Test Bank For Life Span Development 18th Edition John Santrock
Test Bank For Life Span Development 18th Edition John Santrock
Test Bank For Life Span Development 18th Edition John Santrock
Language: English
BOSTON:
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY,
(Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co.)
1871.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850,
BY SARA J. CLARKE,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
About the queerest pet that I ever had was a young hawk. My
brother Rufus, who was a great sportsman, brought him home to me
one night in spring. He had shot the mother-hawk, and found this
young half-fledged one in the nest. I received the poor orphan with
joy, for he was too small for me to feel any horror of him, though his
family had long borne rather a bad name. I resolved that I would
bring him up in the way he should go, so that when he was old he
should not destroy chickens. At first, I kept him in a bird-cage, but
after a while he grew too large for his quarters, and had to have a
house built for him expressly. I let him learn to roost, but I tried to
bring him up on vegetable diet. I found, however, that this would not
do. He eat the bread and grain to be sure, but he did not thrive; he
looked very lean, and smaller than hawks of his age should look. At
last I was obliged to give up my fine idea of making an innocent
dove, or a Grahamite, out of the poor fellow, and one morning
treated him to a slice of raw mutton. I remember how he flapped his
wings and cawed with delight, and what a hearty meal he made of it.
He grew very fat and glossy after this important change in his diet,
and I became as proud of him as of any pet I ever had. But my
mother, after a while, found fault with the great quantity of meat
which he devoured. She said that he eat more beef-steak than any
other member of the family. Once, when I was thinking about this,
and feeling a good deal troubled lest some day, when I was gone to
school, they at home might take a fancy to cut off the head of my pet
to save his board-bill, a bright thought came into my mind. There
was running through our farm, at a short distance from our house, a
large mill-stream, along the banks of which lived and croaked a vast
multitude of frogs. These animals are thought by hawks, as well as
Frenchmen, very excellent eating. So, every morning, noon, and
night, I took Toby on my shoulder, ran down to the mill-stream, and
let him satisfy his appetite on all such frogs as were so silly as to
stay out of the water and be caught. He was very quick and active,—
would pounce upon a great, green croaker, and have him halved and
quartered and hid away in a twinkling. I generally looked in another
direction while he was at his meals,—it is not polite to keep your eye
on people when they are eating, and then I couldn’t help pitying the
poor frogs. But I knew that hawks must live, and say what they
might, my Toby never prowled about hen-coops to devour young
chickens. I taught him better morals than that, and kept him so well
fed that he was never tempted to such wickedness. I have since
thought that, if we want people to do right, we must treat them as I
treated my hawk; for when we think a man steals because his heart
is full of sin, it may be only because his stomach is empty of food.
When Toby had finished his meal, he would wipe his beak with his
wing, mount on my shoulder, and ride home again; sometimes, when
it was a very warm day and he had dined more heartily than usual,
he would fall asleep during the ride, still holding on to his place with
his long, sharp claws. Sometimes I would come home with my
pinafore torn and bloody on the shoulder, and then my mother would
scold me a little and laugh at me a great deal. I would blush and
hang my head and cry, but still cling to my strange pet; and when he
got full-grown and had wide, strong wings, and a great, crooked
beak that every body else was afraid of, I was still his warm friend
and his humble servant, still carried him to his meals three times a
day, shut him into his house every night, and let him out every
morning. Such a life as that bird led me!
Toby was perfectly tame, and never attempted to fly beyond the
yard. I thought this was because he loved me too well to leave me;
but my brothers, to whom he was rather cross, said it was because
he was a stupid fowl. Of course they only wanted to tease me. I said
that Toby was rough, but honest; that it was true he did not make a
display of his talents like some folks, but that I had faith to believe
that, some time before he died, he would prove himself to them all to
be a bird of good feelings and great intelligence.
Finally the time came for Toby to be respected as he deserved. One
autumn night I had him with me in the sitting-room, where I played
with him and let him perch on my arm till it was quite late. Some of
the neighbours were in, and the whole circle told ghost-stories, and
talked about dreams, and warnings, and awful murders, till I was half
frightened out of my wits; so that, when I went to put my sleepy hawk
into his little house, I really dared not go into the dark, but stopped in
the entry, and left him to roost for one night on the hat-rack, saying
nothing to any one. Now it happened that my brother William, who
was then about fourteen years of age, was a somnambulist,—that is,
a person who walks in sleep. He would often rise in the middle of the
night, and ramble off for miles, always returning unwaked.
Sometimes he would take the horse from the stable, saddle and
bridle him, and have a wild gallop in the moonlight. Sometimes he
would drive the cows home from pasture, or let the sheep out of the
pen. Sometimes he would wrap himself in a sheet, glide about the
house, and appear at our bedside like a ghost. But in the morning he
had no recollection of these things. Of course, we were very anxious
about him, and tried to keep a constant watch over him, but he would
sometimes manage to escape from all our care. Well, that night
there was suddenly a violent outcry set up in the entry. It was Toby,
who shrieked and flapped his wings till he woke my father, who
dressed and went down stairs to see what was the matter. He found
the door wide open, and the hawk sitting uneasily on his perch,
looking frightened and indignant, with all his feathers raised. My
father, at once suspecting what had happened, ran up to William’s
chamber and found his bed empty; he then roused my elder
brothers, and, having lit a lantern, they all started off in pursuit of the
poor boy. They searched through the yard, garden, and orchard, but
all in vain. Suddenly they heard the saw-mill, which stood near,
going. They knew that the owner never worked there at night, and
supposed that it must be my brother, who had set the machinery in
motion. So down they ran as fast as possible, and, sure enough,
they found him there, all by himself. A large log had the night before
been laid in its place ready for the morning, and on that log sat my
brother, his large black eyes staring wide open, yet seeming to be
fixed on nothing, and his face as pale as death. He seemed to have
quite lost himself, for the end of the log on which he sat was fast
approaching the saw. My father, with great presence of mind,
stopped the machinery, while one of my brothers caught William and
pulled him from his perilous place. Another moment, and he would
have been killed or horribly mangled by the cruel saw. With a terrible
scream, that was heard to a great distance, poor William awoke. He
cried bitterly when he found where he was and how he came there.
