"You have got a bad cold, Oscar," said Mrs. Preston one evening towards the close of winter, as Oscar came in from his play, and was seized with a coughing spell. "And no wonder," she added, on glancing at his feet; "why, do you see how wet the bottoms of your pantaloons are? I should like to know where you have been, to get so wet—it is strange that you will not keep out of the water."
"I should like to know how anybody could help getting wet feet this weather, with the slosh up to your knees," said Oscar.
"I could walk about the streets all day without going over my shoes," replied his mother, "and so could you, if you tried to. I believe you go through all the mud-puddles you can find, just to see how wet you can get. But it won't do for you to sit down in this condition. Take off your wet boots, and run up stairs and put on a pair of dry pantaloons and some dry stockings, and then you may sit down to the fire and warm yourself."
"I don't want to change my pantaloons and stockings," said Oscar; "I 'll take off my boots and dry myself—that will do just as well."
"No it won't," replied his mother; "you had better change your clothes, for you've got a real bad cold now, and I don't want you to get any more. Come, do you hear me? Run up to your chamber and put on some dry clothes."
Oscar paid no attention to the command, but after removing his wet boots, sat down before the range to dry his feet and legs. Such instances of disobedience were too common in the family to attract any special notice, and Mrs. Preston said nothing more about the matter.
Oscar, that afternoon, had been down to the shores of Charles River, near Cambridge Bridge, with Alfred Walton and several other boys. They had been amusing themselves upon the ice that had formed along the edge of the river, and which was now breaking up. They loosened some of the large cakes, and set them floating off upon the current towards the ocean. It was in this way that Oscar got his feet so wet.
The next afternoon, when school was dismissed, Oscar, forgetting his wet feet and his cold, went again to the same place, with several of his cronies. Tiger also accompanied the party, for his master seldom went anywhere without him, except to school. The boys amused themselves, as on the previous day, with shoving off large blocks of ice into the stream, and with running rapidly over floating pieces that were not large enough to bear them up. Sometimes they narrowly escaped a ducking, so venturesome were they; and all of them got their feet pretty thoroughly soaked.
It happened, after awhile, that a cake of ice upon which the boys were all standing, got disengaged from the shore, unperceived by them, and commenced floating into the river. They were all at work upon another ice-block, trying to push it off, and did not notice that they were going off themselves, until they were several feet from the shore. The distance was too great to leap, and the water was so deep that none of them dared to jump off from their precarious footing.
"Well, this is a pretty joke," said one of the boys, with some appearance of alarm. "I should like to know how we are going to get out of this scrape?"
"Get out of it?—who wants to get out of it?" replied Oscar. "I don't, for one—we shall have a first-rate sail down into the harbor; shan't we, Alf?"
"The tide will take us right under the bridge, and I 'm going to climb up one of the piers," said Alfred, who appeared to be thinking more of a way of escape than of the pleasures of the trip.
"Pooh, I shan't get off there," said Oscar. "I 'm in for a sail, and if the rest of you back out, I shan't. You 'll go too, won't you, Tom?"
Before Tom could answer, they all began to notice that their ice-cake gave signs that the burden upon it was greater than it could safely bear. The swift current began to whirl it about in a rather uncomfortable manner, and it was gradually settling under water. They all began to be very much alarmed—all but Tiger, who did not quite comprehend the situation of affairs, and who looked up into the boys' faces with an expression of curiosity, as though he wanted to say:
"I wonder what mischief these little rogues are up to now?"
Several people who were crossing the bridge now noticed the perilous situation of the boys, and stopped to look at them. As soon as Alfred noticed them, he cried out slowly, at the top of his voice:
"Halloo, there! send us a boat, will you? we 're sinking!"
Afloat on the Ice.[Illustration: Afloat on the Ice.]
Afloat on the Ice.[Illustration: Afloat on the Ice.]
There was some doubt whether the people on the bridge understood the cry, and the other boys repeated it as loud as they could, in the meantime also trying to manifest their want by signs and gestures. Some of the spectators upon the bridge, who were now quite numerous, shouted back in reply; but the boys, being to their windward, could not understand what they said. Their frail support was now moving rapidly along, and whirling about in the eddies more alarmingly than ever. It had sunk so low that they were all standing in the water, and they expected it would shortly break to pieces and precipitate them all into the river. There were four of them upon the cake, besides the dog. The two youngest boys began to cry with fright; but Oscar and Alfred, though they were as much alarmed as the others, did not manifest it in this way, but were looking anxiously towards the bridge and the shore for relief.
The boys were not long kept in this dreadful state of suspense; for pretty soon they discovered a boat putting out towards them from the end of the bridge. There were two men in it, each of whom was plying an oar. They called out to the boys not to be frightened, and in a few minutes they were alongside the fugitive ice-cake, whose living freight was safely transferred to the boat. The boatmen then pulled for the wharf from which they came, and the rescued party had the pleasure of standing once more upon firm ground. They were so overjoyed at their escape that they forgot to thank the men who had taken so much trouble to rescue them. They were not ungrateful however; though it would have been better if their words as well as their looks had expressed the sentiment they felt. As soon as they reached the wharf, the men advised them to run home and dry themselves, which they proceeded to do.
