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diff --git a/28960-h/28960-h.htm b/28960-h/28960-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e422e74 --- /dev/null +++ b/28960-h/28960-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8558 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Backwoodsmen, by Charles G. D. Roberts. +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + h3 {font-size:1.0em;} + hr.copy {border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width:30px;} + h1,h2,h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + hr.space {height:15px; border:none} + .caption {font-size:smaller;} + hr.tb {border:none; margin-top: 2em;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + h1 {font-size:1.4em;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + h2 {font-size:1.2em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Backwoodsmen, by Charles G. D. Roberts + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Backwoodsmen + +Author: Charles G. D. Roberts + +Release Date: May 24, 2009 [EBook #28960] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BACKWOODSMEN *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h1>THE BACKWOODSMEN</h1> +<hr class='pb' /> + +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.png' /> +</div> + +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:0.5em;'>THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;'>NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO<br />ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:0.5em;'>MACMILLAN & CO., <span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Limited</span></p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;'>LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA<br />MELBOURNE</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:0.5em;'>THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, <span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Ltd.</span></p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;'>TORONTO</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 369px; height: 540px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 369px;'> +“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Red McWha’s big form shot past.</span>” <i>(See page 136)</i><br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:2em;'>THE</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:2.2em;'>BACKWOODSMEN</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:4em;'>BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:1em;font-size:1.2em;'>CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;'>AUTHOR OF “THE KINDRED OF THE WILD,” “THE HOUSE<br /> +IN THE WATER,” “THE HEART OF THE ANCIENT<br /> +WOOD,” ETC.</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:4em;'>ILLUSTRATED</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:4em;'>New York</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</p> +<p class='tp' >1909</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:0.8em;'>All rights reserved</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-variant:small-caps;font-size:0.8em;'>Copyright, 1909,</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-variant:small-caps;font-size:0.8em;'>By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.</p> +<hr class='copy' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1909.</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;font-variant:small-caps;'>Copyright, 1906, 1907, 1908, by THE CENTURY COMPANY,<br /> +EVERYBODY’S MAGAZINE, APPLETON’S MAGAZINE, THE<br /> +YOUTH’S COMPANION, THE LADIES’ WORLD, THE<br /> +DELINEATOR, HAMPTON’S BROADWAY MAGAZINE, T. Y.<br /> +CROWELL & COMPANY.</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:5em;font-size:smaller;'>Norwood Press</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>J. S. Gushing Co.––Berwick & Smith Co.<br />Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td align='left'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Vagrants of the Barren</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_VAGRANTS_OF_THE_BARREN'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>MacPhairrson’s Happy Family</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#MACPHAIRRSONS_HAPPY_FAMILY'>22</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>On Big Lonely</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#ON_BIG_LONELY'>52</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>From Buck to Bear and Back</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#FROM_BUCK_TO_BEAR_AND_BACK'>68</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>In the Deep of the Snow</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IN_THE_DEEP_OF_THE_SNOW'>78</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Gentling of Red McWha</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_GENTLING_OF_RED_MCWHA'>108</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Melindy and the Lynxes</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#MELINDY_AND_THE_LYNXES'>139</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Mrs. Gammit’s Pig</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#MRS_GAMMITS_PIG'>150</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Blackwater