"'I will,' said she. And in a moment she began to sing the 'Gloria in Excelsis.' I had often admired her singing before, and since then I have heard that magnificent old chant in grand churches and cathedrals at home and abroad, but I never heard it sound so wonderfully and gloriously pathetic as it did that night, ringing among the trees of the swamp as she sang: 'Thou who takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us!'"
The squire paused for a moment and wiped his spectacles.
"It made me cry at first; for I thought she might be singing the angels' song in another world before Christmas morning shone upon this. But presently I recovered myself a little and joined my voice to hers. For more than two hours we sat there in the tree, singing chants and hymns and repeating parts of the Church service. We knew plenty of songs, but we did not feel like singing them then."
"'This is Christmas Eve,' said Carry, at last. 'Can you realize it, Harry?'"
"I did realize it, bitterly enough. 'Yes,' said I; 'and all our folks—yours and mine—are enjoying it at home, never thinking of us!'"
"'Perhaps they do think of us,' said Carry softly. 'And at any rate, Harry, God thinks of us.'"
"'Why don't He help us, then?' I thought, rebelliously enough, and then the thought crossed me that I had never in my life asked Him honestly to help me—never, in fact, felt the need of His help. I had always felt sufficient to myself, and it was this very self-sufficiency which had brought us into all this trouble."
"'Carry,' said I, half-choking, 'do say that you forgive me for bringing you into this scrape.'"
"'There is nothing to forgive,' replied Carry. 'It was not your fault. You did not know anything about the wolves.'"
"'I did! I did!' I cried. 'Mr. Jones warned me not to come by this road, but I thought I knew best. Oh, Carry, can you forgive me?'"
"Carry was silent for a moment. 'I forgive you,' said she; 'but, Harry, let this be a lesson to you!'"
"Notwithstanding all our exertions to keep warm and wakeful, we began to be very much overcome with the cold. I tried to say my prayers, to confess my sins, and to pray for my poor mother and sisters, but my head was growing confused, and I could think of nothing distinctly. Carry was now quite silent, but I could see that her lips moved. Suddenly she gave such a violent start that I thought she was going to fall."
"'Take care!' said I. 'Sit still!'"
"'Harry!' said she, whispering, as if afraid the wolves would overhear her, 'Harry, I heard a shot!'"
"'Some tree cracking with the frost,' said I."
"'It was a rifle shot!' said she, positively. 'There, again!'"
"I heard it this time—the unmistakable sharp crack of a rifle—and then a distant shout."
"'Safe! Safe!' I cried, exultingly. 'They have taken the alarm and have come out to look for us!'"
"I put my two fingers in my mouth and gave a loud, shrill whistle—a peculiar whistle, which my grandfather and I had agreed upon as a signal when he was needed at the mill. It was answered by another shout, and presently I saw through the trees the red light of torches and lanterns. The wolves took to flight as they approached, and we were saved."
"It had turned out as I had hoped. Once free from incumbrance, Charley had gained on his pursuers and reached the open country where they dared not follow him. He took the straight road home as a matter of course, and came clattering round to the back door."
"'There are the children, at last!' remarked my grandfather, rising; but, just as he was about opening the door, Peter, the black man, came in, looking decidedly startled, and as pale, my grandfather said afterwards, as could possibly be expected of as black as his hat."
"'I'se afraid something has happened to the young folks, boss,' said he. 'Charley has come home by hisself without the cutter, and a great bite on his flank. I'se dreadful afraid something bad has happened.'"
"'You are right, Peter, something bad has happened!' said my grandfather, examining the home. 'I am afraid this means wolves! We must raise the neighbors at once and go out to look for the poor children. Run and ring the mill bell as hard as you can, while I saddle the horses.'"
"The jingling bell soon called together all the men of the settlement. Horses were brought out, guns loaded, and torches lighted, and they set out to look for us with but little hope of finding us alive."
"Trembling and exhausted, we were helped down from our perch. But we were both too weak to sit on horseback, and the men were obliged to construct litters to carry us home. Seeing Carry laid upon hers was the last thing I remembered for many days."
"The Christmas service took place, and was well attended, but neither Carry nor myself were among the congregation. I was laid up with a fever and as crazy as a loon, as they say, for three weeks. When I recovered, they told me that I had acted over again all the scenes I had passed through, sometimes whipping the horse, and then encouraging Carry or singing hymns and chants. I was very weak and unwell all the rest of the winter, and quite unable to work, so I had plenty of time to think; and, I trust, my thinking was to good purpose."
"From that time forward we had service and preaching every two weeks in the schoolhouse. The next spring my grandfather built a neat little church, and the Bishop paid us a visit. Carry and I were among the persons confirmed, and I trust we have been able to lead the rest of our lives according to that beginning. Carry had a terrible cold and lost her voice, so that she was never able to sing afterwards. And that, children, was the very longest Christmas eve I ever spent in my life."
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"BUT you had a pretty good Christmas tree, sir, after all," remarked Herbert.
The squire laughed. "Why, yes, my son, we could hardly have had a better, under the circumstances."
"How would you have liked that for an adventure, Ned?" asked Herbert, turning to Edward. "That was strange and unexpected enough to suit you!"
"I shouldn't like it at all," replied Ned, decidedly. "I like pleasant adventures."
