“If he troubles the young chickens, he’ll have to go,” said mamma. “If he spoils my garden, I’ll wring his neck,” asserted grandma. And, as may be imagined, we suffered considerable anxiety about our pet. One day we were eating dinner, while Jack sat perched on the post-oak near the door. Suddenly a terrible commotion occurred in the chicken-yard, caused by a hawk which had swooped down and seized a young chicken. The hen-mother, however, attacked the marauder so furiously that it was unable to carry off its prey immediately, and before papa could seize his gun and reach the scene of conflict, Jack-a-Dandy had flown to the hen’s assistance. He attacked the hawk so desperately that it dropped its prey, and a terrible combat ensued, in which Jack came off the victor. But not satisfied with this, he pursued the flying enemy a long distance, attacking him sharply when occasion offered. [Illustration: “BEFORE PAPA COULD SEIZE HIS GUN AND REACH THE SCENE OF CONFLICT, JACK-A-DANDY HAD FLOWN TO THE HEN’S ASSISTANCE.”] You may be sure we had a great many praises and a sumptuous dinner for our favorite, on his return. Hawks had for years been a great pest to poultry raising, and even mamma espoused Jack’s cause after his successful battle with the rapacious foe. And during Jack’s life, not another chicken was molested by the hawks, as he kept a vigilant watch, and attacked every one that dared to venture near the premises. He even won the good-will of papa, by keeping rigidly aloof from the corn-field; but grandma was still fearful lest he might do some damage to the garden. She was very careful of her early vegetables, and the garden-spot was paled in, to keep the chickens and rabbits from making depredations on the early lettuce, peas and cabbages. But no fence would keep Jack out. Like the wind, he went “wherever he listeth.” Much to our relief, however, he did not offer to molest the vegetables, but did good service in picking up the insects and cut-worms, which are usually such a pest about a garden. When he fell to devouring the squash-bugs, which were sapping the life of the “Boston Marrows,” grandma’s last prejudice was overcome, and she declared that Jack was worth his weight in gold. After that, she never went to the garden without calling Jack, who would give an answering “caw!” and hop gravely after her, or perch on her shoulder with all the confidence of a privileged favorite. As long as he lived, Jack continued to grow in the good opinion of the household. But, alas! he could not live forever. One day he sat drooping on his perch, and refused to be enticed away from it. He even declined the plump crickets Fred offered him in hopes of tempting his appetite. The next morning he was found dead under his perch. He was mourned sincerely by the whole family, from grandma down, and we buried him with great ceremony under his favorite post-oak.