Watching from behind the north wall of the evergreen fort
Alice Swayze came first, dressed in her best white gown. She was from Kalamazoo. Betty seated her beside the music-box. Two little girls from Chicago came next, wearing wide blue sashes just alike. Little Belle Lamond from California straightened her pink sash, felt of the bow on her pretty dark curls, and acted so vain and silly, four small boys, who were watching from behind the north wall of the evergreen fort, almost laughed aloud.
"Won't she jump, though?" whispered Billy.
"You bet," replied Jimmie Brown, "and there comes Nellie Thomas. She's from Detroit, and is in my sister's room at school. She'll jump sky-high."
There was merriment within the evergreen fort
There was merriment within the evergreen fort, as little girls continued to enter and the tiny space became crowded. When Betty started the music-box, whispering behind the north wall was no longer necessary.
"It's getting so noisy in there, I'm 'fraid they won't even hear wild Indians," ventured Jimmie Brown at the top of his voice.
"Hush," cautioned Billy, "don't talk too loud. Music-boxes and wind and waves and talking girls sometimes keep still at the same time."
"Oh, look," exclaimed the twins, "what's coming?"
"Frenchy and Bud and Buzz and Tony and their little 'dopted sister Samone," Billy declared, as he began motioning for the new-comers to creep quietly to the fort.
'Phonse took the hint, and soon he and his wondering followers were peering through the evergreen walls.
"What's going to happen?" demanded 'Phonse, with a grin.
"Well," explained Billy, "it's a game, only the girls don't know they're in it. That's a fort, and we're Indians. I'm Minnavavana, the chief, and the rest of you are my braves. You want to play, of course. Samone don't count, though, she's only a papoose."
"But where are your tomahawks, and what'sgoing to happen, I say?" persisted 'Phonse, as he and his brothers crowded around Billy.
"Look," said Jimmie Brown, showing the LeBrinn children a firecracker. "These Indians have guns. Can't you give him a gun, Billy? My pocket's full of matches."
"Sure," replied Billy; "you give out the matches. Now listen, you that don't know the game. We're all Indians, but I'm the chief. You're just braves. When I nod my head like this, every brave must give an awful war-whoop. Just screech, boys, yell for all you're worth, and I will, too, and that same minute fire off your firecrackers and run. You mustn't even stop to see what the girls do, because then we'll be caught."
"You all cut for the woods," 'Phonse warned his brood.
"Now get in a straight line," commanded Billy, "and look in. I guess they're all here now, and we mustn't wait long if we expect to have any fun, because soon's they're all here Betty's going to have them all go and have games on the porch, and they're coming back here for 'freshments. Watch out there,Bud, don't lean too hard. What if the stockade should tumble in?"
Unconscious of bright eyes watching, and of the row of grins behind the fort's north wall, the little girls laughed and gaily chatted.
Suddenly, without the least warning, blood-curdling sounds filled the air, accompanied by what seemed to be cannon shots. At the same instant, the evergreens forming the north wall trembled, shook, fell in; while screaming girls, frightened almost out of their senses, struggled to get away.
Billy tried to run but couldn't. "Wait, boys, wait for me!" he shouted, but the boys didn't wait, not even for the little Samone, who cried frantically for help. Billy never heard such an uproar, quickly followed by screams of terror unlike anything he ever dreamed of. Turning, he saw what Betty and her little friends that instant noticed; saw what made the grown folks, rushing across the lawn, white with fear. Little Samone, trying in vain to free herself from the evergreens, was on fire. Billy saw the flames reaching for the ragged sleeve of her calico slip, and knewthat he must try to save her. Betty saw what he meant to do, and tried to stop him.
"Wait, Billy, wait!" she screamed. "You're too little! Papa is coming! Wait, oh, Billy, Billy!"
But the north wind wasn't waiting, and Samone was tiny. Quicker than a flash, Billy, usually so slow, leaped upon the evergreens, snatched Samone, and rolled her down the bank into the water.
When certain braves returned, seeking a lost papoose, they found her playing with Betty's guests; but the great chief, Minnavavana, whose hands were a trifle burned, was still sobbing in his mother's arms.
Straight into all hearts walked the little Samone. Every one in the village loved her, and strangers, learning the child's story, had tried to take her away from Antoine LeBrinn, for Samone was a waif. When Betty, Billy, and Aunt Florence called at the Frenchman's home, Antoine received them with scant courtesy. He supposed that Aunt Florence was one more summer visitor who wanted the child; one more who had come to tell him that she must not be allowed to grow up in a shanty on the beach; and, taking Billy one side, Antoine talked angrily, as he spread his nets to dry.
