The Dog Crusoe and His Master | Page 8

from his agonized throat could only be compared, as
Joe Blunt expressed it, "to the last dyin' screech o' a bustin' steam
biler!" We cannot say that the effect was startling, for these
backwoodsmen had been born and bred in the midst of alarms, and
were so used to them that a "bustin' steam biler" itself, unless it had
blown them fairly off their legs, would not have startled them. But the
effect, such as it was, was sufficient to disconcert the aim of Jim
Scraggs, who fired at the same instant, and missed the nail by a
hair's-breadth.
'Turning round in towering wrath, Scraggs aimed a kick at the poor pup,
which, had it taken effect, would certainly have terminated the innocent
existence of that remarkable dog on the spot; but quick as lightning
Henri interposed the butt of his rifle, and Jim's shin met it with a
violence that caused him to howl with rage and pain.
"Oh! pardon me, broder," cried Henri, shrinking back, with the drollest
expression of mingled pity and glee.
Jim's discretion, on this occasion, was superior to his valour; he turned
away with a coarse expression of anger and left the ground.
Meanwhile the major handed the silver rifle to young Varley. "It
couldn't have fallen into better hands," he said. "You'll do it credit, lad,
I know that full well; and let me assure you it will never play you false.
Only keep it clean, don't overcharge it, aim true, and it will never miss
the mark."
While the hunters crowded round Dick to congratulate him and

examine the piece, he stood with a mingled feeling of bashfulness and
delight at his unexpected good fortune. Recovering himself suddenly,
he seized his old rifle, and dropping quietly to the outskirts of the
crowd, while the men were still busy handling and discussing the
merits of the prize, went up, unobserved, to a boy of about thirteen
years of age, and touched him on the shoulder.
"Here, Marston, you know I often said ye should have the old rifle
when I was rich enough to get a new one. Take it now, lad. It's come to
ye sooner than either o' us expected."
"Dick," said the boy, grasping his friend's hand warmly, "ye're true as
heart of oak. It's good of 'ee; that's a fact."
"Not a bit, boy; it costs me nothin' to give away an old gun that I've no
use for, an's worth little, but it makes me right glad to have the chance
to do it."
Marston had longed for a rifle ever since he could walk; but his
prospects of obtaining one were very poor indeed at that time, and it is
a question whether he did not at that moment experience as much joy in
handling the old piece as his friend felt in shouldering the prize.
A difficulty now occurred which had not before been thought of. This
was no less than the absolute refusal of Dick Varley's canine property
to follow him. Fan had no idea of changing masters without her consent
being asked or her inclination being consulted.
"You'll have to tie her up for a while, I fear," said the major.
"No fear," answered the youth. "Dog natur's like human natur'!"
Saying this he seized Crusoe by the neck, stuffed him comfortably into
the bosom of his hunting-shirt, and walked rapidly away with the prize
rifle on his shoulder.
Fan had not bargained for this. She stood irresolute, gazing now to the
right and now to the left, as the major retired in one direction and Dick

with Crusoe in another. Suddenly Crusoe, who, although comfortable
in body, was ill at ease in spirit, gave utterance to a melancholy howl.
The mother's love instantly prevailed. For one moment she pricked up
her ears at the sound, and then, lowering them, trotted quietly after her
new master, and followed him to his cottage on the margin of the lake.
CHAPTER III.
_Speculative remarks with which the reader may or may not agree--An
old woman--Hopes and wishes commingled with hard facts--The dog
Crusoe's education begun_.
It is pleasant to look upon a serene, quiet, humble face. On such a face
did Richard Varley look every night when he entered his mother's
cottage. Mrs. Varley was a widow, and she had followed the fortunes of
her brother, Daniel Hood, ever since the death of her husband. Love for
her only brother induced her to forsake the peaceful village of
Maryland and enter upon the wild life of a backwoods settlement.
Dick's mother was thin, and old, and wrinkled, but her face was
stamped with a species of beauty which never fades--the beauty of a
loving look. Ah! the brow of snow and the peach-bloom cheek may
snare the heart