“To what family of insects does Blake belong?” asked peacemaker
Franz, seeing that Emil looked ashamed and Dan lowering.
“Gnats,” answered Jack.
“Why is Daisy like a bee?” cried Nat, who had been wrapt in
thought for several minutes.
“Because she is queen of the hive,” said Dan.
“No.”
“Because she is sweet.”
“Bees are not sweet.”
“Give it up.”
“Because she makes sweet things, is always busy, and likes
flowers,” said Nat, piling up his boyish compliments till Daisy
blushed like a rosy clover.
“Why is Nan like a hornet?” demanded Tommy, glowering at her,
and adding, without giving any one time to answer, “Because she
isn’t sweet, makes a great buzzing about nothing, and stings like
fury.”
“Tommy’s mad, and I’m glad,” cried Ned, as Nan tossed her head
and answered quickly
“What thing in the china-closet is Tom like?”
“A pepper pot,” answered Ned, giving Nan a nut meat with a
tantalizing laugh that made Tommy feel as if he would like to
bounce up like a hot chestnut and hit somebody.
Seeing that ill-humor was getting the better of the small supply of
wit in the company, Franz cast himself into the breach again.
“Let’s make a law that the first person who comes into the room
shall tell us a story. No matter who it is, he must do it, and it will
be fun to see who comes first.”
The others agreed, and did not have to wait long, for a heavy step
soon came clumping through the hall, and Silas appeared, bearing
an armful of wood. He was greeted by a general shout, and stood
staring about him with a bewildered grin on his big red face, till
Franz explained the joke.
“Sho! I can’t tell a story,” he said, putting down his load and
preparing to leave the room. But the boys fell upon him, forced
him into a seat, and held him there, laughing, and clamoring for
their story, till the good-natured giant was overpowered.
“I don’t know but jest one story, and that’s about a horse,” he said,
much flattered by the reception he received.
“Tell it! tell it!” cried the boys.
“Wal,” began Silas, tipping his chair back against the wall, and
putting his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, “I jined a
cavalry regiment durin’ the war, and see a consid’able amount of
fightin’. My horse, Major, was a fust-rate animal, and I was as fond
on him as ef he’d ben a human critter. He warn’t harnsome, but he
was the best-tempered, stiddyest, lovenest brute I ever see. I fust
battle we went into, he gave me a lesson that I didn’t forgit in a
hurry, and I’ll tell you how it was. It ain’t no use tryin’ to picter the
noise and hurry, and general horridness of a battle to you young
fellers, for I ain’t no words to do it in; but I’m free to confess that I
got so sort of confused and upset at the fust on it, that I didn’t know
what I was about. We was ordered to charge, and went ahead like
good ones, never stoppin’ to pick up them that went down in the
scrimmage. I got a shot in the arm, and was pitched out of the
saddle don’t know how, but there I was left behind with two or
three others, dead and wounded, for the rest went on, as I say. Wal,
I picked myself up and looked round for Major, feeling as ef I’d
had about enough for that spell. I didn’t see him nowhere, and was
kinder walking back to camp, when I heard a whinny that sounded
nateral. I looked round, and there was Major stopping for me a
long way off, and lookin’ as ef he didn’t understand why I was
loiterin’ behind. I whistled, and he trotted up to me as I’d trained
him to do. I mounted as well as I could with my left arm bleedin’
and was for going on to camp, for I declare I felt as sick and
wimbly as a woman; folks often do in their fust battle. But, no sir!
Major was the bravest of the two, and he wouldn’t go, not a peg; he