Samone
"Why," remonstrated Billy, "of course, I wouldn't bring any one down here to get Samone away from you. Auntie is glad you haveSamone. She says she's glad of it—only—only—" How could Billy explain the errand upon which Aunt Florence had come? He didwish Betty would keep things to herself. Talking to Antoine about drinking didn't do a bit of good, anyway. Billy was sure of it, and he did wish Mrs. LeBrinn and the children were home. They were away huckleberrying. Betty and Aunt Florence were sitting on a log in front of the shanty, waiting for Antoine to finish spreading his nets.
"What for your face she get so red, little Beely?" asked Antoine.
"I was wondering if you would tell us a bear story," replied the little fellow.
"Beely, I tole you one bear story, you tell ole Antoine why your aunt come down to see him."
Billy hesitated only a minute, and then told Antoine that Aunt Florence liked his children so well she wanted him to promise not to drink any more. "I wouldn't have said a word if you hadn't asked me," concluded Billy, "and now you'll tell us a bear story, won't you?"
Antoine laughed long and loud before saying: "Beely, you think your aunt like one bear story?"
"Why, yes, but what are you laughing at, Antoine?"
"Oh, I'm think I'm tell one, two, three, four bear story until your aunt go home, and ole Antoine she laugh."
"How are you going to begin, Aunt Florence?" asked Betty, as Antoine and Billy came toward them hand in hand. "They say he won't promise not to drink; he just will spend every cent he can get when he wants to. Now what are you going to say?"
"Oh, Betty, I don't know how to begin a bit better than you do, but for the sake of those five children somebody ought to try to do something besides laugh at such a man, and I shall try."
"But, auntie, how will you begin?"
"You must wait, Betty, and see."
"Excuse me," Antoine began, "but I'm think I'm tell my friend Beely one bear story. I guess I'm tell you about the white bear. When I'm a little fellow, not so old as you, Beely, my brother have a pet bear. It was so high and so big and his colour was brown."
"Brown," repeated Billy, "I thought you said it was white."
"Maybe so, maybe so, Beely. Well, we all like the little brown bear but my ma, and shedon't like that bear so much as I like the switch she always keep on the corner behind the flour barrel. My brother would have the bear on the house, and my ma scold and scold, because that bear get into all kind of troubles. He steal lump of sugar and he eat the codfish, and he help hisself to anything she want.
"Well, Beely, one day my ma hear big noise on what you call the pantry, and that noise, Beely, was near the flour barrel, and when she go over to see what was the matter out jump a little white bear. He was the same little brown bear, Beely, all cover over with flour. My ma was so mad at that bear she ain't know what to do after he spoil all that flour. So she grab the broom, and she chase the bear all over the kitchen. She hit him whack-e-ty whack, Beely, until the poor little bear was pretty near scare to dead, and the air was all full of flour, and everything was all tip over and tumble down and upset, and my ma she look like a crazy woman. By and by she open the door, the little bear scoot out and climb a tree, and then he sit and look on my mother while she stand there and scold him.
"And do you know, Beely, that little petbear don't want to come on the house no more. You can't coax him on.
"And one time, Beely, I have one little coon; he was my own pet. We catch him when he was a little fellow, and I have to feed him with a spoon, and when he was big he was chuck full of trick, too. One day, when my ma she was milking the cow, she turn her head, and my coon she jump right in the milk. Then my ma gave him a taste of a stick, like this, Beely, whack, whack, whack. Then my ma say to my pa she won't have so much wild animal around, and next day I find my little coon asleep, and he never wake up."
"He died while he was asleep, did he, Antoine?"
"Look that way, look that way, Beely. Now I'm tole you about one time me and my brother start out to find what you call ging-seng; around here we call it shang."
"I never heard of it, Antoine, what is it?"
"It's a root, Beely, the Chinamen want. It used to grow on China, but now she's all gone. It grows wild on the wood here, and you can get four and five dollar a pound for it if you know where to send it. You haveto know the wood pretty well, or you ain't know where to find it. Well, Beely, me and my brother know where there was a good patch of shang, so one time when we have a week to spare, we start out one afternoon.
"Before we have go a half-mile from home, my brother think he forget something. He go back to get it, and I walk on alone. We intend to stay all night in old log shanty. It is pretty near dark when I get there. I wait for my brother. He don't come. I'm pretty hungry, so I eat my supper, and look around the house where I'm to stay all night. Well, Beely, there was no door on the house, but that don't scare me. I am used to the wood, and I don't think nothing going to hurt me. But before I lay down and before it get dark, I put everything we bring to eat up on some high place, so the mouse and the squirrel can't get it. Then I go to sleep."
"Oh, my, weren't you afraid, Antoine?"
"What I be afraid of, Beely? I have my gun close beside me. I ain't know what time it is when I wake up. It is dark, and I think I hear a noise outside the shanty. Then I hear something walk in. Oh, Beely, my hair standon one end, I'm so scare when I hear something go 'sniff—sniff.' I'm so scare I don't dare get my gun, and my teeth go like this, Beely." Antoine tried to make Betty, Billy, and Aunt Florence realize how his teeth chattered, accompanying the performance by gestures that were funny enough.