When Oscar reached home, he was so hoarse, from hallooing, that he could not speak aloud. When his mother heard of his exposure, and saw how wet he was, she was much concerned for him. She wished him to change his damp clothing, but he did not think it necessary, and instead of complying with her desire, he sat down to the fire and dried himself. He had but little appetite for supper; and a headache coming on in the evening, he retired to bed early. Before dong so, however, he took a dose of medicine which his mother had prepared, to "throw off" his cold.
After a feverish and restless night—in which, in his troubled dreams, Oscar had floated to sea upon a small piece of ice, and, after a long agony, foundered alone in fathomless waters—he awoke in the morning feeling very strangely. Every few moments a cold chill ran through his body, that made him shiver until the bed trembled beneath him. His head ached badly, and there was also a pain in his back. He tried to raise himself up, but his arms had lost their strength, and he was barely able to support himself a moment upon his elbow. By-and-bye his brothers, who slept in the same room in another bed, got up, and Oscar informed them that he was too weak to get off the bed. They soon called in their father and mother, who, after looking at the sick boy, concluded to send for a physician.
After breakfast, Ralph was despatched for the doctor, who soon arrived, and was conducted into Oscar's chamber. Seating himself upon the bedside, he took the sick boy's wrist into his hand, and began to talk with him very pleasantly, asking him various questions about his feelings, the manner in which he took cold, &c. Having ascertained all the facts and symptoms of the case, he told the family he thought Oscar was suffering from an attack of lung fever, and he then gave directions as to the manner in which the disease should be treated. He also wrote a recipe for some medicine, to be procured at the apothecary's. The terms used in it were Latin, and very much abbreviated, besides, so that they were unintelligible to Mrs. Preston; for this is a custom among physicians, that has come down from ancient times. Seeing Mrs. Preston was in some doubt about the prescription, he explained to her what the articles were that composed it, and the effect they would have upon the patient.
After the doctor had gone, it was decided to remove Oscar into another chamber, in a lower story, where he would be more comfortable, and where, also, it would be more convenient to wait upon him. Wrapping him up warmly in the bed-clothes, his father took him in his arms, and carried him to the room he was to occupy for the present.
In spite of his medicine, Oscar continued to grow worse, through the day. He longed for night to come, that he might go to sleep; but when it came, it did not bring with it the refreshing slumber of health. Short naps and troubled dreams alternated with long, weary hours of wakefulness; and the sun, at its next rising, found him sicker than before. The pains in his head and chest were more severe; his skin was hot and dry; his cheeks were flushed with fever; he breathed with difficulty, and his cough had become quite distressing. He felt cross and fretful, too, and nothing that was done for him seemed to give him satisfaction. He was unwilling that any one should attend upon him, except his mother, and refused to receive his food or medicine from any hand but hers. If she happened to be absent from his room more than a few moments, when he was awake, he would insist upon her being called back.
But though Oscar would not allow his mother to leave him, she did not suit him much better than the other members of the family. It was with considerable difficulty that she could coax him to take the medicines the doctor had ordered. Then she was obliged to deny him all forms of nourishment, except a little gum-arabic water,—an arrangement at which he complained a good deal.
Oscar's fever continued to run for more than a week, the violence of the disease increasing from day to day. Then a favorable change took place, and the doctor told him the fever had turned, and he was getting better. For a day or two before this, however, he was very ill; so ill, indeed, that he submitted to whatever the doctor ordered, without a word of complaint. He felt that there was danger, and he dare not stand in the way of the means used for his recovery. To this, perhaps, he owed the favorable turn the disease had taken; for had he refused to take his medicines, as he did at the commencement of his sickness, or even had he only engaged in a fruitless but exhausting contest with his mother, the scale might have turned the other way, and the fever ended in death.
Getting better! That was the best news Oscar had heard for many a day. He almost wanted to kiss the lips that spoke those encouraging words. He always liked Dr. Liscom, but never so well as at that moment. It was good news to all the household, too, and flew quickly from one to another. In fact, the children grew so jubilant over it, that their mother had to remind them that Oscar was yet too sick to bear any noise in the house.
"O dear," said George, "I 've got tired of keeping so still. How long will it be before we can make a real good noise, mother?"
"And how long before I can sing, and practice my music-lessons, mother?" inquired Ella.
"And how long before Oscar can go out and play?" inquired Ralph, more thoughtful for his sick brother than for himself.
"I can't tell," replied their mother; "you must all keep still a few days longer, for Oscar is very weak now, and the noise disturbs him. The doctor thinks it will take several weeks for him to get fully well, but he will soon be able to sit up, I hope."
