coon. But the raccoon[7] climbed a tree. The boys got into a quarrel
about whose business it was to have brought the axe, and who was to
blame that the tree could not be felled. Now, if there was anything
Ralph's muscles were good for, it was climbing. So, asking Bud to give
him a start, he soon reached the limb above the one on which the raccoon
was. Ralph did not know how ugly a customer a raccoon can be, and so
got credit for more courage than he had. With much peril to his legs
from the raccoon's teeth, he succeeded in shaking the poor creature off
among the yelping brutes and yelling boys. Ralph could not help
sympathizing with the hunted animal, which sold its life as dearly as
possible, giving the dogs many a scratch and bite. It seemed to him that
he was like the raccoon, precipitated into the midst of a party of dogs
who would rejoice in worrying _his_ life out, as Bull and his crowd were
destroying the poor raccoon. When Bull at last seized the raccoon and
put an end to it, Ralph could not but admire the decided way in which he
did it, calling to mind Bud's comment, "Ef Bull once takes a holt,
heaven and yarth[8] can't make him let go."

But as they walked home, Bud carrying the raccoon by the tail, Ralph
felt that his hunt had not been in vain. He fancied that even red-eyed
Bull, walking uncomfortably close to his heels, respected him more
since he had climbed that tree.

"Purty peart kind of a master," remarked the old man to Bud, after Ralph
had gone to bed. "Guess you better be a little easy on him. Hey?"

But Bud deigned no reply. Perhaps because he knew that Ralph heard the
conversation through the thin partition.

Ralph woke delighted to find it raining. He did not want to hunt or fish