"Well, Beely, in a moment more I hear something walk, and I know a big bear has come to see me."
"Why, Antoine, why didn't you shoot him?"
"Because, Beely, I'm too scare. I don't dare stir, and, Beely, I'm think good-bye, Antoine, for the big bear came and pokes me two time with his nose."
"Oh, sakes alive, Antoine."
"Well, Beely, it is the truth I tole you. After he give me two poke, the old bear walk around until he find my can of salmon. Then I hear him eating and tip over all my things. Then he walk around and around, and by and by he come and see me again."
"Oh, Antoine!"
"But, Beely, you just wait; I tole you one joke on the big bear. He knock my gun down;he go off biff-bang! At first I'm so scare I'm think I'm going to die. Then I laugh until I pretty near choke to dead, for I hear the big bear run off through the wood. And in the morning, Beely, I find his track,—great, big, black bear track."
"Tell me another, Antoine, please."
Antoine, giving Billy a wink, began again before Aunt Florence or Betty could say a word. "Now, Beely, you know the wood is full of some bear, and ole Antoine he like to go bear-hunting."
"Yes, go on, you went hunting, and what happened?"
"Hold on, Beely, I don't go hunting, I go fishing; that is, Beely, I start to go fishing, but before I go far I come across a bear track. I think I never see such a big bear track. It is big like this, Beely, so I say I will follow the track of the big bear, but first I will go and get my gun. Then I leave my fish-pole at home, and start out with my gun, and I am think I am kill the biggest bear you ever hear of. I'm follow that bear track for one, two, three, four mile. It's a fresh track, and I'm pretty sure I'm find the bear and shoothim. By and by I stand still and think what I'm going to do. The big bear she's gone into one thicket, and, if I went after it, I shall have to crawl in. I ain't like to do that. I'm a little scare."
"Well, I should think so. Go on, Antoine; of course, you did crawl in."
"Yes, Beely, I crawl in and I keep crawling. You see, I think after awhile I'm going to come out at a clearing. I don't much like to follow track of one big bear on a place where I can't stand, and by and by I hear a twig snap, and pretty soon I'm hear another. Then I'm so scare I keep still a minute. I think maybe I'm going straight to the big bear's house, and the big bear and his folks will eat me up. When I'm think that, I'm think I better get back to the road, I think I don't want to shoot that bear, after all. I'm change my mind and go back to the road just so quick as I can."
"And when you got there, what happened, Antoine?"
"Why, Beely, I go home."
"And you didn't even see the bear?"
"No, Beely, and when I'm in that thicket, I'm think I don't want to see him."
"Well, Antoine, maybe that's a track story, but I don't call it a bear story. Now, please tell me a good one 'bout narrow 'scapes. That's the kind I like."
"Well, Beely, one time when I'm a little boy, my ma send me after the cows. We have two cows then. Well, I'm just ready to start home with the cows, when she stand still a minute and look scare to dead. I stand up on a log, and I think what is the matter, and then I see a big bear stand up on his hind feet. I don't know how I do anything so quick, but in a second I jump up on one of those cow, and then they both give a snort and start down the road lickety-split."
"And did the bear chase you, Antoine?"
"I think so, Beely, I don't know. I ain't look back to see. I have all I can do to hang on my cow. It ain't easy riding, I tole you that."
"Oh, Antoine," remonstrated Billy, "I don't call that a bear story. I call it a cow story. Now, please, Antoine, tell me a good one. Please don't laugh; tell me a good, wildbear story, one of your narrow 'scapes. Tell me about the time you caught the little bear last summer. I like that story."
"Well, Beely, I ain't like to tell you that story pretty good, for every time I'm think on it I'm scare out of my wit yet."
"But, Antoine, the bears can't hurt you now; they are all dead."
"I know that, but I'm think they are going to hurt me that time. Well, it's just like this: I'm going on the swamp to look at some cedar I'm going to get out that winter. When I'm come to a little birch ridge on the swamp, well, I'm going to go across that ridge when I see two big bear and one little one lay down on front of me about twenty-five feet away. Well, I'm scare the bear, and the bear scare me. I'm come up there so quiet they ain't think I'm going to come at all; and I ain't think I'm going to see any bear there. I'm too scare to run away and I'm too scare to shoot. You know I'm got my gun with me. You know, Beely, I'm always got my gun and one little axe when I'm go through the wood.
"Well, I'm stand there behind one stump; I look on the bear and the bear look on me.The biggest one get up on his hind leg and she show his teeth and growl. I'm pretty scare, I'm tole you that, Beely, when I'm see her big teeth. But I'm make up my mind I'm got to shoot that bear right there, or Antoine don't see Beely no more. Well, I'm take a rest with my gun on the stump, and take a good aim and shoot. I'm hit that bear right on the head. She's fall right down on his back, and growl and kick little bit and die.