"Unluckily, my dear, it is not easy to find adventures which are pleasant and dangerous at the same time," remarked the clergyman. "One is seldom able to enjoy the sublime and beautiful when one is cold, hungry, and in danger of breaking one's neck or being eaten up alive."
"But come, grandmother, it is your turn," said the squire. "Turn and turn-about, you know."
"O yes, do please, grandmamma!" chimed in May and Annie. "Your stories are so nice!"
"Very well, I will tell you a story," said the old lady, smiling; "but I must inform you beforehand that there are no adventures in it, though the incidents which I am about to relate occurred at an early date in the settlement of New York State. We will call it, if you please:
"I must begin by telling you that all the main incidents of my story are quite true."
"That is nice," whispered Agatha. "I love true stories."
The old lady smiled, and went on as follows:
"My great-aunt married Mr. James Dean, and moved out to Westmoreland, Oneida county, when that part of the country was quite new. Mr. Dean had been the United States agent for the Oneida and Stockbridge Indians during the Revolutionary war, and it was mainly by his influence that those tribes were kept faithful to the American interests, while most of the tribes making up the great Iroquois nation went over to the British."
"Mr. Dean grew up among the Indians. When he was ten years old, his father took him into New York State and left him with the Oneidas, that he might acquire a thorough knowledge of their manners and language. It was a severe ordeal for the little white boy at first, as all the Indian lads maltreated him and he had no one to take his part. But after a time he was adopted by an old squaw, who gave him such efficient protection that he was quite secure from his persecutors. After a time a missionary, the Rev. Mr. Kirkland, represented to them the great advantage they would reap from having with them an educated white man who should be firmly attached to their interests, and this induced them to send young James to school at Dartmouth, where he received an admirable education."
"My uncle met with abundance of adventures among the Indians, but I will only relate one, which will illustrate Mr. Dean's firmness and presence of mind. At one time during the Revolution—I do not know the exact date—a deputation was sent from the Oneida Indians to their friends in Canada to try to induce them to espouse the American interests, or rather remain neutral, which was all that any one asked of them."
"Why was it that so many Indians went over to the side of the British during the war?" asked Frank.
"The reason was a very simple one," replied the scholar. "The British authorities offered a liberal bounty for scalps, and were in no wise particular as to the age or sex of the person from whom the scalp was taken. In a rare and very interesting book, called the 'Annals of Tryon County,' is given a full account of the matter, with a list or invoice of scalps, showing the number of infants' scalps, scalps of mothers, &c. These facts excited great indignation in England, and were spoken of in the House of Commons as they deserved; all of which did not prevent the same savage allies being employed again in the war of 1812."
"It was thought necessary," continued the old lady, "that James, or, as he was familiarly called, Jemmy Dean, should accompany the deputation, and he consented to do so, though at the imminent risk of his life; for there was not one of the hostile Indians who would not have given his best horse and ride to have the scalp of Jemmy Dean hanging at his belt, so much was he feared and hated by them. His hair and skin, however, were as dark as an Oneida's. He had a perfect acquaintance with their language and all their customs; and, disguised with paint and blanket, he accompanied his friends on their expedition, passing for a half-breed, of which there were a great many among the Indians. The ambassadors reached their destination in safety, and Jemmy, as one of the principal personages of the company, was admitted to share the lodge and blanket of the hostile chief."
"In the course of the night the chief entered into conversation with his guest, endeavoring to persuade him to employ his influence with the Oneidas in bringing them over to the British. He ascribed their backwardness to Jemmy Dean, that white villain, as he called him, who persuaded them into acting contrary to their true interests; and, becoming violently excited as he went on, he started up from his couch, drew his knife, and showed, by various significant gestures, what he would do to the said Jemmy, if he caught him. Little did he imagine that that very Jemmy Dean was lying by his side, with his hand on the haft of his knife, that he might be ready to defend his life if it became necessary. By degrees, the chief calmed down and went to sleep, but my uncle, as may be imagined, got very little rest. He had no fears of betraying himself, but the Canada Indians, in the true spirit of savage hospitality, had made their guests as drunk as possible; and he feared that some of his companions, under the influence of whiskey, might let out the secret, in which case his life would not have been worth an hour's purchase. However, the secret was kept, and Jemmy Dean and his companions next morning took their departure in safety."
"My uncle had many adventures during the war, but he passed through them all in safety. At the close of the struggle, he married my aunt, Miss Lydia Camp, and settled in the midst of his large landed property in Westmoreland, Oneida county. As it was his object to draw settlers round him, he disposed of a great deal of his land at a very cheap rate, and the consequence was that he had many neighbors so poor as often to be in want of the actual necessaries of life."
"My aunt Dean was a very beautiful woman, of remarkably decided character and strong intellect. She had received a fine education, and had a great fondness for books and study, while she cared little for fashion or display of any kind. Above all, she was a most diligent student of her Bible, and was given to interpreting the practical precepts of the Gospel more literally than is altogether the fashion nowadays. She was apt to give to him that asked of her, and from him that would borrow she turned not away. To do good and to distribute, she forgot not; and it may easily be guessed that, living in the midst of such a population, she had abundant opportunities of reducing her principles to practice."
"She was surgeon, physician, apothecary, and nurse to all the poor people for many miles round, and neither white man nor Indian ever appealed to her in vain. But it was not only to the body that she ministered. Many a sorrowful soul had been comforted by her, many an ignorant one enlightened, many a wanderer led into the way of peace. There was not a man, woman, or child in Westmoreland that did not love and revere Madam Dean, or that would not have done her any service in their power."
