The Louisa Alcott Reader by Louisa M. Alcott

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"I set the trap down there, for I saw a hole among the vines, and I
shouldn't wonder if we got a rabbit or something," said Tommy, when the
last bone was polished. "You go and catch some more fish, and I'll see if
I have caught any old chap as he went home to dinner."

Off ran Tommy; and the other boy went slowly back to the brook, wishing
with all his might he was at home eating sweet corn and berry pie.

The trout had evidently gone to their dinners, for not one bite did poor
Billy get; and he was just falling asleep when a loud shout gave him such
a fright that he tumbled into the brook up to his knees.

"I've got him! Come and see! He's a bouncer," roared Tommy, from the berry
bushes some way off.

Billy scrambled out, and went as fast as his wet boots would let him, to
see what the prize was. He found Tommy dancing wildly round a fat gray
animal, who was fighting to get his paws out of the trap, and making a
queer noise as he struggled about.

"What is it?" asked Billy, getting behind a tree as fast as possible, for
the thing looked fierce, and he was very timid.

"A raccoon, I guess, or a big woodchuck. Won't his fur make a fine cap? I
guess the other fellows will wish they'd come with us." said Tommy,
prancing to and fro, without the least idea what to do with the creature.

"He'll bite. We'd better run away and wait till he's dead," said Billy.

"Wish he'd got his head in, then I could carry him off; but he does look
savage, so we'll have to leave him awhile, and get him when we come back.
But he's a real beauty." And Tommy looked proudly at the bunch of gray fur
scuffling in the sand.

"Can we ever eat him?" asked hungry Billy, ready for a fried crocodile if
he could get it.

"If he's a raccoon, we can; but I don't know about woodchucks. The fellows
in my books don't seem to have caught any. He's nice and fat; we might try
him when he's dead," said Tommy, who cared more for the skin to show than
the best meal ever cooked.

The sound of a gun echoing through the wood gave Tommy a good idea,--

"Let's find the man and get him to shoot this chap; then we needn't wait,
but skin him right away, and eat him too."

Off they went to the camp; and catching up their things, the two hunters
hurried away in the direction of the sound, feeling glad to know that some
one was near them, for two or three hours of wood life made them a little
homesick.

They ran and scrambled, and listened and called; but not until they had
gone a long way up the mountain did they find the man, resting in an old
hut left by the lumbermen. The remains of his dinner were spread on the
floor, and he lay smoking, and reading a newspaper, while his dog dozed at
his feet, close to a well-filled game-bag.

He looked surprised when two dirty, wet little boys suddenly appeared
before him,--one grinning cheerfully, the other looking very dismal and
scared as the dog growled and glared at them as if they were two rabbits.

"Hollo!" said the man

"Hollo!" answered Tommy.

"Who are you?" asked the man.

"Hunters," said Tommy.

"Had good luck?" And the man laughed.

"First-rate. Got a raccoon in our trap, and we want you to come and shoot
him," answered Tommy, proudly.

"Sure?" said the man, looking interested as well as amused.

"No, but I think so."

"What's he like?"

Tommy described him, and was much disappointed when the man lay down
again, saying, with another laugh,--

"It's a woodchuck; he's no good."

"But I want the skin."

"Then don't shoot him, let him die; that's better for the skin," said the
man, who was tired and didn't want to stop for such poor game.

All this time Billy had been staring hard at the sandwiches and bread and
cheese on the floor, and sniffing at them, as the dog sniffed at him.

"Want some grub?" asked the man, seeing the hungry look.

"I just do! We left our lunch, and I've only had two little trout and some
old berries since breakfast," answered Billy, with tears in his eyes and a
hand on his stomach.

"Eat away then; I'm done, and don't want the stuff." And the man took up
his paper as if glad to be let alone.

It was lucky that the dog had been fed, for in ten minutes nothing was
left but the napkin; and the boys sat picking up the crumbs, much
refreshed, but ready for more.

"Better be going home, my lads; it's pretty cold on the mountain after
sunset, and you are a long way from town," said the man, who had peeped at
them over his paper now and then, and saw, in spite of the dirt and rips,
that they were not farmer boys.

"We don't live in town; we are at Mullin's, in the valley. No hurry; we
know the way, and we want to have some sport first. You seem to have done
well," answered Tommy, looking enviously from the gun to the game-bag, out
of which hung a rabbit's head and a squirrel's tail.

