other get wind of what wasgoing on, and there would be the whole seventeen in a pack at Jim'sheels, all keeping a sharp lookout on the trees; then, as soon as a catsaw a linnet, he would make for the tree, sometimes crouch under thetree, sometimes run up it; in either case the linnet was pretty sure tofly out: pop, would go Jim's rifle; down would come the linnet;helter-skelter would go the cats to the spot where it fell; and in aminute more, there would be nothing to be seen of that linnet, except afew feathers and a drop or two of blood on the ground.
JIM AND THE CATS HUNTING LINNETS.--Page 111.]
Jusy liked to go with Jim on these hunting expeditions. But Rea wouldnever go. She used to sit sorrowfully at home, and listen for thegunshots; and at every shot she heard, she would exclaim to Anita, "Oh,dear! Oh, dear! There's another dear little linnet dead. I think Jusy isa cruel, cruel boy! I wouldn't see them shot for anything, and I don'tlike the cats any more."
"But," said Anita, "my little senorita did not mind having the gopherskilled. It does not hurt the linnets half so much to be shot dead in onesecond, as it does the gophers to be caught in the cats' claws, and tornto pieces sometimes while they are yet alive. The shot-gun kills in asecond."
"I don't care," said Rea. "It seems different; the linnets are sopretty."
"That is not a reason for pitying them any more," said Anita gravely."You did not find those old Indians you saw yesterday pretty. On thecontrary, they were frightful to look at; yet you pitied them so muchthat you shed tears."
"Oh, yes!" cried Rea, "I should think I did; and, Anita, I dreamed aboutthem all night long. I am going to ask Uncle George to build a littlehouse for them up in the canon. There is plenty of room there he doesnot want; and then nobody could drive them out of that place as long asthey live; and I could carry them their dinner every day. Don't youthink he will?"
"Bless your kind little heart!" said Anita. "That would be asking agreat deal of your Uncle George, but he is so kind, perhaps he will. Ifsomebody does not take compassion on the poor things, they will starve,that is certain."
"I shall ask him the minute he comes in," said Rea. "I am going down onthe piazza now to watch for him." And taking Fairy in her arms, Reahurried downstairs, went out on the veranda, and, climbing up into thehammock, was sound asleep in ten minutes.
She was waked up by feeling herself violently swung from side to side,and opening her eyes, saw Jusy standing by her side, his face flushedwith the heat, his eyes sparkling.
"O Rea!" he said. "We have had a splendid hunt! What do you think! Jimhas shot twenty linnets in this one morning! and that Skipper, he'seaten five of them! He's as good as a regular hunting dog."
"Where's Uncle George?" asked Rea sleepily, rubbing her eyes. "I wantUncle George! I don't want you to tell me anything about the cats'eating the linnets. I hate them! They're cruel!"
"'Tisn't cruel either!" retorted Jusy. "They've got to be killed. Allpeople that have orchards have to kill birds."
"I won't, when I have an orchard," said Rea.
"Then you won't have any orchard. That will be all," said Jusy. "Atleast, you won't have any fruit orchard. You'll have just a treeorchard."
"Well, a tree orchard is good enough for anybody," replied Rea halfcrossly. She was not yet quite wide awake. "There is plenty of fruit instores, to buy. We could buy our fruit."
"Are you talking in your sleep, Rea?" cried Jusy, looking hard at her."I do believe you are! What ails you? The men that have the fruit tosell, had to kill all the linnets and things, just the same way, or elsethey wouldn't have had any fruit. Can't you see?"
No, Rea could not see; and what was more, she did not want to see; andas the proverb says, "There are none so blind as those who won't see."
"Don't talk any more about it, Jusy," she said. "Do you think UncleGeorge would build a little house up the canon for poor old Ysidro?"
"Who!" exclaimed Jusy.