"My uncle's business as member of the Assembly and Indian Agent took him often to Albany, New York, and Philadelphia. On one occasion, as he was going down to New York, he proposed to his wife that, as their new house was completed and they could well afford the expense, he should purchase a carpet for the parlor and bring it home with him."
"'Well,' said my aunt, 'I should be very glad to have one. A carpet does more towards furnishing a parlor than anything else one can put into it, so far as comfort is concerned. It will make our room seem much more cosy and homelike when cold weather comes.'"
"My aunt glanced round with some complacency at the neatly finished and well-furnished apartment, and in her mind's eye saw the white boards already covered with a warm-colored carpet."
"It was thus settled that my uncle should bring home a carpet, and the color and quality were agreed upon. My uncle considered the matter as disposed of, but the next night, as they were seated by the fire (for it was at a time of year when a bright blaze was comfortable in the evening), my aunt adverted to the carpet again."
"'Mr. Dean,' said she, laying down her knitting for a moment, 'I have been thinking about that carpet again.'"
"'Well,' said my uncle, rather absently, and without looking up, for he had got hold of his favorite newspaper, only ten days old, and was absorbed in its perusal."
"'And I rather think I have changed my mind about it,' continued Madam Dean, altering a little the position of her knitting sheath."
"'Indeed!' said her husband, looking a little surprised, for my aunt was not apt to change her mind upon slight grounds. 'But perhaps you would prefer something else than the carpet?'"
"'I do not care anything about a carpet as a matter of display,' said my aunt, resuming her work. 'It is only as a matter of comfort that I want one at all.'"
"'Well, my dear, what then?'"
"'And a carpet spun and woven at home would be quite as comfortable, though not as handsome, as one brought from New York.'"
"'And not as expensive,' remarked my uncle; 'but you need not deny yourself on that account.'"
"'I was not considering the expense,' replied my aunt. 'What I thought was this: that by having my carpet spun and woven at home I could give employment and a means of subsistence to some of the poor women about us, whose families, I fear, will have hard work to get through the winter with any degree of comfort.'"
"'I thought there was some such idea at the bottom of the matter,' said my uncle, smiling in his turn. 'But please yourself, my dear. For my own part, I shall be as well satisfied with the homespun carpet as with the handsomest one over imported; and I fully agree with you as to the desirableness of finding employment for our poor neighbors. But how will you manage the matter?'"
"'I shall call them together and give out the wool,' replied Madam Dean. 'They can take it to their own homes, and spin and double and twist it, and when they bring it home, I can pay them either in money or anything else they may happen to want.'"
"Mr. Dean agreed with his wife that the plan was an excellent one, and, some days after his departure for New York, she proceeded to put it into execution. She prepared her stores of wool, and, calling her neighbors together, she explained to them that she wanted it spun, requesting each woman to take home such an amount of the wool as she thought she could manufacture within the appointed time."
"'What in the world are you going to do with so much yarn, madam Dean?' asked Bethiah Coffin, who had three little children, and a husband bed-ridden with rheumatism. 'I shouldn't think you could ever use it in your own family!'"
"It is not for cloth, but for a carpet,' explained my aunt. 'I am going to have a carpet made for the floor of my new parlor, which, you see, is quite large. I do not think there will be too much wool for the purpose.'"
"'A carpet! You don't say so!' said old Mrs. Davis. 'I haven't seen a carpeted floor since I came to York State. Old Madam Childs, in Pittsfield, where I came from, had carpets on her best rooms, but they were boughten ones, brought from England before the war.'"
"'All this nice wool for a carpet, just to cover the floor and be walked on!' said Bethiah, holding up her hands. 'What a waste!'"
"'Do you think so?' asked my aunt, smiling.
"'Well, it ain't my business, I know,' replied Bethiah, blushing; 'but if your blankets were as thin as mine, Madam Dean, you might think so too. You see, they were not new when I had 'em. They were some that my mother-in-law gave me—my own folks were all killed down to Wyoming and our house burned—and he has been sick so much that they have come to a great deal of wear. I'm afraid they won't be of much use this winter, for our house is dreadful cold!'"
"'My blankets are good enough,' said Mrs. Givens. 'I had three pairs of new ones when I was married. But I haven't a yard of flannel in the house except what this baby has on, and that is none of the thickest. How the others are to keep warm I don't know, unless I keep them in bed night and day.'"
"'I thought you had some sheep, Mrs. Givens,' observed my aunt."
"'We did have about a dozen that we drove all the way from Massachusetts, but the painters * killed them all but two last spring, and two sheep don't go far towards clothing such a family as mine!'"
"'Very true,' said my aunt. 'You have a large family, Mrs. Givens.'"
* Panthers, or cougars.
"'Seven boys, and all fir—s—t-rate ones, though I say it that shouldn't,' replied Mrs. Givens, with motherly pride and a look of mingled love and admiration at number seven—a stout, rosy little tow-head of ten months old, who sat on the floor contentedly sucking his thumb."
"'That is a good capital with which to begin a new country,' remarked my aunt."