"Well, that scare the little bear, so she's climb up the tree. They got one more big bear there yet, and I ain't got no more bullet on my gun, and I ain't got time for load, so I'm climb one little tree pretty quick, just like one little red squirrel. But I'm take my gun along with me, so I can load it up there, you know.
"Well, the bear she's come for me, but I'm load my gun pretty quick. When the bear she get ready for climb the tree, I'm shoot it, but I ain't hit it pretty good, and I ain't kill it that time, because just the same time I'm shoot, the limb what I'm stand on break, and I'm fall on the ground. I fall right close by the bear. I ain't hurt me very much, because I ain't fallpretty far, but I'm jump up like a rabbit and I'm grab my little axe, what I'm got on my belt, just the same time the bear she jump for me.
"I'm hurt the bear pretty much when I'm shoot the first time, so she can't jump quick like me. When the bear she's jump on me, I'm jump behind one stump and hit him on the head with my axe. But I ain't kill it first time.
"I'm run around the stump, and ever time I'm get a chance I'm hit that bear with my axe, and by and by I'm hit it on the nose and kill the bear that time. You know, Beely, it's pretty easy to kill a bear when you hit him right on the nose.
"Well, Beely, I'm pretty glad I'm kill that bear, but I'm so scare I sit on that stump and shake and shake and shake just like as if I have the ague. By and by I'm feel a little better, and I think I'm going to catch that little bear what's up on the tree, so I'm cut down the tree and catch the bear; and I'm take off my belt and tie it around his neck and fetch it home. Then I go back there and skin the two bear, because the bear she's nice and fat and pretty good to eat that time.
"I have that little bear yet, and he do lots of trick. Pretty smart little fellow, pretty ugly, I tole you that. I'm call him Beely after my little friend."
"Oh, let's show him to Aunt Florence," suggested Billy, but Aunt Florence, for some reason, insisted upon going home.
"No use for me to try to say anything to him," she remarked to Betty, as they walked along the bay shore. "I'll give up. I should think that man would be ashamed when he remembers that little suit I gave 'Phonse."
"But that's the queer thing about him, auntie," Betty explained; "he never remembers anything he wants to forget. I like him, though."
"So do I, far as that goes," agreed Aunt Florence, "but I more than like that poor little Samone."
Betty cried at the station when Aunt Florence went home. Billy felt like crying, but he wouldn't. Aunt Florence was sorry to leave the children, and even Gerald felt sad enough as her train disappeared among the pines, and the whistle sounded at the crossing down the bay shore.
"Well, she's gone," was his cheerful remark.
"But she said she'd come again next summer," Betty sobbed, "and just as soon as she gets to the city she's going to send me a beautiful doll to dress for Samone."
"Perhaps Samone won't be here then," said Gerald.
"Won't be here! Why not?" asked Betty, wiping her eyes and staring at the boys.
"Well, you know Antoine's been drinking again, and I heard some men saying if he keeps on they are going to take Samone away from him. They're going to send her to the House of Correction,—no, I don't believe that's the name of the place, either, but it is some home for children that don't belong to anybody."
"Oh, what will Antoine do?" exclaimed Betty.
"He'll fight," suggested Billy, "and so I will, too."
"I'll tell you, boys, what we can do," advised Betty. "You know, it won't be long now before Uncle John comes to go hunting. Of course, Aunt Florence will tell him all about Antoine and Samone, and how she couldn't make him stop drinking, because she didn't know how to begin talking to him about it. Now, everybody says that if Antoine would make up his mind to be a different kind of a man, he could, and everybody likes him, even now, so I'm just going to ask Uncle John to go down to his house and make him stop. That's a fine plan. Folks always listen to Uncle John because he's so good-looking."
When Uncle John came, he laughed at Betty. "Why, child, I'm not a temperance lecturer," he protested. "I came up here to hunt deer, not Frenchmen. Besides that, what's the use of my trying to do what you and Aunt Florence couldn't?"
"Aunt Florence didn't half try," answered Betty, "and, of course, I've never tried at all. I wouldn't dare."
Again Uncle John laughed. "If you don't dare venture, Betty, let's give up. What do you say, Billy?"
"I say, let me go hunting with you," replied the boy.
"Hunting the Frenchman?"
"No, hunting deer and bears. Will you take me sometime?"
Betty turned away much troubled. There was no use of talking to Uncle John, she could see that plainly. Betty liked Antoine so well she couldn't understand why every one laughed when anything was said about trying to make him do right. She knew, too, how dearly the Frenchman and his family loved the little Samone, and how kind they were to the child. She also knew what Antoine was beginningto suspect: a number of men in the village who were interested in Samone, and whose decisions were always carried out, were talking of sending the little one to the State School at Coldwater.
