Various - Modern Prose And Poetry; For Secondary Schools

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SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY

Do not be alarmed if you find this a little hard to understand. It is
expressed in rather figurative language, and one has to study it to get
its meaning. The poem is about those people who look forward constantly
to something better, and feel that they must always be pressing forward
at any cost. Who is represented as speaking? What sort of life are the
travelers leaving behind them? Why do they feel a keen distress? What is
the "whole" that they are striving to see? What is their "sacred
hunger"? Why is it "dearer" than the feasting of those who stay at home?
Notice how the third stanza reminds one of _Gloucester Moors_. Look up
the word _sidereal_: Can you tell what it means here? "Lives and lives
behind us" means _a long time ago_; you will perhaps have to ask your
teacher for its deeper meaning. Do the travelers know where they are
going? Why do they set forth? Note the description of the dawn in the
fifth stanza. What is the boon of "endless quest"? Why is it spoken of
as a gift (boon)? Compare the last line of this poem with the last line
of _The Wild Ride_, on page 161. Perhaps you will be interested to
compare the _Road-Hymn_ with Whitman's _The Song of the Open Road_.

Do the meter and verse-form seem appropriate here? Is anything gained by
the difference in the length of the lines?

ON A SOLDIER FALLEN IN THE PHILIPPINES

WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY

Streets of the roaring town,
Hush for him, hush, be still!
He comes, who was stricken down
Doing the word of our will.
Hush! Let him have his state,
Give him his soldier's crown.
The grists of trade can wait
Their grinding at the mill,
But he cannot wait for his honor, now the trumpet has been blown;
Wreathe pride now for his granite brow, lay love on his breast
of stone.

Toll! Let the great bells toll
Till the clashing air is dim.
Did we wrong this parted soul?
We will make it up to him.
Toll! Let him never guess
What work we set him to.
Laurel, laurel, yes;
He did what we bade him do.
Praise, and never a whispered hint but the fight he fought was good;
Never a word that the blood on his sword was his country's
own heart's-blood.

A flag for the soldier's bier
Who dies that his land may live;
O, banners, banners here,
That he doubt not nor misgive!
That he heed not from the tomb
The evil days draw near
When the nation, robed in gloom,
With its faithless past shall strive.
Let him never dream that his bullet's scream went wide of its
island mark,
Home to the heart of his darling land where she stumbled
and sinned in the dark.

SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY

What is "his state," in line five? How has the soldier been "wronged"?
Does the author think that the fight in the Philippines has not been
"good"? Why? What does he mean by the last line of stanza two? What
"evil days" are those mentioned in stanza three? Have they come yet?
What "faithless past" is meant? Do you think that the United States has
treated the Philippines unfairly?[14]

COLLATERAL READINGS

Gloucester Moors and Other Poems William Vaughn Mood
Poems and Plays of William Vaughn
Moody (2 vols. Biographical introduction) John M. Manley (Ed.)
Letters of William Vaughn Moody Daniel Mason (Ed.)
Out of Gloucester J.B. Connolly

For biography, criticism, and portraits of William Vaughn Moody,
consult: Atlantic Monthly, 98:326, September, 1906; World's Work, 13:
8258, December, 1906 (Portrait); Century, 73:431 (Portrait); Reader,
10:173; Bookman, 32:253 (Portrait.)

THE COON DOG

SARAH ORNE JEWETT

(In _The Queen's Twin and Other Stories_)

I

In the early dusk of a warm September evening the bats were flitting to
and fro, as if it were still summer, under the great elm that
overshadowed Isaac Brown's house, on the Dipford road. Isaac Brown
himself, and his old friend and neighbor John York, were leaning against
the fence.

"Frost keeps off late, don't it?" said John York. "I laughed when I
first heard about the circus comin'; I thought 'twas so unusual late in
the season. Turned out well, however. Everybody I noticed was returnin'
with a palm-leaf fan. Guess they found 'em useful under the tent; 'twas
a master hot day. I saw old lady Price with her hands full o' those free
advertising fans, as if she was layin' in a stock against next summer.
Well, I expect she'll live to enjoy 'em."

"I was right here where I'm standin' now, and I see her as she was goin'
by this mornin'," said Isaac Brown, laughing, and settling himself
comfortably against the fence as if they had chanced upon a welcome
subject of conversation. "I hailed her, same's I gener'lly do. 'Where
are you bound to-day, ma'am?' says I.

"'I'm goin' over as fur as Dipford Centre,' says she. 'I'm goin' to see
my poor dear 'Liza Jane. I want to 'suage her grief; her husband, Mr.
'Bijah Topliff, has passed away.'

"'So much the better,' says I.

"'No; I never l'arnt about it till yisterday,' says she;' an' she looked
up at me real kind of pleasant, and begun to laugh.

"'I hear he's left property,' says she, tryin' to pull her face down
solemn. I give her the fifty cents she wanted to borrow to make up her
car-fare and other expenses, an' she stepped off like a girl down tow'ds
the depot.

"This afternoon, as you know, I'd promised the boys that I'd take 'em
over to see the menagerie, and nothin' wouldn't do none of us any good
but we must see the circus too; an' when we'd just got posted on one o'
the best high seats, mother she nudged me, and I looked right down front
two, three rows, an' if there wa'n't Mis' Price, spectacles an' all,
with her head right up in the air, havin' the best time you ever see. I
laughed right out. She hadn't taken no time to see 'Liza Jane; she
wa'n't 'suagin' no grief for nobody till she'd seen the circus. 'There,'
says I, 'I do like to have anybody keep their young feelin's!'"

"Mis' Price come over to see our folks before breakfast," said John
York. "Wife said she was inquirin' about the circus, but she wanted to
know first if they couldn't oblige her with a few trinkets o' mournin',
seein' as how she'd got to pay a mournin' visit. Wife thought't was a
bosom-pin, or somethin' like that, but turned out she wanted the skirt
of a dress; 'most anything would do, she said."

"I thought she looked extra well startin' off," said Isaac, with an
indulgent smile. "The Lord provides very handsome for such, I do
declare! She ain't had no visible means o' support these ten or fifteen
years back, but she don't freeze up in winter no more than we do."

"Nor dry up in summer," interrupted his friend; "I never did see such an
able hand to talk."

"She's good company, and she's obliging an' useful when the women folks
have their extra work progressin'," continued Isaac Brown kindly.
"'Tain't much for a well-off neighborhood like this to support that old
chirpin' cricket. My mother used to say she kind of helped the work
along by 'livenin' of it. Here she comes now; must have taken the last
train, after she had supper with 'Lizy Jane. You stay still; we're goin'
to hear all about it."

The small, thin figure of Mrs. Price had to be hailed twice before she
could be stopped.

"I wish you a good evenin', neighbors," she said. "I have been to the
house of mournin'."

"Find 'Liza Jane in, after the circus?" asked Isaac Brown, with equal
seriousness. "Excellent show, wasn't it, for so late in the season?"

"Oh, beautiful; it was beautiful, I declare," answered the pleased
spectator readily. "Why, I didn't see you, nor Mis' Brown. Yes; I felt
it best to refresh my mind an' wear a cheerful countenance. When I see
'Liza Jane I was able to divert her mind consid'able. She was glad I
went. I told her I'd made an effort, knowin' 'twas so she had to lose
the a'ternoon. 'Bijah left property, if he did die away from home on a
foreign shore."

"You don't mean that 'Bijah Topliff's left anything!" exclaimed John
York with interest, while Isaac Brown put both hands deep into his
pockets, and leaned back in a still more satisfactory position against
the gatepost.

"He enjoyed poor health," answered Mrs. Price, after a moment of
deliberation, as if she must take time to think. "'Bijah never was one
that scattereth, nor yet increaseth. 'Liza Jane's got some memories o'
the past that's a good deal better than others; but he died somewheres
out in Connecticut, or so she heard, and he's left a very val'able coon
dog,--one he set a great deal by. 'Liza Jane said, last time he was to
home, he priced that dog at fifty dollars. 'There, now, 'Liza Jane,'
says I, right to her, when she told me, 'if I could git fifty dollars
for that dog, I certain' would. Perhaps some o' the circus folks would
like to buy him; they've taken in a stream o' money this day.' But 'Liza
Jane ain't never inclined to listen to advice. 'Tis a dreadful
poor-spirited-lookin' creatur'. I don't want no right o' dower in him,
myself."

"A good coon dog's worth somethin', certain," said John York handsomely.

"If he _is_ a good coon dog," added Isaac Brown. "I wouldn't have parted
with old Rover, here, for a good deal of money when he was right in his
best days; but a dog like him's like one of the family. Stop an' have
some supper, won't ye, Mis' Price?"--as the thin old creature was
flitting off again. At that same moment this kind invitation was
repeated from the door of the house; and Mrs. Price turned in,
unprotesting and always sociably inclined, at the open gate.

II

It was a month later, and a whole autumn's length colder, when the two
men were coming home from a long tramp through the woods. They had been
making a solemn inspection of a wood-lot that they owned together, and
had now visited their landmarks and outer boundaries, and settled the
great question of cutting or not cutting some large pines. When it was
well decided that a few years' growth would be no disadvantage to the
timber, they had eaten an excellent cold luncheon and rested from their
labors.

"I don't feel a day older'n ever I did when I get out in the woods this
way," announced John York, who was a prim, dusty-looking little man, a
prudent person, who had been selectman of the town at least a dozen
times.

"No more do I," agreed his companion, who was large and jovial and
open-handed, more like a lucky sea-captain than a farmer. After pounding
a slender walnut-tree with a heavy stone, he had succeeded in getting
down a pocketful of late-hanging nuts which had escaped the squirrels,
and was now snapping them back, one by one, to a venturesome chipmunk
among some little frost-bitten beeches. Isaac Brown had a wonderfully
pleasant way of getting on with all sorts of animals, even men. After a
while they rose and went their way, these two companions, stopping here
and there to look at a possible woodchuck's hole, or to strike a few
hopeful blows at a hollow tree with the light axe which Isaac had
carried to blaze new marks on some of the line-trees on the farther edge
of their possessions. Sometimes they stopped to admire the size of an
old hemlock, or to talk about thinning out the young pines. At last they
were not very far from the entrance to the great tract of woodland. The
yellow sunshine came slanting in much brighter against the tall trunks,
spotting them with golden light high among the still branches.

Presently they came to a great ledge, frost-split and cracked into
mysterious crevices.

"Here's where we used to get all the coons," said John York. "I haven't
seen a coon this great while, spite o' your courage knocking on the
trees up back here. You know that night we got the four fat ones? We
started 'em somewheres near here, so the dog could get after 'em when
they come out at night to go foragin'."

"Hold on, John;" and Mr. Isaac Brown got up from the log where he had
just sat down to rest, and went to the ledge, and looked carefully all
about. When he came back he was much excited, and beckoned his friend
away, speaking in a stage whisper.

"I guess you'll see a coon before you're much older," he proclaimed.
"I've thought it looked lately as if there'd been one about my place,
and there's plenty o' signs here, right in their old haunts. Couple o'
hens' heads an' a lot o' feathers"--

"Might be a fox," interrupted John York.

"Might be a coon," answered Mr. Isaac Brown. "I'm goin' to have him,
too. I've been lookin' at every old hollow tree I passed, but I never
thought o' this place. We'll come right off to-morrow night, I guess,
John, an' see if we can't get him. 'Tis an extra handy place for 'em to
den; in old times the folks always called it a good place; they've been
so sca'ce o' these late years that I've thought little about 'em.
Nothin' I ever liked so well as a coon-hunt. Gorry! he must be a big old
fellow, by his tracks! See here, in this smooth dirt; just like a baby's
footmark."

"Trouble is, we lack a good dog," said John York anxiously, after he had
made an eager inspection. "I don't know where in the world to get one,
either. There ain't no such a dog about as your Rover, but you've let
him get spoilt; these days I don't see him leave the yard. You ought to
keep the women folks from overfeedin' of him so. He ought to've lasted a
good spell longer. He's no use for huntin' now, that's certain."

Isaac accepted the rebuke meekly. John York was a calm man, but he now
grew very fierce under such a provocation. Nobody likes to be hindered
in a coon-hunt.

"Oh, Rover's too old, anyway," explained the affectionate master
regretfully. "I've been wishing all this afternoon I'd brought him; but
I didn't think anything about him as we came away, I've got so used to
seeing him layin' about the yard. 'Twould have been a real treat for old
Rover, if he could have kept up. Used to be at my heels the whole time.
He couldn't follow us, anyway, up here."

"I shouldn't wonder if he could," insisted John, with a humorous glance
at his old friend, who was much too heavy and huge of girth for quick
transit over rough ground. John York himself had grown lighter as he had
grown older.

"I'll tell you one thing we could do," he hastened to suggest. "There's
that dog of 'Bijah Topliff's. Don't you know the old lady told us, that
day she went over to Dipford, how high he was valued? Most o' 'Bijah's
important business was done in the fall, goin' out by night, gunning
with fellows from the mills. He was just the kind of a worthless
do-nothing that's sure to have an extra knowin' smart dog. I expect
'Liza Jane's got him now. Perhaps we could get him by to-morrow night.
Let one o' my boys go over!"

"Why, 'Liza Jane's come, bag an' baggage, to spend the winter with her
mother," exclaimed Isaac Brown, springing to his feet like a boy. "I've
had it in mind to tell you two or three times this afternoon, and then
something else has flown it out of my head. I let my John Henry take the
long-tailed wagon an' go down to the depot this mornin' to fetch her an'
her goods up. The old lady come in early, while we were to breakfast,
and to hear her lofty talk you'd thought 't would taken a couple o'
four-horse teams to move her. I told John Henry he might take that wagon
and fetch up what light stuff he could, and see how much else there was,
an' then I'd make further arrangements. She said 'Liza Jane'd see me
well satisfied, an' rode off, pleased to death. I see 'em returnin'
about eight, after the train was in. They'd got 'Liza Jane with 'em,
smaller'n ever; and there was a trunk tied up with a rope, and a small
roll o' beddin' and braided mats, and a quilted rockin'-chair. The old
lady was holdin' on tight to a bird-cage with nothin' in it. Yes; an' I
see the dog, too, in behind. He appeared kind of timid. He's a yaller
dog, but he ain't stump-tailed. They hauled up out front o' the house,
and mother an' I went right out; Mis' Price always expects to have
notice taken. She was in great sperits. Said 'Liza Jane concluded to
sell off most of her stuff rather 'n have the care of it. She'd told the
folks that Mis' Topliff had a beautiful sofa and a lot o' nice chairs,
and two framed pictures that would fix up the house complete, and
invited us all to come over and see 'em. There, she seemed just as
pleased returnin' with the bird-cage. Disappointments don't appear to
trouble her no more than a butterfly. I kind of like the old creator'; I
don't mean to see her want."

"They'll let us have the dog," said John York. "I don't know but I'll
give a quarter for him, and we'll let 'em have a good piece o' the
coon."

"You really comin' 'way up here by night, coon-huntin'?" asked Isaac
Brown, looking reproachfully at his more agile comrade.

"I be," answered John York.

"I was dre'tful afraid you was only talking, and might back out,"
returned the cheerful heavy-weight, with a chuckle. "Now we've got
things all fixed, I feel more like it than ever. I tell you there's just
boy enough left inside of me. I'll clean up my old gun to-morrow
mornin', and you look right after your'n. I dare say the boys have took
good care of 'em for us, but they don't know what we do about huntin',
and we'll bring 'em all along and show 'em a little fun."

"All right," said John York, as soberly as if they were going to look
after a piece of business for the town; and they gathered up the axe and
other light possessions, and started toward home.

III

The two friends, whether by accident or design, came out of the woods
some distance from their own houses, but very near to the low-storied
little gray dwelling of Mrs. Price. They crossed the pasture, and
climbed over the toppling fence at the foot of her small sandy piece of
land, and knocked at the door. There was a light already in the kitchen.
Mrs. Price and Eliza Jane Topliff appeared at once, eagerly hospitable.

"Anybody sick?" asked Mrs. Price, with instant sympathy. "Nothin'
happened, I hope?"

"Oh, no," said both the men.

"We came to talk about hiring your dog to-morrow night," explained
Isaac Brown, feeling for the moment amused at his eager errand. "We got
on track of a coon just now, up in the woods, and we thought we'd give
our boys a little treat. You shall have fifty cents, an' welcome, and a
good piece o' the coon."

"Yes, Square Brown; we can let you have the dog as well as not,"
interrupted Mrs. Price, delighted to grant a favor. "Poor departed
'Bijah, he set everything by him as a coon dog. He always said a dog's
capital was all in his reputation."

"You'll have to be dreadful careful an' not lose him," urged Mrs.
Topliff "Yes, sir; he's a proper coon dog as ever walked the earth, but
he's terrible weak-minded about followin' 'most anybody. 'Bijah used to
travel off twelve or fourteen miles after him to git him back, when he
wa'n't able. Somebody'd speak to him decent, or fling a whip-lash as
they drove by, an' off he'd canter on three legs right after the wagon.
But 'Bijah said he wouldn't trade him for no coon dog he ever was
acquainted with. Trouble is, coons is awful sca'ce."

"I guess he ain't out o' practice," said John York amiably; "I guess
he'll know when he strikes the coon. Come, Isaac, we must be gittin'
along tow'ds home. I feel like eatin' a good supper. You tie him up
to-morrow afternoon, so we shall be sure to have him," he turned to say
to Mrs. Price, who stood smiling at the door.

"Land sakes, dear, he won't git away; you'll find him right there
betwixt the wood-box and the stove, where he is now. Hold the light,
'Liza Jane; they can't see their way out to the road. I'll fetch him
over to ye in good season," she called out, by way of farewell; "'twill
save ye third of a mile extra walk. No, 'Liza Jane; you'll let me do it,
if you please. I've got a mother's heart. The gentlemen will excuse us
for showin' feelin'. You're all the child I've got, an' your prosperity
is the same as mine."