Pot</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_BLACKWATER_POT'>170</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Iron Edge of Winter</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_IRON_EDGE_OF_WINTER'>193</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Grip in Deep Hole</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_GRIP_IN_DEEP_HOLE'>199</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Nest of the Mallard</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_NEST_OF_THE_MALLARD'>211</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Mrs. Gammit and the Porcupines</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#MRS_GAMMIT_AND_THE_PORCUPINES'>219</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Battle in the Mist</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_BATTLE_IN_THE_MIST'>250</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Melindy and the Spring Bear</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#MELINDY_AND_THE_SPRING_BEAR'>258</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<col style='width:80%;' /> +<col style='width:20%;' /> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Red McWha’s big form shot past.</span>”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“One of these monstrous shapes neglected to vanish.”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>18</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>‘It’s––Mandy Ann!’</span>”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>66</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Where anything from a baby’s rattle to a bag of fertilizer could be purchased</span>.”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>99</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>He was roused by a sudden shot.</span>”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_5'>185</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>He realized that he was caught by the foot.</span>”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_6'>201</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span> +<a name='THE_VAGRANTS_OF_THE_BARREN' id='THE_VAGRANTS_OF_THE_BARREN'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Vagrants of the Barren</span></h2> +</div> +<p>With thick smoke in his throat and the roar +of flame in his ears, Pete Noël awoke, +shaking as if in the grip of a nightmare. He sat +straight up in his bunk. Instantly he felt his face +scorching. The whole cabin was ablaze. Leaping +from his bunk, and dragging the blankets with him, +he sprang to the door, tore it open, and rushed out +into the snow.</p> +<p>But being a woodsman, and alert in every sense +like the creatures of the wild themselves, his wits +were awake almost before his body was, and his +instincts were even quicker than his wits. The +desolation and the savage cold of the wilderness +had admonished him even in that terrifying moment. +As he leaped out in desperate flight, he had snatched +with him not only the blankets, but his rifle and +cartridge-belt from where they stood by the head +of the bunk, and also his larrigans and great blanket +coat from where they lay by its foot. He had been +sleeping, according to custom, almost fully clothed.</p> +<p>Outside in the snow he stood, blinking through +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +scorched and smarting lids at the destruction of his +shack. For a second or two he stared down at the +things he clutched in his arms, and wondered how +he had come to think of them in time. Then, realizing +with a pang that he needed something more than +clothes and a rifle, he flung them down on the snow +and made a dash for the cabin, in the hope of rescuing +a hunk of bacon or a loaf of his substantial +woodsman’s bread. But before he could reach the +door a licking flame shot out and hurled him back, +half blinded. Grabbing up a double handful of snow, +he buried his face in it to ease the smart. Then he +shook himself, coolly carried the treasures he had +saved back to a safe distance from the flames, and +sat down on the blankets to put on his larrigans.</p> +<p>His feet, clothed only in a single pair of thick +socks, were almost frozen, while the rest of his body +was roasting in the fierce heat of the conflagration. +It wanted about two hours of dawn. There was not +a breath of air stirring, and the flames shot straight +up, murky red and clear yellow intertwisting, with +here and there a sudden leaping tongue of violet +white. Outside the radius of the heat the tall woods +snapped sharply in the intense cold. It was so cold, +indeed, that as the man stood watching the ruin of +his little, lonely home, shielding his face from the +blaze now with one hand then with the other, his +back seemed turning to ice.