an to miss chickens. They disappeared mysteriously in the
night. I would not suspect Jacko at first, for he looked so honest, and
in the daytime seemed to be as much interested in the chickens as I
was. But one morning, when I went to call him, I found feathers at the
entrance of his hole,--chicken feathers. He couldn't deny it. He was a
thief. His fox nature had come out under severe temptation. And he died
an unnatural death. He had a thousand virtues and one crime. But that
crime struck at the foundation of society. He deceived and stole; he
was a liar and a thief, and no pretty ways could hide the fact. His
intelligent, bright face couldn't save him. If he had been honest, he
might have grown up to be a large, ornamental fox.
V. THE BOY'S SUNDAY
Sunday in the New England hill towns used to begin Saturday night at
sundown; and the sun is lost to sight behind the hills there before it
has set by the almanac. I remember that we used to go by the almanac
Saturday night and by the visible disappearance Sunday night. On
Saturday night we very slowly yielded to the influences of the holy
time, which were settling down upon us, and submitted to the ablutions
which were as inevitable as Sunday; but when the sun (and it never
moved so slow) slid behind the hills Sunday night, the effect upon the
watching boy was like a shock from a galvanic battery; something flashed
through all his limbs and set them in motion, and no "play" ever seemed
so sweet to him as that between sundown and dark Sunday night. This,
however, was on the supposition that he had conscientiously kept Sunday,
and had not gone in swimming and got drowned. This keeping of Saturday
night instead of Sunday night we did not very well understand; but it
seemed, on the whole, a good thing that we should rest Saturday night
when we were tired, and play Sunday night when we were rested. I
supposed, however, that it was an arrangement made to suit the big boys
who wanted to go "courting" Sunday night. Certainly they were not to be
blamed, for Sunday was the day when pretty girls were most fascinating,
and I have never since seen any so lovely as those who used to sit in
the gallery and in the singers' seats in the bare old meeting-houses.
Sunday to the country farmer-boy was hardly the relief that it was to
the other members of the family; for the same chores must be done that
day as on others, and he could not divert his mind with whistling,
hand-springs,
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