Chapter I: Robert and the Major

"ANOTHER failure, Robert," said his aunt sorrowfully, as she made a mark in a small blank book. "What were you doing all the time I set you to study?"

"I did study. I mean, I did some of the time. The butcher came and brought his dog, and he tried to fight Major. And then of course, I had to go out and stop them."

"And Major followed you into the house, and you had a grand frolic in the library, which was the noise I heard. Oh, Robert!"

"I tried to keep him out right hard, 'deed I did, aunt Josephine, but he would come. And then he looked so coaxable and cunning, I couldn't help one little game just to show the old fellow that we were good friends again, 'deed that was all, aunty."

"Have you and Major had a falling out, Robert?"

There was a little twinkle in the lady's eye which encouraged the lad, and he forthwith entered on a minute account of his grievances.

"You know my stuffed squirrel. It had such funny little bright eyes; they looked exactly like as if it was alive, and such a long, bushy tail, with wire in it so that you could bend it any way; and it was stuffed just as full as—as—"

"As Robert Weeks," suggested his aunt playfully.

"Yes, aunty," he added with a bright flush at the comparison. "Well, you see, Major couldn't bear the sight of my squirrel. He'd run at it, barking as loud as he could; and then when the tail went up, you see I fixed it with a string, Major's tail would go down quicker 'n shot, and he'd back out of the scrape real mean. Oh, it was the best fun!"

Robert forgot all about his lessons, bad marks, good resolutions and every thing else, but Major and the squirrel. His head went back, and he laughed, laughed till he ached all over.

"Well," said aunt Josephine, "I don't quite understand what all this has to do with it."

"Oh, I forgot!" exclaimed the boy, trying to recover himself. "Yesterday, I coaxed Major up-stairs. He was awful shy of my room; and I set Bonny up on the bed, and stuck his tail right straight up in the air. Major began to growl, and I laughed at him. Just then you called me to recite, and I ran down, shutting major in the room."

"No wonder you failed entirely your lesson, Robert!"

"I'm sorry, aunty, 'deed I am; but I kept wondering what Major would do. I never thought he'd act so."

Robert's face grew sober so suddenly that his aunt asked:

"What did he do?"

"Why he tore my squirrel all to pieces, so there wasn't hardly a speck of him left, only the wire in his tail. The fur and the bran were scattered all round, and Major was growling awfully. I was so mad, I took a cane and whipped him, till he couldn't stand."

"Oh, Robert, how could you!"

"I know 'twas mean, aunt Josephine. I was right sorry, 'deed I was. I meant to save some of my dinner for the poor fellow to make up, but it did taste so good I couldn't stop till every mouthful was gone. But I coaxed cook for some pieces, and gave him a whole plate full. Oh, Major was so glad to see that I had forgiven him!"

"I should think it was for Major to forgive you, Robert."

"Yes, aunty, I suppose it was, but he didn't see it in that light. And so this morning, when the butcher's dog came, I wanted to show the old fellow I didn't keep any grudge against him. I believe he loves me better than ever. He watches me every minute to see what I am going to do next."

"Major is a noble dog, Robert—too trustworthy and affectionate to receive such cruel treatment. If you cannot control your temper so as to refrain from beating him, I shall have to devise some method of separating you."

"Why, aunt Josephine, I wouldn't whip him again for all the world! And he knows it. I cried over him and asked him to forgive me; and we had a regular making up."

"But, Robert, this habit of idleness grows upon you every day. I'm afraid after all I can't keep my promise to your mother, and I shall have to send you back to her."

"Oh, please don't do that!" urged the lad, growing very red in the face. "I will study, 'deed I will, I'll begin now, right away and I wont look off my book once, only I do hate grammar. Need I study grammar? I'll get geography, and find out all the map questions; and I'll try to master the spelling, though that's awful hard. But I hate grammar and sums."

"You must learn to like them, Robert. You don't know the pleasure of study, because you never apply your mind to any thing. I watched you the other day at your spelling lesson. Shall I tell you how you did?"

"Yes, if you please, aunty," said Robert hanging his head.

"You seated yourself near the window where you could not fail to see every one who passed, and with your head propped by your hand you began:

"'C-o-n-s-t-i-t-u-t-i-o-n, constitution, whew! What a long word! I know I can never learn it. What's the use, I wonder? C-o-n; Oh, there is the milk cart! And the woman gets so cross after she rings her bell, if cook don't go quick. I'll guess I'll run.'

"'I wouldn't go,' Ellen pleads; 'cook will attend to her own business.'

"You take up the book again with a sigh.

"'Spelling is horrid, Ellen; don't you think so? Great long words that have no meaning.'

"Ellen shook her head laughing.

"'Now here's another, c-o-m-b-i-n-a-t-i-o-n, combination. Do you think, Ellen, aunty 'll let me go out in the boat?'

"'I think you're a lazy, good for nothing fellow,' was her laughing reply. 'I should think you'd be ashamed to idle your time when mamma takes so much pains with you.'

"Your countenance shows that for the moment you are of the same opinion, and you take up your book with a sudden resolution. But it is only for a moment, with the first temptation you allow your attention to be diverted. Ellen's ball rolls to the floor, and you jump to catch it and spend two or three minutes in crawling under the sofa to get it out."

"I want to be kind to Ellen; she's so good to me, aunty."

"Of course, but when you are studying, you ought not to see any thing that goes on. I am beginning to be quite discouraged. I told your mother I thought I could interest you in your lessons. She has her heart set on your being a scholar as your father was; and your mind is bright enough. But the fact can't be denied, Robert, you are too lazy to apply yourself. And another-thing, I begin to believe what your uncle says, that you eat too much. He says, you stuff yourself at every meal till you can scarcely breathe. This is wrong, my dear boy, as well as ungentlemanly. The Bible tells us to be temperate in all things. Immoderate eating unfits any one for the active duties of life. It impairs the vigor of your mind, makes you dull and heavy, and in the end will certainly injure your health."