</p> +<p>The man who lives alone in the great solitude of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +the forest has every chance to become a philosopher. +Pete Noël was a philosopher. Instead of dwelling +upon the misfortunes which had smitten him, he +chose to consider his good luck in having got out of +the shack alive. Putting on his coat, he noted with +satisfaction that its spacious pockets contained +matches, tobacco, his pipe, his heavy clasp-knife, and +his mittens. He was a hundred miles from the +nearest settlement, fifty or sixty from the nearest +lumber-camp. He had no food. The snow was +four feet deep, and soft. And his trusty snowshoes, +which would have made these distances and these +difficulties of small account to him, were helping +feed the blaze. Nevertheless, he thought, things +might have been much worse. What if he had escaped +in his bare feet? This thought reminded him +of how cold his feet were at this moment. Well, the +old shack had been a good one, and sheltered him +well enough. Now that it would shelter him no +longer, it should at least be made to contribute something +more to his comfort. Piling his blankets carefully +under the shelter of a broad stump, he sat down +upon them. Then he filled and lighted his pipe, +leaned back luxuriously, and stretched out his feet to +the blaze. It would be time enough for him to “get +a move on” when the shack was quite burned down. +The shack was home as long as it lasted.</p> +<p>When the first mystic greyness, hard like steel +and transparent like glass, began to reveal strange +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +vistas among the ancient trees, the fire died down. +The shack was a heap of ashes and pulsating, scarlet +embers, with here and there a flickering, half-burned +timber, and the red-hot wreck of the tiny stove sticking +up in the ruins. As soon as the ruins were cool +enough to approach, Pete picked up a green pole, +and began poking earnestly among them. He had all +sorts of vague hopes. He particularly wanted his +axe, a tin kettle, and something to eat. The axe was +nowhere to be found, at least in such a search as +could then be made. The tins, obviously, had all +gone to pieces or melted. But he did, at least, scratch +out a black, charred lump about the size of his +fist, which gave forth an appetizing smell. When +the burnt outside had been carefully scraped off, +it proved to be the remnant of a side of bacon. +Pete fell to his breakfast with about as much ceremony +as might have sufficed a hungry wolf, the +deprivation of a roof-tree having already taken him +back appreciably nearer to the elemental brute. +Having devoured his burnt bacon, and quenched +his thirst by squeezing some half-melted snow into a +cup of birch-bark, he rolled his blankets into a handy +pack, squared his shoulders, and took the trail +for Conroy’s Camp, fifty miles southwestward.</p> +<p>It was now that Pete Noël began to realize the +perils that confronted him. Without his snowshoes, +he found himself almost helpless. Along +the trail the snow was from three to four feet deep, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +and soft. There had been no thaws and no hard +winds to pack it down. After floundering ahead +for four or five hundred yards he would have to +stop and rest, half reclining. In spite of the ferocious +cold, he was soon drenched with sweat. After +a couple of hours of such work, he found himself +consumed with thirst. He had nothing to melt the +snow in; and, needless to say, he knew better than +to ease his need by eating the snow itself. But he +hit upon a plan which filled him with self-gratulation. +Lighting a tiny fire beside the trail, under the shelter +of a huge hemlock, he took off his red cotton neckerchief, +filled it with snow, and held it to the flames. +As the snow began to melt, he squeezed the water +from it in a liberal stream. But, alas! the stream +was of a colour that was not enticing. He realized, +with a little qualm, that it had not occurred to him to +wash that handkerchief since––well, he was unwilling +to say when. For all the insistence of his thirst, +therefore, he continued melting the snow and squeezing +it out, till the resulting stream ran reasonably +clear. Then patiently he drank, and afterward +smoked three pipefuls of his rank, black tobacco as +substitute for the square meal which his stomach +was craving.</p> +<p>All through the biting silent day he floundered +resolutely on, every now and then drawing his belt +a little tighter, and all the while keeping a hungry +watch for game of some kind. What he hoped for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +was rabbit, partridge, or even a fat porcupine; but +he would have made a shift to stomach even the +wiry muscles of a mink, and count himself fortunate. +By sunset he came out on the edge of a vast barren, +glorious in washes of thin gold and desolate purple +under the touch of the fading west. Along to eastward +ran a low ridge, years ago licked by fire, and +now crested with a sparse line of ghostly rampikes, +their lean, naked tops appealing to the inexorable +sky. This was the head of the Big Barren. With +deep disgust, and something like a qualm of apprehension, +Pete Noël reflected that he had made only +fifteen miles in that long day of effort. And he was +ravenously hungry. Well, he was too tired to go +farther that night; and in default of a meal, the +best thing he could do was sleep. First, however, +he unlaced his larrigans, and with the thongs made +shift to set a clumsy snare in a rabbit track a few +paces back among the spruces. Then, close under +the lee of a black wall of fir-trees standing out beyond +the forest skirts, he clawed himself a deep trench +in the snow. In