"Pretty fair; but I want a shot at the bear. People tell me there is one
up here, and I'm after him; for he kills the sheep, and might hurt some of
the young folks round here," said the man, loading his gun with a very
sober air; for he wanted to get rid of the boys and send them home.

Billy looked alarmed; but Tommy's brown face beamed with joy as he said
eagerly,--

"I hope you'll get him. I'd rather shoot a bear than any other animal but
a lion. We don't have those here, and bears are scarce. Mullin said he
hadn't heard of one for a long time; so this must be a young one, for they
killed the big one two years ago."

That was true, and the man knew it. He did not really expect or want to
meet a bear, but thought the idea of one would send the little fellows
home at once. Finding one of them was unscared, he laughed, and said with
a nod to Tommy,--

"If I had time I'd take _you_ along, and show you how to hunt; but
this fat friend of yours couldn't rough it with us, and we can't leave him
alone; so go ahead your own way. Only I wouldn't climb any higher, for
among the rocks you are sure to get hurt or lost."

"Oh, I say, let's go! Such fun, Billy! I know you'll like it. A real gun
and dog and hunter! Come on, and don't be a molly-coddle," cried Tommy,
wild to go.

"I won't! I'm tired, and I'm going home; you can go after your old bears
if you want to. I don't think much of hunting anyway, and wish I hadn't
come," growled Billy, very cross at being left out, yet with no desire to
scramble any more.

"Can't stop. Good-by. Get along home, and some day I'll come and take you
out with me, little Leatherstocking," said the man, striding off with the
dear gun and dog and bag, leaving Billy to wonder what he meant by that
queer name, and Tommy to console himself with the promise made him.

"Let's go and see how old Chucky gets on," he said good-naturedly, when
the man vanished.

"Not till I'm rested. I can get a good nap on this pile of hay; then we'll
go home before it's late," answered lazy Billy, settling himself on the
rough bed the lumbermen had used.

"I just wish I had a boy with some go in him; you ain't much better than a
girl," sighed Tommy, walking off to a pine-tree where some squirrels
seemed to be having a party, they chattered and raced up and down at such
a rate.

He tried his bow and shot all his arrows many times in vain, for the
lively creatures gave him no chance. He had better luck with a brown bird
who sat in a bush and was hit full in the breast with the sharpest arrow.
The poor thing fluttered and fell, and its blood wet the green leaves as
it lay dying on the grass. Tommy was much pleased at first; but as he
stood watching its bright eye grow dim and its pretty brown wings stop
fluttering, he felt sorry that its happy little life was so cruelly ended,
and ashamed that his thoughtless fun had given so much pain.

"I'll never shoot another bird except hawks after chickens, and I won't
brag about this one. It was so tame, and trusted me, I was very mean to
kill it."

As he thought this, Tommy smoothed the ruffled feathers of the dead
thrush, and, making a little grave under the pine, buried it wrapped in
green leaves, and left it there where its mate could sing over it, and no
rude hands disturb its rest.

"I'll tell mamma and she will understand: but I _won't_ tell Billy.
He is such a greedy old chap he'll say I ought to have kept the poor bird
to eat," thought Tommy, as he went back to the hut, and sat there,
restringing his bow, till Billy woke up, much more amiable for his sleep.

They tried to find the woodchuck, but lost their way, and wandered deeper
into the great forest till they came to a rocky place and could go no
farther. They climbed up and tumbled down, turned back and went round,
looked at the sun and knew it was late, chewed sassafras bark and
checkerberry leaves for supper, and grew more and more worried and tired
as hour after hour went by and they saw no end to woods and rocks. Once or
twice they heard the hunter's gun far away, and called and tried to find
him.

Tommy scolded Billy for not going with the man, who knew his way and was
probably safe in the valley when the last faint shot came up to them.
Billy cried, and reproached Tommy for proposing to run away; and both felt
very homesick for their mothers and their good safe beds at Farmer
Mullin's.

The sun set, and found them in a dreary place full of rocks and blasted
trees half-way up the mountain. They were so tired they could hardly walk,
and longed to lie down anywhere to sleep; but, remembering the hunter's
story of the bear, they were afraid to do it, till Tommy suggested
climbing a tree, after making a fire at the foot of it to scare away the
bear, lest he climb too and get them.

