Read Ebook: Fighting King George by McIntyre John T John Thomas Graeber J A Illustrator

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Ebook has 1554 lines and 61474 words, and 32 pages

PART I PUPPYHOOD

PART II THE HUMAN RELATIONSHIP

PART I

PUPPYHOOD

THE DOG'S BOOK OF VERSE

WE MEET AT MORN

Still half in dream, upon the stair I hear A patter coming nearer and more near, And then upon my chamber door A gentle tapping, For dogs, though proud, are poor, And if a tail will do to give command Why use a hand? And after that a cry, half sneeze, half yapping, And next a scuffle on the passage floor, And then I know the creature lies to watch Until the noiseless maid will lift the latch. And like a spring That gains its power by being tightly stayed, The impatient thing Into the room Its whole glad heart doth fling, And ere the gloom Melts into light, and window blinds are rolled, I hear a bounce upon the bed, I feel a creeping toward me--a soft head, And on my face A tender nose, and cold-- This is the way, you know, that dogs embrace-- And on my hand, like sun-warmed rose-leaves flung, The least faint flicker of the warmest tongue --And so my dog and I have met and sworn Fresh love and fealty for another morn.

HARDWICKE DRUMMOND RAWNSLEY.

THE LOST PUPPY

Say! little pup, What's up? Your tail is down And out of sight Between your legs; Why, that ain't right. Little pup, Brace up!

Say! little pup, Look up! Don't hang your head And look so sad, You're all mussed up, But you ain't mad. Little pup, Cheer up!

Say! little pup, Stir up! Is that a string Around your tail? And was it fast To a tin pail? Little pup, Git up.

Say! little pup, Talk up. Were those bad boys All after you, With sticks and stones, And tin cans, too? Little pup, Speak up!

Say! little pup, Stand up! Let's look at you; You'd be all right If you was scrubbed And shined up bright. Little pup, Jump up!

Say! little pup, Bark up! Let's hear your voice. Say, you're a brick! Now try to beg And do a trick. Little pup, Sit up!

Say! little pup, Chime up! Why, you can sing-- Now come with me; Let's wash and eat And then we'll see, Little pup, What's up!

HENRY FIRTH WOOD.

A LAUGH IN CHURCH

She sat on the sliding cushion, The dear, wee woman of four; Her feet, in their shiny slippers, Hung dangling over the floor. She meant to be good; she had promised, And so with her big, brown eyes, She stared at the meetinghouse windows And counted the crawling flies.

She looked far up at the preacher, But she thought of the honeybees Droning away at the blossoms That whitened the cherry trees. She thought of a broken basket, Where curled in a dusky heap, Four sleek, round puppies, with fringy ears. Lay snuggled and fast asleep.

Such soft, warm bodies to cuddle, Such queer little hearts to beat, Such swift round tongues to kiss, Such sprawling, cushiony feet; She could feel in her clasping fingers The touch of the satiny skin, And a cold, wet nose exploring The dimples under her chin.

Then a sudden ripple of laughter Ran over the parted lips So quick that she could not catch it With her rosy finger-tips. The people whispered "Bless the child," As each one waked from a nap, But the dear, wee woman hid her face For shame in her mother's lap.

ANONYMOUS.

TREASURES

They got a bran' new baby At Bud Hicks' house, you see. You'd think Bud Hicks had somethin' The way he talks to me! He comes around a-braggin', An' when he wouldn't quit I said: "What good's a baby? You can't hunt fleas on it."

Then Bud turned to me an' told me How loud that kid could yell, An' lots I can't remember, He had so much to tell. But I got tired o' hearin' An' so I ast him, quick, "If you wuz in a-swimmin' Could it go get a stick?"

There is no use a-talkin', Bud thinks their baby's fine! Huh! I'd a whole lot rather Jest have a pup like mine. I'll bet it's not bald-headed! But if Bud doesn't fail To let me hear it yellin', I'll let him pull Spot's tail.

ANONYMOUS.

THAT THERE LONG DOG

Funniest little feller You'd everound a corner and, at a sharp gallop, proceed up the river road. A tall, burly man rode in the midst of them; his red face was angry and fierce looking, and he carried one hand upon his sword in a manner that told his thoughts as plainly as words.

"It's Lord William Campbell, the new governor!" exclaimed Tom, with a gasp, "and they are on their way to the place where Moultrie's men are assembled."

The captain of the Defence arose to his feet.

"There is likely to be trouble," remarked he. "You climb back into your boat, nevvy, and make sail for the plantation."

"Not I!" Tom Deering drew himself up proudly. "If there is anything to be done, I am going to help."

Uncle Dick looked at him sharply for a moment; then he uttered a short laugh, that had a satisfied ring in it.

"Good lad!" cried he. "Blow my tarry old hulk, but there never was a Deering yet that wasn't always on hand when wanted." He clapped the boy proudly on the back as he spoke. "Well, come along; we've got no time to lose; the breeze is fresh and straight up the river. What kind of a sailer is that craft of yours?"

"There is not a better in these waters for the sort of wind that's blowing now."

They clambered into the skiff; Cole shoved the boat clear of the wharf and hauled up the sail. A few strokes of the paddle brought her out into the stream, Uncle Dick threw her into the wind, and away she raced up the river.

The dragoons could still be seen proceeding at their sharp pace along the river road; the black, lowering figure still rode in the midst of them, his hand still upon the hilt of his sword.

"It's good," said Tom, "that there is a ridge between the road and the river, just above there; otherwise they'd see the boats, and maybe would try to scatter them and so break up the attempt on the fort."

Captain Deering smiled.

"Moultrie is nearer than you think for, nevvy," said he. "A whistle from one of my fellows there on shore would bring a hundred men to the boats in five minutes." The skiff turned a wooded headland at this moment. "Look there; what did I tell you?"

Upon a smooth piece of ground, which the trees had hidden until they rounded the headland, was gathered the slender force of South Carolina; an awkward-looking body of men, poorly armed, and with a total lack of soldierly appearance. They were mostly planters, woodsmen and artisans who had volunteered for service to their country, without hope of pay. They wore their ordinary dress, though here and there there was an attempt at military smartness; their weapons were fowling-pieces, cutlasses, axes and the plunder of the town arsenal. They were drawn up in order and their officers were putting them through a drill.

The distance by water to this point was much shorter than by road; the skiff had lowered its sail and run its nose up on the sand before the dragoons reached the spot. Captain Deering was just about to hail the militia when there was a flash of red from amidst the green of the trees and Lord Campbell and his company came into view. So sudden was their appearance that the untrained militia would have been thrown into confusion at the bare sight of them had it not been for the sharp commands of their officers. They dressed ranks at the word and wheeled to face the dragoons. The latter had their weapons ready as they lined up on the verge of the woods; Lord Campbell, his face still dark with anger, rode forward toward a small group of officers who stood apart within easy hearing distance of where Tom stood at the water's edge.

"What body of men is this?" demanded the governor.

An officer of commanding appearance stepped forward.

"It is the authorized force of the colony of South Carolina," said he.

"Authorized!" Lord Campbell's eyes blazed. "Authorized by whom?"

"There is no power in the colony to collect armed bodies of men save my own--under the authority of the king. I command you all in the name of King George to lay down your arms and disperse!"

His angry glance swept along the gathered patriots before him; his burly frame was quivering with rage at the idea to their daring to assemble in defiance of his power and that of his royal master. But there was no movement to obey; he paused for a moment, and then in a voice choking with passion he inquired of the officers:

"Which of you is Mr. Moultrie?"

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