Chapter 3 No.3

The Museum.

Let us now proceed to examine the other objects in the museum. A wide shelf, elevated about four feet above the floor, extends entirely around the room, and on this the specimens are mounted. On one side of the door stands a tall, majestic elk, with his head thrown forward, and his wide-spreading antlers lowered, as if he meant to dispute our entrance. On the opposite side is a large black fox, which stands with one foot raised and his ears thrown forward, as if listening to some strange sound. This is the same fox which so long held possession of Reynard's Island; and the young naturalist and his cousin were the ones who succeeded in capturing him. The next two scenes are what Frank calls his "masterpieces." The first is a large buck, running for dear life, closely followed by a pack of gaunt, hungry wolves, five in number, with their sharp-pointed ears laid back close to their heads, their tongues hanging out of their mouths, and their lips spotted with foam The flanks of the buck are dripping with blood from wounds made by their long teeth. In the next scene the buck is at bay. Almost tired out, or, perhaps, too closely pressed by his pursuers, he has at length turned furiously upon them, to sell his life as dearly as possible. Two of the wolves are lying a little distance off, where they have been tossed by the powerful buck, one dead, the other disabled; and the buck's sharp antlers are buried deep in the side of another, which had attempted to seize him.

Well may Frank be proud of these specimens, for they are admirably executed. The animals are neatly stuffed, and look so lifelike and the positions are so natural, that you could almost fancy that you hear the noise of the scuffle. The next scene represents an owl, which, while engaged in one of his nocturnal plundering expeditions, has been overtaken by daylight, and not being able to reach his usual hiding-place, he has taken refuge in a clump of bushes, where he has been discovered by a flock of his inveterate enemies, the crows. The owl sits upon his perch, glaring around with his great eyes, while his tormentors surround him on all sides, their mouths wide open, as if reviling their enemy with all their might. The next scene represents a flock of ducks sporting in the water, and a sly old fox, concealed behind the trunk of a tree close by, is watching their motions, evidently with the intention of "bagging" one of them for his supper. In the next scene he is running off, at full speed, with one of the ducks thrown over his shoulder; and the others, with their mouths open as if quacking loudly, are just rising from the water. In the next scene is a large black wolf, which has just killed a lamb, and crouches over it with open mouth, as if growling fiercely at something which is about to interrupt his feast. The next scene represents a fish-hawk, which has just risen from the lake, with a large trout struggling in his talons; and just above him is a bald-eagle, with his wings drawn close to his body, in the act of swooping down upon the fish-hawk, to rob him of his hard-earned booty. In the next scene a raccoon is attempting to seize a robin, which he has frightened off her nest. The thief had crawled out on the limb on which the nest was placed, intending, no doubt, to make a meal of the bird; but mother Robin, ever on the watch, had discovered her enemy, and flown off just in time to escape. The next scene is a large "dead-fall" trap, nicely set, with the bait placed temptingly within; and before it crouches a sleek marten, peeping into it as if undecided whether to enter or not.

All these specimens have been cured and stuffed by Frank and Archie; and, with the exception of the deer and wolves, they had killed them all. The latter had been furnished by Archie's father. The boys had never killed a deer, and he had promised to take them, during the coming winter with him up into the northern part of the state, where they would have an opportunity of trying their skill on the noble game.

But the museum is not the only thing that has given Frank the name of the "young naturalist." He is passionately fond of pets, and he has a pole shanty behind the museum, which he keeps well stocked with animals and birds. In one cage he has a young hawk, which he has just captured; in another, a couple of squirrels, which have become so tame that he can allow them to run about the shanty without the least fear of their attempting to escape. Then he has two raccoons, several pigeons, kingbirds, quails, two young eagles, and a fox, all undergoing a thorough system of training. But his favorite pets are a pair of kingbirds and a crow, which are allowed to run at large all the time. They do not live on very good terms with each other. In their wild state they are enemies, and each seems to think the other has no business about the cottage; and Frank has been the unwilling witness to many a desperate fight between them, in which the poor crow always comes off second best. Then, to console himself, he will fly upon Frank's shoulder, cawing with all his might, as if scolding him for not lending some assistance. To make amends for his defeat, Frank gives him a few kernels of corn, and then shows him a hawk sailing through the air; and Sam, as he calls the crow, is off in an instant, and, after tormenting the hawk until he reaches the woods, he will always return.

Not a strange bird is allowed to come about the cottage. The kingbirds, which have a nest in a tree close by the house, keep a sharp look-out; and hawks, eagles, crows, and even those of their own species, all suffer alike. But now and then a spry little wren pays a visit to the orchard, and then there is sport indeed. The wren is a great fighting character, continually getting into broils with the other birds, and he has no notion of being driven off; and, although the kingbirds, with Sam's assistance, generally succeed in expelling the intruder, it is only after a hard fight.

