The Strange Story Book

THE BEAVER AND THE PORCUPINE

Once upon a time there lived in the North West of America a beaver and a porcupine, who were great friends; and, as often happens, they loved each other all the better because they were so different. To begin with, the porcupine as no doubt you know is stuck over like a pin-cushion with long prickly quills, while the beaver is smooth-haired. Then the beaver had his house in the middle of a great lake, and the porcupine much preferred to dwell on land among the mountains, and if the beaver had not been able to swim, the two would never have met at all.

Now the beaver was often to be seen at the door of the porcupine's house, and was continually urging him to return the visit; but so far the porcupine had always refused.

'How can I?' he would ask. 'You know quite well that in a moment I should have swallowed so much water that my body would sink to the bottom, and I should never come up again. No, no! it is impossible – totally impossible – sorry as I am to give up the pleasure of seeing all the wonderful things you have told me of.' And try as he might, the beaver never could get another answer.

But one day he thought of a very clever plan, and he lost no time in putting it into practice. He had noticed from his house that the porcupine was sitting on the shore, enjoying the sun, so he instantly set off to swim to him.

'You are coming to see my house this minute,' said he.

'To see your house?' repeated the porcupine in amazement; 'but how am I to do that? I have told you a hundred times I should be drowned before I had gone ten yards.'

'Oh, no, you wouldn't!' replied the beaver, 'for I am going to carry you. Be quick and get on my back, and hold fast round my neck.'

'But I shall die! I know I shall!'

'I tell you, you won't die. I will take care of that! Oh, don't be such a coward!' And at length, very slowly, the porcupine climbed up and seated himself.

'Hold tight round my neck,' said the beaver again; 'I am just going to start.' But he need not have troubled to give that advice, for the porcupine's grasp nearly choked him. Still, so long as the beaver kept on the surface, the porcupine really had nothing to complain of; but when he dived as he did once or twice, the water got into the rider's eyes and nose and down his throat, and almost suffocated him.

No words could tell how thankful he was to reach the beaver's house, but he could not think how he should ever have the courage to make that dreadful journey a second time.

'You seem tired; you must have something to eat,' said the beaver as the porcupine lay down feebly on his side. The porcupine was very glad to hear that, for he was certainly hungry; but great was his disappointment when the beaver took out of a hole a bundle of sticks and placed them before his guest.

'They are quite young twigs – you will find them very good,' said he, and the poor porcupine did not know how to refuse, and ate them silently and without making more faces than he could help, for he did not like them at all.

Next morning, when the porcupine awoke, the beaver was standing by him.

'Let us have a game, friend,' he cried; 'I know ever so many!'

'What sort of game is it?' asked the porcupine, and the beaver answered: 'You shall get on my back, and put your nose well down on the nape of my neck, and four times will I dive to the bottom of the lake, and four times will I come up!'

This did not sound a very good game to the porcupine, and he would have preferred something quite different, but he did not like to be rude or ill-natured, so he agreed to play it. But when it came to the point, the game proved even worse than he thought, for before the beaver started he splashed about with his tail, and filled the porcupine's eyes and nose with water; and not content with that he stayed below at each dive so very long that, when they rose to the surface for the fourth time, the porcupine was nearly dead.

'I will take you home now,' said the beaver; 'I have enjoyed my game so much.'

No sooner had the porcupine touched dry land than he went up to join his tribe, and bade them come to a feast in his house. As soon as they were all assembled he told them of the terrible sufferings he had gone through at the hands of the beaver, whom he had always looked on as a friend, though he could do so no more.

'He really almost killed me,' he said mournfully; and his guests replied smilingly, 'Well, invite him to come and play with you.'

The porcupine was well pleased with their words, and next day sent a message to the beaver, begging for the honour of a visit as early as possible. The beaver lost no time in setting out, and the porcupine who was keeping watch soon saw him coming up the valley.

'Come in! come in!' cried he, and gave the fire a switch with his tail, so that some sparks flew right into the eyes of the guest. 'Do you feel inclined for some food?' inquired the porcupine; 'you have had a long walk and I am sure you must be hungry.'

