TOBY TYLER;
OR, TEN WEEKS WITH A CIRCUS.
BY JAMES OTIS.
Chapter XX.
HOME AND UNCLE DANIEL.
Meanwhile the author of all this misery had come upon the scene. He was a young man, whose rifle and well-filled game bag showed that he had been hunting, and his face expressed the liveliest sorrow for what he had so unwittingly done.
"I didn't know I was firing at your pet," he said to Toby, as he laid his hand on his shoulder, and endeavored to make him look up. "I only saw a little patch of fur through the trees, and thinking it was some wild animal, I fired. Forgive me, won't you, and let me put the poor brute out of his misery?"
Toby looked up fiercely at the murderer of his pet, and asked, savagely: "Why don't you go away? Don't you see that you have killed Mr. Stubbs, an' you'll be hung for murder?"
"I wouldn't have done it under any circumstances," said the young man, pitying Toby's grief most sincerely. "Come away, and let me put the poor thing out of its agony."
"How can you do it?" asked Toby, bitterly; "he's dying already."
"I know it, and it will be a favor to him to put a bullet through his head."
If Toby had been large enough, perhaps there might really have been a murder committed; for he looked up at the man who so coolly proposed to kill the poor monkey after he had already received his death-wound that the young man stepped back quickly, as if really afraid that in his desperation the boy might do him some injury.
"Go 'way off," said Toby, passionately, "an' don't ever come here again. You've killed all I ever had in this world of my own to love me, an' I hate you—I hate you."
Then turning again to the monkey, he put his hands each side of his head, and leaning down, kissed the little brown lips as tenderly as a mother would kiss her child.
The monkey was growing more and more feeble, and when Toby had shown this act of affection, he reached up his tiny paws, grasped Toby's finger, raised himself half from the ground, and then, as a more convulsive struggle came, fell back dead, while the tiny fingers slowly relaxed their hold of the boy's hand.
Toby feared that it was death, and yet hoped that he had been mistaken; he looked into the half-open, fast-glazing eyes, put his hand over his heart to see if it was not still beating, and getting no responsive look from the dead eyes, feeling no heart-throbs from under that bloody breast, he knew that his pet was really dead, and he flung himself by his side in all the childish abandon of grief.
He called the monkey by name, implored him to look at him, and finally bewailed that he had ever left the circus, where at least his pet's life was safe, even if his own back received its daily flogging.
The young man, who stood a silent spectator of this painful scene, understood everything from Toby's mourning. He knew that a boy had run away from the circus, for Messrs. Lord and Castle had staid behind one day in the hope of capturing the fugitive, and they had told their own version of Toby's flight.
It was nearly an hour that Toby lay by the dead monkey's side, crying as if his heart would break, and the young man waited until his grief should have somewhat exhausted itself, and then he approached the boy again.
"Won't you believe that I didn't mean to do this cruel thing?" he asked, in a kindly voice; "and won't you believe that I would do anything in my power to bring your pet back to life?"
Toby looked at him a moment earnestly, and then he said, slowly, "Yes, I'll try to."
"Now will you come with me, and let me talk to you, for I know who you are, and why you are here?"
"How do you know that?"
"Two men staid behind after the circus had left, and they hunted everywhere for you."
"I wish they had caught me," moaned Toby; "I wish they had caught me, for then Mr. Stubbs wouldn't be here dead."
And Toby's grief broke out afresh as he again looked at the poor little stiff form of him who had been a source of so much comfort and joy to him.
"Try not to think of that now, but think of yourself, and of what you will do," said the man, soothingly, anxious to divert Toby's mind from the monkey's death as much as possible.
"I don't want to think of myself, and I don't care what I'll do," sobbed the boy, passionately.
"But you must; you can't stay here always, and I will try to help you to get home, or wherever it is you want to go, if you will tell me all about it."
It was some time before Toby could be persuaded to speak or think of anything but the death of his pet; but the young man finally succeeded in drawing his story from him, and then he tried to induce him to leave that place, and accompany him to the town.
"I can't leave Mr. Stubbs," said the boy, firmly; "he never left me the night I got thrown out of the wagon, an' he thought I was hurt."
