Woodchucks in the Clover 3/3

The final part of the twenty-sixth tale from The Animal Book

“It’s crazy,” cried Catherine, and at first they were afraid the animal would attack them; it ran to and fro in what seemed an aimless sort of manner. At length they concluded that it had lost its hole and was trying to find it. They saw that its head was bare of hair in front and presently decided that the poor creature was blind, for its eyes appeared to be gone or covered over with an encrustation.

The explanation of its singular appearance and behavior then suddenly occurred to Ellen. “I know!” she cried. “It’s one of those woodchucks that Ad has shot in the face and eyes as they peep out of their holes when he whistles to them!”

“Oh, the poor, abused thing!” exclaimed Catherine. “I never heard of anything so hatefully cruel!”

The woodchuck, although so dreadfully wounded and with its eyes destroyed by the powder, had yet after several days mustered sufficient strength to come out and feed. But it was totally blind and, once having lost its course, could not find the way back to its burrow but dashed about in terror amidst the clover. Finally it took refuge beneath some of the lodged grass beside a stone, and meantime those sympathetic girls held an indignation meeting. Their pity for the poor creature knew no bounds, and Ellen was despatched to call us boys to the spot that the full enormity of our act might be exhibited before our eyes.

We were just finishing hoeing the corn the second time that afternoon and had only a few rows more. With an air of one who has a mission and a duty to perform, Ellen approached where we were at work and said, “We want you to come down to the south field this minute!”

“What for?” asked Addison.

“A good reason,” replied Ellen, with an accent of suppressed scorn. “Kate and Doad sent me.”

“What is it?” persisted Addison.

“Some of your fine works,” said Ellen. “And you just come straight along and see it.”

“We won’t go unless you tell,” replied Halse.

“Oh, you won’t!” exclaimed Ellen severely. “Great woodchuck hunters you are!” At the word woodchuck we began to feel interested and at length so far obeyed Ellen’s iterated summons as to follow after her to the south field.

“Well, what’s wanted?” demanded Addison, addressing himself to Theodora as we drew near.

“I want you to see just what a cruel boy you are!” she replied. “There’s one of the woodchucks that you pretend to shoot so cutely. Go look at him, right under the clover there by that stone. Look at his poor little eyes all burned out, you cruel fellow!”

Not a little dumbfounded by this blast of indignation thus suddenly let loose upon us, we drew near and examined the crouching chuck. It was really a rueful spectacle—the disabled and trembling creature trying in vain to see where its enemies were gathered about it.

“I didn’t think you were such a cruel boy!” exclaimed Catherine, sarcastically. “Alf Batchelder might do such a thing. He is hateful enough always. But I didn’t think it of you.”

“Well, I shot at him,” exclaimed Addison. “I thought I had killed him, you know.”

“Oh yes, you did think, did you!” cried Catherine. “How would you like to have someone come along to your door or your chamber window, and speak to you to come out, and then when you stepped to the door to see what was wanted, to have them fire powder in your face and burn your eyes out! How would you like that?”

“I don’t think I would like it,” replied Addison, laughing.

“Now I wouldn’t laugh,” said Theodora, whose feelings had been wrought upon to the point of tears as she watched the blinded creature. “You ought not to have such a hard heart. I didn’t think you had, once,” she added reproachfully.

“Oh, he is just like all the rest of the boys,” exclaimed Kate. “No, he isn’t,” said Theodora, wiping her eyes.

“They are all alike,” persisted Kate. “Always killing and torturing something.”

“And all the girls are little saints,” mimicked Halse.

“Oh, I’m not speaking to you!” cried Kate. “You’re the Alf Batchelder sort. But I’m ashamed of Addison, to treat any creature in that way!”

In short, those girls read us a dreadful lecture; they berated us hot and heavy. If we attempted to reply and defend ourselves, they only lashed us the harder.

“Well, well,” said Addison at length, picking up a club. “I’ll put the creature out of its misery, so that at least it will not be caught and worried by dogs.”

“You sha’n’t! You sha’n’t kill the poor thing!” cried Ellen, and then finding that Addison was about to do so, they all turned and ran away without looking back.

Halstead was inclined to make light of the matter, ridiculing the girls, but Addison did not say much about it. I think he felt conscience-smitten, and I never knew him to attempt to shoot a woodchuck in that way afterwards.

The End