But, alas! the matches were left in their first camp; so they decided to
take turns to sleep and watch, since it was plain that they must spend the
night there. Billy went up first, and creeping into a good notch of the
bare tree tried to sleep, while brave Tommy, armed with a big stick,
marched to and fro below. Every few minutes a trembling voice would call
from above, "Is anything coming?" and an anxious voice would answer from
below, "Not yet. Hurry up and go to sleep! I want my turn."

At last Billy began to snore, and then Tommy felt so lonely he couldn't
bear it; so he climbed to a lower branch, and sat nodding and trying to
keep watch, till he too fell fast asleep, and the early moon saw the poor
boys roosting there like two little owls.

A loud cry, a scrambling overhead, and then a great shaking and howling
waked Tommy so suddenly that he lost his wits for a moment and did not
know where he was.

"The bear! the bear! don't let him get me! Tommy, Tommy, come and make him
let go," cried Billy, filling the quiet night with dismal howls.

Tommy looked up, expecting to behold a large bear eating his unhappy
friend; but the moonlight showed him nothing but poor Billy dangling from
a bough, high above the ground, caught by his belt when he fell. He had
been dreaming of bears, and rolled off his perch; so there he hung,
kicking and wailing, half awake, and so scared it was long before Tommy
could make him believe that he was quite safe.

How to get him down was the next question. The branch was not strong
enough to bear Tommy, though he climbed up and tried to unhook poor Billy.
The belt was firmly twisted at the back, and Billy could not reach to undo
it, nor could he get his legs round the branch to pull himself up. There
seemed no way but to unbuckle the belt and drop. That he was afraid to
try; for the ground was hard, and the fall a high one. Fortunately both
belt and buckle were strong; so he hung safely, though very uncomfortably,
while Tommy racked his boyish brain to find a way to help him.

Billy had just declared that he should be cut in two very soon if
something was not done for him, and Tommy was in despair, when they
thought they heard a far-off shout, and both answered it till their
throats were nearly split with screaming.

"I seem to see a light moving round down that way," cried Billy from his
hook, pointing toward the valley.

"They are looking for us, but they won't hear us. I'll run and holler
louder, and bring 'em up here," answered Tommy, glad to do anything that
would put an end to this dreadful state of things.

"Don't leave me! I may fall and be killed! The bear might come! Don't go!
don't go!" wailed Billy, longing to drop, but afraid.

"I won't go far, and I'll come back as quick as I can. You are safe up
there. Hold on, and we'll soon get you down," answered Tommy, rushing
away helter-skelter, never minding where he went, and too much excited to
care for any damage.

The moon was bright on the blasted trees; but when he came down among the
green pines, it grew dark, and he often stumbled and fell. Never minding
bumps and bruises, he scrambled over rocks, leaped fallen trunks,
floundered through brooks, and climbed down steep places, till, with a
reckless jump, he went heels over head into a deep hole, and lay there for
a moment stunned by the fall. It was an old bear-trap, long unused, and
fortunately well carpeted with dead leaves, or poor Tommy would have
broken his bones.

When he came to himself he was so used up that he lay still for some time
in a sort of daze, too tired to know or care about anything, only dimly
conscious that somebody was lost in a tree or a well, and that, on the
whole, running away was not all fun.

By and by the sound of a gun roused him; and remembering poor Billy, he
tried to get out of the pit,--for the moon showed him where he was. But it
was too deep, and he was too stiff with weariness and the fall to be very
nimble. So he shouted, and whistled, and raged about very like a little
bear caught in the pit.

It is very difficult to find a lost person on these great mountains, and
many wander for hours not far from help, bewildered by the thick woods,
the deep ravines, and precipices which shut them in. Some have lost their
lives; and as Tommy lay on the leaves used up by his various struggles, he
thought of all the stories he had lately heard at the farm, and began to
wonder how it would feel to starve to death down there, and to wish poor
Billy could come to share his prison, that they might die together, like
the Babes in the Wood, or better still the Boy Scouts lost on the prairies
in that thrilling story, "Bill Boomerang, the Wild Hunter of the West."

"I guess mother is worried this time, because I never stayed out all night
before, and I never will again without leave. It's rather good fun,
though, if they only find me. I ain't afraid, and it isn't very cold. I
always wanted to sleep out, and now I'm doing it. Wish poor Billy was
safely down and in this good bed with me. Won't he be scared all alone
there? Maybe the belt will break and he get hurt bumping down. Sorry now I
left him, he's such a 'fraid-cat. There's the gun again! Guess it's that
man after us. Hi! hollo! Here I am! Whoop! Hurrah! Hi! hi! hi!"