Then came another struggle to induce him to bury his pet, and finally Toby, after realizing the fact that he could not carry a dead monkey anywhere with him, agreed to it; but he would not allow the young man to help him in any way, or even to touch the monkey's body.
He dug a grave under a little fir-tree near by, and lined it with wild flowers and leaves, and even then hesitated to cover the body with the earth. At last he bethought himself of the fanciful costume which the skeleton and his wife had given him, and in this he carefully wrapped his dead pet. Not one regret at leaving the bespangled suit, for it was the best he could command, and surely nothing could be too good for Mr. Stubbs.
Tenderly he laid him in the little grave, and covering the body with flowers, he said, pausing a moment before he covered it over with earth, and while his voice was choked with emotion: "Good-by, Mr. Stubbs, good-by. I wish it had been me instead of you that died, for I'm an awful sorry little boy now that you're dead."
Even after the grave had been filled, and a little mound made over it, the young man had the greatest difficulty to persuade Toby to go with him, and when the boy did consent to go at last, he walked very slowly away, and kept turning his head to look back just so long as the little grave could be seen.
Then, when the trees shut it completely out from sight, the tears commenced to roll again down Toby's cheeks, and he sobbed: "I wish I hadn't left him; oh, why didn't I make him lie down by me, an' then he'd be alive now, an' how glad he'd be to know that we was getting out of the woods at last!"
But the man who had worked Toby this sorrow talked to him about other matters, thus taking his mind from the monkey's death as much as possible, and by the time the boy reached the village, he had told his story exactly as it was, without casting any reproaches on Mr. Lord, and giving himself the full share of censure for leaving his home as he did.
Mr. Lord and Mr. Castle had remained in the town but one day, for they were told that a boy had taken the night train that passed through the town about two hours after Toby had escaped, and they had set off at once to act on that information.
Therefore Toby need have no fears of meeting either of them just then, and he could start on his homeward journey in peace.
The young man who had caused the monkey's death tried first to persuade Toby to remain a day or two with him, and failing in that, he did all he could toward getting the boy home as quickly and safely as possible. He insisted on paying for his ticket on the steamboat, although Toby did all he could to prevent him, and he even accompanied Toby to the next town, where he was to take the steamer.
He had not only paid for Toby's ticket, but he had paid for a state-room for him; and when the boy said that he could sleep anywhere, and that there was no need of such expense, the man replied: "Those men who were hunting for you have gone down the river, and will be very likely to search the boat when they discover that they started on the wrong scent. They will never suspect that you have got a state-room, and if you are careful to remain in it during the trip, you will get through safely."
Then, when the time came for the steamer to go, the young man said to Toby: "Now, my boy, you won't feel hard at me for shooting the monkey, will you? I would have done anything to have brought him to life; but as I could not do that, helping you to get home was the next best thing I could do."
"I know you didn't mean to shoot Mr. Stubbs," said Toby, with moistening eyes as he spoke of his pet, "an' I'm sorry I said what I did to you in the woods."
Before there was time to say any more, the warning whistle was sounded, the plank pulled in, the great wheels commenced to revolve, and Toby was really on his way to Uncle Daniel and Guilford.
It was then but five o'clock in the afternoon, and he could not expect to reach home until two or three o'clock in the afternoon of the next day; but he was in a tremor of excitement as he thought that he should walk through the streets of Guilford once more, see all the boys, and go home to Uncle Daniel.
And yet, whenever he thought of that home, of meeting those boys, of going once more to all those old familiar places, the memory of all that he had planned when he should take the monkey with him would come into his mind, and dampen even his joy, great as it was.
That night he had considerable difficulty in getting to sleep, but he did finally succeed in doing so, and when he awoke, the steamer was going up the river whose waters seemed like an old friend, because they had flowed right down past Guilford on their way to the sea.
At each town where a landing was made, Toby looked eagerly out on to the pier, thinking that by some chance some one from his home might be there, and he could see a familiar face again. But all this time he heeded the advice given him, and remained in his room, where he could see and not be seen; and it was well for him that he did so, for at one of the landings he saw both Mr. Lord and Mr. Castle come on board the boat.
Toby's heart beat fast and furious, and he expected every moment to hear them at the door demanding admittance, for it seemed to him that they must know exactly where he was secreted.
