Caleb in the Country Part 13
As he pa.s.sed across the yard, he heard the sound of voices before the house. It was Dwight and David coming home from school. In a minute they appeared in view, by the great elm. Dwight had a long slender pole in his hands, which he was waving in the air, and David had a small piece of wood, and a knife. He sat down under the elm, and began to shave the wood with the knife.
Caleb ran to tell them about his squirrel; but before he got there, Dwight, seeing him, began to wave his pole in the air, and shout, and then said, "See what a n.o.ble flag-staff we have got."
"Is that your flag-staff?" said Caleb.
"Yes. John Davis gave it to us. He got it out of his father's shop. We are going to set it up out at the end of our mole."
"Yes," said David, "and I am going to make a truck on the top, to haul up the flag by. Marianne is going to make us a flag."
"A truck?" said Caleb, enquiringly.
"Yes," said David, "a little wheel to put a string over to hoist it by."
Caleb looked upon the pole, and upon David's work, for a minute in silence, and then said,
"I have got something better than a flag-staff."
"What?" asked Dwight.
"A squirrel."
"A squirrel!" said David in surprise.
"Yes," said Caleb, "a grey squirrel."
"Where is he?" said David, looking up eagerly, from his work.
"In the back-room," said Caleb. "Raymond put him in a box.--Come, and I will shew him to you."
Down went Dwight's pole, in a moment; David, too, shut his knife, and put it in his pocket, and off they went to see the squirrel.
The little nut-cracker was frightened at seeing so many eyes peeping in upon him from every crevice and opening in his box. He looked much brighter and better than he did when he was put into the box, and Caleb thought he would get entirely well.
"O, I wish I had him," said Dwight.
"I am going to keep him in a cage," said Caleb.
"I wish he was mine," said Dwight. "Why can't you give him to me, Caleb?"
"O, no," said Caleb, "I want to keep him."
"You don't know how to take care of him," said Dwight. "Come, you give him to me, and I will give you my flag-staff."
"No," said Caleb, "I don't want any flag-staff. I want to keep the squirrel."
"See, see," said David, "he is creeping along."
"O," said Dwight, "I _wish_ he was mine."
"There, he is curling up in the corner."
"Would you give him to me for my top?" said Dwight, very eagerly.
"He's going to eat that kernel of corn," said David.
"I should think you might give him to me," said Dwight, pettishly, "for that top; the top is worth a great deal the most."
After a few minutes, Dwight finding that there was no prospect of inducing Caleb to sell him the squirrel, desisted from his attempts; and then, after a moment's pause, he said,
"I don't think it is your squirrel, after all, Caleb."
"Whose is it then?"
"Raymond's. He saved it. The poor thing would have been burnt up, if he had not run and caught it up."
"No, he wouldn't," said Caleb, "I was just going to get him myself."
Dwight, having decided in his own mind that the squirrel was Raymond's, ran off to find Raymond, with the design of asking him to give the squirrel to him. But Raymond said the squirrel was Caleb's.
"But you caught him," said Dwight.
"Yes, but I caught him for Caleb, not for myself."
"And you fixed the box to bring him home in," said Dwight.
"I know it, but I only did it to please Caleb. The squirrel is his altogether."
So Dwight had to return disappointed.
When Caleb came in, Mary Anna was putting up her work, and arranging her things neatly in her drawer.
"Well, Caleb," said she, "and what did Raymond say?"
"O, he said it was mine," replied Caleb.
"What was yours?" said Mary Anna.
"The squirrel."
"The squirrel!" repeated Mary Anna; "you went to ask him what sort of a boy you had been."
"O!" said Caleb--"there!--I forgot all about that. I'll run and ask him now."
"No,--stop," said Mary Anna; "it is time for supper now; and besides, I will take your word for it; you are a pretty honest boy. You say you was a pleasant boy all day."
"Yes," said Caleb, "I was." He had forgotten his _feelings_ of ill-humour, when Raymond would not come and light his fire.
"And you think I ought to make you a picture book for a reward."