Oscar Part 19

"There, I believe that's all," said Clinton, as he cast his eye over the tree; "now come and see my turkeys."

Jerry slyly winked at Oscar, and both thought of the Shanghae rooster's letter; but they said nothing, and followed Clinton to a tree near the barn, where there was a large, motherly hen, surrounded by her happy brood. They were young turkeys, but it was all the same to the poor simple hen. She had set four weeks upon the eggs from which they were hatched, and no wonder she honestly believed they were her own children. To confess the truth, they did look so much like chickens, that a city boy like Oscar would hardly have suspected they were turkeys, if he had not been told that they were. They were black, and of about the size of chickens of their age. They had also the sharp, piping cry of genuine chickens. But their necks were a little longer than usual, and that was almost the only badge of their turkeyhood.

The hen was confined to the tree by a string, to prevent her roving off. A barrel turned upon its side, served them for a house at night.

There was another hen, confined under a tree near by, which was the proud mother of a large brood of chickens. There were about twenty-five of them, but though they now const.i.tuted one brood, they were hatched by two hens. Clinton said he usually managed to set two hens together, so that one of them might bring up all the chickens, thereby saving some trouble for himself, as well as one hen's time, which was of some value to him. Hens do not seem to have much knowledge of arithmetic, and biddy was apparently unconscious of any difference between twelve and five-and-twenty.

A loud and prolonged "c.o.c.k-a-doodle-do-o-o-o" now attracted Oscar to the hen-yard near by, behind the barn, where the rest of Clinton's poultry were confined. It was a large enclosure, connected with a shed, in which the fowls roosted and laid their eggs. Its occupants, and indeed all the poultry on the place were the exclusive property of Clinton, and he took the entire management of them in his own hands.

He raised the corn they consumed on a patch of ground his father gave him for the purpose. He sold his eggs, chickens, and turkeys to whom he pleased, and kept a regular account in a book of all his business transactions. Of course, all the money he made was his own, and he told Oscar he had nearly seventy-five dollars in the bank, which he had earned in this way.

"I don't see how you do it," said Jerry; "I could n't make anything that way if I should try. I don't believe our hens more than pay their way, if they do that."

"If you should manage as I do, I guess you would make something,"

replied Clinton.

"No, it isn't my luck," said Jerry; "if I worked ever so hard, I should n't be any better off for it."

"I don't believe that," said Clinton; "there 's no luck about it. Any boy could make out just as well as I have done, if he took the same trouble. You try it, now, and see."

"No, I shan't try, for I know just as well as I want to, how it would turn out," replied Jerry.

"How can you know if you never tried it?" inquired Clinton.

Jerry did not answer this question, and perhaps he could not. He preferred to comfort himself with the foolish plea of the lazy, that he was not one of "the lucky ones," and it was useless for him to think of succeeding in anything of that kind.

Clinton did not make the most distant allusion to the Shanghae Rooster's letter, although Jerry felt sure that he knew all about it.

The latter also avoided all reference to it. Oscar could hardly keep from introducing the matter, but his cousin's injunction to "keep dark"

prevailed, and he was able to restrain his impatient tongue.

The boys now took a look at the piggery, where they found several fat, dignified grunters, together with a family of little squealers, who seemed quite too clean and delicate to occupy such an enclosure. They then went all over the great barn, which happened to be tenantless, the cows being at pasture and the oxen and horse off at work. Oscar's attention was attracted to a sc.r.a.p cut from a newspaper, which was pasted upon one of the posts of the horse's stall. It read as follows:

"THE HORSE'S PRAYER.

"Up hill, spare thou me; Down hill, take care of thee; On level ground, spare me not, Nor give me water when I 'm hot."

Clinton said he found these lines in a newspaper about the time he began to drive alone, and he stuck them up upon the stall that he might not forget them.

"Hallo, who is this?" inquired Oscar, as a little curly-haired girl of six years came tripping into the barn.