'Thank you, I should like some,' replied the beaver; but he did not fancy the bark and pine needles that the porcupine placed before him. However, the porcupine did not seem to notice his guest's unwillingness, and only said:

'Eat a little faster, my friend, for I am longing to have a game with you'; so the beaver was forced to swallow some of the bark, which he did not like any better than the porcupine had liked the twigs.

'What game is it, and where do you play?' he asked when he had finished.

'Do you see that tree on the slope over there? That is my play-ground. But, perhaps, as it is getting late and you may be tired, it would be as well to put it off till to-morrow. I will show you where you are to sleep.' And as they walked along, the porcupine said something to the sky and the clouds vanished, and in the morning the ground was covered with ice.

The following day he told the beaver he had prepared another feast for him, but as it was just like the last, the beaver would rather have been without it.

'I have finished now,' he observed as soon as he could, and the porcupine answered:

'Very well; now we will go out to play.'

So the two went down towards the slope and came to a frozen stream which had to be crossed. The porcupine easily got over with his long claws, but the beaver's feet were smooth, and had nothing to hold on with, thus he slid from one side to the other and was very uncomfortable.

'Come along,' said the porcupine, 'it is all right'; but the beaver could not 'come along,' and at last the porcupine had to go back and take him by the hand and lead him over.

'Now you will be able to walk,' remarked the porcupine, and they went on to the place where the tree was standing.

'Here we are!' said the porcupine, stopping beneath it.

'But what is the game?' asked the beaver.

'Oh, you have to climb this tree.'

'But I have never climbed a tree in my life,' replied the beaver anxiously. 'How do you begin?'

'I will go first, and you have only to watch me and see how I do it,' answered the porcupine, and he climbed and climbed till he reached the very top of the tree. Then he let go the branch he was on, and dropped straight to the ground.

'There, it is not very difficult,' he said to the beaver; 'but as you are not used to climbing I will take you up on my back, and you can come down by yourself. Be sure you cling tight round my neck.' And the beaver did – very tight indeed.

It took them some time to reach the top of the tree and then the porcupine put the beaver on to a branch. But the beaver was not much more comfortable than when he was crossing the ice, for his smooth hands could not dig into the bark like the porcupine's claws.

'Hold fast to the tree, and I will go down first,' said the porcupine, and as he spoke he let the branch go, and fell down to the earth. Then he got up, and ran about at the foot of the tree, watching the beaver who was still on his branch, too frightened to move.

'Oh, don't be afraid! Look at me! I am alive as you see,' so at last the beaver let go as the porcupine bade him. But he did not know the proper way to fall as the porcupine did, and his head struck on a rock, and the blow killed him.

Then the porcupine went home.

AN OLD-WORLD GHOST

Children are often inclined to think that the nations who ruled the world long, long ago, were quite unlike ourselves, and always busy with very serious things, such as the passing of laws or fighting. It is quite a surprise sometimes to learn that they really shared our feelings on a whole quantity of subjects, and even, as this story will show, were quite as much afraid of ghosts or haunted houses as anybody in these days could be. It is told by a famous Roman citizen called Pliny, who was born near Lake Como in the reign of the Emperor Nero.

There was, he says, at that time a large and comfortable house in a good part of the town of Athens which, to the astonishment of everybody, stood empty for many years. It seemed odd that so fine a building should remain so long unoccupied, and at length one man more curious than the rest asked his host when at a small dinner party if he could explain the reason. The tale he heard from the Athenian noble was a marvellous one, and the guest shuddered as he listened, for though he was bold enough in the field of battle, he trembled in the presence of that which he did not understand.

Once the house had been filled with a gay family; music had floated through the garden, children had played at knuckle bones in the hall, and young men had thrown discs in the courts. But gradually sounds of laughter grew more rare and the dwellers in the house fell ill of mysterious maladies, till at last the few that were left departed for another place, hoping amidst new surroundings to shake off the gloom which possessed them. For a while none dared ask why the home of their fathers had been thus forsaken; but little by little whispers of the truth got abroad, and it was noticed that men turned down another street sooner than pass the empty mansion.

