CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVII.DEATH AND BURIAL OF TIGE RHINES.THERE is no animal that seems to be so closely allied to man as the dog. He lives in his master’s smiles, defends his person, guards his property, and is grateful for the smallest favors.In respect to other animals, they are naturally shy; we must attach them to us by food and caresses.Take, for instance, a kitten, born in the house, and her parents before her for generations; yet the moment it gets its eyes open, it will round up its back, and spit at the little boy or girl who approaches to fondle it, and must be wonted; but a puppy, why, the moment his eyes are open, he’s right on to you, and you have hard work to keep him from licking your face.When the family leaves the house, the cat will seldom, if ever, follow them, because she caresmore about the place than the people; but the dog’s home is where his master is.John Rhines’s dog, Tige, a Newfoundland of the largest size, possessed—as those who have read the Elm Island stories know—a sagacity greater than that which generally pertains even to that noble breed.Tige Rhines, as he was called, was known and loved by both young and old, the protector and playmate of all the children, and bore on his neck a broad brass collar, on which were inscribed the date of the year and the day on which he pulled little Fannie Williams from the bottom of the mill-pond, and many other things that he had done.For many years Tige had been gradually losing his activity, and was quite infirm with age. He had never been accustomed to leave the home of his master, except when sent upon some errand, with a basket or letter in his mouth, unless with some of the family; but after Mary and Elizabeth were married, he would once in a while go to visit each of them in the forenoon, stop to dinner and tea, see the babies, and go home at night. He would also go down to thecove in front of the house, and play with the children of the neighborhood by the hour together. All through Fannie Williams’s childhood (whose life he saved) he was, whenever she came up to see him, which was generally once a month, sent home with her by Captain Rhines. But age, which comes alike upon dogs and men, had compelled him to relinquish all these pleasant excursions. His legs had grown stiff and crooked; his glossy black coat had become a dirty yellow, except along the back and at the roots of the tail; his intelligent eye was dim; and all around his eyes and nose gray hairs were plentifully scattered. It was with great difficulty he could walk; he would attempt sometimes to follow John to the barn, go part way there, and moan because he could get no farther; then John would go back and pat and comfort him. Everything that care and affection could do to render him comfortable and happy in his old age, was done by Captain Rhines and John.As the weather grew cooler, John made him a bed of sheep-skins with the wool on; for though once apparently insensible to cold, never hesitating in the dead of winter to plunge into thewaves, he now trembled before every blast. Captain Rhines would catch smelts and bring to him, for Tige was a dear lover of fish; John would put him in the cart, haul him down in the field, and put him in the sun, at the end of the piece where he was digging potatoes, and as the sun went down, cover him with his jacket. The children around brought him titbits, and all the dogs in the neighborhood came to visit him. He at length became so feeble it was with difficulty he could get out of his kennel. Mornings when John went to the barn to feed the cattle, he would bid him good morning; Tige would wag his tail and look wistfully in his face, unable to rise.One morning, John, as he passed the kennel, spoke, as usual; but not hearing the noise of Tige’s tail striking against the side of the house, he went back and looked in; he was stretched out, apparently asleep; he put his fingers in his mouth; there was no warmth. “He is dead! poor old Tige,” cried John; “there never was such a dog in this world, and never will be again. I never will love another dog;” and he burst into tears; “I don’t care if I do cry,” he said, at length,wiping away the tears; “he’s been my playmate, ever since I was a boy; has saved my life; and nobody sees me; but if Charlie and Fred were here, they would cry, too.”Captain Rhines was not yet up. John fed the cattle, and then went to the door of his bedroom.“Father.”“What is it, John?”“Tige’s dead.”“I’m sorry; poor fellow! I’d give the best cow I’ve got in the barn to have him back as smart as he was once.”“I’dgive themall, father.”“Well, we’ve done all we could for him, John, and he’s gone where the good dogs go. It will make Ben feel bad; he and Tige were great friends.”“And Fannie, father.”“Yes.”It was soon known in the neighborhood. About nine o’clock, Fannie Williams came in, now grown to be, by universal consent, the prettiest girl in town; industrious, capable, and, as Captain Rhines was accustomed to say, as good as she was handsome.“Is Tige dead, John?” she asked, taking the chair he proffered her.“Yes, Fannie.”She was silent for a few minutes, then began to cry.“Don’t cry, Fannie,” said John.“I know it’s foolish, but I can’t help it; you know he saved my life.”“That he did,” said the captain; “for I took you from his jaws, when he brought you to the shore. I would cry as much as I had a mind to.”“I’m sure,” said Mrs. Rhines, “I don’t see what anybody could be made of, not to feel bad to lose such a good creature as Tige, even if he was a dumb animal. I used to feel just as safe with him, when Captain Rhines was at sea, and I left alone with the children, as though the men folks were round. When Captain Rhines was about home, or we had a hired man, he would lie under the big maple, or, if it was cold weather, in his house; but the very first night I was left alone, he would (without my saying a word to him) come right into the house, and, after I went to bed, stretch himself out before my bedroom door; it seemed as if he knew.”“Knew!I guess he did know,” said John; “only think how long he smelt us before we got here, when Charlie and I came from Portland, and how glad he was to see us! I thought he would have jumped out of his skin.”John persuaded Fannie to stop to dinner, as Tige was to be buried in the afternoon.“Where would you bury him, father?”“I’ll tell you, John. Under the big maple, where he loved so much to lie in the hot summer days.”While this conversation was going on at Captain Rhines’s, Joe Griffin, Charlie, and Fred were expatiating upon the merits of Tige, and regretting his loss, in Fred’s store. Joe Bradish came in, and after listening a while to their conversation, broke in with, “Such a fuss about a dog—an old dog, that ought to have been knocked on the head years ago. Anybody would think it was a Christian you was lamenting about.”Fred was naturally of a warm temper, shared in the universal feeling of dislike to Bradish, and this rough remark, in his present state of feeling, was more than he could bear.“Therewasmore Christianity in him than thereever was inyou,” retorted Fred; “more in one of his nails than in your whole body. He saved the lives of three of us, when we went to sleep in the tide’s way, at Indian Cave. If it hadn’t been for him, I should have been as miserable to-day as Pete Clash. It will be news to me when I hear of your lifting a finger to help anybody. You may keep still or leave the store.”Bradish, without making any reply, went out.“You’ve lost his custom, I reckon,” said Charlie.“It won’t be much loss. He came in here the other day, lolling round, and upset the inkstand upon a whole piece of muslin. I was out of doors, and before I could get in, it went through the whole piece. He said he was master sorry, supposed he ought to buy something, and would take a darning-needle.”The three friends, with Fannie and Captain Rhines’s family, buried Tige beneath a large rock maple that stood on the side of the hill, in the edge of the orchard. It was all full of holes, where Ben and John had tapped it. Between its roots they had made many a hoard of apples; and here Tige had loved to lie, as it was a cool place, and from it he could see everything that movedupon the water. They put a stone at the grave, on which his noble deeds were recorded.John Rhines had long cherished a secret attachment to Fannie Williams; but the death of Tige occasioned a mingling of sympathies that brought matters to a focus, and after a short engagement they were married. Captain Rhines and his wife, with whom Fannie had been a favorite from childhood, were highly gratified; for since their daughters had married and gone, the large house seemed lonely, and this beautiful, lively, sweet-tempered girl was to them a perfect treasure.A week after the occurrences narrated, a stranger, in the dress of a working man, with his coat on his arm, came into Fred’s store, and called for some crackers and cheese, and half a pint of new rum.Fred placed before him the crackers and cheese, but told him he must go to the other store for the liquor. He then called for a quart of cider. After eating, drinking, and resting a while, and smoking his pipe, he took a piece of chalk from his pocket, and drew a line across the floor. “There,” said he, “the first man that steps over that line has got to take hold of me.”This was altogether too much for Fred, who instantly stepped over the line. They went out before the door, and the stranger threw Fred in a moment, and several others who came in. The thing was noised abroad, and quite a crowd assembled, but they were careful not to step over the line. Fred sent for Charlie, and the stranger threw him. The matter was now getting serious; the reputation of the town was at stake.“Send for Joe Griffin,” said Uncle Isaac.Joe had gone up river after logs.“Then send for Edmund Griffin.”He had gone with Joe. A boy was now despatched for Joel Ricker, who brought back word that he was on Elm Island, doing some joiner-work for Lion Ben.“Then,” said Uncle Isaac, “we must send for the Lion. This fellow shan’t go off and make his brags that he has stumped the place, and got off clear. I’ll take hold of him myself first, though I haven’t wrestled these twenty-five year.”“Why haven’t we thought of John Rhines?” said Fred.“Sure enough,” said Uncle Isaac; “he’ll handle him.”“John,” said the captain, “has gone to Tom Stanley’s to buy a yoke of oxen; but I’ve got a horse that will go there and back in three quarters of an hour, if anybody will drive him.”“I’ll go,” said Fred.By the time John arrived, half the town was there. A ring was made before the door.“You’ve brought a man big enough this time,” said the stranger, looking up at John, who towered far above him.They took hold. John threw him as easily as he had thrown Fred, while shout after shout went up from the crowd, who had been holding their breath, in anxious suspense.“Youcrushedme down by main strength,” said the stranger; “but I would like to try you at arms’ length.”They took hold at arms’ length, and although the grapple was longer, John threw him twice.“You have stout men up in this place,” said he. “I am thirty years old next July, and this is the first time I’ve been thrown since I was nineteen.”“Men!” said Uncle Isaac. “You have as yet wrestled only with boys. Our men all happen to be away.”“If you call these boys, I should like to see your men.”“Here comes one of them,” said Uncle Isaac, pointing towards the water.The eyes of the stranger, following the direction of his finger, rested upon the massive shoulders of Lion Ben, who was approaching the shore in his big canoe, pulling cross-handed, while Joel Ricker, with his tools in his lap, was sitting in the stern.They landed, wondering much at the crowd assembled. Ricker walked up the beach with his tools, while Ben followed, dragging the canoe with one hand over the gravel.The stranger gazed with dilating eyes, as he straightened up to his full proportions. Then he went to the canoe, but found himself unable to move it, even down hill.“What may I call your name, friend?” asked Uncle Isaac, approaching.“Libby—Lemuel Libby, from Black Pint, in Scarboro’.”Uncle Isaac then introduced him to Captain Rhines, John, and Lion Ben, at the same time informing him that they were the father and twosons. Libby gazed a moment upon these superb specimens of manly vigor, and resuming his clothes, said, “This is no place for common men, like me. I’ll make tracks for home.”“Not so, friend Libby,” said John. “Everything has been done fair and above-board. There’s no occasion for hardness. Spend the night with me. I’ll take the horse, and start you on your way in the morning.”“Neighbors,” said Captain Rhines, who was greatly delighted at the triumph of his son, “I invite you all to take dinner at our house to-morrow, at twelve o’clock; and Mr. Libby will stop and eat with us.”“The house won’t hold us, Benjamin,” said Uncle Isaac.“Well, the barn will. We’ll make two crews, and set two tables.”“John,” said Charlie, after the crowd had dispersed, “do you remember what you said so long ago?”“No. What was it?”“That you meant to be the greatest wrestler, and marry the handsomest girl. I don’t see but you are in a fair way to do both, if all tales are true.”CHAPTER XVIII.THE MEETING.LITTLE dreaming of the happiness in store for him, Charlie, having gathered in his harvest and husked his corn, now occupied himself in preparing to put a hedge around his mother’s grave.Ahedge. How significant that word to him, reared amid the vales of Lincolnshire! It recalled all the associations of his childhood, and of the sunny spring mornings, when, sitting beneath the shelter of the hedge-rows, he watched the ducks sport in the pools below, while beside him the hens were scratching and burrowing in the warm earth beneath the bank for worms and grubs, and he, a happy, careless boy, was pounding a willow stick on his knee with the handle of his knife, to make the bark slip, for a whistle; listening to the birds in the hedge above him, and watching the mimicwaves produced by the wind as it swept over the osiers.His intention was to surround the little promontory (around whose sides murmur the clear waters of the brook and the majestic elm that shadows it, whose pendent branches, with their extremities, approached within a few feet of the grave-stone) with hedge.Mr. Welch, several years before, had imported plants from England, and also ivy. It was from him he expected to obtain his plants—“quicks” Charlie called them—for he was no novice in hedging. The ivy he purposed to plant at the roots of the great elm.This occupation had revived all the associations of his boyhood, and fond recollections of other days, often bringing tears to his eyes.“A beautiful land is England,” said he, as he wiped the sweat from his brow and rested upon his spade; “and those sweet spots in the fens I shall never forget; but this is sweeter, for it is my own. What I do here, I do for myself, my wife, and little one.”That evening, as he sat with the babe in his lap, while his wife was clearing off the suppertable, he said to her, “Mary, it don’t seem to look, or to be, just right that I should have a grave-stone for my mother, and none for my father, brother, and sister.”“But they are not buried here. You wouldn’t wish to put stones where there are no bodies.”“But I might havesomething. I’ve seen in the churchyards at home monuments with the names of people on them who were not buried under them, but had died at sea, or been killed in battle, as father was. I might do that.”“Why don’t you?”“I think I will; and the very next time the schooner goes to Boston, when I send for my quicks and ivy, I’ll inquire of Mr. Welch about it.”Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of John Rhines, with a letter in his hand.“Just give me that baby, and read this.”“If ever I was glad of anything in my life, I am of this,” said Charlie, when he had read the letter; “not on our account altogether, but Captain Brown’s, he was just starting in life, and there were so many looking at him; and how handsomely he speaks of Walter and little Ned!”“Ain’t it great?”“Yes; she’s paid for herself with the freight she carried out.”“I know it; and the back freight is all clear gain. There’s no loss, except the main boom and a boat.”“I’ll build another boat. I’ve got the stuff in the ship-yard, all seasoned. The boom won’t be much; he can buy the stick, and Danforth Eaton can make it. What did your father say? He was a long time making up his mind whether it would do to trust him with a vessel or not, and I know he’s been very anxious, though he said nothing.”“Say!I only wish you could have seen him when I brought in the letter. Mother was just going to tie his cue; he glanced over it, jumped up, and cut round the house like a boy of sixteen; made me put the saddle on the mare, and in spite of all mother could do, went over to tell Uncle Isaac, with his hair all flying in the wind. Won’t they have a good time, talking it over?”“Yes; and I know just what they’ll say.”“What?”“They’ll say he’s turned out just as they expected, when it was all you, father, and I could do to get them started to build the vessel for him.”“Don’t be too confident, Charlie; the old folks know a thing or two; remember the cow trade.”Charlie blushed, and in order to turn the conversation, remarked, as he looked again at the letter, “It seems he wants some beef and fish to make up his next cargo.”“Fred has got a lot on hand, just packed; father is going up in the Perseverance to take it up, settle up the voyage, and bring home the money. Have you heard the news, Charlie, Tom Bannister brought?”“No; what is it?”“Pete Clash and John Godsoe have turned up.”“They have?”“Yes; Tom saw ‘em on board a Guineaman in Havana; they pretended not to know him, but he knew them. Just the place for them. Father says these Guineamen have a long gun in the hold, and mount it when they get outside, and are all pirates in disguise.”The country, especially around the sea-coast, was now in a prosperous condition. The settlements were pushed back to the head waters of the streams, roads made, townships surveyed, town incorporated, and vessels built; the timbertrade assumed vast proportions, and money was abundant, men began to break away from the rigid manners of the primitive times, and ape the style of dress and living that prevailed in England, which they had either seen or heard of.Great numbers of cattle were raised on the lands newly burnt over. Instead of driving the cattle to Brighton or Cambridge, as at the present day in seaport towns and country villages, they were butchered, and the beef packed at home, shipped to Spain and other countries of Europe, and smuggled into Cuba for the use of the Spanish slavers. Fred had added to his other business that of packing beef, and Uncle Isaac and Joe Griffin bought the cattle for him. He had imported a cooper, by the name of Wallace, from Standish, to make the barrels, who had taken three boys as apprentices, thus increasing the business of the place.Charlie, who as our readers know, was strongly attached to the cultivation of the soil, had neither engaged in vessel or boat building since the Arthur Brown was launched. John Rhines likewise found plenty of employment upon the home farm, occasionally working in the yard of Reedand Atherton, who came from Massachusetts, and set up ship-building, built vessels, and took them to Massachusetts for sale.Charlie, Fred, and John intended only to build vessels as they wanted them, and repair old ones, or aid some industrious, enterprising young man, who wanted a vessel.They were influenced to this line of conduct very much by the opinions of Uncle Isaac, who had a most wonderful power of making people think as he did; one reason of which was, that he never manifested the least assumption, and another, that he always placed matters in such a light that those with whom he conversed seemed to convince themselves.One day Uncle Isaac and the boys went pigeon shooting together; as they were sitting by the fire after dinner, he said. “Where did that corn come from that Seth Warren carried last vige in the Hard-scrabble?”“From North Carolina,” replied Fred.“Yes, and where did that cargo you are grinding now, that’s going into the logging camps, come from?”“From Baltimore.”“Do you take in any corn now from round here?”“When I first began to trade, I used to take in a great deal; but now, except from yourself, Captain Rhines, Ben, Joe Griffin, and one or two more, I don’t get five bushels in a year; but I sell lots to the people round here.”“It seems to me, when a people get so much taken up with building vessels, fishing, cutting masts and ton timber, to send to England, that they have to go to the southerd to buy corn to export, feed their cattle in the logging swamps, bread their families, and fat their hogs, they are in rather a poor way; that there’s more talk than cider; that they ain’t getting rich so fast as they appear to be; when they raise but little except on burns, never hauling out their dressing, or ploughing the land, but keep going over and over, skimming and skimming, that by and by they will have a very poor set of carcasses left, and that if there should come a war, and all this exportation be stopped, there would be pretty blue times. I don’t pretend to know, but it appears to me that’s about the way things are done round here, and all over the District of Maine.”“I never thought of that before,” said Charlie.“Nor I either,” said John.“It’s just as Uncle Isaac says,” said Fred, “just to a T. When I first began to trade, almost everybody had a few bushels of corn to sell, some a good deal; and I never sold a bushel of corn, or meal, except to fishermen from some other place; if any of our people wanted corn, wheat or barley, they went to their neighbors.”