"'That's a fact, Madam Dean. It was our boys more than anything else that brought us out here. But Jacob, the eldest, is only twelve this fall, and he has been having the ague pretty badly. But I don't feel to complain, for it is the first sickness of any account we have ever had among them.'"
"'I am sure you ought to be thankful, Mrs. Givens,' said poor Bethiah, with a sigh. 'I know one ought not to murmur, but I do feel like it, when I look at my poor husband, helpless on his back, and no one but me to do anything. If it wasn't for Madam Dean and the neighbors, I don't know what would become of us. And when I think how we are to get through this winter, I feel as if I should like to curl up in a hollow log like the bears, and not come out till spring.'"
"'Oh, you mustn't be downhearted, Bethiah!' said old Mrs. Davis, kindly. 'My sons, David and Jonathan, calculate to clear that lower piece of land for you this winter, and get it into corn in the spring. It is one great comfort of a new country that nobody need want for firewood.'"
"And my husband said only last night that he had laid out to kill your pigs and ft up your house a little before winter,' said Mrs. Barker. 'He's a master hand at such jobs. But about the wool, Madam Dean?'"
"'I have been thinking,' said my aunt, who had been standing over the bundles of wool apparently in deep meditation while this conversation was going on—'I have been thinking that I would about as soon have a rag-carpet, after all.'"
"'A rag-carpet is very comfortable,' remarked Mrs. Davis; 'and if you have real nice rags, I don't know but it is as handsome as any other, unless you come to a regular English or Turkey carpet.'"
"'I have abundance of rags, if they were only ready,' continued Mrs. Dean. 'There are all Mr. Dean's old coats and cloaks, and a great deal more besides. Suppose, instead of the wool, you take home the old clothes, and cut and sew them into carpet-rags for me. Then when you bring them home, I will let you have the wool, and you can make it into blankets or whatever else you want.'"
"The proposal was received with great approbation, and my aunt felt fully rewarded for any sacrifice she might have made when she marked the glances of satisfaction which the poor women cast at the piles of wool, each probably calculating how many yards of cloth or flannel would come to her share."
"'When shall we come for the rags?' asked Bethiah Coffin."
"'Why, let me see. This is Friday. You may come for the rags on Monday next, and I hope you will all make your calculations to stay to supper.'"
"The company departed, and Madam Dean betook herself to her store-room to see if she could find a pair of thick blankets and a coverlet for Bethiah Coffin; and, having succeeded in her search, she repaired to her garret and other repositories of cast-off garments to get together the materials for her carpet-rags. She soon collected a large pile of old coats, military and civil, cloaks, waistcoats, petticoats, and other articles of wearing apparel, enough to clothe a regiment, besides a scarlet cloak and riding-habit of her own, which she calculated would serve to variegate and enliven her carpet very nicely.
"Monday came, and with it all the neighboring matrons, some with babies and some without, but all dressed in their best, to do honor to Madam Dean's tea-party. Mrs. Barker wore an English print gown which had been her mother's very best before the Revolution, and from the amplitude of skirts in those days was easily made over into some resemblance to the prevailing fashion. But old Mrs. Davis quite eclipsed her with a purple damask gown and a real thread lace on the border of her cap. Poor Bethiah had nothing better for the occasion than a home-made pressed flannel, which, though far from new, was perfectly neat and whole, and looked very respectable along with her nice homespun lawn kerchief and apron."
"My aunt possessed that happy style of manner which sets all sorts of people at their ease at once and draws out to view the best side of everybody. Though highly cultivated herself, she found no difficulty in entering cordially and easily into conversation with her simple neighbors, merely because she took a sincere interest in them. The afternoon passed away pleasantly in lively and social chat, and tea was served at an early hour, that the visitors might be able to return home in time to attend to the milk and do other necessary 'chores' about house. After tea was over, the visitors were conducted into my aunt's bedroom, where were deposited the old clothes which had been destined for conversion into a new carpet."
"'What a beautiful habit!' said Bethiah Coffin, taking up the scarlet riding-habit before mentioned. 'I guess, Madam Dean, you used to wear this when you were slimmer than you are now.'"
"'You are right,' replied my aunt, smiling, and perhaps sighing a little. 'I used to wear that habit when I was quite a young girl.'"
"'It seems almost a pity to cut it into rags,' continued Bethiah, holding the skirt up to the light. 'There is not a hole in it, and these stains might easily be cut out in making it over. If you had a little girl, you might make it over into a nice frock and cloak for her.'"
"'True,' said my aunt; 'but I have no children, you know.'"
"'I rather guess you were thinking of your own little girls, Bethiah,' said plain-spoken old Mrs. Davis."
"Bethiah blushed almost as red as the cloth she hold, but made no reply."
"'I can't blame her if she was,' said Mrs. Givens. 'I was just thinking of about the same thing—how nicely I could make over these breeches for my Jacob. The poor boy's knees have been out so long that he is ashamed to show himself. By the way, Madam Dean, is it really true what the children say, that we are to have a minister at last?'"
"'I am happy to say it is quite true,' replied my aunt. 'Mr. Dean has found an excellent young gentleman who is willing to come among us and preach the Gospel. We shall have service next Sunday in the schoolhouse, and I hope you will all come and bring your children.'"
"'I can't bring mine till they are fixed up a little,' replied Mrs. Givens. 'There is not one of them fit to be seen.'"
"Nor I!' said Bethiah. 'I don't know but it is wrong, but I can't bear the thought of having my girls go to church in rags.'"