A little girl was the first to hear the noise and sat up straight in her bed with wide-open eyes peering into the darkness, too frightened even to call to her slave, as a sound like the clanking of chains struck upon her ear. It seemed to come from very far off; but soon, to the child's wild terror, it drew closer and closer, till she expected every moment to feel the touch of the cold iron on her cheek. Then, to her immense relief, it became fainter, and went farther and farther away, by and bye dying out altogether.

Such was the tale the little girl told to her mother in the morning, and very shortly there was not a person in the house who had not been roused by the mysterious noise. For a time this was all that happened, and though it was bad enough, perhaps it might have been borne; but there was worse to come. One night the form of an old man appeared, so thin you could almost see his bones, his hair standing up like bristles, and a white beard flowing to his waist. On his wrists and ankles were iron chains, which shook as he moved. Henceforward there was no sleep for any of the household; their days were passed in dread of the nights, and one by one they fell a prey to their terrors. At length there came a time when the living skeletons could endure it no longer and fled, leaving the ghost behind them. Such was the tale told to the guest, but the end was yet to come.

Years passed by, and the survivors began gradually to recover their health and spirits, and wondered if things had really been so bad as they had thought, and if some stranger, ignorant of the story, might not be persuaded to take the house if the rent was made low enough. So a notice was put up in a public place, offering the mansion for sale or hire, and one of the first to read it happened to be Athenodorus the philosopher, who had arrived on a visit to Athens. He knew nothing of the evil reputation which belonged to the house, but the low price asked aroused his suspicions, and he at once inquired why so fine a dwelling should be offered for so little. With some difficulty he managed to piece together the true story, and when he heard it, instantly took the house, resolved to find out if possible the secret of the ghost.

As it grew dark, he bade his slave carry a couch for him to the front part of the mansion, and place a lamp and writing materials on a table near it. He afterwards dismissed the slaves to their own quarters, and turned his whole attention to the book he happened to be writing, so that he might not from idleness fancy he saw or heard all sorts of things which were not there. For a little while he worked amidst dead silence; then a faint sound as of the clanking of chains smote on his ears, always coming nearer and nearer, and growing louder and louder. But Athenodorus, as became a philosopher, was master of himself, even at this moment. He gave no sign of having heard anything out of the common, and his sharp-pointed instrument never faltered for an instant in drawing the words on the waxen tablet. In a few seconds the noise reached the door; next, it was within the door and coming down the room. At last Athenodorus did lift his head and beheld the figure he had been told of standing close to him, and signalling with his finger. In reply the philosopher waved his hand, begging the ghost to wait until he had finished the sentence he was writing, and this he succeeded in doing in spite of the fact that the figure incessantly rattled the chains close to his ears. Athenodorus, however, would not hurry himself, and wrote on deliberately. Then he laid down his stylus and looked round. The ghost was again beckoning to him, so he took up the lamp and motioned the figure to go before him. With a slow step, as of one who carries a heavy weight on his feet, the old man walked through the house as far as the courtyard, where he vanished quite suddenly; nor could the philosopher discover the smallest trace of him, though he searched every corner carefully by the aid of his lamp. As it was now night and too late to examine further, Athenodorus made a little heap of leaves and grass to mark the spot where the figure disappeared, and returned to his couch where he slept peacefully till dawn.

When he awoke next morning he at once visited a magistrate of the city and, after telling his story, begged that some men might be sent to dig up that part of the courtyard. The magistrate gave the order without delay, and, accompanied by Athenodorus, the slaves set about their task. A few feet from the surface the pickaxes struck upon iron and the philosopher drew nearer, for he felt that the secret of the haunting was about to be disclosed. And so it was, for there lay a heap of bones with chains fastened to them.

How they came there, how long they had been there, whose bones they were, none could tell; but they were collected in a box and buried by order of the magistrate, at the expense of the public. This seemed to satisfy the unquiet spirit, for the house was henceforward left in peace, and as Athenodorus had no further interest in the matter its owners were free to return and dwell there, which they gladly did.

