The Longest Day of the Year.
Don't know what the almanac man said about it, but Dan said it was the longest, and Dan was certainly the one who understood the matter best. It began pretty much like other days, only that there was a heavy fog, and Dan knew that it was bad weather for haying, and tip-top for fishing. He made up his mind to go fishing. Perhaps if his mind had not been already made up, he would not have minded it so much when his father said at the breakfast table:— "We must get the scythes in good order, so's to take a fair start at the lower meadow to-morrow. Don't let me have to waste time hunting after you, Daniel, when I am ready to go at it." Daniel's appetite was gone at once. How he hated to turn that heavy, creaking, old grindstone! and how sure his father was to find a dozen things to do first, and keep him waiting all the morning! He went around by the sink drain, and dug his bait; he examined his fishing-pole; he put up his lunch; he even tried a worm on the hook; and then he wandered disconsolately around, wishing grindstones had never been invented. He went to the end of the garden, and leaned sulkily over the low stone wall, eating the half-ripe harvest apples, and throwing the cores spitefully away. Down the road a few rods lay the mill-pond, and in the middle of the road near by stood Deacon Skinner's horse and chaise. Old Whitey had his nose down, and one leg crooked in a meditative fashion. The deacon was over in the field, making a bargain with Solomon Murray for some young cattle. What fun it would be to start the old horse up, and set him trotting home! Dan could almost hit him with an apple core. He tried two or three just to see, and then he picked a smooth round stone from the wall, and sent it singing through the air. Old Whitey brought up his nose with a jerk, straightened his fore-leg, and started off on a brisk trot, the chaise-top tilting and pitching back and forth. Dan laughed—at least the laugh began to grow, when he caught one glimpse of a frightened little face at the chaise window, and knew that Nanny Dane, the deacon's little lame grandchild, was in the chaise. It was only a glimpse, and then the bank of gray fog swallowed Whitey and the chaise, and it seemed to Dan that they had gone straight into the mill-pond. "Daniel! Daniel! Come on now, and be spry about it!" called his father, as he moved toward the grindstone, and Dan obeyed, though he felt as if his feet had all at once turned to lead. Round and round and round; his tough little hands were blistered on the handle, but he did not know it; his mouth and throat were as dry as the stone, but he did not think of it. "Crrr-crrr-crrr," rang the rough, wearisome noise, until his ears were so deafened he did not even hear it. For he was perfectly sure he had killed little Nanny Dane. What would people say? What would they do to him? Hang him, of course; and Dan felt in his heart that he deserved it.251"There," said his father at last, "I reckon that'll do, Daniel. You've been faithful and stiddy at your work, and now you may go fishing." Dan never knew how he got to Long Pond, or how he passed the slow hours of that dismal day. The misery seemed intolerable, and before evening he had made up his mind that he could bear it no longer. He would go home and tell his father, he would tell everybody. They might hang him, they might do anything they pleased. Tramping desperately home with his empty basket in his hand, he heard the sound of wheels behind him, dragging slowly through the deep sand. Perhaps that was the sheriff coming to arrest him. Dan's heart beat harder, but he did not look around. The wheels came nearer; they stopped, and some one said:— "Hul'o, Daniel! been fishin'? Fisherman's luck, hey? Well, jump in here, and I'll give ye a lift." Before Dan knew it, he was over the wheel and sitting beside Deacon Skinner in the old chaise, with Whitey switching his tail right and left as he plodded along. "Git up, Whitey," urged the deacon; "its getting along toward chore-time. Whitey ain't so spry as he used to be, but he's amazin' smart. This morning I left little Nanny in the shay while I was making a dicker with Solomon Murray, and a keerless thing it was to do, but I'd as soon expect the meetin'-house to run away as Whitey. I reckon something must have scart him; but he just trotted off home as stiddy as if I'd been driving, and waited at the door for mother to come and get Nanny before he went to the barn." "Oh, Deacon Skinner," burst out Dan, "it was me; I scart Whitey." "Did ye now, sonny? Well, there wuzn't any harm done, and I know ye didn't mean to." "I did, I did," said Dan, sobbing violently from the long strain of excitement. "I didn't know Nanny was in the chaise, and I threw a stone at him." "Well, well," said the deacon, rubbing his stubby chin, and looking curiously at Dan. "Beats all what freaks boys will take, but I know ye won't do it again." "I never will," said Dan solemnly. "This has been the awfulest, longest day that ever was in the world."—Harper's Young People.