The New McGuffey Fourth Reader by W. H. McGuffey (best way to read books .TXT) 📖

the same route. Singleton and his youthful companion darted away at an easy pace into the woods, in which they had scarcely shrouded themselves before they heard the rushing and fierce cries of Tarleton’s dragoons.

“Do you remember, Lance,” said Singleton to the boy,—“do you remember the chase we had from the Oaks when Proctor pursued us?”

“Yes, sir; and a narrow chance it was when your horse tumbled. I thought they would have caught and killed you then, sir; but I didn’t know anything of fighting in the woods then.”

“Keep cool, and there’s little danger anywhere,” responded Singleton. “Men in a hurry are always in danger. To be safe, be steady. But hark! do you not hear them now? Some of them have got upon our track.”

“I do hear a noise, sir: there was a dry bush that cracked then.”

“And a voice,—that was a shout. Let us stop for a moment and reload. A shot may be wanted.”

Coolly dismounting, Singleton proceeded to charge his rifle, which had been slung across his shoulder. His companion did the same. While loading, the former felt a slight pain and stiffness in his left arm: “I am hurt, Lance, I do believe. Look here at my shoulder.”

“There’s blood, sir; and the coat’s cut with a bullet. The bullet’s in your arm, sir.”

“No, not now. It has been there, I believe, though the wound is slight. There! now mount; we have no time to see to it now.”

“That’s true, sir, for I hear the horses. And look now, major! There’s two of the dragoons coming through the bush, and straight toward us.”

“Two only?” said Singleton, again unslinging his rifle. The boy readily understood the movement, and proceeded to do likewise; but he was too late. The shot of Singleton was immediate, and the foremost trooper fell forward from his horse. His companion fled.

“Don’t ‘light, Lance: keep on. There’s only one now, and he won’t trouble us. Away, sir!” It was time to speed. The report of the shot and the fall of the dragoon gave a direction to the whole force of the pursuers, whose shouts and cries might now be heard ringing in all directions through the forest behind them.

“They can’t reach us, Lance,” said Singleton, as they hastened forward. “We shall round that bay in a few seconds, and they will be sure to boggle into it. On, boy, and waste no eyesight in looking behind you. Push on; the bay is before us.”

Thus speaking, guiding and encouraging the boy, the fearless partisan kept on. In a few minutes they had rounded the thick bay, and were deeply sheltered in a dense wood well known at that period by a romantic title, which doubtless had its story. “My Lady’s Fancy. We are safe now, Lance, and a little rest will do no harm.”

The partisan, as he spoke, drew up his horse, threw himself from his back, fastened him to a hanging branch, and, passing down to a hollow where a little brooklet ran trickling along with a gentle murmur, drank deeply of its sweet and quiet waters, which he scooped up with a calabash that hung on a bough above.

Then, throwing himself down under the shadow of the tree, he lay as quietly as if there had been no danger tracking his footsteps, and no deadly enemy still prowling in the neighborhood and hungering for his blood.

—From “Mellichampe.”

DEFINITIONS:—Partisan, any one of a body of light troops, designed to carry on a desultory warfare. Audacity, daring spirit. Knoll, a little round hill. Shrouded, hidden. Calabash, a dry gourd scooped out.

NOTES.—Marion’s Men. During the Revolution, General Francis Marion was in command of a body of partisan soldiers known by the above title. They were for the most part poorly clad and equipped, but their bravery, self-denial, and patriotism enabled them to do good service in the cause of freedom. Their deeds have been commemorated in Bryant’s well-known poem, the first stanza of which is as follows:— “Our band is few, but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold; The British soldier trembles When Marion’s name is told.”

Tarleton. Colonel Tarleton was in command of a portion of the British forces in South Carolina during the Revolution. He was an able, brave, but merciless soldier.

 

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN.

A CHILD’S STORY.

BY ROBERT BROWNING.

I.

Hamelin town’s in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side A pleasanter spot you never spied; But when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin, what a pity!

II.

Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook’s own ladles. Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men’s Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women’s chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

III.

At last the people in a body To the town hall came flocking: “‘Tis clear,” cried they, “our mayor’s a noddy; And as for our corporation—shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can’t or won’t determine What’s best to rid us of our vermin! Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we’re lacking, Or, sure as fate, we’ll send you packing!” At this the mayor and corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation.

IV.

An hour they sat in council; At length the mayor broke silence “For a guilder I’d my ermine gown sell; I wish I were a mile hence! It’s easy to bid one rack one’s brain— I’m sure my poor head aches again, I’ve scratched it so, and all in vain. Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!” Just as he said this, what should hap At the chamber door but a gentle tap! “Bless us,” cried the mayor, “what’s that?” (With the corporation as he sat Looking little though wondrous fat; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister Than a too-long-opened oyster, Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle green and glutinous), “Only a scraping of shoes on the mat Anything like the sound of a rat Slakes my heart go pit-a-pat!”

V.

“Come in!”—the mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure! His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red, And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in; There was no guessing his kith and kin: And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire. Quoth one: “It’s as my great-grandsire, Starting up at the trump of doom’s tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!”

VI.

He advanced to the council table: And, “Please your honors,” said he, “I’m able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep or swim or fly or run, After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole and toad and newt and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper.” (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of the selfsame check; And at the scarf’s end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture so old-fangled.) “Yet,” said he, “poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampire bats: And as for what your brain bewilders, If I can rid your town of rats Will you give me a thousand guilders?” “One? fifty thousand!”—was the exclamation Of the astonished mayor and corporation.

VII.

Into the street the piper stepped Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives— Followed the piper for their lives. From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser, Wherein all plunged and perished! —Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry To rat-land home his commentary: Which was, “At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press’s gripe: And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks: And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, ‘Oh rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! So munch on, crunch on, take your nunchion, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!’ And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, ‘Come, bore me!’ —I found the Weser rolling o’er me.”

VIII.

You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. “Go, cried the mayor, “and get long poles, Poke out the nests and block up the holes! Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!” when suddenly, up the face Of the piper perked in the market place, With a “First, if you please, my thousand guilders!”

IX.

A thousand guilders! The mayor looked blue; So did the corporation too. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! “Beside,” quoth the mayor with a knowing wink. “Our business was done at the river’s brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what’s dead can’t come to life, I think. So, friend, we’re not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something for drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Beside, our losses have made us thrifty. A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!”

X.

The piper’s face fell, and he cried, “No trifling! I can’t wait. Beside, I’ve promised to visit by dinner time Bagdat, and accept the prime Of the head cook’s pottage, all he’s rich in, For having left, in the caliph’s kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor: With him I proved no bargain driver, With you, don’t think I’ll bate a stiver! And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe after another fashion.”

XI.

“How?” cried the mayor, “d’ye think I brook Being worse treated than a cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your