautiful valley. A short distance before them down the valley, there was a stream with a mill. By the side of the mill, under some large spreading elms, was a red house, which Phonny said was the one where Espy lived.
They rode on rapidly, intending to go to the house and inquire for Espy. Just before reaching the place, however, Phonny’s attention was arrested by his seeing some boys fishing on the bank of the stream, just below the mill. It was at a place where the road lay along the bank of the stream, at a little distance from it. The stream was very broad at this place, and the water quite deep and clear. The ground was smooth and green between the road and the water, and there were large trees on the bank overshadowing the shore, so that it was a very pleasant place.
There were two boys standing upon the bank in one place fishing. Two other boys were near the water at a little distance, trying to make a dog jump in, by throwing in sticks and stones.
Just as Wallace and Phonny came along, one of the boys who was fishing, called out in a loud and authoritative tone to one of those who were trying to make the dog jump in, saying,
“Hey-e-e, there! Oliver, don’t throw sticks into the water; you scare away all the fish.”
“Ned!” said Phonny, calling out to the boy who was fishing.
The boy looked round, without, however, moving his fishing-pole.
“Is Espy down there anywhere?” said Phonny.
Here the boy turned his head again toward the water, without directly answering Phonny, though he called out at the same time in an audible voice,
“Espy!”
In answer apparently to his call, a boy came suddenly out of a little thicket which was near the water, just below where Ned was fishing, and asked Ned what he wanted.
“There’s a fellow out here in the road,” said Ned, “calling for you.”
Hearing this, the boy came out of the thicket entirely, and scrambled up the bank. He stood at the top of the bank, looking toward Wallace and Phonny, but did not advance. His hand was extended toward a branch of the tree which he had taken hold of to help him in climbing up the bank. He continued to keep hold of this tree, showing by his attitude that he did not mean to come any farther.
He was in fact a little awed at the sight of Wallace, who was a stranger to him. He did not know whether he was wanted for any good purpose, or was going to be called to account for some of his misdeeds.
“Come here a minute,” said Phonny.
Espy did not move.
“Is that your trap up in the woods?” asked Phonny.
“Yes,” said Espy.
“There is a squirrel in it,” rejoined Phonny, “and I want to buy him.”
Hearing this, the boys who had been playing with the dog began to move up toward Wallace and Phonny. Espy himself taking his hand down from the tree, came forward a few steps. Wallace and Phonny too advanced a little with their horses toward the stream, and thus the whole party came nearer together.
“There is a squirrel in your trap,” repeated Phonny, “if he has not gnawed out; – and I want to buy him. What will you sell him for?”
“What kind of a squirrel is it?” asked Espy.
“I don’t know,” said Phonny. “I couldn’t see any thing but his eyes.”
“If it’s a gray squirrel,” said Espy, “he is worth a quarter. If it’s a red squirrel you may have him for four pence —
“Or for nothing at all,” continued Espy, after a moment’s pause, “just as you please.”
Wallace laughed.
“What will you sell him for just as he is,” asked Wallace, “and we take the risk of his being red or gray?”
“Don’t you know which it is?” asked Espy.
“No,” said Wallace, “I do not. I did not go near the cage, and Phonny did not open it. He says he could only see his eyes.”
“And his nose,” said Phonny, “I saw his nose, – but I don’t know at all, what kind of a squirrel it is.”
“You may have him for eighteen cents,” said Espy.
“But perhaps he has gnawed out,” said Phonny. “He was gnawing out as fast as he could when we saw him.”
“Why, if he has gnawed out,” said Espy, “you will not have anything to pay, of course; because then you won’t get him.
“Or,” continued Espy, “you may have him for ten cents, and you take the risk of his gnawing out. You give me ten cents now, and you may have him if he is there, red or gray. If he is not there, I keep the ten cents, and you get nothing.”
“Well,” said Phonny. “Would you, Wallace?”
“I don’t know,” said Wallace. “You must decide. There is considerable risk. I can’t judge.”
“I have not got any ten cents,” said Phonny – “only a quarter of a dollar.”
“Oh, I can pay,” said Wallace, “and then you can pay me some other time.”
“Well,” said Phonny, “I believe I will take him.”
“You must lend me the trap,” said Phonny, again addressing Espy, – “to carry the squirrel home in, and I will bring it back here some day.”
“Well,” said Espy.
So Wallace took a ten cent piece from his pocket, and gave it to Espy, and then he and Phonny rode away.
“Now,” said Phonny, “we must go ahead.”
They rode on rapidly for some time. At length, on ascending a hill, they were obliged to slacken their pace a little.
“If it should prove to be a gray squirrel,” said Phonny, “what a capital bargain I shall have made. A squirrel worth a quarter of a dollar, for ten cents.”