He was much distressed by it for some time; but it was a very good
thing for all that, for he never walked in his sleep again.
As you would suppose, Toby, received much honor for so promptly
giving the warning on that night. Every body now acknowledged that
he was a hawk of great talents, as well as talons. But alas! he did not
live long to enjoy the respect of his fellow-citizens. One afternoon
that very autumn, I was sitting at play with my doll, under the thick
shade of a maple-tree, in front of the house. On the fence near by
sat Toby, lazily pluming his wing, and enjoying the pleasant, golden
sunshine,—now and then glancing round at me with a most knowing
and patronizing look. Suddenly, there was the sharp crack of a gun
fired near, and Toby fell fluttering to the ground. A stupid sportsman
had taken him for a wild hawk, and shot him in the midst of his
peaceful and innocent enjoyment. He was wounded in a number of
places, and was dying fast when I reached him. Yet he seemed to
know me, and looked up into my face so piteously, that I sat down by
him, as I had sat down by poor Keturah, and cried aloud. Soon the
sportsman, who was a stranger, came leaping over the fence to bag
his game. When he found what he had done, he said he was very
sorry, and stooped down to examine the wounds made by his shot.
Then Toby roused himself, and caught one of his fingers in his beak,
biting it almost to the bone. The man cried out with the pain, and
tried to shake him off, but Toby still held on fiercely and stoutly, and
held on till he was dead. Then his ruffled wing grew smooth, his
head fell back, his beak parted and let go the bleeding finger of his
enemy.
I did not want the man hurt, for he had shot my pet under a mistake,
but I was not sorry to see Toby die like a hero. We laid him with the
pets who had gone before. Some were lovelier in their lives, but
none more lamented when dead. I will venture to say that he was the
first of his race who ever departed with a clean conscience as
regarded poultry. No careful mother-hen cackled with delight on the
day he died,—no pert young rooster flapped his wings and crowed
over his grave. But I must say, I don’t think that the frogs mourned
for him. I thought that they were holding a jubilee that night; the old
ones croaked so loud, and the young ones sung so merrily, that I
wished the noisy green creatures all quietly going brown, on some
Frenchman’s gridiron.
MILLY, THE PONY, AND CARLO, THE
DOG.
When I was ten or eleven years of age, I had two pets, of which I
was equally fond, a gentle bay pony and a small pointer dog. I have
always had a great affection for horses, and never knew what it was
to be afraid of them, for they are to me exceedingly obliging and
obedient. Some people think that I control them with a sort of animal
magnetism. I only know that I treat them with kindness, which is, I
believe, after all, the only magnetism necessary for one to use in this
world. When I ride, I give my horse to understand that I expect him to
behave very handsomely, like the gentleman I take him to be, and he
never disappoints me.
MILLY the pony & CARLO the dog.
Our Milly was a great favorite with all the family, but with the children
especially. She was not very handsome or remarkably fleet, but was
easily managed, and even in her gait. I loved her dearly, and we
were on the best terms with each other. I was in the habit of going
into the pasture where she fed, mounting her from the fence or a
stump, and riding about the field, often without saddle or bridle. You
will see by this that I was a sad romp. Milly seemed to enjoy the
sport fully as much as I, and would arch her neck, and toss her
mane, and gallop up and down the little hills in the pasture, now and
then glancing round at me playfully, as much as to say, “Aint we
having times!”
Finally, I began to practise riding standing upright, as I had seen the
circus performers do, for I thought it was time I should do something
to distinguish myself. After a few tumbles on to the soft clover, which
did me no sort of harm, I became quite accomplished that way. I was
at that age as quick and active as a cat, and could save myself from
a fall after I had lost my balance, and seemed half way to the
ground. I remember that my brother William was very ambitious to
rival me in my exploits; but as he was unfortunately rather fat and
heavy, he did a greater business in turning somersets from the back
of the pony than in any other way. But these were quite as amusing
as any other part of the performances. We sometimes had quite a
good audience of the neighbours’ children, and our schoolmates, but
we never invited our parents to attend the exhibition. We thought that
on some accounts it was best they should know nothing about it.
In addition to the “ring performances,” I gave riding lessons to my
youngest brother, Albert, who was then quite a little boy. He used to
mount Milly behind me, and behind him always sat one of our chief
pets, and our constant playmate, Carlo, a small black and white
pointer. One afternoon, I remember, we were all riding down the
long, shady lane which led from the pasture to the house, when a
mischievous boy sprang suddenly out from a corner of the fence,
and shouted at Milly. I never knew her frightened before, but this
time she gave a loud snort, and reared up almost straight in the air.
As there was neither saddle nor bridle for us to hold on by, we all
three slid off backward into the dust, or rather the mud, for it had
been raining that afternoon. Poor Carlo was most hurt, as my brother
and I fell on him. He set up a terrible yelping, and my little brother
cried somewhat from fright. Milly turned and looked at us a moment
to see how much harm was done, and then started off at full speed
after the boy, chasing him down the lane. He ran like a fox when he
heard Milly galloping fast behind him, and when he looked round and
saw her close upon him, with her ears laid back, her mouth open,