CHAPTER III
HORATIO AND THE DOGS
"Blossom on the bough and bird on the limb—
Old Black Bear sits a-grinning at him;
Sawing on his fiddle and a-grinning at the jay—
Grinning as he saws the only tune that he can play."
HORATIO leaned back against the tree and played lazily. Bosephus lay stretched full length on the leaves, following idly with any words that happened to fit the strain. A blue jay just over their heads bobbed up and down on a limber branch, waiting for them to go. The Bear took up the song as the boy paused:—
"Boy on the bank and bird on the tree—
Bird keeps a-bobbing and a-blinking at me;
Bobbing and a-blinking, and a-waiting for a bite—
Hasn't had a thing to eat since late—last—night."
"I say, Ratio," interrupted Bo. "Suppose we move on and give Mr. Jay Bird a chance?"
Horatio grunted and rose heavily. After their adventure with the Todd family they had come to a pleasant spot in the woods by a clear stream of water. Bo, who had some matches in his pocket, had kindled a fire and roasted some of the corn, much to the disgust of Horatio, who disliked fire and asked him why he didn't roast the watermelon, too, while he was about it. Then they had eaten their breakfast together and taken a brief rest before setting forth again on their travels. A jay bird was waiting to peck the gnawed ears and melon rinds. He stared at the strange pair as they strolled away through the trees, the Bear continuing his favorite melody.
"Ratio," said Bo, pausing suddenly, "what is that I hear scurrying through the bushes every now and then?"
"Friends of mine, likely."
"Friends! What friends?"
"Oh, everything, most. Wild cats, wolves, foxes and a few wild bears, maybe."
"Wildcats! Bears! Wolves!"
"Why, yes. Often when I play in the moonlight they come out and dance for me."
"Oh!" said Bo.
"I have them all dancing together, sometimes. I'll have them dance for you before long."
"Oh, Ratio, will you?"
"Yes. It's a lot of fun, but there's no money in it, and that's what we're after now, Bo. We're going to buy that swamp, you remember, and start that bear colony."
Bosephus was about to reply when Horatio paused and listened. There was the distant sound of dogs barking.
"Hello!" said Bo. "We're coming to somewhere. Now we'll give our first regular performance. Come on, Ratio!"
Horatio hesitated.
"How many dogs do you suppose there are, Bo?" he asked anxiously.
"About a dozen, I should think, big and little."
"Little dogs, Bo? Little snapping dogs?"
"That's what it sounds like, and some hounds and a big dog or two. You don't mind dogs, do you?"
"HELLO!" SAID BO, "WE'RE COMING TO SOMEWHERE."
"Oh, no, not in the least—but it's most too soon after breakfast to give a performance, and besides, all that noise would spoil the music."
But the little boy, who still had in his pocket the two candy hearts that had been given to him by the Todd girls, walked ahead proudly.
"You trust to me!" he said, flourishing a large stick. "I'll stop their noise pretty quick. I'm not afraid of dogs!"
The Bear followed some steps behind, looking ahead warily.
"I'm not afraid, either, you know," he said, anxiously. "Only when there are so many of them they get me mixed up on my notes and one of them once had the ill manners to nip quite a piece out of my left hind leg."
Presently they came into an open space and plump upon a little crossroads village. A gang of dogs gambolled upon the common, chasing stray geese and barking loudly. Horatio paused.
"Come back, Bo," he whispered. "There's no money in that crowd."
But Bosephus was already some distance ahead, stick in hand, and the dogs had spied him. They ceased barking for a moment and two or three of the larger ones ran away. Then the little dogs began yelping again and came on in a swarm. Bo made at them with his stick, but they dodged past him, and in a moment more were circling and snapping around Horatio, who was waving his violin wildly with one paw and slapping like a man killing mosquitoes with the other.
"Quick, Bo!" he shouted. "Quick! Help! Murder!"
The little boy wanted to laugh, but ran up instead and began striking among the bevy of dogs that were torturing his friend. Some of them howled and ran off a few paces. Then they came flocking back. Suddenly Horatio thrust his violin into Bo's hand and ran swiftly toward a large tree a few yards distant. The curs followed and jumped high into the air after him as he scrambled up to the lower limbs.
Bosephus hurried after them and struck at them so fiercely with his club that they ran yelping away. A number of villagers, attracted by the commotion, were now appearing from all quarters.
"Here come the people, Ratio," said Bo, grinning. "Now we can perform."
"All right, Bo," whispered the Bear, "but if you'll kindly hand me up that fiddle I believe I'll perform right where I am."
The boy passed up the violin and the Bear struck a few notes. By this time the people had collected. There was a blacksmith with a leather apron, and a painter with all colors of paint on his clothes. Behind them there came a woman with dough on her hands and another carrying a baby. Other men and women followed in the procession, and a dozen or so children of all ages. They halted a little way from the tree and stood staring. Horatio sat astride a big limb and commenced playing. Suddenly the boy threw back his head and began to sing:—
"Oh, the dogs barked loud and the dogs barked low
And the boy stood still and the Bear climbed the tree,
At an Old Black Bear and a boy named Bo.
While the people came a-running to see what they could see."
The children drew up close at the first line and held their breath to listen. As the boy paused they shouted and screamed with laughter at the sight of Horatio fiddling in the forks of the tree. The dogs sat in a row and howled plaintively.
"Sing some more," cried the woman with the baby; "it amuses my little Joey."
BOSEPHUS HURRIED AFTER THEM AND STRUCK AT THEM.
"Yes, the people came to see them and the dogs they ran away,
And the boy began to sing and the Bear began to play,
Till it tickled all the children and it made the baby crow,
And it set the people dancing till they jumped—Jim—Crow."
"More! more!" shouted the people as they formed into cotillons and reels. "Sing us some more!"
"Oh, the ridy-diddle-diddle of Horatio and his fiddle,
And the singing of Bosephus they had never heard before;
And it set them all to spinning, and the music was so winning
That they wined them and they dined them until half past four!"
"Wait! wait!" called the woman with the baby under her arm, "I'm all out of breath."
"No, no!" shouted the children and all the others. "Go on! Go on!"
So once more and yet another time the unwearied musicians repeated their performance, and then Bo politely passed his hat to the dancers. When he had been to each one his hat was heavy with some money and many useful articles.
"Bring your Bear down out of the tree," said the blacksmith, "and we will give you a feast on the common."
Bo beckoned to Horatio to climb down, but the big fellow hesitated.
The temptation of a feast, however, was too much for him.
ONCE MORE AND YET ANOTHER TIME.
That night, when they had both danced again for the people and Horatio had given them an acrobatic exhibition, they strolled away through the evening loaded down with luxuries of all kinds. The villagers went with them to the outskirts, and called good luck after them. As they passed into the quiet shadows of the forest they once more heard the barking of dogs in the distance behind them.
"We have had a good day, Bosephus," said Horatio, with a long sigh of satisfaction. "We are on the road to fortune. To be sure, there are little thorns along the way—"
"Dogs, for instance—and guns."
"Trifles, Bosephus; trifles. Don't give them a second thought. Of course you are only a little boy as yet, and will outgrow these fears."
"And learn to climb trees."
"I hope you don't think I climbed that tree out of fear, Bosephus. I merely went up there to get a better view of my audience. One should always rise above his audience. And now let us sing softly together as we go. It will rest us after our day of conquest."
And touching the strings lightly and singing softly together, the friends sought leisurely their evening camp. Here and there a light rustle in the bushes showed that the forest people were listening, and the leaves of the forest whispered in time to their melody.