“You see, grandma,” said he, in explanation, “Yorkshire Tom goes a-hunting sometimes, and he had just shot a fine buck when you wanted me to shoot Primrose. So he took us both over to his cabin and we tied Primrose up, and he sent you some venison from his buck, and he kept Primrose at his house. I went over to see him every day; and Yorkshire Tom said it was not wicked, so that I didn’t have to tell a lie; and you never asked me anything about Primrose, and so I didn’t have to say anything. And we meant to keep him always tied up, and he has got away to-day and I’m sorry, grandma; but I hope you won’t make me shoot him now, because he’s so big; and all I’m afraid of is that somebody else will shoot him—”
And Tim skipped off as lightly as Primrose himself to caress and fondle the creature who was now no longer a fawn.
It took Granny Luke some time to believe that Primrose was not a spirit! He had to eat a whole crop of lettuces before she believed in him, but she was secretly so glad to see him that she forgave Tim, and only asked of Yorkshire Tom that he would build a more secure paling for Mr. Primrose, and also to make her a higher fence for her vegetables; all of which he did, and she forgave him, particularly as he sent her another saddle of venison, and “two steaks from the hind leg,” of another deer which he had shot, assuring her that Primrose was still too young to make good venison.
BILLY’S HOUND.
(A Two-Part Story.)
BY SARA E. CHESTER.
PART I.
BILLY used to read Sir Walter Scott’s poems when he was not much larger than the book, his sisters say. From Sir Walter he received the idea that there is no such thing as a hero without his steed and hounds. Although Billy did not aim at being a hero exactly, he by no means called himself a coward; and he considered a horse and dog as necessary to a daring, manly fellow as to a regular hero.