“I have thought a good deal about it,” said Uncle Isaac, “and I’ve talked the matter over with Captain Rhines and Benjamin; it strikes them pretty much as it does me; they ought to be better judges than me, because they’ve had greater privileges. I helped about the Hard-scrabble and the Casco, because I wanted to start you boys, build up the place, and make business; but it never will do to have the eggs all in one basket, for all to be ship-builders, lumbermen, or fishermen. A ship don’t produce anything; she is herself a product, manned from the land, and victualled from the land; everything comes from the ground; we ourselves were made out of it; there must be farmers to feed the rest. I mean, for the future, to put my money into the land, except I see special reasons for helping somebody.”When the Hard-scrabble was built, Captain Rhines and Ben rigged her, and made the sails, as also those of the Casco, and the Arthur Brown; but after Reed and Atherton began to build, a rigger and sail-maker came into the place. Charlie Bell built the first pair of cart wheels, that had an iron tire. Uncle Isaac and Captain Rhines for some time had the only wagons; but in a few years, carts and wagons were more common, and a blacksmith from Roxbury, who could do carriage work and make edge tools, bought out Peter Brock.The meeting between Captain Rhines and Arthur (his boy, as he called him), in Boston, was a most interesting one. The old captain was jubilant that all the owners were more than satisfied, and his own judgment, in respect to the capacity of the young captain, borne out by facts.Though by no means given to the melting mood, he met his protégé with moistening eyes. It is not within the province of language to describe the joy that thrilled the breast of Arthur Brown, and shone in every feature, as he put his hand in that of the captain, resulting from the consciousness that he had more than answered the expectationsand justified the confidence reposed in him by his own friends and those of his father, especially of Captain Rhines, Charlie, Lion Ben, and the others who had risked their own lives to save his, and, not satisfied with this, had also jeopardized their property, to open before him a path to usefulness and honor.“Where are the boys?” asked Captain Rhines, after he had talked half an hour with Arthur.“They started for home in a coaster yesterday. I have shipped them all for the next voyage.”“Where is Peterson?”“Gone with them.”“Walter and little Ned?”“They went to Salem together after the vessel was discharged; are coming back to-morrow, expecting to go home with you, or whoever came up. Then you’re fully satisfied with me, captain?”“Satisfied!My dear boy, I should have been satisfied if you had done half as well. There’s not a shipmaster in the country but would be proud of much less than you have done.”“Mr. Bell and your sons are satisfied?”“Why, to be sure they are. I don’t know what they could be made of, if they are not.”“Well,” said Arthur, laying both his hands on the captain’s shoulders, “I have brought home in this vessel that which will afford greater satisfaction to Mr. Bell, yourself and family, than all the money I have made this passage. I have brought home Mr. Bell’s father.”“You must be jesting, or have been deceived. His father has been in his grave for years.”“No; he was not killed, as was supposed, but carried a prisoner to France. He has told Eaton and Peterson the whole story of his impressment, just as they say Charlie told it; told his son’s age, looks, and the scar on his face. There’s no mistake—can’t be. You’ll say so when you see him.”“God ‘a mercy! Well, this is news indeed. But you didn’t mention it in your letter.”“His father didn’t want me to.”“Where is he?”“He’s gone to ride with Mr. Welch. I am to meet him there, and take tea, and then he is coming aboard.”“I’ll go there to tea. I have a standing invitation. Well, if I ain’t glad! What do you suppose Charlie was about when I came away?”“I’m sure I don’t know.”“He was getting ready to put a hedge round the spot where his mother lies; sent up by me to get the plants of Mr. Welch, and wanted me to talk with him about a monument that he wanted to put up to his father’s memory, and a brother and sister that he has heard died in England; and also to get some plans and bring home to him. And now, instead of the monumental plans, he’ll have the man himself.”[The Mr. Welch referred to here is a wealthy merchant and ship owner, an intimate friend of Captain Rhines, in whose employ he had sailed the greater part of his life. His son James, a young man of singular promise, but broken down by intemperance, was sent by his father to Elm Island in order to get him out of the way of temptation, and restored by the influence of Uncle Isaac.]“But,” continued Captain Rhines, “the boys will be home before us, will see Charlie, and let the cat out of the bag.”“No, they won’t; I’ve told them not to.”The Perseverance had now been away ten days, and Charlie was expecting to receive his “quicks” at her return. He had, in the spring, ploughed the ground intended for his hedge, and planted it with potatoes, to subdue the tough sward. Having dug the potatoes, and spaded in a heavy coating of manure, he was busily engaged (on one of those delightful autumn mornings when the hoar frost is melting from the grass, and dripping from the extremity of the leaves, and the muscles feel that joyous thrill which the season of the year inspires) in levelling the surface with a rake, removing the stones, twigs, and bark that had fallen from the elm. Feeling a hand laid lightly upon his shoulder, he raised his eyes, and looked Walter Griffin full in the face.“Why, Walter,” he exclaimed, taking both his hands, and struck with the expression of heartfelt joy which pervaded every feature, “how happy you look!”“I hope so. I’m sure I ought to.”“He ain’t any happier than I am,” said a voice that Charlie well knew; and stepping from behind the great tree, Ned Gates ran into his arms.“Why, Ned, how you have grown! I should hardly know you.”“Have I, truly, Mr. Bell?” replied Ned, excessively pleased.“Yes; and see what a cue he’s got,” said Walter, turning him round.“Be still, Wal; how you do like to poke fun at me.”“Mr. Bell,” asked Walter, “can you bear good news?”“I guess so.”“But you never had any such news as this.”“I stood it pretty well when the Ark made her great voyage, and when Isaac Murch made so much money in the Hard-scrabble. I guess I can stand this,” replied Charlie, thinking Walter was about to tell him how much the Arthur Brown had made.“O, it ain’t about money at all, but it’s something that will make you gladder than if you had a pile of gold as big as Elm Island.”“Then it must be that you have given your heart to God, Walter.”The tears came into Walter’s eyes in a moment.“And do you think so much of me, Mr. Bell?”“Just so much.”“Well, it is not that.Your father has come.”“My father, Walter, is dead, and I am preparing to put up a monument to his memory, right where we stand.”“You needn’t put up any monument, for he’s alive and well, and in Captain Rhines’s house this minute.”Charlie turned pale, staggered, and would have fallen to the ground, but was so near the elm that he fell against it. Walter put his arm around him, and he leaned his head on his friend’s shoulder.“What made you tell him that way?” asked Ned.“I didn’t mean to; but when he spoke to me about giving my heart to God, I didn’t know what I said.”“It’s over, now,” said Charlie, lifting his head from Walter’s shoulder.“He wasn’t killed, Mr. Bell,” said Ned, “though he was flung overboard for dead. The French picked him up, and we found him in Marseilles, selling baskets.”“I will go right up to Captain Rhines’s,” said Charlie. “You stop at the house till I come back.”“I must go home,” said Walter; “and Ned is going with me. I haven’t been home yet. I didn’t want anybody to bring this news but myself and Ned.”When Charlie—his pale features still manifesting traces of the feelings which had mastered him—entered the sitting-room, the captain, taking him by the hand, pointed to the door of the parlor, which stood ajar.We will draw a veil over the meeting of father and son; but when, at the expiration of half an hour, they came out together, traces of tears were on the cheeks of both, but they were tears of joy. When Charlie presented his wife to his father, and placed the child in his arms, “I can now,” said the happy grand-parent, “say, in the words of old Jacob, ‘I had not thought to seethyface, and lo! God hath also showed me thy seed.’”As they sat side by side, the old gentleman with the child on his knee, Captain Rhines said,—“I don’t see how anybody who ever saw Charlie could harbor any doubt about Mr. Bell’s being his father—they favor each other so much.”“Ah, captain,” was the reply, “put an old, faded, red shirt on me, all stained up with osier sap, a tarpaulin hat, a bundle of baskets on my back, and, more than all, the heart-broken look I wore then, you yourself couldn’t have found much resemblance.”As they returned to Pleasant Cove by the road that wound along the slope of land towards the house, skirting the sugar orchard, the sun, which was now getting low, illuminated with its level rays the whole declivity, falling off in natural terraces to the shore, and flashed upon the foliage of the rock-maples, now red as blood. Indian Island, with its high cliffs rising up from the glassy bosom of the bay, the white trunks and yellow leaves of its masses of tall birch contrasting with the darker hues of the oak and ash, with which the edges of the bank were fringed, presented a mingling of tints most delightful.Mr. Bell, upon whom the glories of a New England forest in autumn produced all the effect of novelty, was, for a while, silent with wonder and delight.He at length exclaimed, “How grand, how beautiful! And is all this land and forest yours, my son?”“Yes, father, and a great deal more than you can see from here. I bought four hundred acres first, and two hundred more afterwards. Father, do you see that large island, with a cleared spot on the side of it?”“With a house on it, that looks as though it were on fire, the sun is shining so bright on the windows?”“Yes, that’s the one; that is Elm Island, where Lion Ben and his wife live, who have been a father and mother to me. God bless you, old Elm Island. What happy years I have spent on you!”They next proceeded to the little promontory, and Mr. Bell stood beside the grave of her from whom he parted, in bitterness of heart, when he was pressed on board the hulk at Sheerness.“Poor Mary! She starved—saw poverty and sorrow enough in this world; but I believe she is now experiencing infinitely more happiness than would be hers, were it in our power to call her from the grave to join us. I am glad, my son, that you have not set these quicks; we’ll make the hedge together. When I am gone, you can lay me in this beautiful spot beside her.”They sat together beneath the elm, talking, till the stars began to come out one after another; and when that night Charlie knelt down to pray, it was with a heart full to overflowing with gratitude and joy.CHAPTER XIX.NED AMONG THE GRIFFINS.IF a boy ever enjoyed himself in this world, Ned Gates did among the Griffins. Their rough, but kindly, rollicking ways just suited his sanguine temperament, and he suited them, from the youngest to the oldest, and got through the crust at once. Indeed, there was everything a wide-awake boy would naturally like. There was a charm, in itself, about such a jolly house-full. Ned thought Edmund Griffin was a splendid man, his wife one of the best of women, and as for the old grandfather, despite his rough ways, he was a perfect treasure. Evenings, Ned would nestle to his side, and coax him to tell him stories about river driving, hunting, wrestling, and the Indian wars, in which he had taken a prominent part.Captain Brown had rewarded Jacques Bernoux very handsomely for the assistance he had renderedWalter, and induced him to come to the States, paying him seaman’s wages, and Walter brought him home with him. Three or four more never made any difference at Edmund Griffin’s. Jacques afforded much amusement by his attempts to speak English.Being a leisure time of year, and the harvest in, it was hunting, fishing, going to Elm Island,—Ned and Captain Rhines carried the news of Mr. Bell’s arrival to Ben and Sally,—going with Edmund Griffin and Joe up river, and coming down on the raft, breaking colts; and, to fill his cup of happiness to the brim, Ned shot a moose. The boys caught a bear in the trap, and Ned had an opportunity to taste of the meat, and grease his cue with the fat.There was another older person having a good time, and that was Mr. Bell. His things having been brought to the house, he drew from the recesses of an enormous chest the beautiful work-basket, and some articles of household use, that he had made while in Marseilles, and which had so excited the admiration of Ned. Mary was delighted—she had never seen anything half so beautiful.“You can’t come up to that, Charlie,” said his father.“No, father, I can’t. I never saw any of your work so beautiful as this.”“I never had quite so strong a motive before,” said the old gentleman, smiling.The next day Charlie was called from home to run out a piece of land, and was absent nearly a week. Finding lumber and tools in the shop, his father made a trough to soak willow, a bench, and having cut some native willows by the brook for the frame, in order to economize the osiers, made a chair for the baby, and when Charlie returned, was busily at work making one high enough for the child to sit at table in.He was so much occupied with his work as not to notice his son, who stood in the door watching him.“Father,” said he, “I should think I had got back to Lincolnshire.”“This is a better place than the fens, Charles. I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking about while at work here.”“What is it, father?”“All through my life, at home, I have been accustomedto look up to the quality, and the country squires who owned lands, with a sort of awe; and I have been thinking what a pleasant feeling it must be to own a piece of land that God made, and that I should, before I die, like to experience the feeling. Now, I have got a few pounds, that I managed to lay up while in France. Why couldn’t I buy a little piece of land, and have a little garden, and plant it? It would seem so pleasant to eat anything that grew on my own land. But perhaps you’ll think I’m getting childish, and that it’s an old man’s whim.”“That’s just the way I used to feel at home, father; and when I came to this country, I couldn’t rest for thinking how I should ever come to own a piece of land. I would do it. Sam Edwards has a piece right on the shore he wants to sell. Part of it’s cleared. There’s a small piece between it and me that belongs to heirs, and is to be sold. I’ll buy it, and then yours will join mine.”“And I shall be a freeholder in my old age, after living a tenant all the best of my life,” said the old gentleman, highly gratified.“I’ll tell you what you can do, father. Next time the vessel goes to Marseilles, get Jacques toprocure some sallies for you, set them on your land, and then you can have an osier holt, grow your own rods, and make all the baskets you like, to pass away the time in the long winters we have in this country.”“Do you think they would grow here?”“Anything will grow here, and there’s a swale on that place will suit them exactly.”The marriage of John Rhines and Fannie Williams added to the general satisfaction. The infare, or second-day wedding, took place at Captain Rhines’s, upon which occasion half the town were invited.Uncle Isaac and Joe Griffin met Walter and Ned at the infare, and there made an agreement to start the next week for the woods. Ned, who had been kept quite closely at school till he went to sea, and had never in his life shot anything larger than a pigeon or squirrel till he came to Pleasant Cove, was perfectly wild with the anticipation, and kept Walter awake so long talking about it, that he averred, if he didn’t keep still, he wouldn’t sleep with him.Charlie lent Ned a splendid gun, and they were busily employed running balls and making preparations.While the whole family at Edmund Griffin’s were spending an evening in playing “blind man’s buff” in the great kitchen, the old grandfather looking on and enjoying the sport as much as the rest, Joe, his face bathed in tears, came to announce that Uncle Isaac was dreadfully hurt, and could not live.“How did it happen?” inquired the grandfather, the first to recover from the effect produced by these sad tidings.“You know what a hand Uncle Isaac always was to work alone. He went into the woods to haul a large log, laid a skid, one end on the ground, the other on a stump, calculating to roll the log up with the cattle, so as to run the wheels under. He’s got a yoke of cattle that will do anything he tells them to. He stood behind the log, and spoke to the cattle, calculating to trig the log when it was up; but the chain broke, and the log came back on him.”“How did they know about it?” asked Edmund.“He spoke to the cattle, threw chips at them, and started them home with a part of the chain hanging to them; his wife knew something waswrong, got some of the neighbors to go, and they brought him home.”“He’s a very strong man; he may get over it.”“No, he can’t, father; both legs are broken, and he’s hurt otherways; the doctor says he can’t, though he may live some time. I must go, for I’m going to watch with him to-night.”“Tell ‘em, Joe, to send here, night or day; anything that we can do, it will be a privilege to do it.”As is the case when people feel deeply, little was said, and one after another silently slipped off to bed. As soon as Lion Ben and Sally heard of it, they came over and stopped at Captain Rhines’s. Ben, his father, and Joe Griffin gave up everything to take care of and watch with Uncle Isaac; for although the whole neighborhood offered and pressed their services, he preferred that they should take care of him. For some days he suffered intense pain, and was at times delirious; but as death approached, the pain subsided, his mind became perfectly clear, and the same hearty, kindly interest in the young that had ever been a prominent trait of his character, resumed its wonted sway. A few days before his death, hesent for John Rhines, Charlie, Fred Williams, Walter, and Ned, preferring, as he was not able to talk with each one separately, to see them together.“Boys,” said he, “you have come to see the last of Uncle Isaac. John, won’t you turn that hour-glass. The sand is run out. We have spent a great many pleasant hours together; they are all over now; but I want to tell you that they have been as pleasant to me as to you. It is a great comfort to me that I have been spared to see my children, and you, who seem as near to me as my own children, grow up to be God-fearing, useful men in the world, and settled in life. It would have been a comfort to me to have seen Isaac once more; but you must tell him that his Uncle Isaac did not forget him in his last hours. I have been a strong and a tough man in my time. I never was thrown, seldom pulled up; very few could lift my load, plan work better, or bring more to pass with an axe or scythe. I never saw but one man who could outdo me in trapping game or with a rifle, and that was a Penobscot Indian, and my foster-brother, John Conesus. I have left my rifle with the walnutstock to him. I don’t fetch up these things in any kind of a boasting way, but only to say to you that all these matters that appeared great to me once, and no doubt do to you, seem very small now. What I like most to think about ain’t what I’ve done for myself, but to help others, especially to start young men, and get ‘em canted right, because any good done to the young always seemed to me to go a great ways. I always did love to set a scion in a young stock; it ain’t like grafting an old hollow tree, which, if it bears a little fruit, soon rots down or blows over. If, at your time of life, you feel and do thus, like as when you caught the fish and gave them to poor Mrs. Yelf, and when you tried to make a good boy of Fred here—”“We never should have done either,” said John, “if you hadn’t put it into our heads.”“More especially, if you should be owned of the Lord as a means of grace to some fellow-creetur, you will find they will be the pleasantest things to look back on, when you come to be where I am; more so than chopping, wrestling, and getting property, though they are all good in their place; such thoughts smooth a sick pillow wonderfully. Notthat I put any dependence in them, but in the marcy of Him who gave me the heart to do them.”After resting a while, and taking some stimulant, he motioned for Walter and Ned to come near.“I hear that Captain Brown gives you a good name, Walter, and that you came home his first officer. We were about to go into the woods together when I was hurt. I used to think you loved to go into the woods with me.”“O, Uncle Isaac, the happiest hours of my life have been spent in the woods with you.”“We never shall go there again; I am going to a better place—to heaven. Walter, I hope we shall meet there. I haven’t strength to say more; but you will remember the talks we’ve had at the camp fire. So this is the little boy we took off the raft; he is not very little now, though. Don’t cry, my son,” he said, laying his hand upon Ned’s head, who had buried his face in the bed-clothes, and was sobbing audibly. “It seems to me I am the best off of the two.”“Howcanthat be, Uncle Isaac, when you are hurt so dreadfully, while I am well?”“Because, my son, I have got about through; Ihave run all the risk, while you have just begun, have all the risk to run, and may be shipwrecked.Iknow what is before me—a better world;youdon’t know what is before you.Ihave had allmytrials;yoursare to come. Captain Rhines tells me you have a Christian mother.”“Yes, Uncle Isaac, she’s the best mother that ever was.”“I had a praying mother; when I was younger than you I was torn from her, and carried away by the Indians. I never forgot her words; in the great woods, all alone, they came to mind, and through them I sought and found the Lord.”After parting with the boys, he seemed prostrated, fell into a doze, and passed away without a struggle.A few days after, Uncle Jonathan Smullen died, from decay of nature—a very clever man, and kind neighbor; and it was said of him, he never did anybody any harm; but Uncle Isaac was missed, and mourned by the whole community. The seed of good principles he had sown in the minds of young men kept coming up for years after he was in his grave, and was resown by those who received it from them, a hundred times; nor will their influence ever cease.