one end of this trench he built a +little fire, of broken deadwood and green birch saplings +laboriously hacked into short lengths with his +clasp-knife. A supply of this firewood, dry and +green mixed, he piled beside the trench within +reach. The bottom of the trench, to within a couple +of feet of the fire, he lined six inches deep with spruce-boughs, +making a dry, elastic bed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span></p> +<p>By the time these preparations were completed, +the sharp-starred winter night had settled down +upon the solitude. In all the vast there was no +sound but the occasional snap, hollow and startling, +of some great tree overstrung by the frost, and the +intimate little whisper and hiss of Pete’s fire down in +the trench. Disposing a good bunch of boughs +under his head, Pete lighted his pipe, rolled himself +in his blankets, and lay down with his feet to the +fire.</p> +<p>There at the bottom of his trench, comforted by +pipe and fire, hidden away from the emptiness of the +enormous, voiceless world outside, Pete Noël looked +up at the icy stars, and at the top of the frowning +black rampart of the fir-trees, touched grimly +with red flashes from his fire. He knew well––none +better than he––the savage and implacable sternness +of the wild. He knew how dreadful the silent +adversary against whom he had been called, all +unprepared, to pit his craft. There was no blinking +the imminence of his peril. Hitherto he had always +managed to work, more or less, <i>with</i> nature, and so +had come to regard the elemental forces as friendly. +Now they had turned upon him altogether and +without warning. His anger rose as he realized +that he was at bay. The indomitable man-spirit +awoke with the anger. Sitting up suddenly, over +the edge of the trench his deep eyes looked out upon +the shadowy spaces of the night with challenge and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +defiance. Against whatever odds, he declared to +himself, he was master. Having made his proclamation +in that look, Pete Noël lay down again and +went to sleep.</p> +<p>After the fashion of winter campers and of woodsmen +generally, he awoke every hour or so to replenish +the fire; but toward morning he sank into the +heavy sleep of fatigue. When he aroused himself +from this, the fire was stone grey, the sky overhead +was whitish, flecked with pink streamers, and rose-pink +lights flushed delicately the green wall of the +fir-trees leaning above him. The edges of the +blankets around his face were rigid and thick with +ice from his breathing. Breaking them away +roughly, he sat up, cursed himself for having let the +fire out, then, with his eyes just above the edge of +the trench, peered forth across the shining waste. +As he did so, he instinctively shrank back into concealment. +An eager light flamed into his eyes, and +he blessed his luck that the fire had gone out. +Along the crest of the ridge, among the rampikes, +silhouetted dark and large against the sunrise, moved +a great herd of caribou, feeding as they went.</p> +<p>Crouching low in his trench, Pete hurriedly did +up his blankets, fixed the pack on his back, then +crawled through the snow into the shelter of the fir-woods. +As soon as he was out of sight, he arose, +recovered the thongs of his larrigans from the futile +snare, and made his way back on the trail as fast as he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +could flounder. That one glance over the edge of +his trench had told his trained eye all he needed to +know about the situation.</p> +<p>The caribou, most restless, capricious, and far-wandering +of all the wilderness kindreds, were drifting +south on one of their apparently aimless migrations. +They were travelling on the ridge, because, +as Pete instantly inferred, the snow there had been +partly blown away, partly packed, by the unbroken +winds. They were far out of gunshot. But he was +going to trail them down even through that deep +snow. By tireless persistence and craft he would +do it, if he had to do it on his hands and knees.</p> +<p>Such wind as there was, a light but bitter air +drawing irregularly down out of the north-west, +blew directly from the man to the herd, which was +too far off, however, to catch the ominous taint and +take alarm. Pete’s first care was to work around +behind the herd till this danger should be quite +eliminated. For a time his hunger was forgotten +in the interest of the hunt; but presently, as he toiled +his slow way through the deep of the forest, it +grew too insistent to be ignored. He paused to +strip bark from such seedlings of balsam fir as he +chanced upon, scraping off and devouring the thin, +sweetish pulp that lies between the bark and the +mature wood. He gathered, also, the spicy tips +of the birch-buds, chewing them up by handfuls +and spitting out the residue of hard husks. And in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +this way he managed at least to soothe down his +appetite from angry protest to a kind of doubtful +expectancy.