LITMIR.BIZ

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picked up old Hissong's practice while he was away, and he had not forgotten the mean things they had said about him when he returned to be nursed through a spell of "too much liquor."

      "Yo' hain' never gwine run no mo', is yo', doc?"

      "I can't say, Brad."

      "Brad, didn't you hear somebody holler outside? Go out and see who it is." Brad opened the door.

      "Is the doc in thar?"

      "Yes, sah, cum in."

      A tall, double-jointed farm-hand came blustering into the room, his face covered with a yarn comforter. He slowly unwound the rag and brought to view the side of his face, swollen to a frightful size.

      "Done busted me wide open; kin you pull her, doc?"

      The old doctor examined the tooth and said, "You've got a tooth like a hoss – fix the chair in the back room, Brad."

      Brad brought a washpan and placed it beside the chair. Doctor Hissong opened a drawer and brought forth an instrument that resembled a cant-hook, one of those tools used in overturning logs. This tooth extractor had a handle about six inches long, and a sort of steel hook on the end, and it would draw the tooth, if the jawbone did not break.

      The suffering patient looked on with an expression on his face anything but pleasant.

      "Looks like fixin' fer hog-killin', doc!"

      "Well, I've known 'em to die under it," complacently said the old doctor as he shuffled about. "Give him a drink, Brad, and put him in the chair."

      The patient stretched his long legs and rested his feet on a soap box.

      "Fifty cents," said the doctor, as he approached with his instrument in his hand.

      "Hafter have it beforehand, doc?"

      "Yes, sir, that's my rule, for nine cases out of ten are so mad when I get through that they won't pay."

      The money paid, the doctor carefully leaned over and fitted the hook over the tooth.

      "Clinch him, Shawn!"

      "O-r-r-r-r-r-wow! leggo! leggo!"

      "Choke him, Brad!"

      All four of them were on the floor, the farm-hand had smashed the wash-stand with his feet, and the water pitcher had gone with the ruins.

      "Hold his feet, Shawn!"

      Shawn jumped straddle-ways on the legs, and the old doctor made another pull.

      "H-l-l-u-p! H-e-l-l-l-u-p!"

      Rising with the strength of a desperate man, the farmer dragged all of them into the front room, but the old doctor did not lose his hold on the tooth. The last remaining glass in the bookcase was smashed and the lower sash of the front window caved in.

      "Throw him, Brad!"

      The tooth-key slipped off and the farmer let out a yell and tried to get out of the door.

      "Nail him, Brad!"

      "I don't want that tooth pulled, doc."

      "Yes, you do, and you had just as well make up your mind to get back in that chair."

      "By Gosh, you had better get a mule to kick it out!"

      Brad and Shawn got him in the chair again and the doctor tried for another hold on the tooth. The back of the chair gave way with a crash.

      "What's that?" said the doctor.

      "I think it wuz my backbone come uncoupled," said the farmer. Brad grabbed him by the left leg and the struggling group went down in a heap, but the doctor came up with a gleam of triumph on his face, and holding aloft the terrible molar. Brad was panting, over by the door.

      As the farmer turned to leave, he walked over to doctor Hissong and said, "Doc, if you air as good at doctorin' other diseases as you air at pullin' teeth, thar hain't much prospect of this community enlargin' her population."

      Doctor Hissong glanced over toward the bookcase where Shawn was standing:

      "Shawn, do you still want to be a doctor?"

      "Not a tooth doctor," said Shawn.

      CHAPTER III

      IN SCHOOL

      The varying routine of school was a trying ordeal to Shawn. The spelling classes, the reading and the terrible arithmetic were as a nightmare to his mind which yearned for the freedom of the river and the woods. Afar off yonder was the stream, where the white gulls were soaring lazily above the channel. Through the windows he could see the tall sycamores and the white-graveled beach, where he and Coaly had spent so many happy hours. In his fancy he could see the cool crystal water oozing out from the spring which he had dug in the sand, and which he had lined with white boulders. Oh, to be down there, breathing the sweet air as he paddled his john-boat about the stream. He turned from the enrapturing view – turned to the hateful books. The children around him were bending over their studies, happiness reflected from their faces, but gloom sat on the countenance of Shawn. Oh, for Coaly and freedom. All might have gone well had it not been for Coaly. To leave Coaly chained up at home through the long hours; to be separated from this companion, who yelped and begged so hard to be taken along, was becoming more unbearable each day, and there came a day when the pleading eyes brought his release, and together they marched into the school.

      The story of "Mary's Little Lamb" was not associated with Coaly in Shawn's mind. Shawn put his books on his desk, and Coaly lay down, as peacefully accepting the new turn of affairs. Mrs. Wingate, the teacher, came over to Shawn's desk and quietly said: "Shawn, you must put your dog outside."

      "Can't he stay if he keeps quiet?"

      "No, we cannot have any dogs in the school-room."

      Shawn gazed out upon the river and then down at Coaly.

      "Come on, Coaly," he said as he started to the door. He passed out into the hallway, Coaly following. Just as Coaly started through the doorway, a boy gave him a vicious kick, which set him to howling. Shawn sprang into the room.

      "Who kicked my dog?"

      A little girl said, "Henry Freeman did it!"

      Good resolutions and books were forgotten. Farewell to every ambition. Freeman tried to free himself from the enraged boy by climbing over the desks and calling to the teacher. The little girls were screaming and books and slates were scattered all about the room. Mrs. Wingate finally succeeded in getting her hands on Shawn and drew him away as he planted a parting blow on Freeman's nose. Shawn turned and facing the school, tragically exclaimed, "Where I go, Coaly goes. Where Coaly goes, I go!"

      Henry Freeman followed Shawn to the door. Shawn turned for battle again, but Freeman used a more malicious weapon by saying, "Who's your daddy? Who's your daddy?"

      And then Shawn burst into tears.

      The next morning a servant found on Mrs. Alden's porch a bundle containing the books and clothes which she had given Shawn. Pinned to the bundle was a note. In a scrawling hand was written, "I am much abliged. I tride to keep my promise. I am going away. I have kept the little testament.

      Shawn."

      CHAPTER IV

      "Oh sing your praise of the bounding craft;

      And the merry sloops afloat,

      But for easy space, both fore and aft,

      I'll bunk on the shanty-boat."

      "Jump out there, Shawn, and take a hitch around that cottonwood with that line – we're at the mouth of Salt River, an' no better fishin' on the Ohio."

      John Burney was standing on the bow of his shanty-boat, with a long steering-oar in his hand.

      "Jump, Shawn!" Shawn leaped to the shore and made the line fast to the tree.

      "Haul out that aft gang-plank and stake her deep on the shore, there, steady, boy; she lays good and snug an' weather-shape – now git to your breakfast."

      Inside of the boat a wood fire was burning in the stove. The fragrant aroma of coffee

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