"Oh, you cruel boy!" cried Rea. "You don't think of anything but killinglinnets, and such cruel things; I think you are real wicked. Don't youknow those poor old Indians we saw yesterday?--the ones that are goingto be turned out of their house, down in San Gabriel by the church. Ihave been thinking about them ever since; and I dreamed last night thatUncle George built them a house. I'm going to ask him to."
"I bet you anything he won't, then," said Jusy. "The horrid old beggars!He wouldn't have such looking things round!"
Rea was wide awake now. She fixed her lovely blue eyes on Jusy's facewith a look which made him ashamed. "Jusy," she said, "I can't help itif you are older than I am; I must say, I think you are cruel. You liketo kill linnets; and now you won't be sorry for these poor old Indians,just because they are dirty and horrid-looking. You'd look just as badyourself, if your skin was black, and you were a hundred years old, andhadn't got a penny in the world. You are real hard-hearted, Jusy, I dothink you are!" and the tears came into Rea's eyes.
"What is all this?" said Uncle George, coming up the steps. "Notquarrelling, my little people!"
"Oh, no! no!" cried both the children eagerly.
"I never quarrel with Rea," added Jusy proudly. "I hope I am old enoughto know better than that."
"I'm only two years the youngest," said Rea, in a mortified tone. "Ithink I am old enough to be quarrelled with; and I do think you'recruel, Jusy."
This made Uncle George smile. "Look out!" he said. "You will be in aquarrel yet, if you are not careful. What is it, Rea?"
While Rea was collecting her thoughts to reply, Jusy took the words outof her mouth.
"She thinks I am cruel, because I said I didn't believe you would builda house for Indians up in your canon."
"It was not that!" cried Rea. "You are real mean, Jusy!"
And so I think, myself, he was. He had done just the thing which is sooften done in this world,--one of the unfairest and most provoking ofthings; he had told the truth in such a way as to give a wrongimpression, which is not so very far different, in my opinion, fromtelling a lie.
"A home for Indians up in the canon!" exclaimed Uncle George, drawingRea to him, and seating her on his knee. "Did my little tender-heartedRea want me to do that? It would take a very big house, girlie, for allthe poor Indians around here;" and Uncle George looked lovingly at Rea,and kissed her hair, as she nestled her head into his neck. "Just likeher mother," he thought. "She would have turned every house into anasylum if she could."
"Oh, not for all the Indians, Uncle George," said Rea, encouraged by hiskind smile,--"I am not such a fool as Jusy thinks,--only for those twoold ones that are going to be turned out of their home they've alwayslived in. You know the ones I mean."
"Ah, yes,--old Ysidro and his wife. Well, Rea, I had already thought ofthat myself. So you were not so much ahead of me."
"There!" exclaimed Rea triumphantly, turning to Jusy. "What do you saynow?"
Jusy did not know exactly what to say, he was so astonished; and as hesaw Jim and the cats coming up the road at that minute, he gladly tookthe opportunity to spring down from the veranda and run to meet them.
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IV.
The story of old Ysidro was indeed a sad one; and I think, with Rea,that any one must be hard-hearted, who did not pity him. He was a veryold Indian; nobody knew how old; but he looked as if he must be ahundred at least. Ever since he could remember, he had lived in a littlehouse in San Gabriel. The missionaries who first settled San Gabriel hadgiven a small piece of land to his father, and on it his father hadbuilt this little house of rough bricks made of mud. Here Ysidro wasborn, and here he had always lived. His father and mother had been deada long time. His brothers and sisters had all died or gone away to livein some other place.
When he was a young man, he had married a girl named Carmena. She wasstill living, almost as old as he; all their children had either died,or married and gone away, and the two old people lived alone together inthe little mud house.
They were very poor; but they managed to earn just enough to keep fromstarving. There was a li
ttle land around the house,--not more than anacre; but it was as much as the old man could cultivate. He raised a fewvegetables, chiefly beans, and kept some hens.
Carmena had done fine washing for the San Gabriel people as long as herstrength held out; but she had not been able for some years to do that.All she could do now was to embroider and make lace. She had to stay inbed most of the time, for she had the rheumatism in her legs and feet