But no such misfortune occurred. The men had evidently only boarded the boat to search for the boy, for they landed again before the steamer started, and Toby had the satisfaction of seeing their backs as they walked away from the pier. It was some time before he recovered from the fright which the sight of them gave him; but when he did, his thoughts and hopes far outstripped the steamer, which it seemed was going so slowly, and he longed to see Guilford with an impatience that could hardly be restrained.
At last he could see the spire of the little church on the hill, and when the steamer rounded the point, affording a full view of the town, and sounded her whistle as a signal for those on the shore to come to the pier, Toby could hardly restrain himself from jumping up and down, and shouting in his delight.
He was at the gang-plank ready to land fully five minutes before the steamer was anywhere near the wharf, and when he recognized the first face on the pier, what a happy boy he was!
He was at home! The dream of the past ten weeks was at length realized, and neither Mr. Lord nor Mr. Castle had any terrors for him now.
He ran down the gang-plank before it was ready, and clasped every boy he saw there by the neck, and would have kissed them if they had shown much inclination to let him do so.
Of course he was overwhelmed with questions, but before he would answer any, he asked for Uncle Daniel and the others at home.
Some of the boys ventured to predict that Toby would get a jolly good whipping for running away, and the only reply which the happy Toby made to that was:
UNCLE DANIEL'S BLESSING.
"I hope I will, an' then I'll feel as if I had kinder paid for runnin' away. If Uncle Dan'l will only let me stay with him again, he may whip me every mornin', an' I won't open my head."
The boys were impatient to hear the story of Toby's travels, but he refused to tell them, saying,
"I'll go home, an' if Uncle Dan'l forgives me for bein' so wicked, I'll set down this afternoon, an' tell you all you want to know about the circus."
Then, far more rapidly than he had run away from it, Toby ran toward the home which he had called his ever since he could remember, and his heart was full almost to bursting as he thought that perhaps he would be told that he had forfeited all claim to it, and that he could never more call it home again.
When he entered the old familiar sitting-room, Uncle Daniel was seated near the window alone, looking out wistfully, as Toby thought, across the fields of yellow waving grain.
Toby crept softly in, and going up to the old man he knelt down, and said, very humbly, and with his whole soul in the words, "Oh, Uncle Dan'l, if you'll only forgive me for bein' so wicked, an' runnin' away, an' let me stay here again—for it's all the home I ever had—I'll do everything you tell me to, an' never whisper in meetin' or do anything bad."
And then he waited for the words which would seal his fate. They were not long in coming.
"My poor boy," said Uncle Daniel, softly, as he stroked Toby's red, refractory hair, "my love for you was greater than I knew, and when you left me I cried aloud to the Lord as if it had been my own flesh and blood that had gone afar from me. Stay here, Toby, my son, and help to support this poor old body as it goes down into the dark valley of the shadow of death, and then, in the bright light of that glorious future, Uncle Daniel will wait to go with you into the presence of Him who is ever a father to the fatherless."
And in Uncle Daniel's kindly care we may safely leave Toby Tyler.
THE END.
[THE FAITH OF THE TWO SHEIKS.]
BY LYDIA M. FINKELSTEIN.
There is a passage in the Koran that reads, "When God creates a human being, He also creates his inheritance, which is inalienable, and must come into his possession."
In the Orient, prisoners are allowed by the government only a meagre supply of bread and water—so meagre that unless the relatives supply them with food (which they are permitted to do), the unfortunates frequently die of sheer starvation.
It is the custom for the Orientals, at a time of sickness or any other trouble, in view of some business speculation, also when undertaking a journey, to make a vow that if they are delivered from the trouble, meet with success in the transaction, or accomplish the journey in safety, to provide the prisoners with a certain quantity of food, and often for a stated period of time.
In an Oriental city two Sheiks were once confined in prison for debt. The one, Sheik Kassim, was blind; the other, Sheik Ahmed, was lame. They had made a living, such as it was, in the outside world, by reciting passages from the Koran for the dead, usually at the grave, for which they received payment, either in food or money, from the relatives of the deceased. In prison, however, there were but few opportunities for the two Sheiks to earn anything by their profession.