</p> +<p>At last, after a couple of hours’ hard floundering, +the woods thinned, the ground sloped upward, and +he came out upon the flank of the ridge, a long way +behind the herd, indeed, but well around the wind. +In the trail of the herd the snow was broken up, and +not more than a foot and a half in depth. On +a likely-looking hillock he scraped it away carefully +with his feet, till he reached the ground; and here +he found what he expected––a few crimson berries +of the wintergreen, frozen, but plump and sweet-fleshed. +Half a handful of these served for the +moment to cajole his hunger, and he pressed briskly +but warily along the ridge, availing himself of the +shelter of every rampike in his path. At last, catching +sight of the hindmost stragglers of the herd, still +far out of range, he crouched like a cat, and crossed +over the crest of the ridge for better concealment.</p> +<p>On the eastern slope the ridge carried numerous +thickets of underbrush. From one to another of +these Pete crept swiftly, at a rate which should +bring him, in perhaps an hour, abreast of the +leisurely moving herd. In an hour, then, he crawled +up to the crest again, under cover of a low patch +of juniper scrub. Confidently he peered through +the scrub, his rifle ready. But his face grew black +with bitter disappointment. The capricious beasts +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +had gone. Seized by one of their incomprehensible +vagaries––Pete was certain that he had not alarmed +them––they were now far out on the white level, +labouring heavily southward.</p> +<p>Pete set his jaws resolutely. Hunger and cold, +each the mightier from their alliance, were now +assailing him savagely. His first impulse was to +throw off all concealment and rush straight down +the broad-trodden trail. But on second thought he +decided that he would lose more than he would gain +by such tactics. Hampered though they were by +the deep, soft snow, he knew that, once frightened, +they could travel through it much faster than they +were now moving, and very much faster than he +could hope to follow. Assuredly, patience was +his game. Slipping furtively from rampike to +rampike, now creeping, now worming his way like +a snake, he made good time down to the very +edge of the level. Then, concealment no more +possible, and the rear of the herd still beyond gunshot, +he emerged boldly from the covert of a clump +of saplings and started in pursuit. At the sight +of him, every antlered head went up in the air for +one moment of wondering alarm; then, through a +rolling white cloud the herd fled onward at a speed +which Pete, with all his knowledge of their powers, +had not imagined possible in such a state of the +snow. Sullen, but not discouraged, he plodded after +them. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span></p> +<p>Noël was now fairly obsessed with the one idea +of overtaking the herd. Every other thought, sense, +or faculty was dully occupied with his hunger and +his effort to keep from thinking of it. Hour after +hour he plodded on, following the wide, chaotic +trail across the white silence of the barren. There +was nothing to lift his eyes for, so he kept them +automatically occupied in saving his strength +by picking the easiest steps through the ploughed +snow. He did not notice at all that the sun no longer +sparkled over the waste. He did not notice that +the sky had turned from hard blue to ghostly +pallor. He did not notice that the wind, now +blowing in his teeth, had greatly increased in force. +Suddenly, however, he was aroused by a swirl of +fine snow driven so fiercely that it crossed his face +like a lash. Lifting his eyes from the trail, he saw +that the plain all about him was blotted from +sight by a streaming rout of snow-clouds. The wind +was already whining its strange derisive menace in +his face. The blizzard had him.</p> +<p>As the full fury of the storm swooped upon him, +enwrapping him, and clutching at his breath, for an +instant Pete Noël quailed. This was a new adversary, +with whom he had not braced his nerves to +grapple. But it was for an instant only. Then his +weary spirit lifted itself, and he looked grimly into +the eye of the storm. The cold, the storm, the +hunger, he would face them all down, and win out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +yet. Lowering his head, and pulling a flap of his +blanket coat across his mouth to make breathing +easier, he plunged straight forward with what +seemed like a new lease of vigour.</p> +<p>Had the woods been near, or had he taken note +of the weather in time, Pete would have made for +the shelter of the forest at once. But he knew +that, when last he looked, the track of the herd had +been straight down the middle of the ever-widening +barren. By now he must be a good two miles from +the nearest cover; and he knew well enough that, +in the bewilderment of the storm, which blunted +even such woodcraft as his, and blurred not only +his vision, but every other sense as well, he could +never find his way. His only hope was to keep to +the trail of the caribou. The beasts would either lie +down or circle to the woods. In such a storm as +this, as he knew well enough, no animal but man +himself could hunt, or follow up the trail. There was +no one but man who could confront such a storm +undaunted. The caribou would forget both their +cunning and the knowledge that they were being +hunted. He would come upon them, or