THE VAGABOND'S ROCK.
JOHN NORTON'S VAGABOND.
I.
A cabin. A cabin in the woods. Of it I have written before, and of it I write again. The same great fireplace piled high with logs fiercely ablaze. Again on either side of the fireplace are the hounds gazing meditatively into the fire. The same big table, and on it the same great book, leather-bound and worn by the hands of many generations. And at the strong table, bending over the sacred book, with one huge finger marking a sentence, the same whitened head, the same man, large of limb and large of feature—John Norton, the Trapper.
"Yis, pups," said the Trapper, speaking to his dogs as one speaks to companions in council, "yis, pups, it must go in, for here it be writ in the Book—Rover, ye needn't have that detarmined look in yer eye—for here it be writ in the Book, I say, 'Do unto others as ye would that others should do unto you.'
"I know, old dog, that ye have seed me line the sights on the vagabonds, when ye and me have ketched 'em pilferin' the traps or tamperin' with the line, and I have trusted yer nose as often as my own eyes in trackin' the knaves when they'd got the start of us. And I will admit it, Rover, that the Lord gave ye a great gift in yer nose, so that ye be able to desarn the difference atween the scent of an honest trapper's moccasin and that of a vagabond. But that isn't to the p'int, Rover. The p'int is, Christmas be comin' and ye and me and Sport, yender, have sot it down that we're to have a dinner, and the question in council to-night is, Who shall we invite to our dinner? Here we have been arguin' the matter three nights atween us, pups, and we didn't git a foot ahead, and the reason that we didn't git a foot ahead was, because ye and me, Rover, naterally felt alike, for we have never consorted with vagabonds, and we couldn't bear the idee of invitin' 'em to this cabin and eatin' with 'em. So, ye and me agreed to-night we'd go to the Book and go by the Book, hit or miss. And the reason we should go to the Book and by the Book is, because, ef it wasn't for the Book, there wouldn't be any Christmas nor any Christmas dinner to invite anyone to, and so we went to the Book, and the Book says—I will read ye the words, Rover. And, Sport, though ye be a younger dog, and naterally of less jedgment, yit ye have yer gifts, and I have seed ye straighten out a trail that Rover and me couldn't ontangle. So do ye listen, both of ye, like honest dogs, while I read the words:—
"'Give to him that lacketh and from him that hath not withhold not thine hand.'