The little girl to whom the inquiry was addressed turned a shy and roguish look towards the strange boy, and then edged along to Clinton, and nestled her little hand in his.

"Can't you tell him who you are?" inquired Clinton. "He came all the way from Boston, where cousin Ettie and cousin Willie live. He 's Jerry's cousin, and little Mary Preston's cousin. Now you'll tell him what your name is, won't you?"

"Annie Davenport--that's my name," she replied, in her artless, winning way.

"Then you're Clinton's sister, are you?" inquired Oscar.

"Yes, and he 's my brother," she quickly added, with a proud look that greatly amused the boys.

"Did you say you have a cousin Willie in Boston, Clinton?" continued Oscar.

"Yes, Willie Davenport," replied Clinton.

"I know him--he's about your size, is n't he? and his father is a lawyer?"

"Yes, that's him--why, I want to know if you know him?"

"O yes; he goes to our school. The boys have nicknamed him Whistler, because he whistles so much; but he 's a real clever fellow, for all that. My brother Ralph is quite intimate with him. It's strange that I never knew before that he had relations down here," added Oscar.

"Do you know his sister, Ettie?" inquired Clinton.

"No, I never saw her," replied Oscar.

"Come into the house with me,--I must tell mother we 've heard from Boston," said Clinton.

They all entered the house, and Mrs. Davenport was soon informed of the pleasant discovery they had made, and had many questions to ask concerning her Boston friends. Oscar seemed to become at once an old acquaintance. The fact that he was a schoolmate of Willie gave him a direct pa.s.sport to the good graces of all the family. When Oscar called to mind his peculiar relations towards Willie, this unlooked-for friends.h.i.+p was not particularly agreeable to him; for he was not, and never had been, on very friendly terms with Clinton's cousin. This, however, was more than he dared say to Clinton, and so he concealed his dislike of Willie as well as he could.

After sitting in the house a little while, Clinton invited Oscar and Jerry into the "shop," which was a room back of the kitchen, where Mr.

Davenport kept a variety of carpenter's tools. Here, in cold and stormy weather, Clinton's father mended his broken tools and implements, and performed such other jobs as were required. Clinton, too, spent many odd moments at the work-bench, and patient practice had made him quite a neat and skilful workman. He showed the boys several boxes, a pine table, and a cricket, made entirely by his own hands, which would have done no discredit to a regular carpenter.

After remaining an hour or two with Clinton, Oscar and Jerry started for home, well pleased with their visit.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE LETTER.

"Oscar, you have n't written home since you came down here, have you?"

inquired Mr. Preston one morning at the breakfast table.

"No, sir," replied Oscar.

"Well, you ought to write," added Mr. Preston; "your mother told you to, and I suppose she has been looking for a letter every day for a week or more. It's over a fortnight since you left home, and your folks will feel anxious about you, if they don't hear from you soon.

You 'd better write a letter to them this morning, before you do anything else, and then it will be out of the way. I shall either go or send over to the post-office to-day, and the letter will start for Boston to-morrow morning, and get there the next day."

"O dear, I hate to write," said Oscar. "Why can't you write to mother, aunt, and tell her how I am?"

"No, no," said Mr. Preston, "that won't do. You promised your mother that you would write yourself, and she 'll expect to hear from you, and not from somebody else. Your aunt can write, if she chooses, but you must write too. I 'll give you a pen and some paper and ink after breakfast, and you can write just a much as you please."

"I guess it won't be much--I don't know how to write a letter," replied Oscar.

"A boy of your age not know how to write a letter--and been all your lifetime to such grand schools as they have in Boston, too! I don't believe that," said Mr. Preston, shaking his head.

"I shall have to go and see the Shanghae Rooster," said Oscar, looking at Jerry very knowingly.

Jerry laughed at this allusion, but the others did not appear to understand its meaning. It was evident that they were innocent of all knowledge of the mysterious letter; and as Jerry wished them to remain so, he adroitly turned the remark by replying: