University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
TRAPPING, AND SOME AFTER-TROUBLE.

Brade had made his way thoroughly into the manifold
life of the School. Remsen and Antony (with
Peters added) trapped together; and it may be supposed
that neither of them was so entirely taken up with
lessons as not to have a considerable piece of his heart
left to bestow upon the making and setting and visiting
of traps. Cæsar, with his Belgæ and Ædui, and Allobroges,
and Aduatuci, and Helvetii, and his indirect
discourse, and whatever else there is about him, was
construed and parsed and understood. Some way was
made in Greek, too; and glimpses of flashing shields
and spears and helmets were beginning to gleam athwart
the lively boyish fancy. Already Antony, though
hardly out of the alphabet, even professed a strong
drawing toward this foremost of earthly tongues. On
the other hand, Remsen, who was a bright fellow,
though he did not get through his work always with
the same steadiness, very honestly acknowledged that
“he did not like either of 'em, but Latin wasn't as bad
as Greek.”

Trapping they both went into with equal heartiness.
Remsen had, possibly, a little more skill in getting up
traps; and Brade was as often good at choosing ground.
They were both equally untiring in following up their

business; and as they had got leave to “set” in Mr.
Freeman's land, by being early in asking, they were
thought to have as good ground as any boys in the
School. In it was the pine wood, where, occasionally, a
hare, called by the boys from his winter dress a “white
rabbit,” used to be caught.

Their self-chosen partner, Peters, was endured, and
really showed himself to have some skill and a great
deal of willingness.

One thing will be observed, that, as Brade's fortune
has already brought him a good deal into contact with
Towne, though they are not in any way intimates, so
it happens that, somehow or other, they are still brought
together in the life of the School. In this trapping,
while on one side of them (for the whole neighborhood
was parcelled out and appropriated) Will Hirsett had
got leave, with Meadows; on the other, were Towne
and Wilkins and Tarleton. This last boy grumbled
much that his party had not got the other ground.

Babble-brook (or Brabble-brook) ran through the
whole; and one particular piece of marshy ground along
that stream was in that lot. There was the most
promising spot in the whole neighborhood (if not πάσης τῆς οἰχουμένης
, as Brade exultingly said, when Remsen
and he were making their first survey of their
domain on a breezy, warm afternoon in early October)
for finding muskrats. Tom Spencer, late of St. Bart's,
had, as the tradition ran, been in the habit of catching
them there “hand over hand.” It was said that he
had bought with the proceeds the best pair of skates
in the School.

So now for the boys' trapping; and let the young
fellows skip straight over to Remsen and Brade, except

such of them as are wise enough to go along with a few
of us old-time school-boys in two or three beautiful
reflections here.

Are there any such dewy mornings as those that we
look back to in the young days of life? Are there any
such warm, balmy, hazy afternoons as those that were
new to the fresh glance of the school-boy? Tell me, you
that are limping, now, on the sunny side of the city-street,
with well-wrapped throats and rheumy eyes, and flabby
old cheeks, and hands stiffened to the grip of the
accountant's pen and leaves; or you that, in close
chariot, behind high-stepping horses and arrogant coachman,
hold up a red nose and shift a gouty foot unseen,
— were there ever such goings-out as those, after school,
to the heart of the woods or the brook-side, forty-odd
years ago, before we knew enough to care for bonds
and stocks and shares, or to stop even for an instant,
on our way, or even to stay the busy blade of our knife
to hear the most startling story from 'Change? The
breaking-up of camp, with tramping and champing of
horses, and clanking of accoutrements, and roll and
rattle of drums, and tan-ta-ra, tan-ta-ra of trumpets,
and rumble and din and clash, is an exciting scene; and
so the sailing of the huge, far-bound ship, with the
jostle of luggage and package and crate and passengers,
and the driving up of carriages and drays and wagons,
and a clatter of block and tackle, and a sound of down-kept
might of machinery, and a rush of steam, and a
flapping of sails, and a wafting of colors, is a scene of
life and bustle; so, too, the sympathy of a listening
crowd, with fixed, burning eyes and pale cheeks, or
sliding tears or sudden sobs, will draw the speaker out
to the larger outlines of humanity; and so the setting-forth,

in full dress, with some smell of flowers, and a little
stiffness of posture, in lamp-lighted and smoothly-running
coach, and with a sense of bustle and glare, as we
draw nearer to the house of many shining windows and
often-opening door where the ball or evening-party is
to be, keeps all the blood astir, if one is new to it.

But to get up early in the morning, with the mists,
all waiting for the sun to scatter them; to tramp over
damp earth and wet grass, mingling our white breath
with the other vapors; to feel, after a while, the slow
warmth of the great Heater on side or back; to go,
crumbling the rotten leaves and crackling the dry limbs
under foot, leaping the rail-fence and stone wall; to
come down on one knee at our figure-four traps, to scan
and then to climb our sapling hickory; to guess the
time from a watch that always acted with a happy
independence of every other regulator and keeper of
periodical succession, in the universe; to hurry back
through all the bright cheeriness and glitter of morning,
— this was life at its best; was it not? When,
since, has life been better? Now for the boys of
to-day.

It was on the morning of exactly such a day — school-life
not being yet fairly opened, and there being about
one good hour, and that not free of anxious care about
time — that Remsen and Brade were going down West
Road, while a fog still lay over the face of a deepish
valley, just as preparations were going on all over the
land for the sun's coming-up. They were not quite so
talkative as if the hour were later, but hurried on,
speculating a little upon chances, but stopping for
nothing. As the day grew brighter, so they, being a
part of nature, grew brighter with it.

There had been just rain enough the night before to
soften the ground without making it muddy; but that
day all was clear.

From what they said, it appeared that, in spite of his
being “on bounds,” and so, of course, having no leave,
Towne had gone down, and Tarleton and Wilkins; and
moreover, from the hope which they expressed that no
“wolverine” had been along the line of traps, it seemed
that there was danger of some ill-minded persons
having stolen the “catch.”

On the second hill, they met one Phil Rainor, whose
reputation was not good, and whose relations to the
St. Bart's boys had not been always friendly, for he
had, at one time, been thought to make a great many
dishonest pennies with the proceeds of his robberies of
the St. Bart's traps. Indeed, violent suspicions had,
more than once, gone on through the process of absolute
demonstration to much more practical violence; in
which (beside others) Towne, for his party, and Remsen,
for himself, had used arguments more weighty and
effective than any that they knew how to make with
words.

Rainor was now, professedly, on the footing of a
mutual understanding, although the Bartholomæans
had not yet made up their minds that he was a changed
boy.

This time, at least, his hands were empty, and there
was no load in his pockets, or hanging about him.
This, the intelligent eyes of the two boys could see, at
a glance, almost as far as they could see him. There
was something, therefore, almost like cordiality, in their
hasty greeting as they ran by.

Phil Rainor, too, seemed more than usually hearty;

for he called after them: “That's your snare (ain't it?)
down there by Indian Rock? Well, it's ketched a big
white rabbit!”

This news, as may be supposed, put new spirit into
every limb of our trappers. Over the first fence they
went at such a rate that Brade tripped on a branch of
a tree, inside, and went down sprawling with Remsen
on top of him; both picking themselves up in the shortest
possible time, and in excellent humor.

“Hurt your side, Anty?” asked Remsen, as Brade
held a hand to his bosom.

“It's the watch!” answered Antony, showing, when
he took away his hand, a lump very large to be made
by any ordinary time-piece.

“Don't stop to look at it now!” said Remsen; and
on they went.

“He knows everybody's traps, doesn't he?” said
Brade.

“Yes,” answered Remsen, “and I don't see what he's
round 'em for, unless for some badness;” but it was
bright morning, and the boys were in good cheer.
Besides, they agreed that he had given them good
news, and that, if he had had any plunder with him, they
would have seen some sign of it. So Phil Rainor went
out of their thoughts absolved, for this time.

What they had said about Towne and others being
before them was true; for Towne and Wilkins, with
Tarleton behind, were coming up before our two had
got to their ground. Towne was in luck, too, it would
seem, as well as they; for he swung in the air something
which their quick eyes recognized as “a big
white rabbit.” Beasts of that sort were rare; and it
must have been a sort of golden shower for Towne to

have one, and for them to have one, on the same morning.

They quickened their steps; although they said, as if
the same reasoning had passed through both minds,
“We've got plenty of time.”

Towne added a caution that “they'd better hurry;”
a piece of advice which good people are pretty generally
ready to give to those later than themselves. Tarleton
added, quite as much in the usual style of boys, —

“Ho! you needn't hurry: you haven't got any thing.”

Remsen and Brade were already a good way on,
running helter-skelter, when Towne's warning reached
them.

“We're going ω̒ς τάχιστα [1] now,” said Brade, like a
little pedant, perhaps; but both were in fine spirits, and
so Remsen did not object, and Antony enjoyed it. If
Remsen did not understand, he was not at the trouble
to ask an explanation.

Time was short, and all the way was to be measured
back again to St. Bart's. So on they went, so fast that
they could not catch breath enough to make words
with.

“That fellow's cheated us!” cried one, or both, as
they came within sight of their snare, and stood for an
instant, looking first at that, and then toward the right
and left.

“Hold on!” said Remsen, “let's see! the string's
all gone close to the bough! see that bit dangling!”
Then, showing a bit of white fur, which his sharp and
practised eye had detected, “See here! there's been a
rabbit in it, and a white rabbit, too!”

“He's got away!” said Brade, mournfully.

Remsen was a boy of experience in trapping, and he
said: “So he might; but,” he added, “no rabbit ever
got away from one snare and into another, right off!
And two such fellows ain't caught in one night, neither.
If any fellow'd do that, he ought to be horsewhipped!
He ought to be turned out of the school! 'Tain't likely
he'd break that big cord we had!”

There was much confusion of persons and things in
this speech, as, of course, in his mind; but the wrong
was clear, and so Remsen kicked the tree, and threw
his hat on the ground, and stamped it with his foot. It
was pretty hard, after their cheery hopes, to find worse
than nothing, and to have the evidence before their
eyes that their snare had had and lost its game! Brade
looked cast-down enough, while Remsen thus vented
his indignant anger on things in general.

“I tell you what,” said Remsen, “there's been foul
play! and look at the footsteps round here, — plenty of
'em!” and he turned away. “Well, leave 'em so!”
he said. “Don't go near 'em, so's to scrape 'em out.”

Brade proposed to make a round of their traps, as
fast as they could (for time was short); and Remsen
mechanically assented.

They made the round, with little hope, perhaps, but
in very short time. They found nothing.

“Well,” said Remsen, “we may as well go back;” and
they set out for home.

The day came up, not with the thick-springing bird-songs
of June or May, to be sure, — not with fragrance
of flower; but it came up with splendor of sky and
sparkle of earth, and cheery sounds from the farm-yards,
and hammering of some carpenter or carpentering
farmer.

It might not be true that our two disappointed boys
saw or heard much of what was going on; but it was
true that their loss did not quite take away all spirit
from them, — perhaps because they had morning blood
in them.

“Certainly old Towne wouldn't take ours, to trick
us,” said Brade, “and give it to us when we get
up?”

“'Tain't likely,” said Remsen. “We sha'n't see our
rabbit very soon.”

There was a smithy on that road, and, as they came
up to it, Rainor came out to meet them, holding in one
hand a forge-hammer, and in the other a bit of iron, as
if just from the anvil.

“Where's your rabbit?” he asked, looking from one
to the other.

“We thought we'd leave him down there for somebody
to steal,” said Remsen.

“Why! hain't ye got him?” asked Rainor, again,
looking very much astonished. Then, as the boys went
on, he went on beside them, and kept up his talking.
“Ye see Towne's, didn't ye? Well, jest about s'ch
another whapper. I tell ye how you'll know your'n:
he had his right ear split down quite a ways, an' his
right fore foot bloody about the toes. I took p'ticklar
notice to him, for I come right down 'cross lots, jest
where he was. He was in your snare there, ketched
right round his belly. I should jest want to take a
look at Towne's, 'f I was you, — white, and a brown
spot on his nigh shoulder.”

“I suppose rabbits are all alike,” said Brade; “but
what's his `nigh' shoulder?” he asked, puzzled by this
rustic word.

“Why!” said Rainor, “his left shoulder, of course;
but rabbits ain't alike, — not by a long chalk! Not that
sort, at no time o' year, — nary two of 'em, never.” The
negatives in this sentence would make a study for
philologists and grammarians, as showing the kindred
character and habit of two great sister-languages of
the Aryan stock, — the Greek and the English. He
finished in this way: “an' there ain't two of 'em ketched
in a — year, I was go'n' to say.”

Here he said “he must go back to the shop,” and
left them. From this time our friends, though they
kept up their rate of going, went silently.

For some while, Antony, still hurrying on, was pulling
earnestly at something which he seemed determined
to get out of his pocket, but which, for its part, was
equally resolute not to come. He bent over, and
wriggled his body (still going on), and put up one
knee, half stopping as he did so; he worked the thing
one way and the other; he pushed down, and then
pulled up again, until at length there came up to the
light of the morning a large, round, thick thing of
silver, — a strange-looking bivalve, with one of its
sides obscured by mist, doubtless from the heat of
the boy's body.

Nick Remsen wiped the mist off with his cuff; and
both Brade and he stopped and studied, confidingly,
the dial-face, which now stood revealed in silver, under
a crystal dome rounded like that of the Capitol, or (to
be classical) like the bossy shield of Achilles. On the
broad plain of silver was an outside circle of Arabic
numerals, and an inner circle of numeral letters, — the
former for minutes, the latter for hours. Other devices,
of angels and scrolls, we pass over for the time.

The boys studied the pointing of the two strong
arms.

“Only a little over half-past!” said Remsen, wiping
once more the glass, which was still smeary. “We'll
see Towne before roll-call: there's time enough;” adding,
presently, “no Bartlemas fellow'd steal our rabbit,
of course, — that ain't to be thought of.”

As they came into the school-grounds, every thing
was quiet, with no signs of life abroad. Remsen led
the way over to the gymnasium. A board stood up
against the eastern end, on which was stretched, by
tacks, the fresh skin of a hare, or, as the boys called it,
“a white rabbit.” Brade could not yet have got over
the feeling of their own loss, and still, so strong was
instinct in him, that he began, as soon as he saw the
raw pelt, to say something about “Marsyas,” whose
skin Apollo had flayed off.

Remsen, for his part, was altogether in serious
earnest. He walked straight up, in silence, to the
board, and put his finger on the green skin, although
he hardly needed the assurance of touch to establish its
freshness.

“He's carried off the head,” said he, after looking
about hastily, on that side and on the back side of the
building. “There's the Tutor's bell!” he said. “Why,
it can't be so late! You saw what o'clock it was.”

In spite of the authority of the watch, coupled with
the testimony of common sense, the boys hurried over
to the storm-house door, Brade saying, as they went,
“I thought it was very still all about.”

Luckily for them, the boys were quiet in their seats;
and the two, as they came inside the hall, could see
that something had been going on. They went silently

to their places, and evidently were each marked tardy;
but it was plain that the roll had not been called, and
they were safe for breakfast. Sam Blake looked half
across the school-room, till he caught Remsen's eye,
and then raised his brows, as if asking a question.
Remsen hastily shook his head.

The roll was called, and the boys went out orderly,
as usual, to their breakfast. Towne was inclined to be
communicative, as he commonly was, on the way, —
turning round and saying something to a boy behind,
or calling out, in a loud whisper, to some one in front.
Remsen and Brade were unapproachable. One thing
he seemed to think would prevail with the latter.
Turning round and facing him, he said rhetorically,
with a good deal of gesture, “Pediculum captavi!”
but he produced no effect on the boy whom he so
learnedly addressed. In his eagerness to vent his
Latin sentence, he probably had not known how loudly
he was speaking. Gaston heard it, at some distance in
front, and immediately, in spite of rules and tutors,
burst out laughing.

“Towne wants to say he's caught a rabbit,” said he,
“and he says he's caught a —!” The word was whispered
in the ear of the next boy, and while poor Towne
looked amazed, and presently very sheepish, the communication
passed from one to another as fast almost as a
message by telegraph, and everybody was laughing at
the Latinity which its author had uttered with so much
confidence and flourish. The smaller boys could hardly
walk for laughter.

“Towne!” said Mr. Bruce, the Tutor, “stand out
of the procession.” And he took his stand at one side,
evidently not understanding things.

“What do you mean by such a disgusting sentence!”
asked the Tutor.

“Why, I don't see how it's disgusting, sir. All I
meant to say was, `I've caught a rabbit.'”

“Well, that isn't what you did say,” answered the
Tutor.

“Why, Gas—, why, sir, one o' the fellows gave it me
for good Latin. He told me that's what it meant, and
that's what I meant to say,” said Towne, with evident
honesty.

“Gaston's Latin is well enough,” said Mr. Bruce,
smiling; “but you'd better take care of people's giving
you Latin till you know enough to find out what it
means.”

“Oh! I don't mean to say it was Gaston” — began
Towne, but stopped there, and smiled, too, like the
Tutor.

The procession had gone into breakfast, the blessing
had been said, the clatter of chairs had ended, and the
boys' chatter and the clink of knife and plate had
begun. Mr. Bruce wanted breakfast, no doubt, but he
had not done with Towne.

“That mud looks fresh upon your clothes, Towne,”
said he; and it was only after acknowledging that he
had broken bounds, a thing which would bring a pretty
heavy penalty, that the poor lad was sent in to his fellows,
and Mr. Bruce followed.

The boys had gone to the dining-room in very good
humor, while the Tutors looked extraordinarily grave
and unconscious of the fun. As Towne came in, still
sheepish-looking, he nearly set the laughter all going
again: even Brade and Remsen could hardly resist the
influence; and, as Towne sat down at table, they both

looked at him, not savagely. Presently, something
happened which changed the condition of things.

A smoking, savory-looking mess was brought in, with
much gravity, by the head waiter, and set down in
front of Towne. At the sight, his late discomfitures
seemed to slip out of his mind, and a look of good-nature
and hospitality took possession of his face.
With the courtesy customary at St. Bart's, he immediately
set his dish in progress, to share his dainties with
others. First it went to the Rector, and was duly
acknowledged, though not touched. Towne, though a
lazy fellow, and sometimes grumbling, was free-hearted
and loyal; and as he looked up, blushing, to the Rector's
table, wishing to see some of his rabbit accepted
by the Head of the School, his plain face was bettered.
“You fellows didn't get any thing this morning,” he
said, across the table, “take some of our rabbit, won't
you?” and he set it forward toward Remsen and Brade.
It had been served up in style; and the head and long
ears made quite a show, separated by a bit of toast
from the other members.

The two boys had already lost the expression which
they had brought in to the table; and they both coldly
declined, — Brade following Remsen. Towne, perhaps,
had not observed the distance of their manner, for
he pressed his kindness on them, telling them that
“there was plenty, and that they need not be afraid to
take it.”

Remsen went so far as to look closely at one of the
ears, while the head was near him; but he put no hand
to the dish. The owner was hurt.

“There are plenty more that'll take it, if you won't,”
he said; a sentiment which was heartily responded to

by Arthur Dover, commonly called “Fatty,” and by
Wilkins and others. The dish circulated, — first to
Towne's two partners, then to others, — and came back.
considerably lessened, to the hospitable first partner.
He showed, by his way of dealing with it, that he
understood and appreciated it thoroughly, even though
he had not been able to give it its Latin name.

Breakfast passed: the rabbit was all consumed; but
with this gathering coldness and storm, which were evident
to all the boys in the neighborhood, there was an
uncomfortable silence at that part of the younger table;
and others after Brade and Remsen were rather awkward
in speaking to Towne and his partners. All of
them were observed, as if there was a general waiting
to know what was to come.

Doubts, suspicions, disagreements, quarrels (it is good
that we have to go out of kindly English to Latin for
these words) are very serious things with boys, as well
as with their elders. Boys of good feelings have not
yet brushed through and thrown aside, or trampled
down, many estrangements and embittered friendships,
and so grown heedless of them.

In a case like this, between Towne and the two other
boys, it would be impossible to believe, without overwhelming
proof, that any of their own companions
could be guilty of downright and low thieving. There
are, of course, boys, as there are men, who carry teasing,
and what they call “practical joking” to the
utmost stretch of falseness, short of making actual gain
of it, at last. But to take, and carry away, and skin
another boy's rabbit; to eat the flesh and keep the
skin, — this could scarcely be believed of school-fellows
anywhere; and, of course, of school-fellows at St.

Bart's. Towne, or others, might make themselves exceedingly
disagreeable, — they might be even a standing
nuisance, as confirmed “practical jokers” always
are; but they would not steal, and then lie about the
theft.

Yet the thing looked badly, and must be explained.

This would be the natural reasoning of Remsen and
Brade.