Directly opposite the door that opens into the museum is another entrance, which leads into a room which Frank calls his shop. A work-bench has been neatly fitted up in one corner, at the end of which stands a large chest filled with carpenter's tools. On the bench are several half-finished specimens of Frank's skill-a jointed fish-pole, two or three finely-shaped hulls, and a miniature frigate, which he is making for one of his friends. The shop and tools are kept in the nicest order, and Frank spends every rainy day at his bench.

The young naturalist is also a good sailor, and has the reputation of understanding the management of a sail-boat as well as any other boy in the village. He has two boats, which are in the creek, tied to the wharf in front of the house. One of them is a light skiff, which he frequently uses in going to and from the village and on his fishing excursions, and the other is a scow, about twenty feet long and six feet wide, which he built himself. He calls her the Speedwell. He has no sail-boat, but he has passed hour after hour trying to conjure up some plan by which he might be enabled to possess himself of one. Such a one as he wants, and as most of the village have, would cost fifty dollars. Already he has laid by half that amount; but how is he to get the rest? He has begun to grow impatient. The yachting season has just opened; every day the river is dotted with white sails; trials of speed between the swiftest sailers come off almost every hour, and he is obliged to stand and look on, or content himself with rowing around in his skiff. It is true he has many friends who are always willing to allow him a seat in their boats, but that does not satisfy him. He has determined to have a yacht of his own, if there is any honest way for him to get it. For almost a year he has carefully laid aside every penny, and but half the necessary sum has been saved. How to get the remainder is the difficulty. He never asks his mother for money; he is too independent for that; besides, he has always been taught to rely on his own resources, and he has made up his mind that, if he can not earn his boat, he will go without it.

Three or four days after the commencement of our story, Frank might have been seen, about five o'clock one pleasant morning, seated on the wharf in front of the house, with Brave at his side. The question how he should get his boat had been weighing heavily upon his mind, and he had come to the conclusion that something must be done, and that speedily.

"Well," he soliloquized, "my chance of getting a sail-boat this season is rather slim, I'm afraid. But I've made up my mind to have one, and I won't give it up now. Let me see! I wonder how the Sunbeam [meaning his skiff] would sail? I mean to try her. No," he added, on second thought, "she couldn't carry canvas enough to sail with one of the village yachts. I have it!" he exclaimed at length, springing to his feet. "The Speedwell! I wonder if I couldn't make a sloop of her. At any rate, I will get her up into my shop and try it."

Frank, while he was paying a visit to his cousin in Portland, had witnessed a regatta, in which the Peerless, a large, schooner-rigged scow, had beaten the swiftest yachts of which the city boasted; and he saw no reason why his scow could not do the same. The idea was no sooner conceived than he proceeded to put it into execution. He sprang up the bank, with Brave close at his heels, and in a few moments disappeared in the wood-shed. A large wheelbarrow stood in one corner of the shed, and this Frank pulled from its place, and, after taking off the sides, wheeled it down to the creek, and placed it on the beach, a little distance below the wharf. He then untied the painter-a long rope by which the scow was fastened to the wharf-and drew the scow down to the place where he had left the wheelbarrow. He stood for some moments holding the end of the painter in his hand, and thinking how he should go to work to get the scow, which was very heavy and unwieldy, upon the wheelbarrow. But Frank was a true Yankee, and fruitful in expedients, and he soon hit upon a plan, which he was about putting into execution, when a strong, cheery voice called out:

"Arrah, me boy! What'll yer be after doing with the boat?"

Frank looked up and saw Uncle Mike, as the boys called him-a good-natured Irishman, who lived in a small rustic cottage not far from Mrs. Nelson's-coming down the bank.

"Good morning, Uncle Mike," said Frank, politely accepting the Irishman's proffered hand and shaking it cordially. "I want to get this scow up to my shop; but I'm afraid it is a little too heavy for me to manage."

"So it is, intirely," said Mike, as he divested himself of his coat, and commenced rolling up his shirt-sleeves. "Allow me to lend yer a helpin' hand." And, taking the painter from Frank's hand, he drew the scow out of the water, high upon the bank. He then placed his strong arms under one side of the boat, and Frank took hold of the other, and, lifting together, they raised it from the ground, and placed it upon the wheelbarrow. "Now, Master Frank," said Mike, "if you will take hold and steady her, I'll wheel her up to the shop for you."

Frank accordingly placed his hands upon the boat in such a manner that he could keep her steady and assist Mike at the same time; and the latter, taking hold of the "handles," as he termed them, commenced wheeling her up the bank. The load was heavy, but Mike was a sturdy fellow, and the scow was soon at the door of the shop. Frank then placed several sticks of round wood, which he had brought out of the wood-shed, upon the ground, about three feet apart, to serve as rollers, and, by their united efforts, the Speedwell was placed upon her side on these rollers, and in a few moments was left bottom upward on the floor of the shop.

* * *