Betty said no more about Antoine to Uncle John, but, while the frost fairies painted the maple leaves crimson and brightened the borders of the evergreen woods with many a dash of colour, she listened as eagerly as Billy and Gerald to all he had to say of forest wonders. At the same time, down in her heart, Betty was hoping that Uncle John wouldn't get a deer that season. "If he don't kill a deer," she told herself, "then the Coldwater school don't get Samone. That's my new superstition, though I'll never tell even Billy. Some things you must keep to yourself."
Those were the days when Billy hated bedtime with all his might. It always came in the middle of some tale of adventure, often at the point where Uncle John almost shot a bear.
Evening after evening, Mr. Larzalere, a neighbour, called to see Uncle John, and many a tale of the woods he told that made Geraldstare. Billy often wondered why such great hunters as Mr. Larzalere and his Uncle John could go forth each day, knowing exactly where to find deer, and yet return without one.
"Should think you'd begin to get discouraged," he said at last.
Uncle John and Mr. Larzalere only smiled at the idea, and advised Billy to wait. In the meantime, they talked with great enthusiasm of salt-licks, runways, bucks, does, and fawns, and a certain "Old Timer" that interested Billy more than anything else that lived in the woods. The little boy dreamed of the "Old Timer," and one never to be forgotten morning he saw him.
Mr. Larzalere had promised to meet Uncle John at the "Big Stone," and Billy had begged to be taken along. He hadn't the least idea where the "Big Stone" was, but, from listening to the daily talk of the hunters, he believed that all the animals in the woods trooped by that enchanted spot ever day; possibly they formed a procession and marched past. Mr. Larzalere and Uncle John seemed always to reach the place either too late or too early to see all that happened. Uncle John told Billythat, when he was bigger, he would gladly take him hunting, but little boys seven years old were too small to think of shooting "Old Timers."
"But, Uncle John, of course, I don't want to shoot the 'Old Timer,'" persisted Billy. "I just want to see his big horns, and if you'll let me go, I'll climb up on the 'Big Stone' and sit right still until you come after me. You and Mr. Larzalere can leave me there while you hunt."
"Couldn't think of it, Billy," replied Uncle John. "When Mr. Larzalere and I drag in the Old Timer, then you'll see him."
"That isn't the way I want to see him," said Billy to his mother. "I want to see him while he is alive. I've seen hundreds of dead deer down to the depot. What I want to see is the 'Old Timer' holding his own horns high,—high and running fast,—fast as if he was happy and wasn't afraid of hunters."
Early the next morning Billy was up and gazing wistfully out-of-doors. In spite of the rain pelting against the window, Billy wanted to go hunting, and wondered how his Uncle John could lie in bed and sleep after daylight.Suddenly the small boy rubbed his eyes and stared. Across the common, in front of Mr. Larzalere's house, he saw the "Old Timer." A moment later the deer lifted his wide, spreading horns, stood quietly gazing toward the house, then came bounding across the common, pausing a moment at Billy's gate before making a dash for the woods.
"Oh, I saw him! I saw him!" cried Billy, rushing from window to window, hoping for another glimpse of the deer.
In a little while Mr. Larzalere came, calling loudly upon Uncle John to get his gun and follow the deer. He was wet to the skin, and a more excited man Billy never saw.
"Where—where's your gun?" asked Billy. "Uncle John isn't dressed yet; he says he'll hurry."
"My gun's at home," explained Mr. Larzalere. "You see that deer was grazing by the big pine in front of my house, and when I raised the shade I must have startled him. I told my wife to get my gun quick, but I didn't dare wait for it, because I didn't want to lose sight of my deer. Tell your Uncle John tocome quick's he can! I'm going back for my gun!"
As Mr. Larzalere ran for his gun, Billy flew through the house shouting: "Gerald! Betty! Selma! Everybody! Get up and see where there was a deer! Come on quick and I'll show you his tracks out in the sand! You'll have to hurry if you want to see the tracks, 'cause it's raining pitchforks!"
After chasing through the storm for an hour or more, Mr. Larzalere went home to breakfast, though broiled venison wasn't on the bill of fare.
Whether dogs drove him out of the woods, or whether the deer overheard Mr. Larzalere and Uncle John planning his downfall at one of the meetings by the "Big Stone," and walked into the village to show how little fear he had of hunters, Billy never knew, and the "Old Timer" was never again seen in that region. Whereat rejoiced Betty, the superstitious.
Soon after, Uncle John went home; but he always declared that he should have killed the deer had he stayed long enough.
It was Billy who gathered the last bunch of bluebells. He found them one November morning, their brave, delicate beauty all that remained of unforgotten blooms. The next day it was winter.
The boy welcomed the whirling snow, but when the ice began forming all along the beach, his delight was unbounded. He couldn't pity the poor sailors as Betty advised; Billy envied them. The last trip of the season, like the first perilous voyage in the spring, seemed brimming with possibilities of adventure.
