“Then don’t grieve about that, for his parents will not harm him,” Mr. Lawrence replied with a smile.
A short time after this occurrence, Will informed his father that a muskrat had built itself a home by a stream which ran through their farm.
“Should you like to catch it in a trap?” Mr. Lawrence asked.
The boy, of course, said yes. Immediately the fond father bought a strong little trap and presented it to the would-be trapper. The trap cost ninety cents; a wandering tin-peddler might perhaps be generous enough to give Will fifteen cents for the pelt of the muskrat. In that event everybody would be satisfied. But the home of the muskrat would be made desolate.
Mrs. Lawrence beheld this trap with horror, and not without reason, for, within the next two hours, Will contrived to imprison in it several of his fingers.
After repeated warnings from his parents, the young hero set out for the stream, trap in hand. Having successfully achieved the feat of setting it, he returned and gave his father the particulars.
“I fear that some more historical animal than a muskrat will come to an untimely end in that trap,” Mr. Lawrence said dolorously.
His words were prophetic.
In the morning, full of hope, Will hurried to the home of the muskrat. Beyond a doubt, the trap held an animal. But it was neither a musk nor any other kind of rat; it was a beautiful little greyhound, fast in the jaws of the trap, and stone dead.
Will’s tears flowed freely at this pitiable sight, and fear was added to his grief, when, in the greyhound, he recognized the constant companion of Senator Murdock.