The next morning, Oscar felt decidedly better, and so he continued to improve day by day. But his old impatience soon began to return. He grumbled every time the hour returned to take his drops, and he fairly rebelled against the food that was prepared for him—a little weak gruel, when his appetite was clamoring for a hearty meal of beef and potatoes! During his sickness, many little delicacies had been sent in to him by friends and neighbors, and from most of these too he was still debarred by the inexorable doctor. He teased his mother to let him have things the doctor had forbidden, and was offended with her when she refused. He thus made a great deal of unnecessary trouble and suffering for his mother, who had served him so devotedly through this sickness that her own health was giving way.
A day or two after his fever turned, Oscar wished to sit up in a chair, and begged very hard to be allowed to get up from the bed.
"Why, Oscar," said his mother, "you could not sit up two minutes, if I should put you in a chair. You have no idea how weak you are."
"No, I aint weak," replied Oscar; "I bet you I can walk across the room just as well as you can—you don't know how strong I 've grown within a day or two. Come, mother, do let me get up, will you?"
"You are crazy to talk so, my son," answered Mrs. Preston. "If you should try to stand up, you would faint away as dead as a log. It will be a week before you are strong enough to walk about."
"I believe you mean to keep me sick as long as you can," was Oscar's unfeeling reply. "I am tired almost to death of laying a-bed," he added, and the tears began to gather in his eyes.
His mother felt hurt by these words, but she attributed them to the weakening and irritating influence of disease, and forgave them as quickly as they were uttered. She even yielded to his wishes so far as to offer to let him sit up in bed a little while. He gladly acceded to the proposal, and putting his arms around her neck, she slowly raised him up; but he had no sooner reached an upright position than his head began to "fly round like a top," and he was very glad to be let down again to his pillow. This little experiment satisfied him for the day.
It was a fine April morning when Oscar was first taken up from his sick bed, and placed in an easy chair, well lined with blankets and comforters. This was a memorable event in his life, the first time he sat up after nearly three weeks' confinement to his bed. He was dragged to the front window, from which he could see the people upon the street below. How familiar, and yet how strange, everything and everybody looked to his sick eyes! And then, to have his toast and drink set before him upon a corner of the table, where he could help himself, and eat and drink with some comfort,—was n't that "grand," to use his own expressive term!
Oscar's recovery was now pretty rapid, but his mother had to watch him very sharply, to prevent him from running into excesses, to which his impatience continually prompted him. It was hard to make him realize that there was yet some danger of a relapse, and that prudence would be necessary for several weeks to come.
Oscar had reason to remember the first time he went down stairs, after his fit of sickness. It was in the night-time. He awoke, feeling quite hungry; for he was yet kept on a spare diet, which was far from satisfying the cravings of his appetite. He was alone in his room, and all the rest of the family were asleep. A lamp was burning dimly in the fire-place of his chamber, and the door that led into his mother's room was open, that she might be ready, at the least sound of alarm. After thinking the matter over a few minutes, and satisfying himself that no one in the house was awake, he determined to go down stairs in quest of something to eat.
"What is the use of starving a fellow to death, because he has been sick!" he said to himself. "I might as well die one way as another; and if there 's anything to eat in the house, I'm bound to have it. I 've lived on slops and toasted bread three weeks, and I can't stand it any longer."
He accordingly got up, and taking the lamp, stole very cautiously into the entry, and down stairs, having nothing but his night-clothes upon him. The snapping of the stairs, under his tread, was the only noise that was heard, and this did not awake any of the household. He proceeded at once to the kitchen closet, and commenced helping himself with a free hand to its contents. He began upon a dish of corned beef and vegetables, from which he partook quite liberally. He then hastily swallowed a piece of mince-pie, and a slice or two of cake, when, the night air beginning to feel chilly, he hurried back to bed. This last operation was by no means so easy as he had imagined it would be. His knees were very weak and "shaky," and it seemed as though they could not support him, when he undertook to go up stairs. He was alarmed, and would have given up the attempt, and called for help, but for the dread of being caught in such a flagrant act of disobedience. So he persisted in his efforts, and finally reached his chamber, quite exhausted.
After a heavy and troubled sleep, Oscar awoke in the morning, feeling quite wretchedly. As soon as his mother entered the room, her quick eye detected the unfavorable change; but he did not seem inclined to complain much of his feelings, and appeared averse to conversing about them. She ascertained, however, after awhile, that Oscar was more feverish than he had been, that he had a severe pain in his chest, and that his cough was worse. Many were the surmises thrown out, by his father and mother, as to the probable cause of this change in his symptoms; but as for himself, he seemed entirely at a loss to account for the mystery, and left them to form their own conjectures.
The doctor, who now visited Oscar only two or three times a week, was sent for after breakfast. When he arrived, he questioned Mrs. Preston very closely as to the manner in which the patient had been treated, and he also addressed many inquiries to Oscar; but he learned nothing from either that could account for the renewed attack of fever. He sat a few moments, in a thoughtful mood, seemingly at a loss what to say, when Oscar, who had complained much of nausea for the last half hour, began to show symptoms of vomiting. A basin was brought, and the contents of his stomach were quickly discharged into it.
