Mike Marble Part 2

"PAYING HIM OFF;"

OR, AN ODD WAY OF SHOWING REVENGE.

Jacob Grumley, who was sometimes nicknamed _Grumble_, on account of a habit he had of finding fault with every thing and every body, went to the same school with Mike Marble. Now Mike was as remarkable for his cheerful and amiable disposition, as Jacob was for his ill nature. In half of the cases where the latter would get angry, and storm, and rage, and fret, and foam, like a hyena, or a Bengal tiger, the other would remain as cool as a cuc.u.mber, or, perhaps, burst out into a hearty laugh.

One day, when several of the schoolboys, including Michael and Jacob, were playing ball on the fine lawn in front of the school house, a dispute occurred between the young grumbler and another boy, and Mike ventured to suggest to Jacob, as kindly as he could, that he was in the wrong.

"You little meddlesome dunce!" said Jacob, all in a blaze of anger, "I'll teach you to mind your own business, and let other people's quarrels alone." And, suiting his action to his words, he struck Mike in the face so hard that the blood ran from his nose in a stream.

Well, what do you think Mike did, then? I know what some boys would have done, if they had been in his place. They would have struck Jacob, at any cost. That is the way they would have taken their revenge. That is the way, indeed, that Mike's school-fellows advised him to take his revenge. Half a dozen of them, at least, surrounded him, and urged him to flog Jacob.

"I'd pay him off for it," said one.

"The rascal!" said another. "I'd make him smart for it."

"And we'll all stand by you," said one, "if you'll flog him."

"Mike wasn't a bit to blame, either," added another. "If I were in his place, if I wouldn't make Jake see stars, then--"

The remainder of the speech was lost to every body but the speaker, as all the boys, by this time, were talking at once. It is a wonder to me that they did not take the matter altogether into their own hands, and give Jake the flogging which they thought he so richly deserved; for Michael was a great favorite among them, and they could not bear to see him abused. But I believe they contented themselves with letting off ever so many vials of wrath, in the shape of words; and Jake Grumble, finding how matters stood, walked sulkily away.

"Now, Mike, what are you going to do?" asked one of the boys.

"Do about what?" asked the injured boy.

"About the b.l.o.o.d.y nose that Jake gave you," was the reply.

"I'm going to see if I can't stop its bleeding," said Mike.

"No, I don't mean that," said the other. "I mean what are you going to do to Jake?"

"Oh," said Mike, "I guess I'll pay him off, one of these days."

"And why not now?" the boy asked.

"I've got as much on my hands as I can attend to, just now," said Mike.

How do you suppose Jake felt, that day, after his cruel treatment of one of his playmates? What do you suppose were his feelings, when he found out what all the boys thought of his conduct; and when he had time to reflect upon the folly and wickedness of what he had done?

Perhaps you can guess pretty well how he felt. Possibly you have yourself wronged some one of your playmates, and recollect how you felt about it, when you had a chance to get away somewhere, alone, to think over your conduct. If so, you can give a pretty rational guess as to the kind of feelings that were at work in Jake's bosom, on his way home from school that day.

He did not go home in company with the rest of the boys and girls who went in the same direction. He was in the habit of doing so. But he felt so much ashamed on account of what he had done, that he could not bear to see the faces of any of the children.

Instead of taking the public road that led directly to his father's house, he went through the gate that led into Deacon Stark's pasture, and followed the cart-path through the woods. It was a great deal farther that way. But he went through the woods so as to get clear of his playmates. One of the deacon's hired men saw the boy, leaning against the fence, just at the edge of the woods. Poor fellow! he was crying, as if his heart would break. So the man said. Jake got the worst of it, in that affair. Don't you think he did?

But I have not got through with the story yet, and I must go on with it.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A CRYING SPELL.]

Time pa.s.sed on--days, weeks, and even months, came and went--but Mike did not "pay off" the boy who had so unjustly abused him. His companions urged him to do it, until they got out of patience, and concluded to give the matter up.