As things stood, they could hardly get away from
the conclusion that he, or his fellows, had taken their
rabbit; but they had not asked him “up and down.”
This, therefore, they proposed to do.

Towne, sitting lower at the table, went out before
them; and, by the time they got well abroad, he was
already on the gravel, marking out the ground for some
purpose, attended by Wilkins and Dover. As Remsen
and Brade drew near, he stood up from his occupation,
and of himself addressed them.

Our readers already know the bright freshness of
that morning, and have felt the spirit and strength
which such a day brings up with it.

“What ailed you fellows, at breakfast? Anybody'd
have thought our rabbit was rotten, or something, by
the way you acted.”

This was certainly rather frank and manly.

“I should want to know where you got that rabbit,
first?” answered Remsen

“Why, we got him out of the field, like anybody,”
said Towne.

“But I should like to know whose snare you caught
him with,” said the other.

“I don't see what that has to do with the goodness
of the meat,” said Towne.

Remsen made an emphatic gesture with his head, as
he answered, —

“A good deal to do with my eating him.”

“Why! why ain't Tarleton's trap as good as yours,
any day, I should like to know?” said Towne. “I guess
that's a noo idea, that one fellow's trap's wholesomer'n
another's.” He spoke like one that had common sense
on his side, but could not see what the other party were
driving at.

“And when did you ever know even a common rabbit
get caught in an iron trap?” asked the other.

Remsen was growing pale and agitated. Before he
spoke again, Brade, who had been entirely silent, spoke,
and it was plain that he, too, was very much excited,
though in another way, for he was flushed.

“But did you take him out of our snare?” he asked,
directly.

“Take him out of your snare!” exclaimed Towne,
now, for the first time, showing any understanding of
the case, or any real feeling. “No! of course we didn't
take him out of your snare! You don't suppose we're
thieves, do you?”

Now the thing was brought to a point. The boys
suspected had denied, absolutely, that they had done
the bad thing suspected.

Wilkins had come immediately forward at the first
question, and had stood ready to come into the conference,
whenever there should be a chance. Now, then,
Wilkins, the instant the denial had been made, supported
it by testimony of his own.

“Why, I was the first one that got there,” he said,
“and there he was in our trap when I got there.”

This testimony seemed clear and conclusive: that

very rabbit which had been skinned and eaten had been
caught fairly in the other party's trap. What could be
said? Remsen, however, was still full of question.

Now, even lawyers, although they are men, and in
constant practice, seem sometimes to make poor work
of examining witnesses; and Remsen had not the
experience of a lawyer. His questions, therefore, were,
most likely, not so well aimed or so well expressed as
they might have been.

“You didn't know there was a rabbit in our snare,
this morning? and his left ear was split down? and his
right fore foot bloody, between the first and second
claws? and a brown spot on his left shoulder?”

“What are you fellows jawing about? How was I
going to know? I never went near your trap, — I, nor
any of us, either,” answered Towne. “Suppose I had
known? — what then?”

By this time, boys coming and going had begun to
stop, in the way, beside these excited disputants. Indeed,
quite a crowd was gathering. Outside of the
ring, Alonzo Peters was flitting about, paling and flushing,
and sometimes stopping, and seemingly on the point
of speaking.

“Let's go off, somewhere else,” said Brade to Remsen.
“We don't want the whole school round us.”

Remsen was too full of his subject to care about
surroundings. Towne, too, said that he “did not care
how many came round. They might come and welcome,
for all he cared.”

The bearing of Remsen's question is not, perhaps,
obvious to the reader; nor was it, very likely, obvious
to Towne. “What have I got to do with your rabbit?
Why didn't you bring up your rabbit, if you had one?

What did you do with him?” And Towne laughed
scornfully.

Remsen drew his hand out of his pocket, and held up
a hare's head: —

“There's something just like ours, any way,” said he,
showing the ear split down.

“That looks amazingly like mine!” said Towne.
“My ear was so.”

Some of the crowd laughed.

“I do believe that's my head,” said Towne, — “I'm
sure of it,” he added, gaining strength of conviction, as
he looked at it longer.

Of course the chance of an easy joke was not lost
upon the crowd; and Tom Hutchins, accordingly,
made as much of it as he could, calling out, more than
once, —

“Towne's head! Towne says that's his head! Twig
the long ears it's got!”