"Two or three others excused themselves on the same ground. My aunt knew well that these were not mere empty apologies, for she was in the habit of going about among her neighbors a great deal, and was well acquainted with their circumstances. She excused herself for a few minutes and slipped into the next room, from which she could overhear the conversation which went on over the cast-off garments, as they were taken up and examined one by one."
"'Just see this flannel petticoat!' said Bethiah, holding up the article in question. 'It is worn a little round the bottom and broken in the plaits, but by cutting it off and binding it would be as good as new and keep my Polly warm all winter.'"
"'And look at this cloak!' said another. 'I could cut it into a real nice suit of clothes for my Sam, as good as new. Well, I hope I shall not be guilty of breaking the tenth commandment, but I'm pretty sure I shall, if I have to cut such a cloak as that into carpet-rags while my boy has hardly clothes to cover him!'"
"'I wouldn't care so much about it if it wasn't for the minister's coming,' said Mrs. Givens; 'but I always felt it would be a privilege to go to church and take my children once more. I've felt since we moved out here as if I hadn't valued the means of grace half enough when I had them.'"
"'I guess it is pretty much so with all sorts of privileges,' said Bethiah Coffin. 'I am sure it has been so with me. I never hardly thought in old times of being thankful that I was warm and well, and had plenty to eat and wear. All such things seemed to come of themselves, as a matter of course.' She took up the riding-habit as she spoke, and after another examination, she laid it down and turned away with her eyes full of tears."
"'Don't be downhearted, Bethiah! There's a good time coming!' said old Mrs. Davis, kindly.
"'In heaven! I hope there is, for I'm tired of waiting for it in this world, that's a fact!' sobbed poor Bethiah. 'Things seem to grow worse and worse, and I don't feel as if I could stand it much longer.'"
"By this time my aunt had quite made up her mind as to her course of action, and after waiting a few moments for Bethiah to compose herself, she returned to the room once more."
"'I think I have found out the best way of managing the matter,' said she, perhaps with a tremor in her voice. 'You shall take these clothes home and make them up for your own children. Then you shall take their old clothes, wash them clean, cut and sew them into carpet-rags, and I will exchange the wool for them, as I proposed at first.'"
"The women looked at one another without speaking for a minute or so. Then Mrs. Givens broke the silence:"
"'I declare, Madam Dean, I never did see any one like you in all my born days!' said she. 'I guess, if anybody in this world has treasure laid up in heaven, you will come into a fortune by-and-by. But it is a shame to let you rob yourself so. Our old rags will not make nearly so nice a carpet as these. I am afraid it will be all in lumps and bunches.'"
"'Never mind,' said my aunt. 'I shall only have to sweep the cleaner. But remember,' she added, smiling, 'I shall expect to see all these clothes at the schoolhouse when the minister comes.'"
"The next Sunday after the minister's arrival divine service was held in the school-room, and Madam Dean had the satisfaction of seeing all the children, except such as were kept at home to tend baby or for some other necessary service, in their places; all, no doubt, fully sensible of their new clothes. Bethiah's little girls made quite a smart appearance in their new red cloaks, and the poor woman herself looked more cheerful than she had done for many a long day."
"In due process of time, the carpet was made and sent home. It was rather lumpy, that could not be denied, and the colors were neither greatly varied nor very brilliant; though Mrs. Davis had taken pains to color an old woollen sheet of her own to make some red stripes. But it served the purpose of keeping my aunt's feet warm remarkably well; nor was my uncle ever heard to complain of it, though he looked rather surprised when he first saw it on the floor."
"In the course of time, as matters improved in the country, the rag-carpet was exchanged for one of foreign manufacture, but my uncle always took great delight in relating the story of his wife's rag-carpet."
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"THANK you, madam," said the clergyman, bowing. "I am sure we are very much obliged to you for your charming story. I am inclined to think that your aunt must have belonged to a talented family."
This sly little compliment brought a slight blush to the cheek of the old lady and a smile to the faces of the rest of the company.
"I do love to hear stories about the times when the country was new," remarked Frank. "I should have liked to live in those days."
"I suspect they are pleasanter in the hearing than they were in the actual experience," remarked the scholar. "As Agatha says, it is generally more agreeable to read about adventures than to be in them. But if you like a new country, Frank, you should go West."
"That is exactly what I mean to do," replied Frank.
"You can hardly go to any western country which is as new as this State was when the first settlers came here," said the clergyman.
"That is true," assented the squire. "You see, the people out West have the advantage of all our improvements of every sort. When the Genesee country was first settled, for instance, it was a three weeks' journey from Rochester to Albany, in the best of weather, for a team of horses, and that was the only way of transporting goods or produce. There was no nearer market except that of Canada, which was closed during the winter. Even after the making of the Erie canal, which was an unspeakable advantage to all that part of the country, it was a very slow business getting goods up and produce down. Now the people in Iowa can bring their grain and cattle down to New York in less than two weeks, and the merchants get their goods up in a few days by express. All that makes a great difference."
"Still," said Frank, "there must be a vast difference between life there and here."