As for Jake, it was as much as he could do to look Mike in the face.

He avoided him, as much as possible, and seemed to be unhappy whenever he came near him. But Mike, on his part, treated the boy who had injured him just as if nothing had happened.

I have often noticed, that where there has been any difficulty between two persons, the one who was at fault is more apt to cherish unkind feelings than the one who was innocent. It was so in this case.

Jacob treated Michael as if it were Michael rather than himself, who had been in the wrong. He never spoke to him, when he could help it; and when he did say any thing to him, he spoke peevishly, and pressed the words between his teeth, as if he had the lockjaw.

One day, during that interesting season of the year when the farmers are busy making hay, Jake had occasion to pa.s.s through Mr. Marble's meadow, with his fis.h.i.+ng rod, on his way to the "deep hole," where, as every body in the neighborhood knew, mult.i.tudes of sun fish and perch were always to be found, ready for a nice bit of an angle-worm.

Jake, being a little thirsty--for it was a very warm day--went up to the tree under which Mr. Marble kept the refreshments for his hired men, and took up the wooden bottle to drink. There was nothing wrong, perhaps, in the liberty he took, though I think it would have been quite as well, if he had asked Mr. Marble's consent in the first place. But we will let that pa.s.s. Jake had a different way of doing things.

As I said, he took up the bottle to drink. But the moment he did so, Ranter, Mr. Marble's old dog, who lay under the tree, where he had been stationed to keep watch, thinking his master's property was in danger, flew at the boy, and caught him by the arm. Poor Jake! he yelled l.u.s.tily, you may be sure. But it did no good. Ranter held him in his jaws, as tight as if he were a woodchuck or a rabbit, instead of a school-boy.

Mike was spreading hay, at the time, some twenty yards off, or more and hearing the boy crying for help, and looking in the direction from which the voice came, he saw Jake fast in the clutches of the dog. In an instant he shouted, as loud as he could scream, "Here, Ranter!

here, Ranter!" and in another instant, Ranter let go of the poor boy, and bounded away towards his young master.

Jake, as you may suppose, and as Mike found, when he went to him, was very badly bitten. The blood ran from his arm quite as freely as it did from Mike's nose, some time before that.

"Did Ranter hurt you much?" asked Mike, kindly.

"Very badly, I'm afraid," said Jake, almost frantic with pain and fright.

Mike said he was sorry, and expressed his wonder that Ranter could be so cruel. Then he ran and called his father, who was busy in another part of the meadow, when the accident happened, and who did not hear Jake's call for help. Mr. Marble had the boy taken to his house, where his wound was nicely dressed, and where the utmost care was taken of him by the whole family, among whom Mike was the foremost. It was two or three days before it was thought prudent to remove the sufferer to his father's house; and during that time there was no one, not even Jacob's own mother, who was more kind and attentive to him than Mike Marble.

The time came when the wounded boy was able to go home. An hour or two before the wagon was to come for him, he was sitting in an easy chair, with the wounded arm lying on a pillow, and Mike, as usual, was at his side. There happened to be no one else in the chamber besides the two boys.

"Mike," said the other, "I want to say something to you."

"What is it?" asked Mike.

"I don't know how to say it," was the answer.

And there was a pause. Jacob had undertaken a task which was entirely new to him, and he did not know how to begin it. At length he tried again:

"Mike," said he, "I struck you once--it was a good while ago--do you remember it?"

"Yes," Mike said.

"Well, I am sorry I struck you," said Jacob, and burst into tears.

"I knew you were sorry," said Mike, "and I have forgiven you, long ago."

"_Do_ you forgive me?" asked Jacob, earnestly.

"I do, from my heart," said Mike.

Then followed another flood of tears. This time it was a good while before Jacob could speak, so as to be understood, and when he did speak, it was only to say,

"Oh, Mike, you are _so_ kind! You seem like a brother to me."