Tommy's meditations ended in a series of yells as loud as his shrill
little voice could make them, and he thought some one answered. But it
must have been an echo, for no one came; and after another rampage round
his prison, the poor boy nestled down among the leaves, and went fast
asleep because there was nothing else to do.

So there they were, the two young hunters, lost at midnight on the
mountain,--one hanging like an apple on the old tree, and the other sound
asleep in a bear-pit. Their distracted mothers meantime were weeping and
wringing their hands at the farm, while all the men in the neighborhood
were out looking for the lost boys. The hunter on his return to the hotel
had reported meeting the runaways and his effort to send them home in good
season; so people knew where to look, and, led by the man and dog, up the
mountain went Mr. Mullin with his troop. It was a mild night, and the moon
shone high and clear; so the hunt was, on the whole, rather easy and
pleasant at first, and lanterns flashed through the dark forest like
fireflies, the lonely cliffs seemed alive with men, and voices echoed in
places where usually only the brooks babbled and the hawks screamed. But
as time went on, and no sign of the boys appeared, the men grew anxious,
and began to fear some serious harm had come to the runaways.

"I can't go home without them little shavers no way, 'specially Tommy,"
said Mr. Mullin, as they stopped to rest after a hard climb through the
blasted grove. "He's a boy after my own heart, spry as a chipmunk, smart
as a young cockerel, and as full of mischief as a monkey. He ain't afraid
of anything, and I shouldn't be a mite surprised to find him enjoyin'
himself first-rate, and as cool as a coocumber."

"The fat boy won't take it so easily, I fancy. If it hadn't been for him
I'd have kept the lively fellow with me, and shown him how to hunt. Sorry
now I didn't take them both home," said the man with the gun, seeing his
mistake too late, as people often do.

"Maybe they've fell down a precipice and got killed, like Moses Warner,
when he was lost," suggested a tall fellow, who had shouted himself
hoarse.

"Hush up, and come on! The dog is barkin' yonder, and he may have found
'em," said the farmer, hurrying toward the place where the hound was
baying at something in a tree.

It was poor Billy, hanging there still, half unconscious with weariness
and fear. The belt had slipped up under his arms, so he could breathe
easily; and there he was, looking like a queer sort of cone on the blasted
pine.

"Wal, I never!" exclaimed the farmer, as the tall lad climbed up, and,
unhooking Billy, handed him down like a young bird, into the arms held up
to catch him.

"He's all right, only scared out of his wits. Come along and look for the
other one. I'll warrant he went for help, and may be half-way home by this
time," said the hunter, who didn't take much interest in the fat boy.

Tommy's hat lay on the ground; and showing it to the dog, his master told
him to find the boy. The good hound sniffed about, and then set off with
his nose to the ground, following the zigzag track Tommy had taken in his
hurry. The hunter and several of the men went after him, leaving the
farmer with the others to take care of Billy.

Presently the dog came to the bear-pit, and began to bark again.

"He's got him!" cried the men, much relieved; and rushing on soon saw the
good beast looking down at a little white object in one corner of the dark
hole.

It was Tommy's face in the moonlight, for the rest of him was covered up
with leaves. The little round face seemed very quiet; and for a moment the
men stood quite still, fearing that the fall might have done the boy some
harm. Then the hunter leaped down, and gently touched the brown cheek. It
was warm, and a soft snore from the pug nose made the man call out, much
relieved,--

"He's all right. Wake up here, little chap; you are wanted at home. Had
hunting enough for this time?"

As he spoke, Tommy opened his eyes, gave a stretch, and said, "Hollo,
Billy," as calmly as if in his own bed at home. Then the rustle of the
leaves, the moonlight in his face, and the sight of several men staring
down at him startled him wide awake.

"Did you shoot the big bear?" he asked, looking up at the hunter with a
grin.

"No; but I caught a little one, and here he is," answered the man, giving
Tommy a roll in the leaves, much pleased because he did not whine or make
a fuss.

"Got lost, didn't we? Oh, I say, where's Billy? I left him up a tree like
a coon, and he wouldn't come down," laughed Tommy, kicking off his brown
bed-clothes, and quite ready to get up now.

They all laughed with him; and presently, when the story was told, they
pulled the boy out of the pit, and went back to join the other wanderer,
who was now sitting up eating the bread and butter Mrs. Mullin sent for
their very late supper.

