The Deer Woman and the Fawn
Amos Tingley, a bachelor, and a miser as well, lived in Laurel Hollow. Nearby was a salt lick for deer. Often he saw them come there a few at a time, lick the salt, and scamper away. There were two he noticed in particular, a mother and its fawn. They had come nearer than the salt lick—into his garden—more than once and trampled what they did not like, or nibbled to the very ground things that suited their taste, vegetables that Amos had toiled to plant and grow. He didn’t want to harm the animals if it could be helped so Amos thought to make a pet of the fawn. When a boy he had had a pet fawn, carried it in his arms. He even brought it into the house and when it grew older the little creature followed at his heels like a dog. He reached a friendly hand toward this fawn in his garden but it kicked up its heels and fairly flew down the garden path. However, the mother, watching her chance when Amos had returned to the house, led her fawn into the garden again and together they ate their fill of the choicest green things.
It annoyed Amos Tingley no little. He determined to put a stop to it. One evening he greased his old squirrel rifle. He took lead balls out of the leather pouch that hung on the wall, rolled them around in the palm of his hand, and wondered when his chance would come to use them. As he sat turning the thoughts over in his mind pretty Audrey Billberry and her little girl, Tinie, came along the road. Audrey was a widow. Had been since Tinie was six months old. Some wondered how she got along. But Audrey Billberry was never one to complain and if neighbors went there she always urged them to stay and eat. If it was winter, there was plenty of rabbit stew and turnips and potatoes, or squirrel and quail. Audrey loved wild meat. “It’s cleaner,” she’d say, “and sweeter. Sweet meats make pretty looks.” Audrey smiled and showed her dimples and little Tinie patted her mother’s hand and looked up admiringly into her face. Then off the two would skip through the woods to gather greens or berries, chestnuts or wild turkey eggs, whatever the season might bring.
Sometimes they went hand in hand, Audrey and the child, past Amos Tingley’s place.
“Good day, to you,” pretty Audrey Billberry would call out and Tinie would say the same. “How goes it with you today, good neighbor?”
“Well enough,” Amos answered, “and better still if I can get rid of that pestering deer and her fawn. The two have laid waste my garden patch. See yonder!” he pointed with the squirrel rifle. “And it won’t be good for the two the next time they come nibbling around here!”
Pretty Audrey Billberry gripped little Tinie’s hand until the child squealed and hopped on one foot. They looked at each other, then at the gun. Fright came into their eyes. Audrey tried to laugh lightly. “When you kill that deer be sure to bring me a piece, neighbor Tingley,” she said, as unconcerned as you please, and away she went with the little girl at her side. When they reached home Audrey Billberry turned the wood button on the door and flung back her head. “Kill a deer and her fawn! There is no fear, Tinie. Why”—she scoffed—“Amos Tingley’s got only lead to load his rifle. I saw.” She put her hands to her sides and laughed and danced around the room. “Lead can’t kill a deer and her fawn. It takes silver! Silver! Do you hear that, Tinie? Silver hammered and molded round to load the gun. And when, I’d like to know, would skinflint Amos Tingley, the miser, ever destroy a silver coin by pounding it into a ball to load a gun? There’s nothing to fear. Rest easy, Tinie. Besides all living creatures must eat. It is their right. Only silver, remember, not lead, can harm the deer. A miser will keep his silver and let his garden go!” She caught little Tinie by both hands and skipped to and fro across the floor, saying over and over, “Only silver can harm the deer.”
The wind caught up her words and carried them through the trees, across the ridge into Laurel Hollow.
While Audrey and Tinie skipped and frolicked and chanted, “Only silver can harm the deer,” Amos Tingley, the miser, over in Laurel Hollow was busy at work. He took a silver coin from the leather poke in his pocket and hammered it flat on the anvil in his barn. Thin as paper he hammered it until he could roll it easily between thumb and finger. Then around and around he rolled it between his palms until there was a ball as round and as firm as ever was made with a mold. Amos put it in his rifle.
The next morning when he went out to work in his garden there was scarcely a head of cabbage left. The bunch beans he had been saving back and the cut-short beans had been plucked and the row of sweet corn which he had planted so carefully along the fence-row had been stripped to the last roasting ear. He stooped down to look at the earth. “Footprints of the deer and the fawn, without a doubt. But she must have worn an apron or carried a basket to take away so much.” Amos shook his head in perplexity. Then he hurried back to the house to get his gun.
“Right here do I wait.” He braced himself in the doorway, back to the jam, knees jackknifed, gun cocked. “Here do I wait until I catch sight of that doe and her fawn.”
It wasn’t long till the two appeared on a nearby ridge, pranking to and fro. Into the forest they scampered, then out again, frisking up their hind feet, then standing still as rocks and looking down at Amos Tingley in his doorway.
Then Amos lifted his gun, pulled the trigger.
The fawn darted away but the deer fell bleeding with a bullet in the leg.
“Let her bleed! Bleed till there’s not a drop of blood left in her veins and my silver coin is washed back to my own hands!” That was the wish of Amos Tingley, the miser. He went back into the house and put his gun in the corner.
When darkness came little Tinie Billberry stood sobbing at Amos Tingley’s door. “Please to come,” she pleaded. “My mother says she’ll die if you don’t. She wants to make amends!”
“Amends?” gasped Amos Tingley. “Amends for what?”
But Tinie had dashed away in the darkness.
When Amos reached pretty Audrey Billberry’s door, he found her pale in the candlelight, her ankle shattered and bleeding. The foot rested in a basin.
“See what you’ve done, Amos Tingley.” The pretty widow lifted tear-dimmed eyes, while Tinie huddled shyly behind her. “A pitcher of water, quick, Tinie, to wash away the blood!”
As the child poured the water over the bleeding foot, Amos heard something fall into the basin. He caught the flash of silver. Amos stood speechless.
In the basin lay the silver ball the miser had made from a coin.
“Never tell!” cried pretty Audrey Billberry, her dark eyes starting from the bloodless face. “Never tell and I promise, I promise and so does Tinie—see we promise together.”
The child had put down the pitcher and came shyly to rest her head upon her mother’s shoulder, her small hand in Audrey’s.
“We promise,” they spoke together, “never, never again to bother your garden!”
They kept their word all three, Amos Tingley and pretty Audrey Billberry and little Tinie. But somebody told, for the tale still lives in Laurel Hollow of the miser and the deer woman and the little fawn.