“Do you consider that a sufficient reason for neglecting to answer the letters of your friends?” inquired Marcus.
“No,” replied Oscar.
“Neither do I,” continued Marcus. “So I think you had better sit right down and attend to your correspondence, to-day, instead of getting any lessons. You will have time enough to write all four of the letters. You had better go to your chamber, where you will be out of the way of interruption. You have paper and ink, I believe?”
“Yes,” responded Oscar.
“That reminds me of something else, that I want to say to you,” added Marcus. “I have noticed within a few days that you are getting in the habit of saying ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ ‘what?’ etc., when speaking to your elders. I noticed it yesterday, when you were talking with Mr. Burr, and I have heard you speak to mother and Aunt Fanny in the same way. It is a little thing, I know, but it always sounds unpleasantly to my ears. It is disrespectful, and shows ill breeding. Somehow, I am very apt to form a bad opinion of a boy or girl who speaks in that way. It is my opinion that many a boy has missed a good situation, by just saying ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ or ‘what?’ when he applied for a place, instead of ‘yes, sir,’ ‘no, sir,’ or ‘what, sir?’ That is worth thinking of, if there were no other motive; don’t you see it is?”
“Yes—sir,” replied Oscar, nearly forgetting the very word they were talking about.
“So far as I am concerned, personally,” continued Marcus, “I have no claim to be sirred by you, as there is a difference of only a few years in our ages. Still, as your example will have much influence over Ronald, I thought I had better mention the subject to you. Besides, I may become your teacher in a few weeks, and you know ‘Master Page’ will have to stand upon his dignity a little, in the schoolroom, whether ‘Cousin Marcus’ chooses to or not. At any rate, I hope you will try to speak respectfully to older people, if you do not to me. There, I wont detain you any longer—you can go to work on your letters as soon as you please.”
Oscar went to his room, and, having arranged his paper, ink and pen, sat down by the open window, for it was a mild Indian-summer day. He first read over the letters he was to answer, and then began to think what he should write in reply. But, failing to keep his mind upon the subject before him, his thoughts gradually wandered off, until he quite forgot the business in hand. As he sat in a dreamy mood, gazing upon the hills, prominent among which was Prescott’s Peak, with its signal still erect, he descried a large bird sailing majestically through the air, nearly overhead. It was at a great height, but as it approached the hills it descended, and disappeared in the woods near their base. A few minutes afterward it again soared aloft, and, wheeling around the Peak, as if taking an observation of the monument which the boys had erected, it appeared to descend near the summit, where Oscar finally lost sight of it.
Oscar was satisfied that the strange bird was an eagle, and as he sat patiently watching for its reappearance, he thought what a fine shot it offered, and imagined himself on the mountain, gun in hand, stealthily pursuing the noble game. Now it alights upon a tall tree, within rifle-shot. Cautiously the boy-hunter takes aim; “crack!” goes the fowling-piece; and down tumbles the monarch of the air, crashing through the branches of the tree. His feathers are stained with blood; but his fierce eye flashes defiance at his murderer, as he approaches, and with his powerful wing he well-nigh breaks the arm that is stretched out to secure him. After a desperate struggle, he is despatched by a blow from the butt of the weapon, and is borne home in triumph—a heavy task—to the wonder and admiration of the whole neighborhood.