they +would lead him to shelter. With an obstinate +pride in his superiority to the other creatures of the +wilderness, he scowled defiantly at the storm, and +because he was overwrought with hunger and +fatigue, he muttered to himself as he went, cursing +the elements that assailed him so relentlessly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span></p> +<p>For hours he floundered on doggedly, keeping +the trail by feeling rather than by sight, so thick were +the cutting swirls of snow. As the drift heaped +denser and denser about his legs, the terrible +effort, so long sustained, began to tell on him, till his +progress became only a snail’s pace. Little by little, +in the obstinate effort to conserve strength and +vitality, his faculties all withdrew into themselves, +and concentrated themselves upon the one purpose––to +keep going onward. He began to feel the lure +of just giving up. He began to think of the warmth +and rest he could get, the release from the mad +chaos of the wind, by the simple expedient of burrowing +deep into the deep snow. He knew well +enough that simple trick of the partridge, when frost +and storm grow too ferocious for it. But his wiser +spirit would not let him delude himself. Had he +had a full stomach, and food in his pockets, he might, +perhaps, safely have emulated this cunning trick +of the partridge. But now, starving, weary, his +vitality at the last ebb, he knew that if he should +yield to the lure of the snow, he would be seen no +more till the spring sun should reveal him, a thing +of horror to the returning vireos and blackbirds, on +the open, greening face of the barren. No, he +would not burrow to escape the wind. He laughed +aloud as he thought upon the madness of it; and +went butting and plunging on into the storm, indomitable. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span></p> +<p>Suddenly, however, he stopped short, with a great +sinking at his heart. He felt cautiously this way +and that, first with his feet, fumbling through the +deep snow, and then with his hands. At last he +turned his back abruptly to the wind, cowered down +with his head between his arms to shut out the devilish +whistling and whining, and tried to think how +or when it had happened. He had lost the trail of +the herd!</p> +<p>All his faculties stung to keen wakefulness by +this appalling knowledge, he understood how it +happened, but not where. The drifts had filled the +trail, till it was utterly blotted off the face of the +plain; then he had kept straight on, guided by the +pressure of the wind. But the caribou, meanwhile, +had swerved, and moved off in another direction. +Which direction? He had to acknowledge to himself +that he had no clue to judge by, so whimsical +were these antlered vagrants of the barren. Well, +he thought doggedly, let them go! He would get +along without them. Staggering to his feet, he +faced the gale again, and thought hard, striving to +remember what the direction of the wind had been +when last he observed it, and at the same time to +recall the lay of the heavy-timbered forest that skirted +this barren on two sides.</p> +<p>At length he made up his mind where the nearest +point of woods must be. He saw it in his mind’s +eye, a great promontory of black firs jutting out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +into the waste. He turned, calculating warily, +till the wind came whipping full upon his left cheek. +Sure that he was now facing his one possible refuge, +he again struggled forward. And as he went, he +pictured to himself the whole caribou herd, now +half foundered in the drift, labouring toward the same +retreat. Once more, crushing back hunger and +faintness, he summoned up his spirit, and vowed +that if the beasts could fight their way to cover, he +could. Then his woodcraft should force the forest +to render him something in the way of food that would +suffice to keep life in his veins.</p> +<p>For perhaps half an hour this defiant and unvanquishable +spirit kept Pete Noël going. But +as the brief northern day began to wane, and a +shadow to darken behind the thick, white gloom of +the storm, his forces, his tough, corded muscles +and his tempered nerves, again began to falter. +He caught himself stumbling, and seeking excuse +for delay in getting up. In spite of every effort of +his will, he saw visions––thick, protecting woods +close at one side or the other, or a snug log camp, +half buried in the drifts, but with warm light flooding +from its windows. Indignantly he would shake +himself back into sanity, and the delectable visions +would vanish. But while they lasted they were confusing, +and presently when he aroused himself from +one that was of particularly heart-breaking vividness, +he found that he had let his rifle drop! It was gone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +hopelessly. The shock steadied him for some minutes. +Well, he had his knife. After all, that was the more +important of the two. He ploughed onward, once +more keenly awake, and grappling with his fate.