The men roared again, as the two boys told their various tribulations; and
when they had been refreshed, the party started for home, blowing the tin
horns, and firing shot after shot to let the scattered searchers know that
the lost children were found. Billy was very quiet, and gladly rode on the
various broad backs offered for his use, but Tommy stoutly refused to be
carried, and with an occasional "boost" over a very rough place, walked
all the way down on his own sturdy legs. He was the hero of the adventure,
and was never tired of relating how he caught the woodchuck, cooked the
fish, slid down the big rock, and went to bed in the old bear-pit. But in
his own little mind he resolved to wait till he was older before he tried
to be a hunter; and though he caught several wood-chucks that summer, he
never shot another harmless little bird.

[Illustration: A wasp flew out and stung her lips.]

VIII.

THE FAIRY BOX.

"I wish I had a magic bracelet like Rosamond's, that would prick me when I
was going to do wrong," said little May, as she put down the story she had
been reading.

There was no one else in the room, but she heard a sweet voice sing these
words close to her ear:--

"Now hark, little May,
If you want to do right,
Under your pillow
Just look every night.
If you have been good
All through the day,
A gift you will find,
Useful or gay;
But if you have been
Cross, selfish, or wild,
A bad thing will come
For the naughty child.
So try, little dear,
And soon you will see
How easy and sweet
To grow good it will be."

May was very much surprised at this, and looked everywhere to see who
spoke, but could find no one.

"I guess I dreamed it; but my eyes are wide open, and I can't make up
poetry, asleep or awake."

As she said that, some one laughed; and the same voice sang again,--

"Ha, ha, you can't see,
Although I am here;
But listen to what
I say in your ear.
Tell no one of this.
Because, if you do,
My fun will be spoilt,
And so will yours too.
But if you are good,
And patient, and gay,
A real fairy will come
To see little May."

"Oh, how splendid that will be! I'll try hard, and be as good as an angel
if I can only get one peep at a live fairy. I always said there were such
people, and now I shall know how they look," cried the little girl, so
pleased that she danced all about the room, clapping her hands.

Something bright darted out of the window from among the flowers that
stood there, and no more songs were heard; so May knew that the elf had
gone.

"I've got a fine secret all to myself, and I'll keep it carefully. I
wonder what present will come to-night," she said, thinking this a very
interesting play.

She was very good all day, and made no fuss about going to bed, though
usually she fretted, and wanted to play, and called for water, and plagued
poor Nursey in many ways. She got safely into her little nest, and then
was in such a hurry to see what was under her pillow that she forgot, and
called out crossly,--

"Do hurry and go away. Don't wait to hang up my clothes, you slow old
thing! Go, go!"

That hurt Nurse's feelings, and she went away without her good-night kiss.
But May didn't care, and felt under her pillow the minute the door was
shut. A lamp was always left burning; so she could see the little gold box
she drew out.

"How pretty! I hope there is some candy in it," she said, opening it very
carefully.

Oh, dear! what _do_ you think happened? A wasp flew out and stung her
lips; then both wasp and box vanished, and May was left to cry alone, with
a sharp pain in the lips that said the unkind words.

"What a dreadful present! I don't like that spiteful fairy who sends such
horrid things," she sobbed.

Then she lay still and thought about it; for she dared not call any one,
because nobody must guess the secret. She knew in her own little heart
that the cross words hurt Nursey as the sting did her lips, and she felt
sorry. At once the smart got better, and by the time she had resolved to
ask the good old woman to forgive her, it was all gone.

Next morning she kissed Nursey and begged pardon, and tried hard to be
good till tea-time; then she ran to see what nice things they were going
to have to eat, though she had often been told not to go into the dining-
room. No one was there; and on the table stood a dish of delicious little
cakes, all white like snowballs.

"I must have just a taste, and I'll tell mamma afterward," she said; and
before she knew it one little cake was eaten all up.

"Nobody will miss it, and I can have another at tea. Now, a lump of sugar
and a sip of cream before mamma comes, I so like to pick round."

Having done one wrong thing, May felt like going on; so she nibbled and
meddled with all sorts of forbidden things till she heard a step, then she
ran away; and by and by, when the bell rang, came in with the rest as prim
and proper as if she did not know how to play pranks. No one missed the
cake, and her mother gave her another, saying,--

"There, dear, is a nice plummy one for my good child."

May turned red, and wanted to tell what she had done, but was ashamed
because there was company; and people thought she blushed like a modest
little girl at being praised.

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