CHAPTER XVII.DEATH AND BURIAL OF TIGE RHINES.THERE is no animal that seems to be so closely allied to man as the dog. He lives in his master’s smiles, defends his person, guards his property, and is grateful for the smallest favors.In respect to other animals, they are naturally shy; we must attach them to us by food and caresses.Take, for instance, a kitten, born in the house, and her parents before her for generations; yet the moment it gets its eyes open, it will round up its back, and spit at the little boy or girl who approaches to fondle it, and must be wonted; but a puppy, why, the moment his eyes are open, he’s right on to you, and you have hard work to keep him from licking your face.When the family leaves the house, the cat will seldom, if ever, follow them, because she caresmore about the place than the people; but the dog’s home is where his master is.John Rhines’s dog, Tige, a Newfoundland of the largest size, possessed—as those who have read the Elm Island stories know—a sagacity greater than that which generally pertains even to that noble breed.Tige Rhines, as he was called, was known and loved by both young and old, the protector and playmate of all the children, and bore on his neck a broad brass collar, on which were inscribed the date of the year and the day on which he pulled little Fannie Williams from the bottom of the mill-pond, and many other things that he had done.For many years Tige had been gradually losing his activity, and was quite infirm with age. He had never been accustomed to leave the home of his master, except when sent upon some errand, with a basket or letter in his mouth, unless with some of the family; but after Mary and Elizabeth were married, he would once in a while go to visit each of them in the forenoon, stop to dinner and tea, see the babies, and go home at night. He would also go down to thecove in front of the house, and play with the children of the neighborhood by the hour together. All through Fannie Williams’s childhood (whose life he saved) he was, whenever she came up to see him, which was generally once a month, sent home with her by Captain Rhines. But age, which comes alike upon dogs and men, had compelled him to relinquish all these pleasant excursions. His legs had grown stiff and crooked; his glossy black coat had become a dirty yellow, except along the back and at the roots of the tail; his intelligent eye was dim; and all around his eyes and nose gray hairs were plentifully scattered. It was with great difficulty he could walk; he would attempt sometimes to follow John to the barn, go part way there, and moan because he could get no farther; then John would go back and pat and comfort him. Everything that care and affection could do to render him comfortable and happy in his old age, was done by Captain Rhines and John.As the weather grew cooler, John made him a bed of sheep-skins with the wool on; for though once apparently insensible to cold, never hesitating in the dead of winter to plunge into thewaves, he now trembled before every blast. Captain Rhines would catch smelts and bring to him, for Tige was a dear lover of fish; John would put him in the cart, haul him down in the field, and put him in the sun, at the end of the piece where he was digging potatoes, and as the sun went down, cover him with his jacket. The children around brought him titbits, and all the dogs in the neighborhood came to visit him. He at length became so feeble it was with difficulty he could get out of his kennel. Mornings when John went to the barn to feed the cattle, he would bid him good morning; Tige would wag his tail and look wistfully in his face, unable to rise.One morning, John, as he passed the kennel, spoke, as usual; but not hearing the noise of Tige’s tail striking against the side of the house, he went back and looked in; he was stretched out, apparently asleep; he put his fingers in his mouth; there was no warmth. “He is dead! poor old Tige,” cried John; “there never was such a dog in this world, and never will be again. I never will love another dog;” and he burst into tears; “I don’t care if I do cry,” he said, at length,wiping away the tears; “he’s been my playmate, ever since I was a boy; has saved my life; and nobody sees me; but if Charlie and Fred were here, they would cry, too.”Captain Rhines was not yet up. John fed the cattle, and then went to the door of his bedroom.“Father.”“What is it, John?”“Tige’s dead.”“I’m sorry; poor fellow! I’d give the best cow I’ve got in the barn to have him back as smart as he was once.”“I’dgive themall, father.”“Well, we’ve done all we could for him, John, and he’s gone where the good dogs go. It will make Ben feel bad; he and Tige were great friends.”“And Fannie, father.”“Yes.”It was soon known in the neighborhood. About nine o’clock, Fannie Williams came in, now grown to be, by universal consent, the prettiest girl in town; industrious, capable, and, as Captain Rhines was accustomed to say, as good as she was handsome.“Is Tige dead, John?” she asked, taking the chair he proffered her.“Yes, Fannie.”She was silent for a few minutes, then began to cry.“Don’t cry, Fannie,” said John.“I know it’s foolish, but I can’t help it; you know he saved my life.”“That he did,” said the captain; “for I took you from his jaws, when he brought you to the shore. I would cry as much as I had a mind to.”“I’m sure,” said Mrs. Rhines, “I don’t see what anybody could be made of, not to feel bad to lose such a good creature as Tige, even if he was a dumb animal. I used to feel just as safe with him, when Captain Rhines was at sea, and I left alone with the children, as though the men folks were round. When Captain Rhines was about home, or we had a hired man, he would lie under the big maple, or, if it was cold weather, in his house; but the very first night I was left alone, he would (without my saying a word to him) come right into the house, and, after I went to bed, stretch himself out before my bedroom door; it seemed as if he knew.”“Knew!I guess he did know,” said John; “only think how long he smelt us before we got here, when Charlie and I came from Portland, and how glad he was to see us! I thought he would have jumped out of his skin.”John persuaded Fannie to stop to dinner, as Tige was to be buried in the afternoon.“Where would you bury him, father?”“I’ll tell you, John. Under the big maple, where he loved so much to lie in the hot summer days.”While this conversation was going on at Captain Rhines’s, Joe Griffin, Charlie, and Fred were expatiating upon the merits of Tige, and regretting his loss, in Fred’s store. Joe Bradish came in, and after listening a while to their conversation, broke in with, “Such a fuss about a dog—an old dog, that ought to have been knocked on the head years ago. Anybody would think it was a Christian you was lamenting about.”Fred was naturally of a warm temper, shared in the universal feeling of dislike to Bradish, and this rough remark, in his present state of feeling, was more than he could bear.“Therewasmore Christianity in him than thereever was inyou,” retorted Fred; “more in one of his nails than in your whole body. He saved the lives of three of us, when we went to sleep in the tide’s way, at Indian Cave. If it hadn’t been for him, I should have been as miserable to-day as Pete Clash. It will be news to me when I hear of your lifting a finger to help anybody. You may keep still or leave the store.”Bradish, without making any reply, went out.“You’ve lost his custom, I reckon,” said Charlie.“It won’t be much loss. He came in here the other day, lolling round, and upset the inkstand upon a whole piece of muslin. I was out of doors, and before I could get in, it went through the whole piece. He said he was master sorry, supposed he ought to buy something, and would take a darning-needle.”The three friends, with Fannie and Captain Rhines’s family, buried Tige beneath a large rock maple that stood on the side of the hill, in the edge of the orchard. It was all full of holes, where Ben and John had tapped it. Between its roots they had made many a hoard of apples; and here Tige had loved to lie, as it was a cool place, and from it he could see everything that movedupon the water. They put a stone at the grave, on which his noble deeds were recorded.John Rhines had long cherished a secret attachment to Fannie Williams; but the death of Tige occasioned a mingling of sympathies that brought matters to a focus, and after a short engagement they were married. Captain Rhines and his wife, with whom Fannie had been a favorite from childhood, were highly gratified; for since their daughters had married and gone, the large house seemed lonely, and this beautiful, lively, sweet-tempered girl was to them a perfect treasure.A week after the occurrences narrated, a stranger, in the dress of a working man, with his coat on his arm, came into Fred’s store, and called for some crackers and cheese, and half a pint of new rum.Fred placed before him the crackers and cheese, but told him he must go to the other store for the liquor. He then called for a quart of cider. After eating, drinking, and resting a while, and smoking his pipe, he took a piece of chalk from his pocket, and drew a line across the floor. “There,” said he, “the first man that steps over that line has got to take hold of me.”This was altogether too much for Fred, who instantly stepped over the line. They went out before the door, and the stranger threw Fred in a moment, and several others who came in. The thing was noised abroad, and quite a crowd assembled, but they were careful not to step over the line. Fred sent for Charlie, and the stranger threw him. The matter was now getting serious; the reputation of the town was at stake.“Send for Joe Griffin,” said Uncle Isaac.Joe had gone up river after logs.“Then send for Edmund Griffin.”He had gone with Joe. A boy was now despatched for Joel Ricker, who brought back word that he was on Elm Island, doing some joiner-work for Lion Ben.“Then,” said Uncle Isaac, “we must send for the Lion. This fellow shan’t go off and make his brags that he has stumped the place, and got off clear. I’ll take hold of him myself first, though I haven’t wrestled these twenty-five year.”“Why haven’t we thought of John Rhines?” said Fred.“Sure enough,” said Uncle Isaac; “he’ll handle him.”“John,” said the captain, “has gone to Tom Stanley’s to buy a yoke of oxen; but I’ve got a horse that will go there and back in three quarters of an hour, if anybody will drive him.”“I’ll go,” said Fred.By the time John arrived, half the town was there. A ring was made before the door.“You’ve brought a man big enough this time,” said the stranger, looking up at John, who towered far above him.They took hold. John threw him as easily as he had thrown Fred, while shout after shout went up from the crowd, who had been holding their breath, in anxious suspense.“Youcrushedme down by main strength,” said the stranger; “but I would like to try you at arms’ length.”They took hold at arms’ length, and although the grapple was longer, John threw him twice.“You have stout men up in this place,” said he. “I am thirty years old next July, and this is the first time I’ve been thrown since I was nineteen.”“Men!” said Uncle Isaac. “You have as yet wrestled only with boys. Our men all happen to be away.”“If you call these boys, I should like to see your men.”“Here comes one of them,” said Uncle Isaac, pointing towards the water.The eyes of the stranger, following the direction of his finger, rested upon the massive shoulders of Lion Ben, who was approaching the shore in his big canoe, pulling cross-handed, while Joel Ricker, with his tools in his lap, was sitting in the stern.They landed, wondering much at the crowd assembled. Ricker walked up the beach with his tools, while Ben followed, dragging the canoe with one hand over the gravel.The stranger gazed with dilating eyes, as he straightened up to his full proportions. Then he went to the canoe, but found himself unable to move it, even down hill.“What may I call your name, friend?” asked Uncle Isaac, approaching.“Libby—Lemuel Libby, from Black Pint, in Scarboro’.”Uncle Isaac then introduced him to Captain Rhines, John, and Lion Ben, at the same time informing him that they were the father and twosons. Libby gazed a moment upon these superb specimens of manly vigor, and resuming his clothes, said, “This is no place for common men, like me. I’ll make tracks for home.”“Not so, friend Libby,” said John. “Everything has been done fair and above-board. There’s no occasion for hardness. Spend the night with me. I’ll take the horse, and start you on your way in the morning.”“Neighbors,” said Captain Rhines, who was greatly delighted at the triumph of his son, “I invite you all to take dinner at our house to-morrow, at twelve o’clock; and Mr. Libby will stop and eat with us.”“The house won’t hold us, Benjamin,” said Uncle Isaac.“Well, the barn will. We’ll make two crews, and set two tables.”“John,” said Charlie, after the crowd had dispersed, “do you remember what you said so long ago?”“No. What was it?”“That you meant to be the greatest wrestler, and marry the handsomest girl. I don’t see but you are in a fair way to do both, if all tales are true.”