THE GENTLEMAN HIGHWAYMAN

Few people can have crowded more occupations into a life of twenty-six years than James Maclean.

His father, a Scot by birth, had settled in the Irish county of Monaghan, where the position of minister to a body of dissenters had been offered him. From the first moment of his coming amongst them Mr. Maclean was much liked by his congregation, who carried all their troubles to him, sure that if he could not help them, he would at least give them advice and sympathy, and there was not one of them who did not drink his health with his whole heart when the minister married the daughter of a gentleman in the neighbourhood.

More than twenty years passed away quietly and happily. The Macleans had two sons, and the elder one early showed a wish to follow his father's profession, and, at an age when most young men are still at the University, received a 'call' to a Protestant congregation at the Hague.

James, the younger, was educated for a merchant, and as soon as he was eighteen was to go into a counting-house and learn his business. Unfortunately, just before he reached the date fixed, his father died, leaving the youth his own master – for as no mention is made of his mother, it is probable she was dead also. Without consulting anyone, James threw up the post which old Maclean had taken so much pains to get for him, and withdrawing the money left him by the will, from the bank, spent it all in a few months on racing and betting.

Of course he was not allowed to make himself a beggar in this silly way without an effort to save him on the part of his mother's friends. But from a child he had always thought he knew better than anyone else, and quarrelled with those who took a different view. Naturally, when the money had all disappeared without anything to show for it, he chose to forget how rude he had been, and expected his relations to support him in idleness, which they absolutely refused to do. At length, not knowing which way to turn, he was glad enough to become the valet of a certain Mr. Howard, who was on his way to England. When he liked, the young Irishman could make himself as pleasant as most of his countrymen, and Mr. Howard took a great fancy to him, and treated him with much kindness. But from first to last James never knew when he was well off, and after a while he returned to his old ways, and frequently stayed out all night, drinking and gambling. In vain did Mr. Howard warn him that unless he gave up these habits he would certainly be dismissed. The young man paid no heed to his words, and in the end his master's patience was exhausted, and one day James found himself on board the Irish boat, without a character and nothing but his quarter's wages in his pockets.

Now James Maclean was one of those people who are totally without a sense of shame, and if once a person cannot be made ashamed of what he has done, and always imagines himself to be the victim of bad luck or of somebody else, his case is hopeless. On this occasion he was quite convinced that it was the duty of his relations to supply him with an income, or at least with a home, and when as before refusals met him on all sides, he applied not for the first or even the second time, to his brother at the Hague for help. We do not know what excuse he made for his request, but we may be quite certain it was not the true one; still whether his brother believed him or not, he sent him a small sum, probably at the cost of great self-denial, for the salaries of ministers were not high. This money, as was to be expected, went the way of the rest, and again James found himself penniless and reduced to look for a place as a servant.

Hearing that a Colonel in the British army who had served abroad with some of his Scotch uncles was in need of a butler, young Maclean went to see him, and was lucky enough to obtain the situation, though he knew as little of a butler's work as he did of a printer's. He was, however, quick at picking up anything that he chose and contrived to keep this place for a year or two, till the Colonel discovered that his butler had been carrying out a system of robbery ever since he had been in his house. After a few words from his master, James was once more cast on the world, and had some idea of enlisting in the Irish brigade then serving under the French flag, and this would have been the best thing that could have happened to him. But as, on inquiry, he learned that unless he became a Roman Catholic he would be refused a commission, he changed his mind and resolved to remain where he was.

'Well, I suppose there is nothing for it but a humble letter to the Colonel,' thought James one day, when he heard from a man whom he met at a tavern that his late master was on his way to England. So calling for paper and a pen, he composed a letter to such good purpose and so full of lies, that the kindhearted Colonel really believed he had repented, and offered to take him back, desiring at the same time that James should take his baggage by sea to London, and allowing him a shilling a day for his food.

It was with mingled feelings of contempt and relief that the young reprobate read his master's reply. 'What a fool he is!' he said to himself, adding after a moment 'Well, after all, it is lucky for me!'