Morning after morning, Billy ran to the window before he was dressed to see the waves tossing the broken ice in ridges farther and farther from the shore. How he longed to try the stretches of clear ice between theridges! How he longed to go where the waves were dashing against the crystal wall! He wondered how much higher than his head the spray leaped toward the sun before it fell in sparkling showers all along the southern shore as far as the child could see.
In the meantime the last light-ship had gone into winter quarters, the last buoy had been taken away, and even Billy understood that navigating the straits was a perilous undertaking. Whenever a boat whistled to be reported, the whole family ran to the window to see it pass, while the fog-horn sounded a farewell, and Billy's father dipped the stars and stripes in parting salute, to which the boat made answer.
One steam-barge, theWallula, was long unaccounted for. She was the last of the season, as Billy knew. He and Betty watched almost as anxiously as their father for the belated boat. One afternoon there came a blinding snow-storm, and for the first time Billy agreed with Betty in pitying the poor sailors, especially those on theWallula.
"Just think of being out in such a storm, with the light-ships all gone and the buoys alltaken away!" said the little girl. "I don't see how a boat could help going on the shoals. Don't you ever be a sailor, Billy, will you?"
"No," replied Billy, "of course not; I'll be the captain."
A wonderful sight greeted Billy the following day. As usual he was up early, and through the east window in the sitting-room he saw theWallulafrozen fast in the ice not far from shore.
"Oh, mamma! mamma!" he called. "Here's the big red sun coming right out of the red, red clouds, and it's shining on theWallula. And the icicles! Oh, mamma! Betty! Come and see the icicles shining on all the ropes. Oh, I must get out there quick."
As Billy dressed, the sun was swallowed by a cloud so big, so black, its shadow dimmed the joy shining in his face.
"Why, mamma!" he shouted, "what a 'normous cloud, and it's spreading over all the sky. I never saw anything happen so quick before. Did you ever see such a cloud! It was so heavy it had to go and fall down over all the sunshine."
"No wonder!" exclaimed Betty, "I should think it would! Look there!"
"Where? What?"
"Why, Billy, don't you see? There is Antoine LeBrinn down on the beach with Samone in his arms, and I know the poor little thing hasn't on half enough clothes to keep her warm. I don't care how soon they take her away from him, so there!"
"Why, Betty!"
"I don't care, Billy. I'm beginning to feel just the way the rest of the folks do about that old Antoine. Papa says he don't stick to any kind of work, and his family are too poor for anything!"
"I'm going to tell him," Billy threatened; "you see if I don't."
Late in the morning half the village gathered to watch the tug from Cheboygan release theWallulaand tow her into safe water. Then Billy saw more than one man frown, as he noticed the thinly clad child shivering in the Frenchman's arms. From that time he determined to compel Betty to tell Antoine he must stop drinking. At first Betty refused, but finally a new idea came into her mind.
"Tell you what we might do, Billy," she said, "we might get up a pledge for him to sign his name to."
"What's a pledge?"
109Betty ... wrote her pledge
"Oh, it's something you sign," and Betty, offering no further explanation, wrote her pledge. Having never seen a temperance pledge, this was not an easy thing to do. Betty tried many times, and destroyed nearly all her best tablet before she decided upon the correct form. All this scribbling she did in the presence of the impatient Billy.
"Now read it," he begged, when Bettyfolded several sheets of paper instead of destroying them.
"I am afraid you won't understand it, Billy," she said, doubtfully, "but it means, 'I won't drink any more whiskey and things.' Now listen, Billy; I'd like to hear how it sounds myself: 'When in the course of human events it becomes necessary to touch not, taste not, handle not, look not upon the wine when it is red, give me liberty or give me death before I ever touch another drop.'"
"Oh, Betty, that's good; course I understand it. Why, it sounds just like the Fourth of July last year!"
"There now, Billy, I shall have to read it all over again if I find out how it sounds, because that's only the short beginning."
"Why, Betty, but that's enough! If he signs that and promises that he won't drink another drop, why, why, that's the place to stop, Betty."
"I don't know but you're right, Billy, but lawyers put in lots of words they don't need when they write things, and they never stop when they get through. You see, I haven't read you the 'whereas' and 'now therefore'part. I wanted this pledge to sound as if a lawyer made it. You see, Billy, I know, because I read everything."
"I don't care," Billy maintained, "you might get him mixed."
"That's so," admitted Betty.
"And then, too, Bet, why don't you say 'before I drink another drop—of whiskey,' in big capital letters."
"Oh, never, Billy, that would hurt Antoine's feelings. We mustn't even hint about getting drunk and such things, but I will do as you say about having a short pledge, and we'll trim it with pictures."
"Make pictures of bottles and things, Betty."
