"Well, I "ll leave it to aunt if it is n"t odd to see such a queer lot of stuff in one store; I "ve heard about country stores, but I never saw one that would come up to that before. It is almost equal to going into a fair, to go in there. There was everything you could think of, from a grindstone to a pop-gun."
"There is n"t business enough to support more than one trader, and that is the reason why Mr. Fletcher keeps such a variety," said Mrs. Preston.
"I know that," said Oscar, "and I suppose the folks are glad to have him keep all sorts of knick-knacks; but it seems queer to me, to see groceries and dry goods, and everything else, in the same shop."
"Did you see any babies there?" inquired little Mary, who was amusing herself by walking around the room backwards.
"What sort of babies--live ones, or rag ones, or wax ones?" inquired Oscar.
"No, none of them," replied Mary; "I mean crying babies, like Annie Davenport"s."
"O, you mean those little dolls that make a squeaking noise when you squeeze them. No, I believe I did n"t see any," said Oscar.
"No, Mr. Fletcher would n"t keep such silly things as them," said Jerry, who was very fond of teasing his sisters.
"No, they aint silly, either, are they cousin Oscar?" said Mary.
"No," replied Oscar, "seeing it"s you, they aint silly."
Mary was continuing her backward walk around the room, and was just at that moment pa.s.sing before Jerry, when he suddenly put out his foot, and stumbling over it, she fell heavily upon the floor, striking her head against a corner of the sofa. A loud scream immediately followed this mishap, and as the author of it hastened to raise up his sister, he was himself a little frightened; but seeing no blood flowing from her head, he concluded she was "more scared than hurt," and tried to turn the affair into a joke, saying:
"There, sis, you"re a little crying baby yourself, now. Come, stop your noise; you "ve blubbered enough about it. It didn"t hurt you, did it?"
"Come here, dear, what is the matter?" said Mrs. Preston, who had left the room a moment before, and hurried back on hearing Mary scream.
"Jerry knocked me over," said Mary, sobbing bitterly, as her mother lifted her up into her lap.
"Where did it hurt you, dear?--there? Well, let mother rub it, and it will feel better soon. Jerry is a naughty boy to do so. Why need you torment your little sister so?" Mrs. Preston added, turning to Jerry.
Mr. Preston, who had been sitting upon the door-step, smoking his pipe, as was his custom in the evening, came in, on hearing the uproar; and having ascertained what the trouble was, he boxed Jerry"s ears pretty severely, and sent him off to bed. Oscar soon followed him; but Jerry was so mortified at the rough handling he had received, that he scarcely spoke again that night.
CHAPTER XVI.
IN THE WOODS.
It was soon evident that the air of Brookdale agreed with Oscar. He was fast gaining his strength, and the increased fulness and color of his countenance betokened returning health. No part of this improvement was to be attributed to the bottle of cough drops his mother packed away in the bottom of his valise, and charged him to take every morning and night; for the drops were not very palatable, and he had not opened the bottle since he left home. In fact, he had by this time quite forgotten both the medicine and his mother"s injunction.
So rapid was the improvement in Oscar"s health, that two or three days after his trip to the Cross-Roads, Mr. Preston gave his consent to an excursion he and Jerry had planned, which was to occupy a whole day.
"Old Staple"s Hut," as it was called, was the place they proposed to visit. It was about four miles distant, beyond the hills in the north-east part of the town, represented in the upper corner of the map of Brookdale. They were to carry their dinner, and Mrs. Preston accordingly filled a small basket with eatables. While she was doing this, Jerry took Oscar aside and said:
"There is one thing more we want, and that is father"s gun. I know he won"t let me have it, but I guess he would lend it to you, if you should ask him."
"Yes, we must have a gun," replied Oscar; "and I should just as lief ask him for it as not."
Oscar hunted up his uncle, and made known his request. Mr. Preston hesitated a moment, and then inquired:
"Does your father allow you to use a gun at home?"
"He never says anything about it, either way," replied Oscar.
"Well, I guess you had better not take the gun," said Mr. Preston. "I "m afraid you might get hurt,--that"s all I care about. I don"t allow Jerry to use firearms, and I should n"t like to put anything of the kind into your hands without your father"s consent."
"But I "ll be very careful if you "ll let me have it," added Oscar. "I "ve fired a gun several times, and know how to handle it."
"No, I think you had better not carry the gun with you," replied his uncle. "If you used it, Jerry would think he must, and I know he is too careless to be trusted with it. He "d shoot you, just as like as not, if he did n"t kill himself."