Sheik Kassim was a true believer, and consequently held to the literal interpretation of the above-mentioned passage of the Koran, asserting repeatedly that whatever God had destined for him, He would send him, without any care or exertion on his own part.
Sheik Ahmed, though a sincere Moslem, had a somewhat different opinion, and believed that although whenever God created a human being, He also created for him a special inheritance, yet at the same time God intended the human being to make some exertions to obtain possession of said inheritance.
It so happened that a wealthy merchant of the city had made a vow to supply the prisoners not only with necessary wholesome and sufficient food, but also with some extra dainties, for the term of seven days.
On such occasions a herald passes through the different departments of the prison, proclaiming, "Ho! all ye poor of the earth that hunger and thirst, come and partake of the bounty and the inheritance from God!" The prisoners are then expected to gather in the prison yard, where the supplies are doled out to them.
Sheik Ahmed, on hearing the invitation, prepared to proceed to the yard, offering to lead Sheik Kassim, who sat reciting passages from the Koran and prayers in a corner of his cell, to the same place, to receive a share of the good things provided by the grateful merchant.
"Nay," said Sheik Kassim, "if I have any inheritance in this supply, Allah will send me my portion to this place," and he resumed his prayers, while Sheik Ahmed, finding persuasions and arguments alike vain, hobbled off to the yard to secure his share of the food which was being distributed, and this scene was repeated for six days.
On the seventh day the merchant walked through all the different departments of the prison to make personal inquiries of the prisoners whether they had received the food he had sent as a thank-offering for his mercies. On seeing the blind Sheik he particularly questioned whether his wants received the proper attention. "My lord," replied Sheik Kassim, "if I have any inheritance in this supply, Allah will send me my portion to this place." Hearing this reply, the merchant immediately gave orders for a liberal supply to be brought to the blind man.
Later, Sheik Ahmed approached his friend to endeavor once again to convince him of the necessity for making some exertion in order to receive his share of the good things to which he was entitled, but missed through his own inaction. Triumphantly Sheik Kassim related the circumstance of the merchant sending for his portion, and having it brought to the spot from which the blind man had not considered it necessary to move, so great had been his faith that his inheritance, however great or small it might be, would be sent by Allah sooner or later to him.
"That is all very beautiful and very true," replied Sheik Ahmed, "and Allah is good to all His creatures, even the most undiscernible, if they only trust Him; but remember that while you waited, Allah sent you a portion only once, while I, who made the exertion and went, received a portion from His bountiful hand seven times."
[THE BUZZARD'S BALD HEAD.]
BY A. L. BASSETT.
"Now, chillen, git to bed quick, and don't make no fuss, and I'll tell you a story 'bout Mr. Fox and Mr. Rabbit."
The promise of a story was quite sufficient to insure ready obedience; so the little ones were soon tucked warmly into their beds, and their colored nurse, seating herself on the floor beside them, greatly pleased at the eager gaze of the bright eyes fixed upon her face, began her story:
"Mr. Fox and Mr. Rabbit had been off workin' all de week, but Saturday dey come home and cleaned up deir house and yard, and got ready for Sunday.
"When ebenin' come, Mr. Fox dressed heself up and went to de rabbit's house.
"'Mr. Rabbit,' he says, 'I'm goin' fishin'. Won't you go 'long, Mr. Rabbit?'
"'No,' says Mr. Rabbit, 'I won't go. I generally stays at home Saturdays and rests myself, and den eats as many fish as dem as goes fishin'.'
"Mr. Fox didn't know how dat could be, but he didn't say nothin', and went on by heself to de pond, and cotched a nice string of fish, and den started for home.
"Now Mr. Rabbit, as soon as he thought it was time for de fox to come home, he ran down de path and stretched heself out like he was dead.
"Presently de fox come 'long wid his string of fish. He fa'rly jumped when he seed de rabbit, and den he said: 'Well, if here ain't a nice fat rabbit! I'll go home and put my fish down, and den come back and git him, and to-morrow I'll have a big, fish fry and a rabbit stew for dinner.'