"Oh, stop, Billy, I should say not! Birds and flowers will be better, and won't hurt Antoine's feelings. Don't you understand? Then we'll tie a red ribbon on it."
It so happened that Billy's mother, not sharing the children's secret, wouldn't allow them to visit the Frenchman's home, and it was not until the ice stretched from shore to shore, and Antoine began his winter fishing, that their opportunity came. After school one night,they visited his fish shanty on the frozen straits.
"Come in," said Antoine, in response to Betty's knock, "come in."
"Oh, my, what a tiny place!" exclaimed Betty, "and how warm it is! too warm! Oh, my!"
"Smells fishy and tarry," added Billy, holding his nose.
"Hush!" warned Betty, fearing Antoine might be offended.
"Warm!" repeated the man, laughing heartily; "the preacher she was here, and I ain't want it to stay, so I make it warm, and she ain't stay long."
"Why did the minister come to see you?" asked Betty.
"Did he come out here to have you tell him fish stories?" Billy inquired.
Again Antoine laughed. "No, Beely, the preacher she come out here and bring one temperance pledge. She say to me, 'Antoine, I'm fisherman, too. I'm ask you to sign your name on this one paper.' I'm tell that preacher she make a mistake, and I'm put one, two, three stick of wood on the stove, and it gettoo warm pretty quick. The preacher she go home, and ole Antoine she sign no pledge so long she live, I tole you that right now."
Betty looked discouraged, but Billy grinned as he knelt to peer through the hole in the ice. Both children knew better than to speak of their pledge.
With utmost patience Antoine explained to his visitors all he knew about fishing through the ice.
"What you think is on the end of that line, Beely, that go into the water there?"
"Minnows?"
"Oh, no, Beely, no minnow on the winter. On the end that line is one decoy fish. She's heavy and weighted with lead. We let it down on the deep water. Then, when we see a fish come after it, we wind the line with one windlass."
"Can't you pull in the line?" asked Betty.
"No, Betty, no, you pull the line, you jerk the decoy fish, and that won't do. Beely, you turn the crank there and wind the line over the reel. Now, Betty, kneel on the edge of the opening on the floor and look down on the water. Can you see one decoy fish?"
"Yes, just as plain as anything."
"Now you, Beely, turn the crank."
"Oh, oh!" cried Betty. "Up comes the little fish, straight, straight up, just as natural as if it was alive."
"Now let me see," besought the small boy. "You come, Betty, and turn the crank."
"Here, Beely," said Antoine, "you and Betty can both look on the same time if you squeeze beside her. Fish shanty ain't big like the town hall?"
"Well, I should say not," admitted Billy. "Why, isn't it nice, Antoine? You can sit right still on your box and reach all the walls, can't you? Oh, that's the way you do it? When you see a fish coming, you just keep watching him, and then you reach over and turn the crank and wind up the line, and then the pretend fish comes up higher and higher. But then, I don't see how you spear the real fish."
"Well, Betty and Beely, I will show you. You see the decoy fish she come quiet through the water when we bring it up with a windlass. If we brought it up with one jerk, our trout would be scare away. Fish no fool, Itole you that. When my fish come to the top of the water, so I'm sure of my aim, I send my spear after him."
"But I should think you would lose the spear," said Billy. "My, it's heavy!"
Antoine pointed to the rope which tied the spear to a ring fastened in the roof.
"Wish a fish would come along now," said Billy, still gazing into the depths beneath.
"We make too much noise, Beely. Betty, you be little squaw and Beely be Indian, and we'll keep still like the Indian and then I'll show you one fish. I'm fix the spear so she's all ready, and now watch. Don't whisper."
Silently the three peered through the hole in the ice. Betty wished that her heart wouldn't beat so loud; she feared the fish must hear its thumping. Several times Billy was compelled to stifle deep sighs, warned by a look from Antoine. Poor Billy! His knees ached and his back ached, and it is no wonder the active child kept thinking that he couldn't endure such a cramped position another moment. It seemed ages to Betty also before she raised her face with a pleased smile to thefisherman and exchanged a glance with the radiant Billy.
There was a big fish coming straight toward the decoy. The children had a fine chance to see exactly how a fish swims. Billy held his breath, as the line was slowly wound over the reel and the decoy came nearer and nearer the surface. They could see the bright eyes and the glistening fins of the fish that came after it.
Just as Antoine reached for his spear, Betty sneezed. Quick as a flash the fish darted to the bottom of the straits; but it moved no quicker than Antoine, who motioned for silence. Betty longed to explain that she couldn't help sneezing, while Billy could scarcely be restrained from venting his wrath. Under the circumstances, he gave Betty an angry glance, and ventured to wiggle the least bit before settling himself for another time of breathless waiting. As for Betty, she could just manage to keep the tears back, and, when the fish slowly rose from the bottom of the lake, she didn't see him so clearly as Billy and the fisherman did.