“I don’t see why a gray squirrel is so much more valuable than a red one,” said Wallace. “Is gray considered prettier than red?”
“Oh, it is not his color,” said Phonny, “it is the shape and size. The gray squirrels are a great deal larger, and then, they have a beautiful bushy tail, that lays all the time over their back, and curls up at the end, like a plume. The red squirrels are very small.”
“Besides,” continued Phonny, “they are not red exactly. They are a kind of reddish brown, so that they are not very pretty, even in color. I am afraid that my squirrel will be a red one.”
“I am afraid so, too,” said Wallace.
“The red squirrels are altogether the most common,” said Phonny.
“There are the bars,” said Wallace, “now we shall soon see.”
They had arrived in fact, at the bars. Phonny jumped off his horse and gave Wallace the bridle, and then went to take down the bars. As soon as he had got them down, he left Wallace to go through with the horses, at his leisure, and he himself ran off toward the rock where he had left the trap, to see what sort of a squirrel he had.
Wallace went through the bars in a deliberate manner, as it was in fact necessary to do in conducting two horses, and then dismounted, intending to put the bars up. He had just got off his horse when he saw Phonny coming from the direction of the place where the trap had been left, with a countenance expressive of great surprise and concern.
“Wallace,” exclaimed Phonny, “the squirrel has gone, trap and all.”
“Has it?” said Wallace.
“Yes,” said Phonny; “I left it on that rock, and it is gone.”
So saying Phonny ran to the place and put his foot upon the rock, looking up to Wallace, and added,
“There is the very identical spot where I put it, and now it is gone.”
Wallace seemed at a loss what to think.
“Somebody must have taken him away,” said he.
“Hark!” said Phonny.
Wallace and Phonny listened. They heard the voices of some boys in the woods.
“There they are now,” said Phonny.
“Mount the horse,” said Wallace, “and we will go and see.”
Phonny mounted his horse as expeditiously as possible, and he and Wallace rode off through the woods in the direction of the voices. They followed a path which led down a sort of glen, and after riding a short distance they saw the boys before them, standing in a little open space among the trees. The boys had stopped to see who was coming.
There were three boys, one large and two small. The large boy had the trap under his arm.
“Halloa!” said Phonny, calling out aloud to the boys, “stop carrying off that trap.”
The boys did not answer.
“I have bought that squirrel,” said Phonny, “you must give him to me.”
“No,” said the great boy; “it belongs to Espy, and I am going to keep it for him.”
“Hush,” said Wallace, in a low tone to Phonny; “I will speak to him.”
Then calling out aloud again, he said, “We have just been down to Espy’s and have bought the squirrel, and have now come to take him home.”
The boy did not move from the place where he stood, and he showed very plainly by his countenance and his manner, that he did not mean to give the squirrel up. Presently they heard him mutter to the small boys,
“I don’t believe they have bought him, and they shan’t have him.”
“Let us go down and take the squirrel away from them,” said Phonny, in a low tone to Wallace; “I don’t believe they will give him up, unless we do.”
“We can not do that,” said Wallace. “We might take the trap away, perhaps, but they would first open the trap and let the squirrel go.”
“What shall we do, then?” asked Phonny.
Wallace did not answer this question, directly, but called out again to the boy who held the trap, saying,
“We found the squirrel here in the woods, and then went down to tell Espy, and we bought the squirrel of him. But we can’t carry him home very well on horseback, at least till we get out of the woods, because the road is so steep and rough. Now if you will carry him down the road for us, till we get out of the woods, I will give you six cents.”
“Well,” said the boy, “I will.”
He immediately began to come toward Wallace and Phonny, so as to go back with them into the road which they were to take. Wallace and Phonny led the way, and he followed. As soon as he came within convenient distance for talking, Phonny asked him what sort of a squirrel it was.
“A gray squirrel,” said he. “The prettiest gray squirrel that ever I saw.”
Phonny was very much elated at hearing this intelligence, and wanted to get off his horse at once, and take a peep at the squirrel; but Wallace advised him to do no such thing. In due time the whole party got out of the woods. Wallace gave the boy his six cents, and the boy handed the trap up to Phonny. Phonny held it upon the pommel of the saddle, directly before him. He found that the squirrel had gnawed through the board so as to get his nose out, but he could not gnaw any more, now that the box was all the time in motion. So he gave it up in despair, and remained crouched down in a corner of the trap during the remainder of the ride, wondering all the time what the people outside were doing with him.
“You managed that boy finely,” said Phonny. “He is one of the worst boys in town.”
“It is generally best,” said Wallace, “in dealing with people, to contrive some way to make it for their interest to do what you want, rather than to quarrel with them about it.”