The mystery was now explained. Mrs. Preston looked on in silent astonishment, while the doctor could hardly repress his anger at this exhibition of the contents of his patient's stomach. There were great pieces of unmasticated meat and potato, mixed up with a porridge of half-dissolved pie and cake, the whole forming a medley of hearty and indigestible substances, that would have taxed the strong stomach of a healthy man.
"Well," said the doctor, turning to Mrs. Preston, when Oscar got through, "what does all this mean?"
"I know not; you must ask him," replied Mrs. Preston.
The same question, put to Oscar, brought from him a reluctant confession of the last night's folly. When he had concluded, the doctor arose, and taking his hand, said:
"I will bid you good-bye. It's of no use for me to attend upon you any longer, if you abuse my confidence in this way. If you want to kill yourself I won't stand in your way. Good morning."
Before Oscar recovered from his astonishment, the doctor had reached the entry. Addressing his mother who was following him, he said:
"Call him back, mother—tell him I won't do so again—call him back."
The doctor heard the message, and returned.
"I will consent to prescribe for you only on one condition," he said; "and that is, that you will agree to do precisely as I tell you to. You must take the medicines I order, and eat only what I tell you to, or I will have nothing more to do with you. Do you agree to that?"
"Yes, sir," replied Oscar.
The doctor resumed his seat, and felt the patient's pulse. He had not yet got entirely over his irritation, and, turning to Mrs. Preston, he remarked:
"If the patient was a little stronger, my first prescription would be a smart external application of birch or ratan; but, as it is, we shall have to omit that for the present. You need not think you will escape punishment, however," he continued, turning to Oscar. "This scrape of yours will put you back more than one week and if you are not careful you may never get your health again. You may trifle with the doctor, but you can't trifle with the lung fever."
The doctor then gave directions as to Oscar's diet and medicine, and departed, but not until he had again warned him against leaving the room without his mother's consent, or eating any articles forbidden by her.
Oscar found no opportunity after this to evade the commands of the doctor, had he been so disposed, for some one was always with him by day and night. Still, his recovery seemed to have been checked very much by his relapse, and the doctor's skill was taxed pretty severely to bring the fever to a favorable termination. As it was, his attempt was not fully successful; for the fever, in spite of all he could do, left behind it a cough, and a weakness of the lungs, which gave Oscar's parents no little alarm at times.
For a fortnight after his midnight supper, Oscar allowed his mother and the doctor to do just as they pleased with him. He yielded to their wishes, and their orders were law to him. At the end of that time the doctor discontinued his regular visits. Oscar was now able to go out-doors a little in very pleasant weather; but his cough rendered prudence still very necessary. His confinement, however, was daily growing more irksome, and sometimes he disregarded the positive commands of his parents by going out when the weather was unsuitable.
One morning, a menagerie, or collection of wild beasts, was to enter the city in grand procession. There were to be several elephants and camels on foot, besides hundreds of other animals (invisible) in carriages. There was also to be a mammoth gilt chariot, filled with musicians, and drawn by ever so many horses. The procession was to pass very near the street where Oscar lived, and he intended to go and see it; but when the morning came, there was a cold, drizzling rain, with an uncomfortable east wind, and his mother told him he must not think of going out. He did think of it, however, and not only thought of it, but went. While his mother was up stairs, he quietly slipped out, and went to the corner the procession was expected to pass. There he waited about an hour, until he became thoroughly wet and chilled, and then returned home, without seeing the sight; for the showmen had shortened their intended route on account of the storm. He entered the house, vexed by his disappointment and the uncomfortable plight he was in; and when his mother mildly reproved him for his conduct, and entreated him to be more careful of himself, he only replied that he did not wish to live, if he must be shut up in the house all the time. This act of imprudence and disobedience made him a close prisoner in the house for several days, besides causing him no little suffering.
Oscar employed much of his leisure time in reading, during his confinement in-doors. His acquaintances lent him many interesting books, with which he beguiled the weary hours. One day, happening to think of a volume belonging to his classmate, Benjamin Wright, which he thought he should like to read, he sent word by Ralph that he wished to borrow it. The next morning Benjamin brought it to school, and Ralph took it home to Oscar. On removing the paper in which it was wrapped up, a letter dropped out, which Oscar found was directed to himself. He opened it, and a smile lit up his countenance as he glanced over the sheet, which was filled up with drawings and writing of an amusing character. Benjamin was quite famous among the boys for the skill and facility with which he made sketches, and in this letter he had given a curious specimen of his artistic talent. The following is a copy of this production:
DEAR OSCAR:
I am sorry to hear you 're in weakness and pain,And I send you a book to beguile your tired brain;I send also some puzzles, to stir up your wit,And tempt you to laugh, when you really don't feel like it one bit!