DEATH AND BURIAL OF TIGE RHINES.

THERE is no animal that seems to be so closely allied to man as the dog. He lives in his master’s smiles, defends his person, guards his property, and is grateful for the smallest favors.

In respect to other animals, they are naturally shy; we must attach them to us by food and caresses.

Take, for instance, a kitten, born in the house, and her parents before her for generations; yet the moment it gets its eyes open, it will round up its back, and spit at the little boy or girl who approaches to fondle it, and must be wonted; but a puppy, why, the moment his eyes are open, he’s right on to you, and you have hard work to keep him from licking your face.

When the family leaves the house, the cat will seldom, if ever, follow them, because she caresmore about the place than the people; but the dog’s home is where his master is.

John Rhines’s dog, Tige, a Newfoundland of the largest size, possessed—as those who have read the Elm Island stories know—a sagacity greater than that which generally pertains even to that noble breed.

Tige Rhines, as he was called, was known and loved by both young and old, the protector and playmate of all the children, and bore on his neck a broad brass collar, on which were inscribed the date of the year and the day on which he pulled little Fannie Williams from the bottom of the mill-pond, and many other things that he had done.

For many years Tige had been gradually losing his activity, and was quite infirm with age. He had never been accustomed to leave the home of his master, except when sent upon some errand, with a basket or letter in his mouth, unless with some of the family; but after Mary and Elizabeth were married, he would once in a while go to visit each of them in the forenoon, stop to dinner and tea, see the babies, and go home at night. He would also go down to thecove in front of the house, and play with the children of the neighborhood by the hour together. All through Fannie Williams’s childhood (whose life he saved) he was, whenever she came up to see him, which was generally once a month, sent home with her by Captain Rhines. But age, which comes alike upon dogs and men, had compelled him to relinquish all these pleasant excursions. His legs had grown stiff and crooked; his glossy black coat had become a dirty yellow, except along the back and at the roots of the tail; his intelligent eye was dim; and all around his eyes and nose gray hairs were plentifully scattered. It was with great difficulty he could walk; he would attempt sometimes to follow John to the barn, go part way there, and moan because he could get no farther; then John would go back and pat and comfort him. Everything that care and affection could do to render him comfortable and happy in his old age, was done by Captain Rhines and John.

As the weather grew cooler, John made him a bed of sheep-skins with the wool on; for though once apparently insensible to cold, never hesitating in the dead of winter to plunge into thewaves, he now trembled before every blast. Captain Rhines would catch smelts and bring to him, for Tige was a dear lover of fish; John would put him in the cart, haul him down in the field, and put him in the sun, at the end of the piece where he was digging potatoes, and as the sun went down, cover him with his jacket. The children around brought him titbits, and all the dogs in the neighborhood came to visit him. He at length became so feeble it was with difficulty he could get out of his kennel. Mornings when John went to the barn to feed the cattle, he would bid him good morning; Tige would wag his tail and look wistfully in his face, unable to rise.

One morning, John, as he passed the kennel, spoke, as usual; but not hearing the noise of Tige’s tail striking against the side of the house, he went back and looked in; he was stretched out, apparently asleep; he put his fingers in his mouth; there was no warmth. “He is dead! poor old Tige,” cried John; “there never was such a dog in this world, and never will be again. I never will love another dog;” and he burst into tears; “I don’t care if I do cry,” he said, at length,wiping away the tears; “he’s been my playmate, ever since I was a boy; has saved my life; and nobody sees me; but if Charlie and Fred were here, they would cry, too.”

Captain Rhines was not yet up. John fed the cattle, and then went to the door of his bedroom.

“Father.”

“What is it, John?”

“Tige’s dead.”

“I’m sorry; poor fellow! I’d give the best cow I’ve got in the barn to have him back as smart as he was once.”

“I’dgive themall, father.”

“Well, we’ve done all we could for him, John, and he’s gone where the good dogs go. It will make Ben feel bad; he and Tige were great friends.”

“And Fannie, father.”

“Yes.”

It was soon known in the neighborhood. About nine o’clock, Fannie Williams came in, now grown to be, by universal consent, the prettiest girl in town; industrious, capable, and, as Captain Rhines was accustomed to say, as good as she was handsome.

“Is Tige dead, John?” she asked, taking the chair he proffered her.

“Yes, Fannie.”

She was silent for a few minutes, then began to cry.

“Don’t cry, Fannie,” said John.

“I know it’s foolish, but I can’t help it; you know he saved my life.”

“That he did,” said the captain; “for I took you from his jaws, when he brought you to the shore. I would cry as much as I had a mind to.”

“I’m sure,” said Mrs. Rhines, “I don’t see what anybody could be made of, not to feel bad to lose such a good creature as Tige, even if he was a dumb animal. I used to feel just as safe with him, when Captain Rhines was at sea, and I left alone with the children, as though the men folks were round. When Captain Rhines was about home, or we had a hired man, he would lie under the big maple, or, if it was cold weather, in his house; but the very first night I was left alone, he would (without my saying a word to him) come right into the house, and, after I went to bed, stretch himself out before my bedroom door; it seemed as if he knew.”

“Knew!I guess he did know,” said John; “only think how long he smelt us before we got here, when Charlie and I came from Portland, and how glad he was to see us! I thought he would have jumped out of his skin.”

John persuaded Fannie to stop to dinner, as Tige was to be buried in the afternoon.

“Where would you bury him, father?”

“I’ll tell you, John. Under the big maple, where he loved so much to lie in the hot summer days.”

While this conversation was going on at Captain Rhines’s, Joe Griffin, Charlie, and Fred were expatiating upon the merits of Tige, and regretting his loss, in Fred’s store. Joe Bradish came in, and after listening a while to their conversation, broke in with, “Such a fuss about a dog—an old dog, that ought to have been knocked on the head years ago. Anybody would think it was a Christian you was lamenting about.”

Fred was naturally of a warm temper, shared in the universal feeling of dislike to Bradish, and this rough remark, in his present state of feeling, was more than he could bear.

“Therewasmore Christianity in him than thereever was inyou,” retorted Fred; “more in one of his nails than in your whole body. He saved the lives of three of us, when we went to sleep in the tide’s way, at Indian Cave. If it hadn’t been for him, I should have been as miserable to-day as Pete Clash. It will be news to me when I hear of your lifting a finger to help anybody. You may keep still or leave the store.”

Bradish, without making any reply, went out.

“You’ve lost his custom, I reckon,” said Charlie.

“It won’t be much loss. He came in here the other day, lolling round, and upset the inkstand upon a whole piece of muslin. I was out of doors, and before I could get in, it went through the whole piece. He said he was master sorry, supposed he ought to buy something, and would take a darning-needle.”

The three friends, with Fannie and Captain Rhines’s family, buried Tige beneath a large rock maple that stood on the side of the hill, in the edge of the orchard. It was all full of holes, where Ben and John had tapped it. Between its roots they had made many a hoard of apples; and here Tige had loved to lie, as it was a cool place, and from it he could see everything that movedupon the water. They put a stone at the grave, on which his noble deeds were recorded.

John Rhines had long cherished a secret attachment to Fannie Williams; but the death of Tige occasioned a mingling of sympathies that brought matters to a focus, and after a short engagement they were married. Captain Rhines and his wife, with whom Fannie had been a favorite from childhood, were highly gratified; for since their daughters had married and gone, the large house seemed lonely, and this beautiful, lively, sweet-tempered girl was to them a perfect treasure.

A week after the occurrences narrated, a stranger, in the dress of a working man, with his coat on his arm, came into Fred’s store, and called for some crackers and cheese, and half a pint of new rum.

Fred placed before him the crackers and cheese, but told him he must go to the other store for the liquor. He then called for a quart of cider. After eating, drinking, and resting a while, and smoking his pipe, he took a piece of chalk from his pocket, and drew a line across the floor. “There,” said he, “the first man that steps over that line has got to take hold of me.”

This was altogether too much for Fred, who instantly stepped over the line. They went out before the door, and the stranger threw Fred in a moment, and several others who came in. The thing was noised abroad, and quite a crowd assembled, but they were careful not to step over the line. Fred sent for Charlie, and the stranger threw him. The matter was now getting serious; the reputation of the town was at stake.

“Send for Joe Griffin,” said Uncle Isaac.

Joe had gone up river after logs.

“Then send for Edmund Griffin.”

He had gone with Joe. A boy was now despatched for Joel Ricker, who brought back word that he was on Elm Island, doing some joiner-work for Lion Ben.

“Then,” said Uncle Isaac, “we must send for the Lion. This fellow shan’t go off and make his brags that he has stumped the place, and got off clear. I’ll take hold of him myself first, though I haven’t wrestled these twenty-five year.”

“Why haven’t we thought of John Rhines?” said Fred.

“Sure enough,” said Uncle Isaac; “he’ll handle him.”

“John,” said the captain, “has gone to Tom Stanley’s to buy a yoke of oxen; but I’ve got a horse that will go there and back in three quarters of an hour, if anybody will drive him.”

“I’ll go,” said Fred.

By the time John arrived, half the town was there. A ring was made before the door.

“You’ve brought a man big enough this time,” said the stranger, looking up at John, who towered far above him.

They took hold. John threw him as easily as he had thrown Fred, while shout after shout went up from the crowd, who had been holding their breath, in anxious suspense.

“Youcrushedme down by main strength,” said the stranger; “but I would like to try you at arms’ length.”

They took hold at arms’ length, and although the grapple was longer, John threw him twice.

“You have stout men up in this place,” said he. “I am thirty years old next July, and this is the first time I’ve been thrown since I was nineteen.”

“Men!” said Uncle Isaac. “You have as yet wrestled only with boys. Our men all happen to be away.”

“If you call these boys, I should like to see your men.”

“Here comes one of them,” said Uncle Isaac, pointing towards the water.

The eyes of the stranger, following the direction of his finger, rested upon the massive shoulders of Lion Ben, who was approaching the shore in his big canoe, pulling cross-handed, while Joel Ricker, with his tools in his lap, was sitting in the stern.

They landed, wondering much at the crowd assembled. Ricker walked up the beach with his tools, while Ben followed, dragging the canoe with one hand over the gravel.

The stranger gazed with dilating eyes, as he straightened up to his full proportions. Then he went to the canoe, but found himself unable to move it, even down hill.

“What may I call your name, friend?” asked Uncle Isaac, approaching.

“Libby—Lemuel Libby, from Black Pint, in Scarboro’.”

Uncle Isaac then introduced him to Captain Rhines, John, and Lion Ben, at the same time informing him that they were the father and twosons. Libby gazed a moment upon these superb specimens of manly vigor, and resuming his clothes, said, “This is no place for common men, like me. I’ll make tracks for home.”

“Not so, friend Libby,” said John. “Everything has been done fair and above-board. There’s no occasion for hardness. Spend the night with me. I’ll take the horse, and start you on your way in the morning.”

“Neighbors,” said Captain Rhines, who was greatly delighted at the triumph of his son, “I invite you all to take dinner at our house to-morrow, at twelve o’clock; and Mr. Libby will stop and eat with us.”

“The house won’t hold us, Benjamin,” said Uncle Isaac.

“Well, the barn will. We’ll make two crews, and set two tables.”

“John,” said Charlie, after the crowd had dispersed, “do you remember what you said so long ago?”

“No. What was it?”

“That you meant to be the greatest wrestler, and marry the handsomest girl. I don’t see but you are in a fair way to do both, if all tales are true.”

CHAPTER XVIII.THE MEETING.LITTLE dreaming of the happiness in store for him, Charlie, having gathered in his harvest and husked his corn, now occupied himself in preparing to put a hedge around his mother’s grave.Ahedge. How significant that word to him, reared amid the vales of Lincolnshire! It recalled all the associations of his childhood, and of the sunny spring mornings, when, sitting beneath the shelter of the hedge-rows, he watched the ducks sport in the pools below, while beside him the hens were scratching and burrowing in the warm earth beneath the bank for worms and grubs, and he, a happy, careless boy, was pounding a willow stick on his knee with the handle of his knife, to make the bark slip, for a whistle; listening to the birds in the hedge above him, and watching the mimicwaves produced by the wind as it swept over the osiers.His intention was to surround the little promontory (around whose sides murmur the clear waters of the brook and the majestic elm that shadows it, whose pendent branches, with their extremities, approached within a few feet of the grave-stone) with hedge.Mr. Welch, several years before, had imported plants from England, and also ivy. It was from him he expected to obtain his plants—“quicks” Charlie called them—for he was no novice in hedging. The ivy he purposed to plant at the roots of the great elm.This occupation had revived all the associations of his boyhood, and fond recollections of other days, often bringing tears to his eyes.“A beautiful land is England,” said he, as he wiped the sweat from his brow and rested upon his spade; “and those sweet spots in the fens I shall never forget; but this is sweeter, for it is my own. What I do here, I do for myself, my wife, and little one.”That evening, as he sat with the babe in his lap, while his wife was clearing off the suppertable, he said to her, “Mary, it don’t seem to look, or to be, just right that I should have a grave-stone for my mother, and none for my father, brother, and sister.”“But they are not buried here. You wouldn’t wish to put stones where there are no bodies.”“But I might havesomething. I’ve seen in the churchyards at home monuments with the names of people on them who were not buried under them, but had died at sea, or been killed in battle, as father was. I might do that.”“Why don’t you?”“I think I will; and the very next time the schooner goes to Boston, when I send for my quicks and ivy, I’ll inquire of Mr. Welch about it.”Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of John Rhines, with a letter in his hand.“Just give me that baby, and read this.”“If ever I was glad of anything in my life, I am of this,” said Charlie, when he had read the letter; “not on our account altogether, but Captain Brown’s, he was just starting in life, and there were so many looking at him; and how handsomely he speaks of Walter and little Ned!”“Ain’t it great?”“Yes; she’s paid for herself with the freight she carried out.”“I know it; and the back freight is all clear gain. There’s no loss, except the main boom and a boat.”“I’ll build another boat. I’ve got the stuff in the ship-yard, all seasoned. The boom won’t be much; he can buy the stick, and Danforth Eaton can make it. What did your father say? He was a long time making up his mind whether it would do to trust him with a vessel or not, and I know he’s been very anxious, though he said nothing.”“Say!I only wish you could have seen him when I brought in the letter. Mother was just going to tie his cue; he glanced over it, jumped up, and cut round the house like a boy of sixteen; made me put the saddle on the mare, and in spite of all mother could do, went over to tell Uncle Isaac, with his hair all flying in the wind. Won’t they have a good time, talking it over?”“Yes; and I know just what they’ll say.”“What?”“They’ll say he’s turned out just as they expected, when it was all you, father, and I could do to get them started to build the vessel for him.”“Don’t be too confident, Charlie; the old folks know a thing or two; remember the cow trade.”Charlie blushed, and in order to turn the conversation, remarked, as he looked again at the letter, “It seems he wants some beef and fish to make up his next cargo.”“Fred has got a lot on hand, just packed; father is going up in the Perseverance to take it up, settle up the voyage, and bring home the money. Have you heard the news, Charlie, Tom Bannister brought?”“No; what is it?”“Pete Clash and John Godsoe have turned up.”“They have?”“Yes; Tom saw ‘em on board a Guineaman in Havana; they pretended not to know him, but he knew them. Just the place for them. Father says these Guineamen have a long gun in the hold, and mount it when they get outside, and are all pirates in disguise.”The country, especially around the sea-coast, was now in a prosperous condition. The settlements were pushed back to the head waters of the streams, roads made, townships surveyed, town incorporated, and vessels built; the timbertrade assumed vast proportions, and money was abundant, men began to break away from the rigid manners of the primitive times, and ape the style of dress and living that prevailed in England, which they had either seen or heard of.Great numbers of cattle were raised on the lands newly burnt over. Instead of driving the cattle to Brighton or Cambridge, as at the present day in seaport towns and country villages, they were butchered, and the beef packed at home, shipped to Spain and other countries of Europe, and smuggled into Cuba for the use of the Spanish slavers. Fred had added to his other business that of packing beef, and Uncle Isaac and Joe Griffin bought the cattle for him. He had imported a cooper, by the name of Wallace, from Standish, to make the barrels, who had taken three boys as apprentices, thus increasing the business of the place.Charlie, who as our readers know, was strongly attached to the cultivation of the soil, had neither engaged in vessel or boat building since the Arthur Brown was launched. John Rhines likewise found plenty of employment upon the home farm, occasionally working in the yard of Reedand Atherton, who came from Massachusetts, and set up ship-building, built vessels, and took them to Massachusetts for sale.Charlie, Fred, and John intended only to build vessels as they wanted them, and repair old ones, or aid some industrious, enterprising young man, who wanted a vessel.They were influenced to this line of conduct very much by the opinions of Uncle Isaac, who had a most wonderful power of making people think as he did; one reason of which was, that he never manifested the least assumption, and another, that he always placed matters in such a light that those with whom he conversed seemed to convince themselves.One day Uncle Isaac and the boys went pigeon shooting together; as they were sitting by the fire after dinner, he said. “Where did that corn come from that Seth Warren carried last vige in the Hard-scrabble?”“From North Carolina,” replied Fred.“Yes, and where did that cargo you are grinding now, that’s going into the logging camps, come from?”“From Baltimore.”“Do you take in any corn now from round here?”“When I first began to trade, I used to take in a great deal; but now, except from yourself, Captain Rhines, Ben, Joe Griffin, and one or two more, I don’t get five bushels in a year; but I sell lots to the people round here.”“It seems to me, when a people get so much taken up with building vessels, fishing, cutting masts and ton timber, to send to England, that they have to go to the southerd to buy corn to export, feed their cattle in the logging swamps, bread their families, and fat their hogs, they are in rather a poor way; that there’s more talk than cider; that they ain’t getting rich so fast as they appear to be; when they raise but little except on burns, never hauling out their dressing, or ploughing the land, but keep going over and over, skimming and skimming, that by and by they will have a very poor set of carcasses left, and that if there should come a war, and all this exportation be stopped, there would be pretty blue times. I don’t pretend to know, but it appears to me that’s about the way things are done round here, and all over the District of Maine.”“I never thought of that before,” said Charlie.“Nor I either,” said John.“It’s just as Uncle Isaac says,” said Fred, “just to a T. When I first began to trade, almost everybody had a few bushels of corn to sell, some a good deal; and I never sold a bushel of corn, or meal, except to fishermen from some other place; if any of our people wanted corn, wheat or barley, they went to their neighbors.”“I have thought a good deal about it,” said Uncle Isaac, “and I’ve talked the matter over with Captain Rhines and Benjamin; it strikes them pretty much as it does me; they ought to be better judges than me, because they’ve had greater privileges. I helped about the Hard-scrabble and the Casco, because I wanted to start you boys, build up the place, and make business; but it never will do to have the eggs all in one basket, for all to be ship-builders, lumbermen, or fishermen. A ship don’t produce anything; she is herself a product, manned from the land, and victualled from the land; everything comes from the ground; we ourselves were made out of it; there must be farmers to feed the rest. I mean, for the future, to put my money into the land, except I see special reasons for helping somebody.”When the Hard-scrabble was built, Captain Rhines and Ben rigged her, and made the sails, as also those of the Casco, and the Arthur Brown; but after Reed and Atherton began to build, a rigger and sail-maker came into the place. Charlie Bell built the first pair of cart wheels, that had an iron tire. Uncle Isaac and Captain Rhines for some time had the only wagons; but in a few years, carts and wagons were more common, and a blacksmith from Roxbury, who could do carriage work and make edge tools, bought out Peter Brock.The meeting between Captain Rhines and Arthur (his boy, as he called him), in Boston, was a most interesting one. The old captain was jubilant that all the owners were more than satisfied, and his own judgment, in respect to the capacity of the young captain, borne out by facts.Though by no means given to the melting mood, he met his protégé with moistening eyes. It is not within the province of language to describe the joy that thrilled the breast of Arthur Brown, and shone in every feature, as he put his hand in that of the captain, resulting from the consciousness that he had more than answered the expectationsand justified the confidence reposed in him by his own friends and those of his father, especially of Captain Rhines, Charlie, Lion Ben, and the others who had risked their own lives to save his, and, not satisfied with this, had also jeopardized their property, to open before him a path to usefulness and honor.“Where are the boys?” asked Captain Rhines, after he had talked half an hour with Arthur.“They started for home in a coaster yesterday. I have shipped them all for the next voyage.”“Where is Peterson?”“Gone with them.”“Walter and little Ned?”“They went to Salem together after the vessel was discharged; are coming back to-morrow, expecting to go home with you, or whoever came up. Then you’re fully satisfied with me, captain?”“Satisfied!My dear boy, I should have been satisfied if you had done half as well. There’s not a shipmaster in the country but would be proud of much less than you have done.”“Mr. Bell and your sons are satisfied?”“Why, to be sure they are. I don’t know what they could be made of, if they are not.”“Well,” said Arthur, laying both his hands on the captain’s shoulders, “I have brought home in this vessel that which will afford greater satisfaction to Mr. Bell, yourself and family, than all the money I have made this passage. I have brought home Mr. Bell’s father.”“You must be jesting, or have been deceived. His father has been in his grave for years.”“No; he was not killed, as was supposed, but carried a prisoner to France. He has told Eaton and Peterson the whole story of his impressment, just as they say Charlie told it; told his son’s age, looks, and the scar on his face. There’s no mistake—can’t be. You’ll say so when you see him.”“God ‘a mercy! Well, this is news indeed. But you didn’t mention it in your letter.”“His father didn’t want me to.”“Where is he?”“He’s gone to ride with Mr. Welch. I am to meet him there, and take tea, and then he is coming aboard.”“I’ll go there to tea. I have a standing invitation. Well, if I ain’t glad! What do you suppose Charlie was about when I came away?”“I’m sure I don’t know.”“He was getting ready to put a hedge round the spot where his mother lies; sent up by me to get the plants of Mr. Welch, and wanted me to talk with him about a monument that he wanted to put up to his father’s memory, and a brother and sister that he has heard died in England; and also to get some plans and bring home to him. And now, instead of the monumental plans, he’ll have the man himself.”[The Mr. Welch referred to here is a wealthy merchant and ship owner, an intimate friend of Captain Rhines, in whose employ he had sailed the greater part of his life. His son James, a young man of singular promise, but broken down by intemperance, was sent by his father to Elm Island in order to get him out of the way of temptation, and restored by the influence of Uncle Isaac.]“But,” continued Captain Rhines, “the boys will be home before us, will see Charlie, and let the cat out of the bag.”“No, they won’t; I’ve told them not to.”The Perseverance had now been away ten days, and Charlie was expecting to receive his “quicks” at her return. He had, in the spring, ploughed the ground intended for his hedge, and planted it with potatoes, to subdue the tough sward. Having dug the potatoes, and spaded in a heavy coating of manure, he was busily engaged (on one of those delightful autumn mornings when the hoar frost is melting from the grass, and dripping from the extremity of the leaves, and the muscles feel that joyous thrill which the season of the year inspires) in levelling the surface with a rake, removing the stones, twigs, and bark that had fallen from the elm. Feeling a hand laid lightly upon his shoulder, he raised his eyes, and looked Walter Griffin full in the face.“Why, Walter,” he exclaimed, taking both his hands, and struck with the expression of heartfelt joy which pervaded every feature, “how happy you look!”“I hope so. I’m sure I ought to.”“He ain’t any happier than I am,” said a voice that Charlie well knew; and stepping from behind the great tree, Ned Gates ran into his arms.“Why, Ned, how you have grown! I should hardly know you.”“Have I, truly, Mr. Bell?” replied Ned, excessively pleased.“Yes; and see what a cue he’s got,” said Walter, turning him round.“Be still, Wal; how you do like to poke fun at me.”“Mr. Bell,” asked Walter, “can you bear good news?”“I guess so.”“But you never had any such news as this.”“I stood it pretty well when the Ark made her great voyage, and when Isaac Murch made so much money in the Hard-scrabble. I guess I can stand this,” replied Charlie, thinking Walter was about to tell him how much the Arthur Brown had made.“O, it ain’t about money at all, but it’s something that will make you gladder than if you had a pile of gold as big as Elm Island.”“Then it must be that you have given your heart to God, Walter.”The tears came into Walter’s eyes in a moment.“And do you think so much of me, Mr. Bell?”“Just so much.”“Well, it is not that.Your father has come.”“My father, Walter, is dead, and I am preparing to put up a monument to his memory, right where we stand.”“You needn’t put up any monument, for he’s alive and well, and in Captain Rhines’s house this minute.”Charlie turned pale, staggered, and would have fallen to the ground, but was so near the elm that he fell against it. Walter put his arm around him, and he leaned his head on his friend’s shoulder.“What made you tell him that way?” asked Ned.“I didn’t mean to; but when he spoke to me about giving my heart to God, I didn’t know what I said.”“It’s over, now,” said Charlie, lifting his head from Walter’s shoulder.“He wasn’t killed, Mr. Bell,” said Ned, “though he was flung overboard for dead. The French picked him up, and we found him in Marseilles, selling baskets.”“I will go right up to Captain Rhines’s,” said Charlie. “You stop at the house till I come back.”“I must go home,” said Walter; “and Ned is going with me. I haven’t been home yet. I didn’t want anybody to bring this news but myself and Ned.”When Charlie—his pale features still manifesting traces of the feelings which had mastered him—entered the sitting-room, the captain, taking him by the hand, pointed to the door of the parlor, which stood ajar.We will draw a veil over the meeting of father and son; but when, at the expiration of half an hour, they came out together, traces of tears were on the cheeks of both, but they were tears of joy. When Charlie presented his wife to his father, and placed the child in his arms, “I can now,” said the happy grand-parent, “say, in the words of old Jacob, ‘I had not thought to seethyface, and lo! God hath also showed me thy seed.’”As they sat side by side, the old gentleman with the child on his knee, Captain Rhines said,—“I don’t see how anybody who ever saw Charlie could harbor any doubt about Mr. Bell’s being his father—they favor each other so much.”“Ah, captain,” was the reply, “put an old, faded, red shirt on me, all stained up with osier sap, a tarpaulin hat, a bundle of baskets on my back, and, more than all, the heart-broken look I wore then, you yourself couldn’t have found much resemblance.”As they returned to Pleasant Cove by the road that wound along the slope of land towards the house, skirting the sugar orchard, the sun, which was now getting low, illuminated with its level rays the whole declivity, falling off in natural terraces to the shore, and flashed upon the foliage of the rock-maples, now red as blood. Indian Island, with its high cliffs rising up from the glassy bosom of the bay, the white trunks and yellow leaves of its masses of tall birch contrasting with the darker hues of the oak and ash, with which the edges of the bank were fringed, presented a mingling of tints most delightful.Mr. Bell, upon whom the glories of a New England forest in autumn produced all the effect of novelty, was, for a while, silent with wonder and delight.He at length exclaimed, “How grand, how beautiful! And is all this land and forest yours, my son?”“Yes, father, and a great deal more than you can see from here. I bought four hundred acres first, and two hundred more afterwards. Father, do you see that large island, with a cleared spot on the side of it?”“With a house on it, that looks as though it were on fire, the sun is shining so bright on the windows?”“Yes, that’s the one; that is Elm Island, where Lion Ben and his wife live, who have been a father and mother to me. God bless you, old Elm Island. What happy years I have spent on you!”They next proceeded to the little promontory, and Mr. Bell stood beside the grave of her from whom he parted, in bitterness of heart, when he was pressed on board the hulk at Sheerness.“Poor Mary! She starved—saw poverty and sorrow enough in this world; but I believe she is now experiencing infinitely more happiness than would be hers, were it in our power to call her from the grave to join us. I am glad, my son, that you have not set these quicks; we’ll make the hedge together. When I am gone, you can lay me in this beautiful spot beside her.”They sat together beneath the elm, talking, till the stars began to come out one after another; and when that night Charlie knelt down to pray, it was with a heart full to overflowing with gratitude and joy.

THE MEETING.

LITTLE dreaming of the happiness in store for him, Charlie, having gathered in his harvest and husked his corn, now occupied himself in preparing to put a hedge around his mother’s grave.

Ahedge. How significant that word to him, reared amid the vales of Lincolnshire! It recalled all the associations of his childhood, and of the sunny spring mornings, when, sitting beneath the shelter of the hedge-rows, he watched the ducks sport in the pools below, while beside him the hens were scratching and burrowing in the warm earth beneath the bank for worms and grubs, and he, a happy, careless boy, was pounding a willow stick on his knee with the handle of his knife, to make the bark slip, for a whistle; listening to the birds in the hedge above him, and watching the mimicwaves produced by the wind as it swept over the osiers.

His intention was to surround the little promontory (around whose sides murmur the clear waters of the brook and the majestic elm that shadows it, whose pendent branches, with their extremities, approached within a few feet of the grave-stone) with hedge.

Mr. Welch, several years before, had imported plants from England, and also ivy. It was from him he expected to obtain his plants—“quicks” Charlie called them—for he was no novice in hedging. The ivy he purposed to plant at the roots of the great elm.

This occupation had revived all the associations of his boyhood, and fond recollections of other days, often bringing tears to his eyes.

“A beautiful land is England,” said he, as he wiped the sweat from his brow and rested upon his spade; “and those sweet spots in the fens I shall never forget; but this is sweeter, for it is my own. What I do here, I do for myself, my wife, and little one.”

That evening, as he sat with the babe in his lap, while his wife was clearing off the suppertable, he said to her, “Mary, it don’t seem to look, or to be, just right that I should have a grave-stone for my mother, and none for my father, brother, and sister.”

“But they are not buried here. You wouldn’t wish to put stones where there are no bodies.”

“But I might havesomething. I’ve seen in the churchyards at home monuments with the names of people on them who were not buried under them, but had died at sea, or been killed in battle, as father was. I might do that.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I think I will; and the very next time the schooner goes to Boston, when I send for my quicks and ivy, I’ll inquire of Mr. Welch about it.”

Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of John Rhines, with a letter in his hand.

“Just give me that baby, and read this.”

“If ever I was glad of anything in my life, I am of this,” said Charlie, when he had read the letter; “not on our account altogether, but Captain Brown’s, he was just starting in life, and there were so many looking at him; and how handsomely he speaks of Walter and little Ned!”

“Ain’t it great?”

“Yes; she’s paid for herself with the freight she carried out.”

“I know it; and the back freight is all clear gain. There’s no loss, except the main boom and a boat.”

“I’ll build another boat. I’ve got the stuff in the ship-yard, all seasoned. The boom won’t be much; he can buy the stick, and Danforth Eaton can make it. What did your father say? He was a long time making up his mind whether it would do to trust him with a vessel or not, and I know he’s been very anxious, though he said nothing.”

“Say!I only wish you could have seen him when I brought in the letter. Mother was just going to tie his cue; he glanced over it, jumped up, and cut round the house like a boy of sixteen; made me put the saddle on the mare, and in spite of all mother could do, went over to tell Uncle Isaac, with his hair all flying in the wind. Won’t they have a good time, talking it over?”

“Yes; and I know just what they’ll say.”

“What?”

“They’ll say he’s turned out just as they expected, when it was all you, father, and I could do to get them started to build the vessel for him.”

“Don’t be too confident, Charlie; the old folks know a thing or two; remember the cow trade.”

Charlie blushed, and in order to turn the conversation, remarked, as he looked again at the letter, “It seems he wants some beef and fish to make up his next cargo.”

“Fred has got a lot on hand, just packed; father is going up in the Perseverance to take it up, settle up the voyage, and bring home the money. Have you heard the news, Charlie, Tom Bannister brought?”

“No; what is it?”

“Pete Clash and John Godsoe have turned up.”

“They have?”

“Yes; Tom saw ‘em on board a Guineaman in Havana; they pretended not to know him, but he knew them. Just the place for them. Father says these Guineamen have a long gun in the hold, and mount it when they get outside, and are all pirates in disguise.”

The country, especially around the sea-coast, was now in a prosperous condition. The settlements were pushed back to the head waters of the streams, roads made, townships surveyed, town incorporated, and vessels built; the timbertrade assumed vast proportions, and money was abundant, men began to break away from the rigid manners of the primitive times, and ape the style of dress and living that prevailed in England, which they had either seen or heard of.

Great numbers of cattle were raised on the lands newly burnt over. Instead of driving the cattle to Brighton or Cambridge, as at the present day in seaport towns and country villages, they were butchered, and the beef packed at home, shipped to Spain and other countries of Europe, and smuggled into Cuba for the use of the Spanish slavers. Fred had added to his other business that of packing beef, and Uncle Isaac and Joe Griffin bought the cattle for him. He had imported a cooper, by the name of Wallace, from Standish, to make the barrels, who had taken three boys as apprentices, thus increasing the business of the place.

Charlie, who as our readers know, was strongly attached to the cultivation of the soil, had neither engaged in vessel or boat building since the Arthur Brown was launched. John Rhines likewise found plenty of employment upon the home farm, occasionally working in the yard of Reedand Atherton, who came from Massachusetts, and set up ship-building, built vessels, and took them to Massachusetts for sale.

Charlie, Fred, and John intended only to build vessels as they wanted them, and repair old ones, or aid some industrious, enterprising young man, who wanted a vessel.

They were influenced to this line of conduct very much by the opinions of Uncle Isaac, who had a most wonderful power of making people think as he did; one reason of which was, that he never manifested the least assumption, and another, that he always placed matters in such a light that those with whom he conversed seemed to convince themselves.

One day Uncle Isaac and the boys went pigeon shooting together; as they were sitting by the fire after dinner, he said. “Where did that corn come from that Seth Warren carried last vige in the Hard-scrabble?”

“From North Carolina,” replied Fred.

“Yes, and where did that cargo you are grinding now, that’s going into the logging camps, come from?”

“From Baltimore.”

“Do you take in any corn now from round here?”

“When I first began to trade, I used to take in a great deal; but now, except from yourself, Captain Rhines, Ben, Joe Griffin, and one or two more, I don’t get five bushels in a year; but I sell lots to the people round here.”

“It seems to me, when a people get so much taken up with building vessels, fishing, cutting masts and ton timber, to send to England, that they have to go to the southerd to buy corn to export, feed their cattle in the logging swamps, bread their families, and fat their hogs, they are in rather a poor way; that there’s more talk than cider; that they ain’t getting rich so fast as they appear to be; when they raise but little except on burns, never hauling out their dressing, or ploughing the land, but keep going over and over, skimming and skimming, that by and by they will have a very poor set of carcasses left, and that if there should come a war, and all this exportation be stopped, there would be pretty blue times. I don’t pretend to know, but it appears to me that’s about the way things are done round here, and all over the District of Maine.”

“I never thought of that before,” said Charlie.

“Nor I either,” said John.

“It’s just as Uncle Isaac says,” said Fred, “just to a T. When I first began to trade, almost everybody had a few bushels of corn to sell, some a good deal; and I never sold a bushel of corn, or meal, except to fishermen from some other place; if any of our people wanted corn, wheat or barley, they went to their neighbors.”

“I have thought a good deal about it,” said Uncle Isaac, “and I’ve talked the matter over with Captain Rhines and Benjamin; it strikes them pretty much as it does me; they ought to be better judges than me, because they’ve had greater privileges. I helped about the Hard-scrabble and the Casco, because I wanted to start you boys, build up the place, and make business; but it never will do to have the eggs all in one basket, for all to be ship-builders, lumbermen, or fishermen. A ship don’t produce anything; she is herself a product, manned from the land, and victualled from the land; everything comes from the ground; we ourselves were made out of it; there must be farmers to feed the rest. I mean, for the future, to put my money into the land, except I see special reasons for helping somebody.”

When the Hard-scrabble was built, Captain Rhines and Ben rigged her, and made the sails, as also those of the Casco, and the Arthur Brown; but after Reed and Atherton began to build, a rigger and sail-maker came into the place. Charlie Bell built the first pair of cart wheels, that had an iron tire. Uncle Isaac and Captain Rhines for some time had the only wagons; but in a few years, carts and wagons were more common, and a blacksmith from Roxbury, who could do carriage work and make edge tools, bought out Peter Brock.

The meeting between Captain Rhines and Arthur (his boy, as he called him), in Boston, was a most interesting one. The old captain was jubilant that all the owners were more than satisfied, and his own judgment, in respect to the capacity of the young captain, borne out by facts.

Though by no means given to the melting mood, he met his protégé with moistening eyes. It is not within the province of language to describe the joy that thrilled the breast of Arthur Brown, and shone in every feature, as he put his hand in that of the captain, resulting from the consciousness that he had more than answered the expectationsand justified the confidence reposed in him by his own friends and those of his father, especially of Captain Rhines, Charlie, Lion Ben, and the others who had risked their own lives to save his, and, not satisfied with this, had also jeopardized their property, to open before him a path to usefulness and honor.

“Where are the boys?” asked Captain Rhines, after he had talked half an hour with Arthur.

“They started for home in a coaster yesterday. I have shipped them all for the next voyage.”

“Where is Peterson?”

“Gone with them.”

“Walter and little Ned?”

“They went to Salem together after the vessel was discharged; are coming back to-morrow, expecting to go home with you, or whoever came up. Then you’re fully satisfied with me, captain?”

“Satisfied!My dear boy, I should have been satisfied if you had done half as well. There’s not a shipmaster in the country but would be proud of much less than you have done.”

“Mr. Bell and your sons are satisfied?”

“Why, to be sure they are. I don’t know what they could be made of, if they are not.”

“Well,” said Arthur, laying both his hands on the captain’s shoulders, “I have brought home in this vessel that which will afford greater satisfaction to Mr. Bell, yourself and family, than all the money I have made this passage. I have brought home Mr. Bell’s father.”

“You must be jesting, or have been deceived. His father has been in his grave for years.”

“No; he was not killed, as was supposed, but carried a prisoner to France. He has told Eaton and Peterson the whole story of his impressment, just as they say Charlie told it; told his son’s age, looks, and the scar on his face. There’s no mistake—can’t be. You’ll say so when you see him.”

“God ‘a mercy! Well, this is news indeed. But you didn’t mention it in your letter.”

“His father didn’t want me to.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s gone to ride with Mr. Welch. I am to meet him there, and take tea, and then he is coming aboard.”

“I’ll go there to tea. I have a standing invitation. Well, if I ain’t glad! What do you suppose Charlie was about when I came away?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“He was getting ready to put a hedge round the spot where his mother lies; sent up by me to get the plants of Mr. Welch, and wanted me to talk with him about a monument that he wanted to put up to his father’s memory, and a brother and sister that he has heard died in England; and also to get some plans and bring home to him. And now, instead of the monumental plans, he’ll have the man himself.”

[The Mr. Welch referred to here is a wealthy merchant and ship owner, an intimate friend of Captain Rhines, in whose employ he had sailed the greater part of his life. His son James, a young man of singular promise, but broken down by intemperance, was sent by his father to Elm Island in order to get him out of the way of temptation, and restored by the influence of Uncle Isaac.]

“But,” continued Captain Rhines, “the boys will be home before us, will see Charlie, and let the cat out of the bag.”

“No, they won’t; I’ve told them not to.”

The Perseverance had now been away ten days, and Charlie was expecting to receive his “quicks” at her return. He had, in the spring, ploughed the ground intended for his hedge, and planted it with potatoes, to subdue the tough sward. Having dug the potatoes, and spaded in a heavy coating of manure, he was busily engaged (on one of those delightful autumn mornings when the hoar frost is melting from the grass, and dripping from the extremity of the leaves, and the muscles feel that joyous thrill which the season of the year inspires) in levelling the surface with a rake, removing the stones, twigs, and bark that had fallen from the elm. Feeling a hand laid lightly upon his shoulder, he raised his eyes, and looked Walter Griffin full in the face.

“Why, Walter,” he exclaimed, taking both his hands, and struck with the expression of heartfelt joy which pervaded every feature, “how happy you look!”

“I hope so. I’m sure I ought to.”

“He ain’t any happier than I am,” said a voice that Charlie well knew; and stepping from behind the great tree, Ned Gates ran into his arms.

“Why, Ned, how you have grown! I should hardly know you.”

“Have I, truly, Mr. Bell?” replied Ned, excessively pleased.

“Yes; and see what a cue he’s got,” said Walter, turning him round.

“Be still, Wal; how you do like to poke fun at me.”

“Mr. Bell,” asked Walter, “can you bear good news?”

“I guess so.”

“But you never had any such news as this.”

“I stood it pretty well when the Ark made her great voyage, and when Isaac Murch made so much money in the Hard-scrabble. I guess I can stand this,” replied Charlie, thinking Walter was about to tell him how much the Arthur Brown had made.

“O, it ain’t about money at all, but it’s something that will make you gladder than if you had a pile of gold as big as Elm Island.”

“Then it must be that you have given your heart to God, Walter.”

The tears came into Walter’s eyes in a moment.

“And do you think so much of me, Mr. Bell?”

“Just so much.”

“Well, it is not that.Your father has come.”

“My father, Walter, is dead, and I am preparing to put up a monument to his memory, right where we stand.”

“You needn’t put up any monument, for he’s alive and well, and in Captain Rhines’s house this minute.”

Charlie turned pale, staggered, and would have fallen to the ground, but was so near the elm that he fell against it. Walter put his arm around him, and he leaned his head on his friend’s shoulder.

“What made you tell him that way?” asked Ned.

“I didn’t mean to; but when he spoke to me about giving my heart to God, I didn’t know what I said.”

“It’s over, now,” said Charlie, lifting his head from Walter’s shoulder.

“He wasn’t killed, Mr. Bell,” said Ned, “though he was flung overboard for dead. The French picked him up, and we found him in Marseilles, selling baskets.”

“I will go right up to Captain Rhines’s,” said Charlie. “You stop at the house till I come back.”

“I must go home,” said Walter; “and Ned is going with me. I haven’t been home yet. I didn’t want anybody to bring this news but myself and Ned.”

When Charlie—his pale features still manifesting traces of the feelings which had mastered him—entered the sitting-room, the captain, taking him by the hand, pointed to the door of the parlor, which stood ajar.

We will draw a veil over the meeting of father and son; but when, at the expiration of half an hour, they came out together, traces of tears were on the cheeks of both, but they were tears of joy. When Charlie presented his wife to his father, and placed the child in his arms, “I can now,” said the happy grand-parent, “say, in the words of old Jacob, ‘I had not thought to seethyface, and lo! God hath also showed me thy seed.’”

As they sat side by side, the old gentleman with the child on his knee, Captain Rhines said,—

“I don’t see how anybody who ever saw Charlie could harbor any doubt about Mr. Bell’s being his father—they favor each other so much.”

“Ah, captain,” was the reply, “put an old, faded, red shirt on me, all stained up with osier sap, a tarpaulin hat, a bundle of baskets on my back, and, more than all, the heart-broken look I wore then, you yourself couldn’t have found much resemblance.”

As they returned to Pleasant Cove by the road that wound along the slope of land towards the house, skirting the sugar orchard, the sun, which was now getting low, illuminated with its level rays the whole declivity, falling off in natural terraces to the shore, and flashed upon the foliage of the rock-maples, now red as blood. Indian Island, with its high cliffs rising up from the glassy bosom of the bay, the white trunks and yellow leaves of its masses of tall birch contrasting with the darker hues of the oak and ash, with which the edges of the bank were fringed, presented a mingling of tints most delightful.

Mr. Bell, upon whom the glories of a New England forest in autumn produced all the effect of novelty, was, for a while, silent with wonder and delight.

He at length exclaimed, “How grand, how beautiful! And is all this land and forest yours, my son?”

“Yes, father, and a great deal more than you can see from here. I bought four hundred acres first, and two hundred more afterwards. Father, do you see that large island, with a cleared spot on the side of it?”

“With a house on it, that looks as though it were on fire, the sun is shining so bright on the windows?”

“Yes, that’s the one; that is Elm Island, where Lion Ben and his wife live, who have been a father and mother to me. God bless you, old Elm Island. What happy years I have spent on you!”

They next proceeded to the little promontory, and Mr. Bell stood beside the grave of her from whom he parted, in bitterness of heart, when he was pressed on board the hulk at Sheerness.

“Poor Mary! She starved—saw poverty and sorrow enough in this world; but I believe she is now experiencing infinitely more happiness than would be hers, were it in our power to call her from the grave to join us. I am glad, my son, that you have not set these quicks; we’ll make the hedge together. When I am gone, you can lay me in this beautiful spot beside her.”

They sat together beneath the elm, talking, till the stars began to come out one after another; and when that night Charlie knelt down to pray, it was with a heart full to overflowing with gratitude and joy.

CHAPTER XIX.NED AMONG THE GRIFFINS.IF a boy ever enjoyed himself in this world, Ned Gates did among the Griffins. Their rough, but kindly, rollicking ways just suited his sanguine temperament, and he suited them, from the youngest to the oldest, and got through the crust at once. Indeed, there was everything a wide-awake boy would naturally like. There was a charm, in itself, about such a jolly house-full. Ned thought Edmund Griffin was a splendid man, his wife one of the best of women, and as for the old grandfather, despite his rough ways, he was a perfect treasure. Evenings, Ned would nestle to his side, and coax him to tell him stories about river driving, hunting, wrestling, and the Indian wars, in which he had taken a prominent part.Captain Brown had rewarded Jacques Bernoux very handsomely for the assistance he had renderedWalter, and induced him to come to the States, paying him seaman’s wages, and Walter brought him home with him. Three or four more never made any difference at Edmund Griffin’s. Jacques afforded much amusement by his attempts to speak English.Being a leisure time of year, and the harvest in, it was hunting, fishing, going to Elm Island,—Ned and Captain Rhines carried the news of Mr. Bell’s arrival to Ben and Sally,—going with Edmund Griffin and Joe up river, and coming down on the raft, breaking colts; and, to fill his cup of happiness to the brim, Ned shot a moose. The boys caught a bear in the trap, and Ned had an opportunity to taste of the meat, and grease his cue with the fat.There was another older person having a good time, and that was Mr. Bell. His things having been brought to the house, he drew from the recesses of an enormous chest the beautiful work-basket, and some articles of household use, that he had made while in Marseilles, and which had so excited the admiration of Ned. Mary was delighted—she had never seen anything half so beautiful.“You can’t come up to that, Charlie,” said his father.“No, father, I can’t. I never saw any of your work so beautiful as this.”“I never had quite so strong a motive before,” said the old gentleman, smiling.The next day Charlie was called from home to run out a piece of land, and was absent nearly a week. Finding lumber and tools in the shop, his father made a trough to soak willow, a bench, and having cut some native willows by the brook for the frame, in order to economize the osiers, made a chair for the baby, and when Charlie returned, was busily at work making one high enough for the child to sit at table in.He was so much occupied with his work as not to notice his son, who stood in the door watching him.“Father,” said he, “I should think I had got back to Lincolnshire.”“This is a better place than the fens, Charles. I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking about while at work here.”“What is it, father?”“All through my life, at home, I have been accustomedto look up to the quality, and the country squires who owned lands, with a sort of awe; and I have been thinking what a pleasant feeling it must be to own a piece of land that God made, and that I should, before I die, like to experience the feeling. Now, I have got a few pounds, that I managed to lay up while in France. Why couldn’t I buy a little piece of land, and have a little garden, and plant it? It would seem so pleasant to eat anything that grew on my own land. But perhaps you’ll think I’m getting childish, and that it’s an old man’s whim.”“That’s just the way I used to feel at home, father; and when I came to this country, I couldn’t rest for thinking how I should ever come to own a piece of land. I would do it. Sam Edwards has a piece right on the shore he wants to sell. Part of it’s cleared. There’s a small piece between it and me that belongs to heirs, and is to be sold. I’ll buy it, and then yours will join mine.”“And I shall be a freeholder in my old age, after living a tenant all the best of my life,” said the old gentleman, highly gratified.“I’ll tell you what you can do, father. Next time the vessel goes to Marseilles, get Jacques toprocure some sallies for you, set them on your land, and then you can have an osier holt, grow your own rods, and make all the baskets you like, to pass away the time in the long winters we have in this country.”“Do you think they would grow here?”“Anything will grow here, and there’s a swale on that place will suit them exactly.”The marriage of John Rhines and Fannie Williams added to the general satisfaction. The infare, or second-day wedding, took place at Captain Rhines’s, upon which occasion half the town were invited.Uncle Isaac and Joe Griffin met Walter and Ned at the infare, and there made an agreement to start the next week for the woods. Ned, who had been kept quite closely at school till he went to sea, and had never in his life shot anything larger than a pigeon or squirrel till he came to Pleasant Cove, was perfectly wild with the anticipation, and kept Walter awake so long talking about it, that he averred, if he didn’t keep still, he wouldn’t sleep with him.Charlie lent Ned a splendid gun, and they were busily employed running balls and making preparations.While the whole family at Edmund Griffin’s were spending an evening in playing “blind man’s buff” in the great kitchen, the old grandfather looking on and enjoying the sport as much as the rest, Joe, his face bathed in tears, came to announce that Uncle Isaac was dreadfully hurt, and could not live.“How did it happen?” inquired the grandfather, the first to recover from the effect produced by these sad tidings.“You know what a hand Uncle Isaac always was to work alone. He went into the woods to haul a large log, laid a skid, one end on the ground, the other on a stump, calculating to roll the log up with the cattle, so as to run the wheels under. He’s got a yoke of cattle that will do anything he tells them to. He stood behind the log, and spoke to the cattle, calculating to trig the log when it was up; but the chain broke, and the log came back on him.”“How did they know about it?” asked Edmund.“He spoke to the cattle, threw chips at them, and started them home with a part of the chain hanging to them; his wife knew something waswrong, got some of the neighbors to go, and they brought him home.”“He’s a very strong man; he may get over it.”“No, he can’t, father; both legs are broken, and he’s hurt otherways; the doctor says he can’t, though he may live some time. I must go, for I’m going to watch with him to-night.”“Tell ‘em, Joe, to send here, night or day; anything that we can do, it will be a privilege to do it.”As is the case when people feel deeply, little was said, and one after another silently slipped off to bed. As soon as Lion Ben and Sally heard of it, they came over and stopped at Captain Rhines’s. Ben, his father, and Joe Griffin gave up everything to take care of and watch with Uncle Isaac; for although the whole neighborhood offered and pressed their services, he preferred that they should take care of him. For some days he suffered intense pain, and was at times delirious; but as death approached, the pain subsided, his mind became perfectly clear, and the same hearty, kindly interest in the young that had ever been a prominent trait of his character, resumed its wonted sway. A few days before his death, hesent for John Rhines, Charlie, Fred Williams, Walter, and Ned, preferring, as he was not able to talk with each one separately, to see them together.“Boys,” said he, “you have come to see the last of Uncle Isaac. John, won’t you turn that hour-glass. The sand is run out. We have spent a great many pleasant hours together; they are all over now; but I want to tell you that they have been as pleasant to me as to you. It is a great comfort to me that I have been spared to see my children, and you, who seem as near to me as my own children, grow up to be God-fearing, useful men in the world, and settled in life. It would have been a comfort to me to have seen Isaac once more; but you must tell him that his Uncle Isaac did not forget him in his last hours. I have been a strong and a tough man in my time. I never was thrown, seldom pulled up; very few could lift my load, plan work better, or bring more to pass with an axe or scythe. I never saw but one man who could outdo me in trapping game or with a rifle, and that was a Penobscot Indian, and my foster-brother, John Conesus. I have left my rifle with the walnutstock to him. I don’t fetch up these things in any kind of a boasting way, but only to say to you that all these matters that appeared great to me once, and no doubt do to you, seem very small now. What I like most to think about ain’t what I’ve done for myself, but to help others, especially to start young men, and get ‘em canted right, because any good done to the young always seemed to me to go a great ways. I always did love to set a scion in a young stock; it ain’t like grafting an old hollow tree, which, if it bears a little fruit, soon rots down or blows over. If, at your time of life, you feel and do thus, like as when you caught the fish and gave them to poor Mrs. Yelf, and when you tried to make a good boy of Fred here—”“We never should have done either,” said John, “if you hadn’t put it into our heads.”“More especially, if you should be owned of the Lord as a means of grace to some fellow-creetur, you will find they will be the pleasantest things to look back on, when you come to be where I am; more so than chopping, wrestling, and getting property, though they are all good in their place; such thoughts smooth a sick pillow wonderfully. Notthat I put any dependence in them, but in the marcy of Him who gave me the heart to do them.”After resting a while, and taking some stimulant, he motioned for Walter and Ned to come near.“I hear that Captain Brown gives you a good name, Walter, and that you came home his first officer. We were about to go into the woods together when I was hurt. I used to think you loved to go into the woods with me.”“O, Uncle Isaac, the happiest hours of my life have been spent in the woods with you.”“We never shall go there again; I am going to a better place—to heaven. Walter, I hope we shall meet there. I haven’t strength to say more; but you will remember the talks we’ve had at the camp fire. So this is the little boy we took off the raft; he is not very little now, though. Don’t cry, my son,” he said, laying his hand upon Ned’s head, who had buried his face in the bed-clothes, and was sobbing audibly. “It seems to me I am the best off of the two.”“Howcanthat be, Uncle Isaac, when you are hurt so dreadfully, while I am well?”“Because, my son, I have got about through; Ihave run all the risk, while you have just begun, have all the risk to run, and may be shipwrecked.Iknow what is before me—a better world;youdon’t know what is before you.Ihave had allmytrials;yoursare to come. Captain Rhines tells me you have a Christian mother.”“Yes, Uncle Isaac, she’s the best mother that ever was.”“I had a praying mother; when I was younger than you I was torn from her, and carried away by the Indians. I never forgot her words; in the great woods, all alone, they came to mind, and through them I sought and found the Lord.”After parting with the boys, he seemed prostrated, fell into a doze, and passed away without a struggle.A few days after, Uncle Jonathan Smullen died, from decay of nature—a very clever man, and kind neighbor; and it was said of him, he never did anybody any harm; but Uncle Isaac was missed, and mourned by the whole community. The seed of good principles he had sown in the minds of young men kept coming up for years after he was in his grave, and was resown by those who received it from them, a hundred times; nor will their influence ever cease.

NED AMONG THE GRIFFINS.

IF a boy ever enjoyed himself in this world, Ned Gates did among the Griffins. Their rough, but kindly, rollicking ways just suited his sanguine temperament, and he suited them, from the youngest to the oldest, and got through the crust at once. Indeed, there was everything a wide-awake boy would naturally like. There was a charm, in itself, about such a jolly house-full. Ned thought Edmund Griffin was a splendid man, his wife one of the best of women, and as for the old grandfather, despite his rough ways, he was a perfect treasure. Evenings, Ned would nestle to his side, and coax him to tell him stories about river driving, hunting, wrestling, and the Indian wars, in which he had taken a prominent part.

Captain Brown had rewarded Jacques Bernoux very handsomely for the assistance he had renderedWalter, and induced him to come to the States, paying him seaman’s wages, and Walter brought him home with him. Three or four more never made any difference at Edmund Griffin’s. Jacques afforded much amusement by his attempts to speak English.

Being a leisure time of year, and the harvest in, it was hunting, fishing, going to Elm Island,—Ned and Captain Rhines carried the news of Mr. Bell’s arrival to Ben and Sally,—going with Edmund Griffin and Joe up river, and coming down on the raft, breaking colts; and, to fill his cup of happiness to the brim, Ned shot a moose. The boys caught a bear in the trap, and Ned had an opportunity to taste of the meat, and grease his cue with the fat.

There was another older person having a good time, and that was Mr. Bell. His things having been brought to the house, he drew from the recesses of an enormous chest the beautiful work-basket, and some articles of household use, that he had made while in Marseilles, and which had so excited the admiration of Ned. Mary was delighted—she had never seen anything half so beautiful.

“You can’t come up to that, Charlie,” said his father.

“No, father, I can’t. I never saw any of your work so beautiful as this.”

“I never had quite so strong a motive before,” said the old gentleman, smiling.

The next day Charlie was called from home to run out a piece of land, and was absent nearly a week. Finding lumber and tools in the shop, his father made a trough to soak willow, a bench, and having cut some native willows by the brook for the frame, in order to economize the osiers, made a chair for the baby, and when Charlie returned, was busily at work making one high enough for the child to sit at table in.

He was so much occupied with his work as not to notice his son, who stood in the door watching him.

“Father,” said he, “I should think I had got back to Lincolnshire.”

“This is a better place than the fens, Charles. I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking about while at work here.”

“What is it, father?”

“All through my life, at home, I have been accustomedto look up to the quality, and the country squires who owned lands, with a sort of awe; and I have been thinking what a pleasant feeling it must be to own a piece of land that God made, and that I should, before I die, like to experience the feeling. Now, I have got a few pounds, that I managed to lay up while in France. Why couldn’t I buy a little piece of land, and have a little garden, and plant it? It would seem so pleasant to eat anything that grew on my own land. But perhaps you’ll think I’m getting childish, and that it’s an old man’s whim.”

“That’s just the way I used to feel at home, father; and when I came to this country, I couldn’t rest for thinking how I should ever come to own a piece of land. I would do it. Sam Edwards has a piece right on the shore he wants to sell. Part of it’s cleared. There’s a small piece between it and me that belongs to heirs, and is to be sold. I’ll buy it, and then yours will join mine.”

“And I shall be a freeholder in my old age, after living a tenant all the best of my life,” said the old gentleman, highly gratified.

“I’ll tell you what you can do, father. Next time the vessel goes to Marseilles, get Jacques toprocure some sallies for you, set them on your land, and then you can have an osier holt, grow your own rods, and make all the baskets you like, to pass away the time in the long winters we have in this country.”

“Do you think they would grow here?”

“Anything will grow here, and there’s a swale on that place will suit them exactly.”

The marriage of John Rhines and Fannie Williams added to the general satisfaction. The infare, or second-day wedding, took place at Captain Rhines’s, upon which occasion half the town were invited.

Uncle Isaac and Joe Griffin met Walter and Ned at the infare, and there made an agreement to start the next week for the woods. Ned, who had been kept quite closely at school till he went to sea, and had never in his life shot anything larger than a pigeon or squirrel till he came to Pleasant Cove, was perfectly wild with the anticipation, and kept Walter awake so long talking about it, that he averred, if he didn’t keep still, he wouldn’t sleep with him.

Charlie lent Ned a splendid gun, and they were busily employed running balls and making preparations.

While the whole family at Edmund Griffin’s were spending an evening in playing “blind man’s buff” in the great kitchen, the old grandfather looking on and enjoying the sport as much as the rest, Joe, his face bathed in tears, came to announce that Uncle Isaac was dreadfully hurt, and could not live.

“How did it happen?” inquired the grandfather, the first to recover from the effect produced by these sad tidings.

“You know what a hand Uncle Isaac always was to work alone. He went into the woods to haul a large log, laid a skid, one end on the ground, the other on a stump, calculating to roll the log up with the cattle, so as to run the wheels under. He’s got a yoke of cattle that will do anything he tells them to. He stood behind the log, and spoke to the cattle, calculating to trig the log when it was up; but the chain broke, and the log came back on him.”

“How did they know about it?” asked Edmund.

“He spoke to the cattle, threw chips at them, and started them home with a part of the chain hanging to them; his wife knew something waswrong, got some of the neighbors to go, and they brought him home.”

“He’s a very strong man; he may get over it.”

“No, he can’t, father; both legs are broken, and he’s hurt otherways; the doctor says he can’t, though he may live some time. I must go, for I’m going to watch with him to-night.”

“Tell ‘em, Joe, to send here, night or day; anything that we can do, it will be a privilege to do it.”

As is the case when people feel deeply, little was said, and one after another silently slipped off to bed. As soon as Lion Ben and Sally heard of it, they came over and stopped at Captain Rhines’s. Ben, his father, and Joe Griffin gave up everything to take care of and watch with Uncle Isaac; for although the whole neighborhood offered and pressed their services, he preferred that they should take care of him. For some days he suffered intense pain, and was at times delirious; but as death approached, the pain subsided, his mind became perfectly clear, and the same hearty, kindly interest in the young that had ever been a prominent trait of his character, resumed its wonted sway. A few days before his death, hesent for John Rhines, Charlie, Fred Williams, Walter, and Ned, preferring, as he was not able to talk with each one separately, to see them together.

“Boys,” said he, “you have come to see the last of Uncle Isaac. John, won’t you turn that hour-glass. The sand is run out. We have spent a great many pleasant hours together; they are all over now; but I want to tell you that they have been as pleasant to me as to you. It is a great comfort to me that I have been spared to see my children, and you, who seem as near to me as my own children, grow up to be God-fearing, useful men in the world, and settled in life. It would have been a comfort to me to have seen Isaac once more; but you must tell him that his Uncle Isaac did not forget him in his last hours. I have been a strong and a tough man in my time. I never was thrown, seldom pulled up; very few could lift my load, plan work better, or bring more to pass with an axe or scythe. I never saw but one man who could outdo me in trapping game or with a rifle, and that was a Penobscot Indian, and my foster-brother, John Conesus. I have left my rifle with the walnutstock to him. I don’t fetch up these things in any kind of a boasting way, but only to say to you that all these matters that appeared great to me once, and no doubt do to you, seem very small now. What I like most to think about ain’t what I’ve done for myself, but to help others, especially to start young men, and get ‘em canted right, because any good done to the young always seemed to me to go a great ways. I always did love to set a scion in a young stock; it ain’t like grafting an old hollow tree, which, if it bears a little fruit, soon rots down or blows over. If, at your time of life, you feel and do thus, like as when you caught the fish and gave them to poor Mrs. Yelf, and when you tried to make a good boy of Fred here—”

“We never should have done either,” said John, “if you hadn’t put it into our heads.”

“More especially, if you should be owned of the Lord as a means of grace to some fellow-creetur, you will find they will be the pleasantest things to look back on, when you come to be where I am; more so than chopping, wrestling, and getting property, though they are all good in their place; such thoughts smooth a sick pillow wonderfully. Notthat I put any dependence in them, but in the marcy of Him who gave me the heart to do them.”

After resting a while, and taking some stimulant, he motioned for Walter and Ned to come near.

“I hear that Captain Brown gives you a good name, Walter, and that you came home his first officer. We were about to go into the woods together when I was hurt. I used to think you loved to go into the woods with me.”

“O, Uncle Isaac, the happiest hours of my life have been spent in the woods with you.”

“We never shall go there again; I am going to a better place—to heaven. Walter, I hope we shall meet there. I haven’t strength to say more; but you will remember the talks we’ve had at the camp fire. So this is the little boy we took off the raft; he is not very little now, though. Don’t cry, my son,” he said, laying his hand upon Ned’s head, who had buried his face in the bed-clothes, and was sobbing audibly. “It seems to me I am the best off of the two.”

“Howcanthat be, Uncle Isaac, when you are hurt so dreadfully, while I am well?”

“Because, my son, I have got about through; Ihave run all the risk, while you have just begun, have all the risk to run, and may be shipwrecked.Iknow what is before me—a better world;youdon’t know what is before you.Ihave had allmytrials;yoursare to come. Captain Rhines tells me you have a Christian mother.”

“Yes, Uncle Isaac, she’s the best mother that ever was.”

“I had a praying mother; when I was younger than you I was torn from her, and carried away by the Indians. I never forgot her words; in the great woods, all alone, they came to mind, and through them I sought and found the Lord.”

After parting with the boys, he seemed prostrated, fell into a doze, and passed away without a struggle.

A few days after, Uncle Jonathan Smullen died, from decay of nature—a very clever man, and kind neighbor; and it was said of him, he never did anybody any harm; but Uncle Isaac was missed, and mourned by the whole community. The seed of good principles he had sown in the minds of young men kept coming up for years after he was in his grave, and was resown by those who received it from them, a hundred times; nor will their influence ever cease.

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