“That's your head if you want it,” said Remsen, too
much in earnest to see any thing like a joke in the
case; “but I want you just to take notice to the way
that left ear is split down, — just the way ours was.”

“Well, what did you do with yours?” asked Towne.
“Did you let it go?”

“Let it go!” exclaimed Remsen: “it's likely we'd let
it go, — we never had it.”

“Well, if here ain't a pretty story!” said Towne:
“coming here, getting angry, and abusing a fellah like
a pickpocket! I can't make out what you mean, for
my part.”

Brade had had very little share of the controversy;
but he had stood close up to the two main speakers,
with his face flushed and his eyes sparkling, and he

joined a good deal of dumb show to the discussion,
looking from one speaker to the other, and handling
the head when it was brought forward. He now
spoke: —

“Rainor told us he was in our snare,” he said.

“Then Rainor was mistaken in the place, I suppose,”
said Towne.

“No, he said our snare, by Indian Rock,” insisted
Brade.

“Well, then, Rainor lies, — that's all. If he says that
rabbit was in your snare, Indian Rock, or any rock, he
lies.”

“He told us right about the ear, any way,” said
Remsen; “and he said there was a brown spot on the
left shoulder. Dar'st you let us look at the skin?”

Towne turned with some dignity to the gathering of
boys before he answered, and having looked hastily
round, as if to see what shape public opinion was
taking, he said: —

“Of course I dare; but I say, before all these boys,
At first, I didn't know what you were driving at; but
if you're going upon the supposition that we're thieves
till we've proved we ain't, after I've told you we found
that rabbit in our trap, I won't have any thing to do
with it. I'll leave it out to any fair judges, — to any
two monitors, — I say Russell and Lamson.”

At this moment the bell, which had not improbably
been waiting the issue of the discussion, for its ringer
was mortal and a boy, began to roll over and over, and
sound its “Ding!” in one direction, and its “Dong!”
in another, and the gathering of boys began to move,
— some running off immediately to the house, some
walking leisurely in the same direction, and even those

who did not yet leave the scene of controversy became
restless, as if keeping their legs ready to go at the last
moment.

“Rainor is a great liar,” said Brade, who seemed
ready to relent and to make up, and who was now
impatient to go, and had half started. “I believe
Towne.”

“But weren't the white hairs sticking right underneath
our snare, when we saw it?” asked Remsen; and
again the complexion of things changed.

“Here comes Russell, now!” said Brade. “Let's
leave it to him and Lamson, as Towne says.” And, as
Russell, in coming up from the home play-ground, was
turning towards the school-house, the crowd, foremost
of whom Brade was allowed to go, as being one of the
parties, and of the parties the one most impatient to
have the difficulty settled, joined him; and Brade and
Remsen hastily set the case before him, from their
side.

“And you got your information from Rainor, did
you?”

“And I say,” said Towne, “that that rabbit was in
our trap, when we came to it.”

“And I say that I came there first,” said Wilkins,
“and he was there when I got there.”

“And you all agree to take our judgment?” asked
Russell. “Where's Tarleton?”

“I will,” said Towne, “if you'll only agree to take
time to it, and find out all about it.” “And I,” said
Brade; “and I,” said Wilkins; “and I,” said Remsen.

“There ought to be some person to watch the traps,
till you get there,” said Towne.

“Well, the fellow for that is Jake Moody; and he'll

do it, — if you could only get him,” said Russell, changing
to optative or potential, as he thought how little
time they could command.

Before the words were out of his mouth, and without
regard to time or season, Remsen went off, like a
flash.

“Then you're all agreed?” Russell asked, as they
reached the door.

All who were there answered “yes;” and the boys
went in, crowding and jostling and pushing, to be in
time.

Dover and Wilkins were compelled to give way to
every other member of the little throng; and then
Eugene Augustus Wilkins asserted himself upon Arthur
Dover, who was smaller, and succeeded in getting in
before him. Before the last boy was fairly in the
school-room, Remsen came, out of breath, but answering
the inquisitive look of Blake and others by a quick,
affirmative, satisfied nod of the head.

Outside stayed sunshine, on the hills behind; and
near the door a small litter of hockey-sticks and other
remains of boys. A smothered storm of bitterness
and angry feeling had come through the door.