IV

The great night of the coon-hunt was frosty and still, with only a dim
light from the new moon. John York and his boys, and Isaac Brown, whose
excitement was very great, set forth across the fields toward the dark
woods. The men seemed younger and gayer than the boys. There was a burst
of laughter when John Henry Brown and his little brother appeared with
the coon dog of the late Mr. Abijah Topliff, which had promptly run away
home again after Mrs. Price had coaxed him over in the afternoon. The
captors had tied a string round his neck, at which they pulled
vigorously from time to time to urge him forward. Perhaps he found the
night too cold; at any rate, he stopped short in the frozen furrows
every few minutes, lifting one foot and whining a little. Half a dozen
times he came near to tripping up Mr. Isaac Brown and making him fall at
full length.

"Poor Tiger! poor Tiger!" said the good-natured sportsman, when somebody
said that the dog didn't act as if he were much used to being out by
night. "He'll be all right when he once gets track of the coon." But
when they were fairly in the woods, Tiger's distress was perfectly
genuine. The long rays of light from the old-fashioned lanterns of
pierced tin went wheeling round and round, making a tall ghost of every
tree, and strange shadows went darting in and out behind the pines. The
woods were like an interminable pillared room where the darkness made a
high ceiling. The clean frosty smell of the open fields was changed for
a warmer air, damp with the heavy odor of moss and fallen leaves. There
was something wild and delicious in the forest in that hour of night.
The men and boys tramped on silently in single file, as if they followed
the flickering light instead of carrying it. The dog fell back by
instinct, as did his companions, into the easy familiarity of forest
life. He ran beside them, and watched eagerly as they chose a safe place
to leave a coat or two and a basket. He seemed to be an affectionate
dog, now that he had made acquaintance with his masters.

"Seems to me he don't exactly know what he's about," said one of the
York boys scornfully; "we must have struck that coon's track somewhere,
comin' in."

"We'll get through talkin' an' heap up a little somethin' for a fire, if
you'll turn to and help," said his father. "I've always noticed that
nobody can give so much good advice about a piece o' work as a new hand.
When you've treed as many coons as your Uncle Brown an' me, you won't
feel so certain. Isaac, you be the one to take the dog up round the
ledge, there. He'll scent the coon quick enough then. We'll tend to this
part o' the business."

"You may come too, John Henry," said the indulgent father, and they set
off together silently with the coon dog. He followed well enough now;
his tail and ears were drooping even more than usual, but he whimpered
along as bravely as he could, much excited, at John Henry's heels, like
one of those great soldiers who are all unnerved until the battle is
well begun.

A minute later the father and son came hurrying back, breathless, and
stumbling over roots and bushes. The fire was already lighted, and
sending a great glow higher and higher among the trees.

"He's off! He's struck a track! He was off like a major!" wheezed Mr.
Isaac Brown.

"Which way'd he go?" asked everybody.

"Right out toward the fields. Like's not the old fellow was just
starting after more of our fowls. I'm glad we come early,--he can't have
got far yet. We can't do nothin' but wait now, boys. I'll set right down
here."

"Soon as the coon trees, you'll hear the dog sing, now I tell you!" said
John York, with great enthusiasm. "That night your father an' me got
those four busters we've told you about, they come right back here to
the ledge. I don't know but they will now. 'Twas a dreadful cold night,
I know. We didn't get home till past three o'clock in the mornin',
either. You remember, don't you, Isaac?"

"I do," said Isaac. "How old Rover worked that night! Couldn't see out
of his eyes, nor hardly wag his clever old tail, for two days; thorns in
both his fore paws, and the last coon took a piece right out of his off
shoulder."

"Why didn't you let Rover come to-night, father?" asked the younger boy.
"I think he knew somethin' was up. He was jumpin' round at a great rate
when I come out of the yard."

"I didn't know but he might make trouble for the other dog," answered
Isaac, after a moment's silence. He felt almost disloyal to the faithful
creature, and had been missing him all the way. "Sh! there's a bark!"
And they all stopped to listen.

The fire was leaping higher; they all sat near it, listening and
talking by turns. There is apt to be a good deal of waiting in a
coon-hunt.

"If Rover was young as he used to be, I'd resk him to tree any coon that
ever run," said the regretful master. "This smart creature o' Topliff's
can't beat him, I know. The poor old fellow's eyesight seems to be
going. Two--three times he's run out at me right in broad day, an'
barked when I come up the yard toward the house, and I did pity him
dreadfully; he was so 'shamed when he found out what he'd done. Rover's
a dog that's got an awful lot o' pride. He went right off out behind the
long barn the last time, and wouldn't come in for nobody when they
called him to supper till I went out myself and made it up with him. No;
he can't see very well now, Rover can't."

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