"Of course, and I do not at all wonder at young men for liking to go West. There are many pleasant things about it, not the least of which is the delight of seeing all things round you improving, and making every stroke of work tell, as I may say, instead of being obliged to labor with all your might to keep matters from going to ruin. It is amazing to see how a new country gets on. That very swamp through which the wolves chased Carry and me that Christmas eve is now as fine a piece of farming land as you would wish to see. The old oak in which we sat so long, has a nice schoolhouse beside it, with little children playing under the branches instead of hungry, howling wolves."
"I mean to go out on the Pacific railroad, somewhere," said Frank "As soon as I learn my profession, I mean to settle in some of those new towns and practise medicine."
"And so do I mean to go out on the Pacific railroad when I have learned my Profession," murmured Herbert; "but not to practise medicine."
"You don't mean to be a lawyer, do you? I wouldn't!" said Ned. "I think it is awful to have to write so much and read all those big leather-covered books!"
Herbert and Frank both smiled.
"It is not the reading and writing I am afraid of," said Herbert. "A minister has as much reading to do as a lawyer, and a good deal more writing."
"And so you mean to be a minister, and go out on the Pacific railroad?" said the clergyman, smiling and turning to Herbert. "You could not set before you a nobler aim, my son, than that of being a missionary to a new country. I trust you may be sustained and assisted in your work."
"Herbert is just the one for a minister," said Ned. "He is cut out for it!"
"How so?" asked the clergyman.
"Oh, he is so steady and sober. He never gets into any scrapes, as the other boys do, and he always has his compositions ready to the day. He is a regular old fogy."
"Well, I declare, Ned, you are polite!" said Agatha.
"Herbert is not a bit of an old fogy!" said Frank, indignantly. "He is the best base-ball player and the best swimmer in the school, as some of us have reason to know. I wonder who it was, Ned, that went in just above the mill-dam and pulled you out when you fell off the foot-bridge? I wouldn't talk much about old fogies, if I were you!"
Edward colored and looked a good deal ashamed. "I didn't mean any harm," said he. "I only meant that he was a steady sort of fellow—a sort of fellow that one always knows where to have him!"
"I don't think any of us would object to be called old fogies, if that is the meaning of the name," said the squire, laughing. "The sort of fellow that one always knows where to have is the kind of fellow I like above all others. But come, doctor," he added, addressing himself to the clergyman, "I think it is your turn next after the old lady."
"Very well," replied the doctor. "I am quite willing to do my share towards entertaining the good company. What story would you like, young people?"
"About the times when you were young, please," said Herbert. "I love to hear such stories."
"Then I will relate to you some adventures of my young days, from which you may, perhaps, learn a useful lesson," replied the clergyman. "I will call my story:"
"My mother died when I was about ten years old, and about two years afterwards my father took for his second wife a lady who had always lived in our neighborhood, and who had been a great friend of my own dear mother's. I do not think upon reflection that I ever had the least cause of complaint against this lady, to whom I finally became much attached; but at the time I so bitterly resented her appearance in the family that I refused to give her the title of mother, kept myself and my little sister out of her way as much as possible, and, when Ella finally went over to the enemy, as I chose to say, almost refused to speak to the child. In short, I made myself as contrary as it is possible for a spoiled child of twelve years old to do."
"My new mother did her best to overcome my prejudices by kindness and gentleness, but I was proof against all her endearments; and my father, finding that I did not incline to behave myself properly at home, determined to send me to school, hoping that a few months of boarding-school life would teach me to appreciate the comforts of home. I believe my step-mother was rather doubtful of the wisdom of this step, though she finally gave way to my father's judgment; but I chose to attribute it all to her influence. However, to school I went, where a couple of months of Latin and Greek, brown sugar to my coffee, and salt butter to my bread, disgusted me to that degree that I made up my mind to run away."
"I determined, however, that I would not go home. I had brooded over my fancied wrongs till I had persuaded myself that a more abused and persecuted child did not exist and I was confirmed in this idea by certain possibly well-meaning but certainly very injudicious people among my own mother's relatives, who chose to bestow a vast deal of pity upon me because I was so unfortunate as to have a step-mother."
"The second Mrs. Stanton was not very young, though she was very handsome. She read a great deal, did little visiting, and bought expensive books instead of expensive dresses. She stood convicted of knowing a good deal of Greek and Latin, besides several modern languages, and was more than suspected of learning Hebrew. What was to be expected of such a parson except that she should disdain family cares, neglect her husband, and ill-treat his motherless boy? They did not wait to see whether she really did so: nor did I."
"I took it for granted that I was an abused orphan, and that nothing remained for me but to take my destiny into my own hands and provide for myself. I had cherished some such notions before I left home; and the salt butter, to which I had a great dislike, and the Greek verb, which I found still more distasteful, confirmed me in my determination. I had a cousin in Buffalo with whom I had some acquaintance, and to him I thought I would work my way somehow or other, tell him my doleful story, and beg him to take my part and find me some employment at which I could support myself. As soon as this was accomplished, and not before, I determined to write to my father, relieve his anxiety on my account, and inform him of my unalterable determination never to return home so long as Miss Rowe—so I determined beforehand to call her—remained mistress of his house. This letter, which I resolved to make a model of respectful but indignant eloquence, I rehearsed many times beforehand, picturing to myself the confusion and remorse of my father and his wife when they should read it. But it never was read or even written, for reasons which will appear hereafter."
"Well, the Greek verb is hard!" remarked Frank, emphatically.
"So I thought," continued the clergyman; "but before I reached my journey's end, I found a good many things that were harder. I had not decided upon my plan of operations, when our village was enlivened by the appearance of a travelling menagerie—a much more rare and stirring event in those days than at present—which all the boys were allowed to visit. Some tight-rope dancing and other displays of strength and agility were connected with the show, and of course the boys were all impatient for the spectacle."
"I was returning home from the post-office, the night before the exhibition, and stopped to spell over the large bills with which the fences were decorated. There was a boy of my own age connected with the company, and the thought flashed across me, 'Why should I not join myself to them, and thus work my way westward to Buffalo?'"
"The more I thought of my plan, the more feasible it appeared. I was very small of my age, but strong, light, and active, and trained to gymnastics, and I imagined that I should have little difficulty in learning any of the feats which they performed. When we went to the show next day, I made some excuse for lagging behind my companions, saying that I was not sure I should go to the caravan. I had a headache, and thought I should perhaps go in swimming instead. There was no danger of the boys waiting for me, since no one ever heard of any boy's being willingly late at any kind of show; so I remained behind, and, when I entered, I mingled with the crowd, which was very great, and kept apart from my companions all the afternoon. My object in this was to prevent my being known as a schoolboy. I lingered behind near the tent when the exhibition was closed, and presently fell into conversation with one of the men, asking him many questions about the nature of his employment, the wages he earned, &c."
"'What makes you so curious?' he asked, at length. 'You don't want a place yourself, do you?'"
"'Suppose I did, could I get one?' I asked."
"'Why, yes, I shouldn't wonder if you might!' was the reply. 'The captain wants a boy, and perhaps you might do as well as another, if you are not too old. How old are you?'"
"'Ten years old,' I replied, blushing a little, for I was not much used to lying."
"'I would rather have you eight than ten,' said my new acquaintance. 'However, you are small of your age, and you look as if you could be spry enough.'"
"'Try me!' said I, confidently."
"Mr. Bangs proceeded to put me through my paces, as he was pleased to call it, and expressed himself satisfied with my activity. He then asked me how I came to be in want of such employment, and I replied by the tale I had invented beforehand, saying that my father was dead, and I had nobody to depend upon but a step-mother, who treated me cruelly, and that I had made up my mind to work my own way in the world. Mr. Bangs pitied me, applauded my resolution, and finally took me to the captain, as he called him, to whom I repeated my story. The end of the matter was that the captain engaged me to work for my board and clothes at first, though I was to have a salary in money as soon as I was skilful enough to appear in public."
"I did not go home to supper, but took my meal at a little tavern on the edge of the village, where none of the schoolboys were allowed to go upon any pretense, and which was now thronged with country people who had come in to see the show. About nine o'clock I stepped into my boarding-house and went to bed, greatly elated by my success, at the same time that my conscience tormented me grievously for the lies I had told and the disobedience I was meditating."
"I was to join my new friends the next morning as early as four o'clock, at which time they took their departure from the village. It happened at that time that a part of the school-building was undergoing repairs, so that a number of the boys, myself included, boarded in the village. I lodged at the house of a woman who had a large family of children and a sick husband, so that her time was pretty well occupied. We generally went up to the school for our meals, unless the weather was stormy, in which case we were excused and took them at our lodgings. My landlady's table, though plain enough, was more to my taste than that at the school, and I remained with her as often as I could."
"The clouds which had been gathering all day began to pour before I reached home. At four o'clock in the morning I was stirring. I gathered together such little matters as I meant to take with me, and, leaving everything in good order, and my bed made, that no suspicion might be excited, I slipped quietly out at the front door. It was raining hard, but that was all the better for my purpose, and by six o'clock I was some miles from the village, riding by the side of my friend Mr. Bangs on the driver's box of the lion's cage, not without some secret fears lest the lion might break through his bars and devour me as a judgment for my disobedience."
"I was missed at breakfast-time, but my hostess, who had not seen me since dinner the day before, supposed I had gone up to the school and staid with some of my mates, while the school authorities supposed me to be at my lodgings. It was Saturday, and a holiday, so that my absence from the schoolhouse excited no suspicion. When I made my appearance neither at dinner nor tea, nor yet at bed-time, Mrs. Leo was a little surprised, but she still imagined that I was with some of my school-mates, and, having abundance of business on her hands, she did not trouble herself about the matter. In fine, it was not till Monday that I was really missed, and by that time I was fifty miles away."
"At first it was naturally supposed that I had gone home, and Mr. Burton, the schoolmaster, wrote to my father on the subject. There were no telegraphs in those days, and the mail communication was far from rapid, so that it was a week and more before he received an answer. When it was found that I had not been home at all, the alarm became serious. The whole vicinity of the town was searched and advertisements put into all the papers."
"At last a handkerchief and knife of mine were found upon the river-bank not far from the village, where the boys were accustomed to bathe. The handkerchief was one which I often wore around my neck, and several of the boys were quite sure I had it on the last time they saw me. It was remembered that I had expressed my intention to go in swimming instead of going to the show, where none of my mates remembered to have seen me. The conclusion arrived at was that I had stolen away by myself to bathe, and, as none of my other clothes were found, it was supposed that they had been carried off by some of the vagabond Indians who hung about the place in summer."