Mr. Preston"s tone was so decided, that Oscar saw it would be useless to say anything more about the gun, and so he and Jerry were obliged to abandon the idea of taking it with them. Taking their basket of provisions, they accordingly set out on their long tramp. Leaving the road, and turning into a footpath through the fields, they pa.s.sed close by the upper edge of the pond. In this part of their walk there was a good deal of swamp land, and a number of brooks to cross. Sometimes they had to pick their way along upon stones which had been placed at regular intervals in wet places, or upon old logs that served for bridges; and at times it required no little skill in balancing to avoid getting a wet foot. After they had got beyond the pond, however, the land gradually ascended, and was mostly occupied as pastures for cattle. But they still occasionally came to a brook, flowing down from the hills towards the pond. Most of them were so narrow, they could easily jump over them; but in one instance they were obliged to take off their shoes and stockings and wade across.
"Now you see why this place is called Brookdale," said Jerry, after they had pa.s.sed four or five of these little streams.
"Is that the reason, because there are so many brooks? I never thought of that before," said Oscar.
"Yes, that"s it," replied Jerry. "In the spring these brooks make quite a show; but they get low in the summer, and generally dry up in August, unless it"s a very wet season."
"I "m going to cut me a cane," said Oscar, taking out his knife; "I see a real straight and handsome one in there," and he pointed to a thicket they were approaching.
"That"s nothing but birch--that won"t make a good cane," replied Jerry; "stop a minute, and I "ll find you something better."
After looking about a little, Jerry found some beeches, which he said would make good canes. They accordingly cut two of the straightest and handsomest.
"I mean to try an experiment with mine," said Oscar, "and see if I can"t crook the top of it. Do you know how they do it, Jerry?"
"No, I always thought they grew in that shape," replied Jerry.
"A man told me they boiled the end of the stick and then bent it," said Oscar. "He said that was the way all the hooked canes were made. I don"t know whether he knew or not, but I mean to try it some day, and see how it works."
"I don"t believe in that," said Jerry. "It is n"t very likely you can bend such a stick as that without breaking it; just see how stiff it is."
"I don"t care, I"ll try it, just to satisfy myself," replied Oscar.
Oscar was right in regard to bending wood. The hooked-top walking-sticks are made in the way he described,--by boiling the end, and then bending it into an arch. In boiling wood, several substances which enter into its composition are dissolved, and others are softened, so that it is rendered flexible.
The boys trudged slowly on their way, now aided by their canes, which, in a long walk, are of no slight service to the pedestrian. As they sauntered along, chatting, singing, and whistling, as merrily as the birds around them, Oscar remembered the cigars he bought at the store, and soon the pure atmosphere of the fields was polluted with the vile odor of bad tobacco. Oscar had been in the habit of smoking occasionally for some time; but though he considered it a manly accomplishment, he was very careful not to let his parents know that he was addicted to it. He prevailed upon his cousin to take a cigar; but Jerry was not very partial to tobacco, and a few whiffs satisfied him for that occasion.
They had now reached the foot of the long, steep hills, over which they must climb. These hills were thickly wooded most of the way, forming beautiful groves, cool, dark, fragrant with resinous odors, and softly carpeted with moss and decayed leaves. Oscar and Jerry concluded to rest a few minutes before scaling the hills. Selecting a favorable spot, they stretched themselves at full length upon the ground, and looked up towards the distant tree-tops. It was a pine forest, and the trees were as straight as an arrow, and so tall that their tops almost seemed among the clouds. The moaning of the wind among the topmost branches sounded like the distant roar of the sea. Birds were skipping merrily among the "ta.s.selled boughs," and curiously eying the young strangers who had invaded their solitude.
"O, how I wish I had that gun now!" said Oscar, as a fine plump robin lit on one of the lower branches of a tree right over his head.
In repay for this generous wish, Signor Robin executed one of his choicest songs in his handsomest style, and, without waiting for an encore from his audience, darted off and was quickly out of sight. But it is probable the audience thought more of the "good shot" he presented, than of the sweet strains he poured forth for their entertainment.
"There"s better game than that in these woods," said Jerry, after the robin had taken his departure.
"Is there anything besides birds?" inquired Oscar.
"Yes," replied Jerry, "there are rabbits, and woodchucks, and weasels, and skunks, and squirrels; and some folks say there are wild-cats here, but I don"t know about that. Jim Oakley, a fellow who lives about a mile from our house, comes over here gunning very often; and he says he saw a real savage-looking creature here, a few weeks ago, that he took to be a wild-cat. He fired at it, but it got clear of him. He says it looked a good deal like a cat, only it was larger, and had a little short tail. I wish he "d killed it. I should like to know what it was. I never saw a wild-cat; did you?"