A Queer Name.[Illustration: A Queer Name.]
A Queer Name.[Illustration: A Queer Name.]
What a queer name!
What do we all do when we first get into bed?Why is swearing like an old coat?What is that which is lengthened by being cut at both ends?
My first, if you do, you won't hit;My second, if you do, you will have it;My whole, if you do, you won't guess it.
The Double Face.[Illustration: The Double Face.]
The Double Face.[Illustration: The Double Face.]
Turn me over, pray.
A word there is, five syllables contains;Take one away, no syllable remains.
What is that which is lower with a head than without one?Who was the first whistler?What tune did he whistle?How do you swallow a door?What is that which lives in winter, dies in summer, andgrows with its root upwards?If you were to tumble out of the window, what would you fall against?
The Cat-Erect.[Illustration: The Cat-Erect.]
The Cat-Erect.[Illustration: The Cat-Erect.]
Why is this like the Falls of Niagara?If my puzzles are simple, and my pictures a fright,Then just laugh at me, and it will allB. WRIGHT.
This letter was the prime source of attraction to all the children, the rest of the day; and its reception formed an era in Oscar's sick-day experience, not easily to be forgotten. All the family, from Mr. Preston down to little George, set themselves to work to guess out the riddles; but in some of them, they found more than their match. To Oscar, however, the letter was something more than a collection of drawings and puzzles. It was a token of interest and sympathy from a boy towards whom he had never manifested a very friendly spirit. Benjamin's high standing in the school, both for scholarship and behavior, had awakened in Oscar a secret feeling of jealousy or resentment towards him. He was a poor boy, too, and this by no means increased Oscar's respect for him. But now, Oscar began to feel ashamed of all this; and as instances of his unkind treatment of his generous classmate came up in remembrance, he wished he had the power to blot them from existence. He determined thenceforth to "stand up" for Benjamin, and began to plan some way of making a return for his manifestation of good feeling.
Ella wanted to carry Benjamin's letter to school, to show to the girls, but Oscar would not allow it to go out of his hands. She then begged the privilege of copying it, to which he consented. She did the best she could, no doubt, but her drawings probably did not quite do justice to the subjects; for Oscar declared that her copy was more comical than the original. She lent it to some of her schoolmates, one of whom was roguish enough to show it to Benjamin himself! He laughed heartily at the caricature; but thinking it was getting him rather more notoriety than he wished, he put it in his pocket, and that was the end of it.
In consequence of his many acts of imprudence, Oscar got along very slowly in his recovery. Yet he was daily growing more impatient of his long confinement, and the utmost vigilance of his parents was necessary to restrain him from doing himself harm. During stormy weather, which was not rare at that season of the year, he was not allowed to go out, and the time passed heavily with him. One rainy afternoon, as he was sitting listlessly at a front window, watching for some object of interest to pass, a coach stopped at the door, and his heart beat high at the thought of his dulness being dispelled by the arrival of "company." The driver opened the coach door, and out jumped a stout, brown-faced man, whom Oscar at once recognized as his uncle, John Preston, from Maine.
The arrival of Uncle John was soon heralded through the house, and a warm greeting extended to him. He usually visited the city thrice a year on business, and on such occasions made his brother's house his stopping-place. He lived in the town of Brookdale, where he had a family; but he was engaged in the lumber business, and generally spent the winter months in the forests of Maine, with large gangs of loggers, who were employed to cut down trees, and convey them to the banks of the streams, where they were floated down to the mills in the spring freshets. These forests are far from any settlement, and the lumber-men live in log-huts, in a very independent and care-for-nobody sort of way. Oscar had often heard his uncle describe their manner of life, and, to him, there was something quite fascinating about it. He thought he should like the logging business very much—all but theworkingpart of it; he was afraid that would spoil the whole, for his Uncle John always represented it as being pretty hard work.
Oscar had four cousins in Brookdale, the children of his Uncle John, none of whom he had ever seen. He had many questions to ask about them, in the course of which he expressed a wish that he might visit them. His uncle replied that he should like to take him home with him, and, as he was sick, he thought the journey might do him good. He afterwards talked with Oscar's parents about the matter, and they finally concluded to let him go, hoping that a few weeks in the country would improve his health.
NOTE.—The following are the solutions of the puzzles, &c., in Benjamin's letter, contained in this chapter. The first puzzle is the name of Oscar Preston, enigmatically expressed. 2. Make an impression. 3. It is a bad habit. 4. A ditch. 5. Mistake. 6. Monosyllable. 7. A pillow. 8. The wind. 9. "Over the hills and far away." 10. Bolt it. 11. An icicle. 12. Against your inclination. 13. It is a cataract (cat erect).
Oscar's valise was well packed for his journey, and many were the injunctions given him by his mother, in regard to his conduct during his absence from home. The morning for his departure soon came, and, in company with his uncle, he proceeded to the depôt, and took the cars for Portland. It was a mild spring morning, near the close of May. Oscar secured a seat by a window, from which he could see the country they passed through; while his uncle, to whom the journey was no novelty, seated himself by his side, and was soon absorbed in his morning newspaper.