"So Mr. Fox he went on down de path, and de rabbit he jumps up and runs through de woods and gits ahead of him, and stretches heself out ag'in like he was dead. When de fox come 'long and seed him, he give a bigger jump dan before, and says: 'If here ain't another nice fat rabbit! I'm 'most home now, so I'll lay my string of fish down by dis rabbit, and go back and git de other rabbit, and to-morrow I'll have a big fish fry and two rabbit stews.' Mr. Fox laid his fish down by de rabbit, and went back to look for de other rabbit.
"As soon as he was gone, up jumped de rabbit, and took de fish, and ran off as fast as he could go, and went up a hollow tree.
"Presently de fox come back, 'cause he couldn't find no dead rabbit whar he left it, and—dar now! his fish was gone, and Mr. Rabbit was settin' up in de hollow, eatin' fish, and throwin' de fish bones down to him fast as he eat de fish.
"Den de rabbit hollered out, 'I say, Mr. Fox, didn't I tell you I stays at home and rests myself, and den eats as many fish, if not more, dan dem dat goes fishin'?'
"De fox was so mad he didn't know what to do wid heself. He danced 'round de tree, and barked at de rabbit, and said, 'I'll pay you for dis, Mr. Rabbit!'
"'Pay me now, Mr. Fox.'
"Presently a buzzard came flyin' by, and de fox called him, and told him how de rabbit had stole his fish.
"'Mr. Buzzard, will you stay here and nuss dis hollow till I go to de house and get a chunk of fire to smoke de rabbit out?'
"Mr. Buzzard said, 'Yes'; so he come down and set close to de hollow to nuss it till de fox come back.
"Time de fox was gone, de rabbit peeped out of de hollow, and said, 'Dat you down dere, Mr. Buzzard?'
"And de buzzard said, 'Dis is me.'
"'Mr. Buzzard, dey tell me you is got gold eyes. Is dat so, Mr. Buzzard?'
"'I s'pose so, Mr. Rabbit.'
"'Mr. Buzzard, I never seed any gold eyes in my life. Won't you jes' put your eyes up to de hollow so I kin see 'em?'
"Den de buzzard he got up and put his eyes to de hollow, and de rabbit throwed a whole lot of fish bones and trash in his eyes, and fill his eyes full of trash and fish bones. So de buzzard had to fly down to de ground and set down wid his back to de tree to pick de trash and fish bones out of his eyes. Den Mr. Rabbit he jumped down, and away he was gone through de woods long 'fore de fox come back wid de fire.
"When Mr. Fox come wid his chunk of fire, he set to smokin' de hollow right away. 'Is he up dere, Mr. Buzzard?'
"'He was up dere de last time I seed him,' said de buzzard; and he kept pickin' de trash and de fish bones out of his eyes.
"De fox smoked and he smoked, but de rabbit didn't fall.
"'Is he up dere, Mr. Buzzard?'
"'He was up dere de last time I seed him;' and de buzzard kept pickin' de fish bones and trash out of his eyes.
"Den de fox he smoked and he smoked, but de rabbit didn't fall, and—den he run to de buzzard, and scratched all de skin off his head, and ever since den all de buzzards been bald-headed.
"But de buzzard he didn't tell no lie; de last time he seed de rabbit he was up dere, sure enough. He couldn't see after de rabbit throwed de fish bones and trash in his eyes, and he wa'n't goin' to tell de fox dat he was a fool like he was. Now dat's all de story: you go to sleep directly."
"Oh, please tell us some more! tell us some more!" cried the children, as wide awake as ever.
"I never seed sich chillen! You never gits tired. Well, I will tell you one little piece of po'try, and den if you is good, to-morrow night I'll tell 'nother story 'bout de fox and de rabbit."
"Tell us the poetry, please do," cried all the children at once. "Don't go before you tell us the poetry."
"Bless me! you won't give me time to draw my breff. I never seed sich chillen. Now listen, and den don't say 'nother word to me dis night, for I's gwine. I ain't gwine to fool here wid you all no longer. Here is de po'try:
"De squirrel he hopped from limb to limb,
De ole har sot and look at him;
De ole har say unto heself,
"Dat squirrel don't mind he kill heself."
"Dar now, I's gwine. I ain't gwine to tell you no more nohow."
GULLIVER SAILING HIS YACHT FOR THE AMUSEMENT OF THE COURT.