"The river was searched for my body, and of course without success; but then there were many deep holes and some quicksands. Suspicion fell upon the Indians, who played at that time the same part in American nursery legends that the gypsies do in England, but nothing was found to justify the imputation. Somehow the notion that I could have gone away with the Indians never entered into anybody's head, perhaps because I had taken no clothes with me but those I actually had on."
"All this I heard long afterwards. Meantime I was learning my new profession, if such it may be called, and hard work it was. For two or three hours of every day, and longer if there was time, I was exercised with turning somersaults, standing on one foot and raising the other to the level of my ears, and many other like performances, comforted, when I complained, by the assurance that they were nothing to what I should have to do by-and-by. You smile, young gentlemen, at the idea of my occupying, myself in such exercises, but you must remember that I was neither so old nor so stout as I am now. I believe I made tolerable progress in my education, but I found it dreadfully fatiguing. All my muscles seemed strained."
"I got many bad falls, and at night my bones ached so that often I could not go to sleep till it was nearly time to set out in the morning. Then I must jump up, water and clean my animals, and be ready for a fresh start. My master was in general tolerably kind to me, and would often give me a shilling or two when I acquitted myself to his satisfaction; but he was a terrible reprobate, and, if I were awkward or careless, he would swear at me till it made my blood run cold to hear him. In this respect he was neither better nor worse than his men, who all seemed to take a pride in venting the most blasphemous expressions upon every occasion."
"Little Tom Green was as bad as the rest, and it was frightful to hear such words from a child of eight years old. The captain drank pretty hard, and none of the men refused his glass when offered. Nevertheless, they all treated me kindly enough, especially when they found me disposed to be obliging, and Mr. Bangs in particular was my friend and protector on all occasions."
"I was dreadfully afraid of the lions and tigers at first, and used to dream of them at night; but I soon got over my terrors, and grew to be upon quite intimate terms with some of them, especially a lion and lioness, into whose cage Mr. Bangs used to enter at our public exhibitions. They were great, fat, good-natured beasts, and, having been brought up in captivity and always well fed, they were as tame as any household cats. Bob, the lion, was very fond of fresh bread and cake. After I discovered this taste of his, I used to save him a slice from my supper every night, so that we soon became good friends."
"Bob would let me do anything with him; and, seeing one day how fond the creatures were of me, Mr. Bangs proposed that I should enter the cage with him. This part of the performance really belonged to Tom Green, but he was a very imp of mischief, and had tormented all the animals till they hated the sight of him. Even good-natured old Polly had one day put her claws into his jacket, as he passed within reach, with such a good will that she had stripped it from his back. Notwithstanding my regard for Bob and Polly, it was a fearful moment for me when I found myself, rouged and whitened in a fine fancy dress, ready to enter the cage with Mr. Bangs. I knew that my companion was as strong as a giant, and that he had pistols and a knife in his bosom, but I could hardly control my terror as the grate shut behind me; and right glad was I to find myself once more on the outside of the den, with my head still safe on my shoulders. My mates praised my boldness, and the captain gave me five dollars; and after two or three times I went through the performance as coolly as Mr. Bangs himself."
"I suppose there must always be some danger in such feats?" observed the squire.
"Of course, but I think not as much as is generally imagined. The animal knows and loves his master, who punishes him when he misbehaves and rewards him when he does well. He is well fed and has never learned his own strength. Still, there is undoubtedly danger, and every now and then one of the performers pays for his boldness with his life. Attached as the animals often are to their keepers, they are not to be trusted. Some little incident, when it is least expected, arouses all the latent ferocity of their natures, and then the man falls a victim."
"It is fearful to see a man put his life in jeopardy even in a good cause, where he may be entitled to ask the protection of God without presumption and with confidence that it will be granted—and surely it should be much more so when the danger is undergone merely for the sake of gaining money and affording amusement to thoughtless people."
"It was about three months after my escape from school that, one evening after our entertainment was concluded, I walked into the barroom of the little village tavern, where our captain was already seated, looking over a file of newspapers. A great screen covered with advertising bills stood before the door, and I stopped behind it to tie my shoe. As I entered, the landlord was questioning the captain as to the places he passed through. He asked, in an indifferent tone:"
"Did you happen to hear whether they ever found the boy who was lost out of the school there?'"
"'I never heard anything about the matter,' replied the captain. 'What was it?'"
"'Why, a little boy was missed out of the school last spring. Some thought he had run away, some that he was drowned, and others that he had been carried on by Indians. He was advertised both by his father and the schoolmaster, and a great reward offered for any news of him. The bill is posted up somewhere round the room now.'"
"Not a word of this dialogue was lost upon me, as I stood behind the screen; and, as the captain rose to search for the advertisement, slipped out and fled. I had had some idea, of going home before now when the captain was hard upon me or I was tired of practising my tasks; but to be restored like a stray dog for a reward—the idea was too humiliating. I determined to run away once more, and lost no time in putting my project into execution. The men were all at their suppers or in the stable with their horses: I slipped down to the tent, hoping to find Mr. Bangs, to whom I was in the habit of confiding my little savings for safe-keeping; but he was not there, and I dared not risk inquiring for him at the tavern. There was no one in the tent but old Black, whose watch it was, and he was fast asleep and snoring between the legs of the elephant, to which he trusted to awaken him if any stranger entered. Old Sultan know me too well to disturb himself at my approach, so I contented myself with giving old Bob and Polly a parting caress and bidding them farewell."