The keen relish with which Oscar set out upon his long ride gradually wore off, and he began to feel weary long before the train reached its destination. It was just noon when they arrived at Portland; and as it was too late to reach Brookdale that day, Oscar's uncle concluded to stop there until the next morning. They proceeded to a hotel, where they booked their names, and were shown to a chamber. After dinner, Mr. Preston took Oscar to walk, and showed him some of the most notable places about town. But the latter felt too tired to walk about a great deal, and spent most of the afternoon in the hotel, while his uncle was off attending to some business.
After supper, Mr. Preston again went out to make some calls. He invited Oscar to go with him, but he preferred to remain in the hotel. He lounged awhile in the bar-room, as it was called (though there was no bar in it), listening to the conversation of the men who had gathered there. At length, beginning to grow sleepy, he retired to his chamber, taking with him a queer little lamp the landlord gave him, which appeared to hold only about a thimblefull of oil. Oscar thought it was a stingy contrivance, and had some notion of sitting up to see how long it would burn; but his eyelids grew heavy, and he gave up the idea. Throwing off his clothing, he extinguished his diminutive lamp, and took possession of one of the beds in the room, of which there were two. As he composed himself to sleep, a slight sense of lonesomeness stole over him, when he remembered that he was alone in a strange house and a strange city, more than a hundred miles from his home; and almost unconsciously he found himself reverently repeating the little prayer he had been taught by his mother in infancy, but which of late years, in his sad waywardness, he had outgrown and almost forgotten:
"Now I lay me down to sleep,I pray the lord my soul to keep;If I should die before I wake,I pray the lord my soul to take."
He had occasionally repeated to himself this simple but appropriate evening petition during his late illness; but, strange to tell, for several years previous to that time, the thought of asking anything of the great Giver of all good had scarcely ever entered his mind.
Oscar was soon fast asleep, and the next thing he was conscious of was the striking of a strange church-clock, that awoke him in the morning. His uncle was dressing himself, and the sun was shining in at the window. For a moment, he was puzzled to determine where he was; but his recollection returned when his uncle remarked:
"Come, Oscar, it is time to get up,—we have got to be at the depôt in an hour."
Oscar jumped out of bed, and was dressed and ready for the breakfast table before the bell rang. After the morning meal was despatched,—for it was literally a work of despatch, judging from the celerity with which the heaping plates of hot biscuits and beef-steak disappeared from the long table,—Mr. Preston settled with the landlord, and proceeded with Oscar to the railroad depôt.
"How much further have we got to go?" inquired Oscar, after they had taken their seat in the car.
"About one hundred and twenty miles," replied his uncle; "and thirty-five of it will be in a stage-coach—that is the worst of the whole journey."
"I shall like that part of it first-rate, I guess," said Oscar. "If they have good horses, I know I shall."
"You will find out how you like it, before night," added Mr. Preston, with a smile.
The cars were soon on their way, and Oscar's eyes and attention were fully engaged in taking note of the scenery from the windows. The appearance of the country did not differ much from that through which he passed the day previous; and long before he reached the end of his eighty-miles' ride, his attention began to flag, and his eyes to grow weary. It was about eleven o'clock, when they arrived at the depôt at which they were to leave the train. Here they had an opportunity to rest an hour, and to take dinner, before resuming their journey.
After dinner, the stage-coach made its appearance, and the passengers began to stow themselves away within it, Oscar mounted the outside, and took a seat with the driver, with whom he was soon on intimate terms. All things being ready, the horses started, at the familiar "Get up!" and they were on their way toward Brookdale.
The horses did not prove quite so smart as Oscar hoped they would, and the coach was a heavy and hard-riding concern, compared with those he was accustomed to ride upon at home. But the road was good, though hilly, and the scenery, much of the way, was very pleasant. The driver, too, was quite talkative, and Oscar being the only outside passenger, enjoyed the full benefit of his communicativeness. Occasionally they passed through a village, with its rows of neat white houses, its tall church steeple, its bustling store, and its groups of children playing in the streets. Now and then they stopped a few moments, to leave a passenger, a package, or a mail-bag; for the strong leathern bags, with brass padlocks, which the driver had carefully packed away under his box, contained the United States' mails for the towns along his route.
As they advanced on their way, the villages became less frequent, the farm houses were more scattering, and the country grew more wild. Sometimes the road extended for miles through thickly-wooded forests. Occasionally they would come in sight of a river, and, perhaps, would hear the clatter and whizzing of a saw-mill, or get a glimpse of a raft of logs floating lazily down the stream. It was about six o'clock when the stage stopped at the post-office of a small settlement, and the driver told Oscar he was going to leave him there. His seat had grown tiresome, during the last few hours, and he was by no means sorry to leave it.