That time Antoine speared the fish. Billy not only saw him do it, but helped pull a bigtrout through the hole in the ice, and soon he and Betty were taking turns carrying the treasure home.
"Dear me," said Betty at last, "I'll never dare say 'pledge' to him again."
"I should say not," echoed Billy.
Upon reaching home, Betty was much distressed when she discovered that her pledge was lost. "Somebody'll find it, Billy, and tell everybody in town, and then won't we catch it? Everybody'll be making fun of us."
Billy tried to be consoling. "They won't know who wrote it, Betty."
"Oh, that's the worst of it, Billy. I put my name and your name and the date and everything on that paper, and I said it was for Mrs. LeBrinn's Christmas present! Oh, dear!"
At that very moment, Antoine, alone in his shanty, was reading Betty's pledge. A curious smile came and went as he read the slip of paper. When the last gleam of sunlight faded in the west, he locked his shanty and walked to the village with his load of fish.
The following morning little 'Phonse LeBrinn came late to school. His pinched face looked sad and care-worn.
"Old Antoine was drunk again last night," some one whispered across the aisle. "He sold his fish before he went home, and spent every cent at the saloons."
Billy heard the whisper, and, passing 'Phonse on his way to class, he left a piece of candy on his desk. It was all he had to offer.
Two things puzzled Billy. One was the letter from Aunt Florence, in which she hinted at the possibility of visiting Santa Claus on Christmas Day. Neither Billy's father nor Billy's mother knew what to think. Mid-winter was not the time to expect company in their part of the world.
"It's some kind of a joke, I guess," was Billy's suggestion.
The second thing that puzzled Billy was the great change that suddenly came over the LeBrinn family. He wondered if he had anything to do with it. One day, having overheard a conversation not intended for his ears, he told 'Phonse that Samone was surely going to be sent to the home at Coldwater, and advised him to tell his father to "watch out."The next time Billy met Antoine LeBrinn, Samone was with him.
"Come here, little Beely," called the Frenchman, "ole Antoine want to shake hand with you. It's a pretty good little Beely. Samone like Beely pretty good, I tole you that."
Antoine then explained to the boy that no one should take Samone away from him, because he intended keeping her with him all the time, and from that hour until the day soon after, when Billy saw the little Samone no more, she was always close beside her father. The particular thing that puzzled Billy, though, kept half the village guessing. 'Phonse, Buzz, Bud, and Tony came to school just before the holidays dressed in fine new suits and beaming with smiles. That same afternoon Billy was in the dry-goods store when Antoine bought a red dress for his wife and wide red ribbons to trim it with.
"I tole you the ole lady she look pretty good when he get this on, Beely," said Antoine, rattling a pocketful of money for Samone's benefit. The jingle pleased Antoine more than it did the little girl.
Billy wondered where Antoine got hismoney, and when he learned that the Frenchman's own family didn't know, he wondered more than ever.
For many weeks Antoine had been stage-driver on the evergreen road,—the winding way across the ice, marked on either side by forest trees.
The day before Christmas there was a blizzard. From Billy's home on the point nothing could be seen but whirling snow. The nearest trees on the evergreen road were hidden from sight, while the north shore across the frozen straits seemed for ever lost.
"Antoine won't go to-day," said Billy; but scarcely were the words spoken when the sound of sleigh-bells was heard, and Antoine stopped his horses at the cottage door. He asked for an extra shawl or blanket for the children, and laughed at the idea of being afraid to make the trip. When Billy's mother knew that 'Phonse and Samone were in the sleigh, she begged Antoine to leave them with her.
"Samone stay with ole Antoine long as he live in Mackinaw," declared the Frenchman, "and Beely she know that. I ain't leave Samone no more." Antoine went on to explain that he could cross the evergreen road with his eyes shut, and that there wasn't a bit of danger. He had positively promised to meet two passengers who were coming from Duluth, and he was determined to be on time for the train. The children were comfortable as two kittens, Antoine further insisted, at the same time declaring that he would be back at noon to help the "old lady" get ready for Christmas.
Fumbling in his pocket at the last moment, Antoine drew forth an envelope, in which he declared was his wife's Christmas present.
"Tell Beely to take care of it until ole Antoine come back, and, if she ain't come home no more, give her to the old lady."
Every hour the storm grew worse, and at noon the marine reporter's three children listened in vain for the sound of sleigh-bells.
"Antoine must have decided to stay in St. Ignace, and drive home to-morrow," said their mother, and the family were of the same opinion.
All the afternoon the children had the gayest kind of a time. No thought of the stormoutside disturbed their fun. Gerald, Betty, and Billy were too accustomed to blizzards to mind their fury. After the lamps were lighted, they gathered around the piano to sing the familiar carol they loved so well. That Christmas Eve they sang but one verse: