Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 162 — page 5: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

a ny my ty lt A half-hour passed, and the table was as a viands as though a hurricane had blown across And now from the porch outside a most unexpect- ed and astounding sound flowed inward. The old er lifted his ears in deep surprise. It was sure- a oe a voee, the twanging strings of Satan’s of sin But his guests received the sound with far differ- = ry There were clapping of hands and tries 0 Oy. ae facts: a fiddle!’’ cried some enthusiastic voices. ‘‘ Good! ! We will have a dance! You yey object, Mr. Brown? There is your great barn r. It is just the place.”’ . “No, no!” falte the horror-stricken old Qua- er. “Yes, yes!’ laughed a dozen young voices, as Pierce Browning marched into the room, followed by a young man who was diligently extracting a lively hornpipe from the sounding strings of his in- strument. “Say we may, Mrs. Brown?” pleaded Miss Dar- ling, her blue eyes dancing. “ We will not dance in the house. But in your barn, there can be no harm in Capes kam ag 8 your doing,” groaned the old man aside to Will Wildfire. whic “A violin for a goose!” laughed Will, in chy Se “ One joke is worth another, neighbor Brown, though I am not responsible for this.” But there is some marvelous magic in the sound of music. The hearts of the old folks, which had been dry in their bosoms to the pleading of sweet sounds, were now dancing, despite themselves. And as the player changed from his lively hornpipe to a slower and mure plaintive air, they felt the flood- gates of their souls breaking up, while an unwonted moisture filled the corners of their eyes. As for their children, to whom such sounds were aimost or quite unknown, they had already fallen into an involuntary dance, while their young faces were irradiated with joy. “Well, well, well, thee has taken me by storm!” sried the oldman. ‘But what will the »sseighbors a iy * Let them say what they please,” returned Pierce. ‘We will warm up their dry hearts, too, if they show themselves here.”’ And now there was preparing in hot haste. And we long the wide floor of the barn was swept clean, and lighted by candles and lamps <ersoney Deaeee, while the fiddler, mounted on a chair which was placed upon a barrel, was rattling off the liveliest music from his vibrating strings, till the floor sprung like a living thing beneath the feet of the dancers, and laughter and gay voices sought out every nook and cranny in the wide expanse. But farmer Brown and his wife kept sternly away from this frivolity, at first. Yet they could not avoid the thrilling charm of music. Ste they came nearer. Music, mirth, and joy, surely there could be no so great sin in these? In thane they appeared at the open doors of the inclosure, looking in with an enforced effort at gravity. But they were seen, and in a moment were caught ap and drawn into the whirl ofa lively country- dance. Will Wildfire caught the old y’s hands and drew her gayly in, while Miss Darling, her eyes sparkling with mischief, did the same for the wrinkled old farmer. Ere they hardly knew it the swirling across the floor, with a youthful vigor of which they would not have believed themselves capable. And the music pealed, and the well-timed elatter of feet resounded, and light laughter came from merry lips, and bright eyes flashed and spar- klied, and young faces grew radiant with delight, while the old man and his wife felt themselves young efor as they were drawn away in the intoxication of the dance, quite forgetful of where they were gnd what they were doing in that moment of wild orgetfulness. uddenly the violin ceased, and the lively dancers eame to an involuntary pause. And, from the open floor sounded in deep and solemn tones: “ Truly Satan has broken his chains, and the demon of madness has entered into the brains of our broth- ers and our sisters. But oh! that our eyes should have been foreed to behold it, and our ears to hearken unto it!”’ All eyes were directed thither. What was farmer Brown's horror to behold his two rigid Quaker neigh- bors, por ae ane Harriet Mapes orce, with a more solemn stranger, gazing with a look of horri- tied astonishment, at the sinful indulgence of him- self and wife in the terrible frivolity of the dance! CHAPTER V. A CAMP DINNER. THe well-wooded banks of Carbon Creek, that winds in leisurely curves down from the Penmsy}- rania coal-bearing mountains, presented an unusual spectacle on the day to which our story now leads us forward. A forest of vere oaks lined its banks, with here and there broad vistas leading back to the mountain flanks, while occasionally the re brokem by dense clusters of thick growing rush. At the spot in questizm a curve in the stream osed ) aminaaiin of mek acres in extent, whose ery — was oon. < “y trees, a the - eeption of one plar occu its center, and threw its eile 1 aharie to the bordess of the in- elosure. Beneath the mighty limbs of this —— pana the forest, a brace of tents lifted their hite cones. On the grags surrounding them was gpread a variety of house-keeping implem nts while, were swinging and \ ‘* 3 tal \ ~ close to the trunk of the poplar, a crackling fire burned under a steaming iron pot, which was swung on a cross-piece of wood, supported by two im- provised tripods. On the grass around the forms of a half~<iozen oung men were indolently stretched, idly awaiting he completion of the culinary process, to which one of their number occasionally gave his attention. They were dressed for the woods, in blue flannel s and stout belted pantaloons, while high boots —_ wide-rimmed, low-crowned hats completed their attire. “*Come, old horse, the morning is sliding by like a Dutchman upon a raft. Stir up that mysterious stew of yours, or we'll not get an ounce of sport in to-day,”’ exclaimed one of the idle loungers. **No good cook hurries his broth; don’t you know that, my hungry friend?’ replied the cook, as he stirred up the contents of the pot with a huge wood- en ladle. ‘* What’s more,I sent that imp of Satan out, ten minutes ago, for some more wood. The young hound must have found a squirrel’s nest, or a ee tree; for there’s more wait than wood, with ™m.”’ “Have you looked up your snares to-day yet, Ben?” asked another. “A dish of fried rabbit Neti be a bad flanker to Jack’s hodge-podge w.’”’ “I told Pete to take a squint,’’ replied Ben, lazily rolling into an easier position. ‘* Maybe that’s what's keeping him.”’ ‘The fiends you did!” growled Jack, angrily flour- ishing his wooden ladle. ‘It’s no wonder that my stew is suffering for firewood, if the boy is smelling oe "> oa snares. Suppose you nose your Own rab- Ss ” ** Oh, vo up; here’s the boy now!” cried Ben Huntly, pointing to the edge of the woods. “And with rabbits and fagots both,” added Will Wildfire, who formed another of the party. “‘And a comical-looking little sinner he is,’’ com- mented Pierce Browning, with a laugh. It was, indeed, an amusing spectacle which, that moment, emerged from the woods and came slowly toward the camp. For there ap a little negro about two-thirds grown, and so black that charcoa would certainly have made a white mark on him, while his eyes—that rolled like balls of ivory in a basin of ink—formed the only relief to his midnight complexion. On each shoulder he firmly clasped a fagot of dry branches, which he had gathered from under the treesin the wood. But the comical feature of his aspect was the fact that he had clutched between his glea teeth the hind legs of two rabbits, which hung down in a limp manner over his breast. ‘*Well, may I be kicked by a mule!” ejaculated Ben, springing to bis feet, ‘if that isn’t an original way to carry rabbits! Why, you black jackanapes, what in the blue blazes do you mean, to stick my rabbits in your mouth, hey?” Pete attempted to say something, but only sput- tered out an unintelligible answer; while the others were rolling with laughter at the sudden wrath of Ben and the funny consternation of the boy. He at length opened his mouth and let the rabbits fall; but he was no more able to than before for he was quite choked with rabbit fur, which half filled his mouth and throat. Spluttering and coughing, the boy drop the fagots from his shoulders, and hopped about as though he were dancing on hot plates, while he en- deavored to extract the choking fur from his mouth. ‘** Dar’s yer ole wood!’’ he managed to ejaculate, at intervais. ‘An’ dar’s yer ole rabbits! Guess it didn’t hurt em much to cram dere hind paws in my mouf. Don’t cook dat part ob de rabbit, nohow.”’ And Pete continued to dance his war-dance, while he clawed away at the hidden recesses within his wide jaws. ‘Guess mebbe you'd laugh t’other side yer moufs, ef you'd got yer — full ob rabbit’s wool!” ex- claimed the wih ndignantly. ‘‘ Wish to gracious I'd luff de ole t’ings in de trap! Sure’s you lib, I do.”’ While the others continued to chaff Pete, the cook had replenished his fire, which now burned commen = i was skill . teers ne of the rab- , and preparing it for the frying-pan. ‘“* Roll up here =" !” he called out, after twenty minutes more had elapsed. “Spread your table- cloth, and get out your best silver, for I can tell by the simmer that the stew is reach its critical point. Stir up, there, you lazy tramps!” The table-cloth consisted of a sheet of oil-cloth, pene on an improvised board table; and the silver, of certain delf dishes, that looked as if they had one through three ae in the grand army, ough they had really done less than a week's ser- vice in outdoor housekeeping. But to their eager appetites, broken delf was as good as polished plate, when smoking with the appetizing compound which Jack Hasard served up in generous portions, and flanked with a side dish, full of the redolent odor of fried rabbit. The woodland meal progressed rapidly. They had taken a morning’s brisk exercise, and were hungry enough to have eaten sole-leather, if nothing better ered. * Talk about camp life!’ muttered Harry Waters, who formed one of the party, = y= compare this provender with farmer Brown's old goose, and bless your lucky stars.’’ A hearty laugh arose at the recollestion. nee “ry thank the a + of giving om nce to sharpen your on t perambu- latory, whetstone,” remarked Pierce. “Thad the wing for my share,” rejoined wil, “and I can test oO one t . If that old bird set out to fly to the moon, she Wine ie we if 6 depended on her toughness of wing. She w ~~ ecomicboo Will Wildfire in the Woods. son ae — never have given way in that point of her domestic economy. “A rich trick the old chap played upon you,” re- marked Ben, as he inse is fork into a juicy slice of the rabbit. ‘‘Thank my stars I kept clear of that sell.”’ ; SS “Good heavens! didn’t we pay him back in richer coin than his own?” ejaculated Pierce. “As long as I live I never expect to see such another picture of consternation, as there was when his Quaker friends caught the old chap and his wife footing it over the barn floor, as if they had got an infusion of quicksilver in their old bones. Their faces were enough. Anybody that could draw their picture at that moment, would have a sure fortune in it.” *“‘ And what was the end of it all?’ asked Ben. ‘‘Oh! we tried to cook the new-comers in the same orridge, but, that didn’t work. Then we decamped, home arrows, fiddle and all, and left the old rogue to match the goose against the fiddle, and see who had the best of it.”’ ‘* But afterward, I mean? What was the upshot of the business? Has friend Brown been read out of meeting? Or have they set him to do some heavy —— for the crime of shaking his old foot a dance?”’ ‘““No. You would hardly believe it, but the old man has put his foot square down in favor of music,” mors Will. “‘He vows now that no- body but a dried up fossil could see any harm in lis- tening to sweet sounds: and, as for moving his feet before a fiddle, it is no more sin than to move them ~ behind a plow. In short he is in full rebellion. They may him out of meeting or not, but his old heart has been warmed by the sweet sound of a tune, and he is bent on not letting it dry up again.”’ % for him!” cried Ben. ‘There is nothing like sticking to sensible opinions.” They were now through with their repast, and one by one rose from the table, leaving Pete to attend to the dish-washing and cleaning up, while they caught up their lines, and started on a fishing excursion down the creek. “And, mind, Pete, that you don’t burst yourself with Irish stew and rabbit,” warned Will, as he caught the little chap’s eye fixed with greedy eagerness On the remnants of the feast. Can't say aslI’s berry hungry,” returned Pete. “‘Not so mighty berry hungry, dat is. Only it’s a e to see good vittals gosp’ilin’. Guess I'll put some ob itaway. Want to git dat rabbit’s wool out my t’roat, ye know.”’ A laugh followed Pete’s reasons for his appetite, and the sportsmen turned down the creek, as the boy attacked the viands with all the ferocity of Napoleon's old guard assailing a hostile redout. A brace of boats swung from the shore at the left of the encampment. These were already well pro- vided with fishing tackle, shot-guns, and the other implements of woodland sport. ividing up the party between them, they loosen- ed the chains that held them to the shore, and pushed out into the swift current of the creek, Will again shouting back to Pete: ‘*Mind you don’t set foot out of the camp till we come back. Don't set the tents on fire. And don’t let any of the stew go to waste.”’ “You kin jess bet I won’t do dat, anyway,”’ splut- tered Pete, with a mouth full of the juicy food. “Not as I's so drefful sharp set, but I’s not gwine to let good vittals go to waste. I’s gwine todo my duty, ef I has to bu'st over it.” With a laugh from the sportsmen, the oars fell in the water, and the boats shot down-stream. CHAPTER VIL. GUNNERS AND ANGLERS. “Tas way, Ben. We will have to work around the marsh. You take it to the left, and feel your way carefully. The birds will be confounded s&kit- tish on an afternoon like this.” “ All right,”’ returned Ben, trailing his gun. “ And keep an eye on that dog, Will. He's too eager. The villain is young, and hasn’t been half broken.” ‘*Come here, Sport,’’ cried Will, in a tone of stern command, as the youthful dog showed an inclina- tion to bound ahead. ‘Keep quiet, you rogue. Don't stir a hair till you get the word.” The intelligent animal understood enough of this harangue to take his post obediently at Will’s heels where he moved on docilely, with only an occasional outbreak to the right or left. The point at which they now found themselves was an open reach of the forest, broken ores here by a piece of marshy ground, of some width; while, further on, the trees lowered and ae thicker, a thin undergrowth covering the soil. Around this marsh the sportsmen briskly walked. The call of quail had been reported from the undergrowth that morning, and their pace decreased as they approach- ed this part of the wood. Will now permitted the young pointer to go in ad- vance, though cautioning and restraining him in low onGently, gently , Sport! Back h ingrate “Gently, gently, _ back here, you ingrate; ou are can ooger! ang it all, what did they mean us an untrained dog? Back, I say, or The y sending ‘ . you will flush the ai * The disaster which Will feared came to pass. of bushes, and then u is race, dropped into r dog burst into a clum ddenly, with the instinct of a statuesque attitude, with outstretched, tremblin tail, and extended neck, as firm and fixed as thoug he had been carved in bronze. Unfortunately it was a flying flock that he pointed. That sudden w of wings, which is so trying to the nerves of an unpracticed sportsman, sounded from the bushes, and a dozen quail rose, out of good gun- shot, sweeping with their wavy flight through te vv 4 'S.COr