You may be sure we had a great many praises and a sumptuous dinner for our favorite, on his return.
Hawks had for years been a great pest to poultry raising, and even mamma espoused Jack’s cause after his successful battle with the rapacious foe.
And during Jack’s life, not another chicken was molested by the hawks, as he kept a vigilant watch, and attacked every one that dared to venture near the premises.
He even won the good-will of papa, by keeping rigidly aloof from the corn-field; but grandma was still fearful lest he might do some damage to the garden.
She was very careful of her early vegetables, and the garden-spot was paled in, to keep the chickens and rabbits from making depredations on the early lettuce, peas and cabbages.
But no fence would keep Jack out. Like the wind, he went “wherever he listeth.”
Much to our relief, however, he did not offer to molest the vegetables, but did good service in picking up the insects and cut-worms, which are usually such a pest about a garden.
When he fell to devouring the squash-bugs, which were sapping the life of the “Boston Marrows,” grandma’s last prejudice was overcome, and she declared that Jack was worth his weight in gold.
After that, she never went to the garden without calling Jack, who would give an answering “caw!” and hop gravely after her, or perch on her shoulder with all the confidence of a privileged favorite.
As long as he lived, Jack continued to grow in the good opinion of the household. But, alas! he could not live forever.