"Well, Jerry, here I am again," said Mr. Preston, addressing a boy who stood by. "How are all the folks at home?"
"They are well," replied the boy addressed.
"This way Oscar," said Mr. Preston, pointing to a horse and wagon on the opposite side of the street. "Oscar, this is your cousin Jerry," he continued, and the boys shook hands with each other, in acknowledgment of the introduction.
Oscar now learned that they were yet five miles from Brookdale, and that as the stage did not pass any nearer to his uncle's, Jerry had come over with a horse to take his father home. There being but one seat to the wagon, Mr. Preston and Oscar took possession of it, while Jerry seated himself on the floor behind them. While on the way to Brookdale, Oscar addressed several remarks to his cousin; but the latter seemed shy, and they did not get acquainted with each other very fast. They passed but very few houses, and Oscar looked in vain for any signs of a village. At length, when he thought they could not be far from their journey's end, he inquired:
"Where is the village, uncle John? Shan't we see any of it, going to your house?"
"This is the village," replied Mr. Preston.
"This a village!" exclaimed Oscar; "why, I don't see any houses."
"This is all the village there is," replied his uncle; "there are hardly any two houses in sight of each other in the town."
They were now approaching an old, two-story farmhouse, in the doorway of which a woman and several children were standing, looking towards them. This proved to be the end of their journey. Having driven the wagon into the large barn which stood nearly opposite the house, Mr. Preston left Jerry to put up the horse, and proceeded at once to the house with his nephew. Mrs. Preston had seen Oscar in Boston, and came out to meet him. She welcomed him very cordially, and inquired after all the other members of the family. She then introduced him to his three other cousins, Emily, Harriet, and Mary, all of whom were younger than Jerry, and quite as shy and silent as he, at the presence of a stranger.
Supper was now ready, and all the family, including James, the hired man, seated themselves at the table. Mr. Preston, during the meal, talked freely of what he had seen and done since he left home; but the children maintained their gravity and silence, though Oscar tried hard to break the ice of restraint with Jerry, who sat by his side. A strange face was an unusual thing among them, and they could not get over it in a moment.
After supper, Mrs. Preston and her oldest daughter cleared off the table and washed the dishes; James and Jerry went out to the barn; Mr. Preston sat down to a table to examine some papers he had in his pocket-book; while Harriet and Mary remained, to keep Oscar company. The latter now began to make advances towards his youngest cousin, who was the prettiest and most interesting of the children. A little coaxing brought her to his side.
"Do you know what my name is, Sissy?" he inquired.
"Yes; it's Oscar," she replied.
"Oscar what?" he inquired.
"Cousin Oscar," she answered, after a little hesitation.
"Yes, but that is n't all of it," replied Oscar; "don't you know the other part of it—Cousin Oscar——what?"
Mary looked thoughtful a moment, and then replied, in a confident tone, "Boston."
Oscar could not help laughing at this amusing mistake, and Mary, feeling hurt at the liberty he took, began to move away; but he held her by the hand, saying:
"No, don't go yet, Sissy—you got my name almost right, after all. Cousin Oscar Preston, from Boston,—that was what you meant to say, was n't it?"
"Yes," replied Mary.
"Now tell me what your name is?" continued Oscar.
"Mary Preston," she replied.
"And how old are you?"
"I 'm going to be six next winter," she answered, with animation.
"Very well,—you 're a smart little girl," replied Oscar.
"How old be you?" inquired Mary, now turning the table upon her questioner.
"I 'm fourteen," said Oscar.
"You 're a smart little boy," added Mary, with a roguish twinkle in her eye, and she darted out of the room with a merry laugh.
After that, there was no more shyness between Mary and Oscar. With the older children, however, Oscar did not get acquainted quite so easily, particularly with the girls. He made but little progress with any of them that evening, until he retired with Jerry, with whom he was to sleep during his visit. After they had got into bed, Jerry's tongue was loosed, and before they went to sleep his reserve had almost entirely vanished.
The next morning the air was extremely raw and chilly, and there were strong indications of rain. Oscar's uncle and aunt advised him so earnestly not to expose himself to the cold and damp wind, that he did not extend his rambles any further than to the barn that day. But if he did not go far, he made many new acquaintances. Having made sure of Jerry and Mary, he left his other two cousins to "surrender at discretion," and turned his attention in another direction. His first performance was to introduce himself to Billy, the horse, who was eating the breakfast James had just given him. After rubbing and talking to him awhile, he paid his respects to a pair of oxen and three or four cows, which he helped James and Jerry to drive into the pasture near the barn. He next visited the hogs, and then the hens. This completed the list of life stock on the farm. He then had a frolic with Jerry in the hay-loft, in the midst of which he suddenly stopped and inquired:
"Is n't it almost time for you to go to school, Jerry?"
"No," his cousin replied, with a laugh, "it wants just six months of it."
"Six months!" exclaimed Oscar; "what do you mean? Don't you go to school?"
"Yes, I go when there is any school; but it does n't commence till next December," replied Jerry.
"That's a queer idea," said Oscar; "I should like to know how long your school keeps, after it begins."
"It keeps three months," replied Jerry.
"I should like that first-rate—I wish I lived here," said Oscar; "I have to go to school all the time. But why does n't your school keep more than three months?"
"I don't know," replied Jerry; "I guess it's because folks are too stingy to pay for it. They 've been talking of having a summer school, but I don't believe it will amount to anything."
"I should hope it would n't if I lived here," said Oscar. "What capital times you must have!—no school to bother you, and no lessons to get. But I suppose you have to work some—don't you?"
"No, not much," said Jerry; "I help a little in planting and haying time, and have a few chores to do about the house,—that's all."
"Do you have many boys to play with?" inquired Oscar.
"There are boys enough," replied his cousin, "but they are scattered all over town,—that's the worst of it. There is only one fellow of my age that lives near here, and he's half a mile off."
"If you call that near, I should like to know what you call distant," said Oscar. "I 'm afraid I should be lonesome if I lived here."
"Halloo, it rains!" said Jerry, as the big drops began to sound upon the roof over their heads.
"Then I 'm going in," added Oscar, and they both started for the house.
It proved to be a rainy day, and Oscar was obliged to find his amusement in-doors through its remaining hours. With his four cousins to help him, this was not a very difficult matter. When he retired at night, he felt quite at home in his new quarters.
The sun rose clearly the next morning, and everything looked the more beautiful for the rain. To Oscar, the fields not only seemed greener, but the hills looked higher, and the trees more majestic, than they did the day before.
"Why," he exclaimed, as he stood before the chamber window, "there is a pond away off there, is n't there? I did n't know that before."
"Yes, that's a pond," replied Jerry, "and we 've got a small river, too, but you can't see it from here. We 'll go over to the pond, some warm day, and go into water; it's a real good place to bathe."
"Perhaps we 'll go to-day," said Oscar; "it looks as though it were going to be real warm."
Mrs. Preston now called to the boys that breakfast was ready, and they hurriedly finished dressing themselves, and descended to the kitchen. Having washed his face at the sink, Oscar stepped to the door, and used his pocket-comb; but Jerry was in too great a hurry to go through this last operation, and he was about taking his seat at the table, with his hair standing up in every direction, when his father inquired:
"Jerry, what have you been doing to your head?"
"Nothing," replied Jerry, with a look of surprise.
"Well, I think you had better do something to it, before you come here," said his father. "Oscar will think you were brought up among the wild Arabs, if you come to the table with such a mop of hair as that about your head. Don't you see how nicely he has smoothed his hair?"
"He's got a comb of his own. I wish you would buy me one, father," said Jerry.
"Don't stand there talking—go and comb your hair," said Mr. Preston, somewhat sharply.
To tell the truth, Jerry did need a lesson in neatness; and in this respect, Oscar was a very good model for him to imitate. Having reduced his snarly locks to something like order and smoothness, Jerry took his seat at the table, much improved in appearance.
"You 'll have a chance to go about some to-day, Oscar," said Mr. Preston; "it's about twenty-five degrees warmer than it was yesterday."
"Father," said Jerry, "I and Oscar—"
"I and Oscar—where did you learn your manners?" interrupted his mother.
Jerry was for a moment in doubt whether to be offended or not at this second unexpected lesson in good-breeding; but he finally concluded to make the best of it, and went on with his story:
"Oscar and I, then—were going over to the pond this forenoon, and I guess it will be warm enough for us to go into water. Should n't you think it would?"
"No, indeed," replied Mr. Preston, "you mustn't think of such a thing. It's only the first of June, and you ought not to go into water for two or three weeks yet. Besides, Oscar 's an invalid, and I should n't like to have him go in, even if it was warm enough for you. I would n't walk about much, either, at first," he continued, addressing Oscar. "You 're weak, and must look out, and not overdo yourself. This afternoon, when the horse is at leisure, Jerry shall give you a ride; so you had better not go far this forenoon."
The river of which Jerry spoke is a small stream that has its source in the lake Oscar saw from the chamber window. It flows in a south-westerly direction, crossing the road on which Mr. Preston lived, not far from his house. A small bridge is thrown over the river at this point. After breakfast, Jerry and Oscar walked down to this bridge, and then, leaving the road, followed the river through the fields and woods, to its fountain-head. Here they found a beautiful sheet of water, more than half a mile across, in one direction, with an irregular shore, fringed most of the way with woods. A two-masted sail-boat was riding at anchor, a little off from the shore, which Oscar regarded with wishful eye; but as it did not belong to Mr. Preston, and they could not reach it without going into the water, it was of no use to think of taking a sail. They now walked along the edge of the pond, some distance, and after wandering some time in the woods, they returned home by a circuitous route.
The annexed map of Brookdale will show the location of the pond, river, &c. Jerry lived in the house numbered 2.