A CRYING SPELL.[ToList]
Time passed on—days, weeks, and even months, came and went—but Mike did not "pay off" the boy who had so unjustly abused him. His companions urged him to do it, until they got out of patience, and concluded to give the matter up.
As for Jake, it was as much as he could do to look Mike in the face. He avoided him, as much as possible, and seemed to be unhappy whenever he came near him. But Mike, on his part, treated the boy who had injured him just as if nothing had happened.
I have often noticed, that where there has been any difficulty between two persons, the one who was at fault is more apt to cherish unkind feelings than the one who was innocent. It was so in this case. Jacob treated Michael as if it were Michael rather than himself, who had been in the wrong. He never spoke to him, when he could help it; and when he did say any thing to him, he spoke peevishly, and pressed the words between his teeth, as if he had the lockjaw.
One day, during that interesting season of the year when the farmers are busy making hay, Jake had occasion to pass through Mr. Marble's meadow, with his fishing rod, on his way to the "deep hole," where, as every body in the neighborhood knew, multitudes of sun fish and perch were always to be found, ready for a nice bit of an angle-worm.
Jake, being a little thirsty—for it was a very warm day—went up to the tree under which Mr. Marble kept the refreshments for his hired men, and took up the wooden bottle to drink. There was nothing wrong, perhaps, in the liberty he took, though I think it would have been quite as well, if he had asked Mr. Marble's consent in the first place. But we will let that pass. Jake had a different way of doing things.
As I said, he took up the bottle to drink. But the moment he did so, Ranter, Mr. Marble's old dog, who lay under the tree, where he had been stationed to keep watch, thinking his master's property was in danger, flew at the boy, and caught him by the arm. Poor Jake! he yelled lustily, you may be sure. But it did no good. Ranter held him in his jaws, as tight as if he were a woodchuck or a rabbit, instead of a school-boy.
Mike was spreading hay, at the time, some twenty yards off, or more and hearing the boy crying for help, and looking in the direction from which the voice came, he saw Jake fast in the clutches of the dog. In an instant he shouted, as loud as he could scream, "Here, Ranter! here, Ranter!" and in another instant, Ranter let go of the poor boy, and bounded away towards his young master.
Jake, as you may suppose, and as Mike found, when he went to him, was very badly bitten. The blood ran from his arm quite as freely as it did from Mike's nose, some time before that.