</p> +<p>The shadows thickened rapidly; and at last, +bending with the insane riot of the storm, began to +make strange, monstrous shapes. Unravelling these +illusions, and exorcising them, kept Pete Noël +occupied. But suddenly one of these monstrous +shapes neglected to vanish. He was just about to +throw himself upon it, in half delirious antagonism, +when it lurched upward with a snort, and struggled +away from him. In an instant Pete was alive in +every faculty, stung with an ecstasy of hope. Leaping, +floundering, squirming, he followed, open knife +in hand. Again and yet again the foundered beast, a +big caribou bull, buried halfway up the flank, eluded +him. Then, as his savage scramble at last overtook +it, the bull managed to turn half about, and +thrust him violently in the left shoulder with an antler-point. +Unheeding the hurt, Noël clutched the antler +with his left hand, and forced it inexorably back. +The next moment his knife was drawn with practised +skill across the beast’s throat.</p> +<p>Like most of our eastern woodsmen, Pete Noël +was even finicky about his food, and took all his +meat cooked to a brown. He loathed underdone +flesh. Now, however, he was an elemental creature, +battling with the elements for his life. And he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +knew, moreover, that of all possible restoratives, +the best was at his hand. He drove his blade again, +this time to the bull’s heart. As the wild life sighed +itself out, and vanished, Pete crouched down like +an animal, and drank the warm, red fluid streaming +from the victim’s throat. As he did so, the ebbed +tide of warmth, power, and mastery flooded back +into his own veins. He drank his fill; then, burrowing +half beneath the massive body, he lay down close +against it to rest and consider.</p> +<p>Assured now of food to sustain him on the journey, +assured of his own ability to master all other obstacles +that might seek to withstand him, Pete +Noël made up his mind to sleep, wrapping himself +in his blankets under the shelter of the dead bull. +Then the old hunter’s instinct began to stir. All +about him, in every momentary lull of the wind, +were snortings and heavy breathings. He had +wandered into the midst of the exhausted herd. +Here was a chance to recoup himself, in some small +part, for the loss of his cabin and supplies. He could +kill a few of the helpless animals, hide them in the +snow, and take the bearings of the spot as soon as the +weather cleared. By and by he could get a team +from the nearest settlement, and haul out the frozen +meat for private sale when the game warden chanced +to have his eyes shut.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +<img src='images/illus-018.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 370px; height: 513px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 370px;'> +<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“One of these monstrous shapes neglected to vanish.”</span><br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span></div> +<p>Getting out his knife again, he crept stealthily +toward the nearest heavy breathing. Before he +could detect the beast in that tumultuous gloom, he +was upon it. His outstretched left hand fell upon +a wildly heaving flank. The frightened animal +arose with a gasping snort, and tried to escape; +but utterly exhausted, it sank down again almost +immediately, resigned to this unknown doom which +stole upon it out of the tempest and the dark. +Pete’s hand was on it again the moment it was +still. He felt it quiver and shrink beneath his touch. +Instinctively he began to stroke and rub the stiff +hair as he slipped his treacherous hand forward +along the heaving flank. The heavings grew quieter, +the frightened snortings ceased. The exhausted +animal seemed to feel a reassurance in that strong, +quiet touch.</p> +<p>When Pete’s hand had reached the unresisting +beast’s neck, he began to feel a qualm of misgiving. +His knife was in the other hand, ready for use there +in the howling dark; but somehow he could not at +once bring himself to use it. It would be a betrayal. +Yet he had suffered a grievous loss, and here, given +into his grasp by fate, was the compensation. He +hesitated, arguing with himself impatiently. But +even as he did so, he kept stroking that firm, warm, +living neck; and through the contact there in the +savage darkness, a sympathy passed between the +man and the beast. He could not help it. The +poor beasts and he were in the same predicament, +together holding the battlements of life against the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +blind and brutal madness of storm. Moreover, the +herd had saved him. The debt was on his side. +The caress which had been so traitorous grew honest +and kind. With a shamefaced grin Pete shut his +knife, and slipped it back into his pocket.</p> +<p>With both hands, now, he stroked the tranquil +caribou, rubbing it behind the ears and at the base +of the antlers, which seemed to give it satisfaction. +Once when his hand strayed down the long muzzle, +the animal gave a terrified start and snort at the +dreaded man smell so violently invading its nostrils. +But Pete kept on soothingly and firmly; and again +the beast grew calm. At length Pete decided that his +best place for the night, or until the storm should +lift, would be by the warmth of this imprisoned and +peaceable animal. Digging down into the snow +beyond the clutches of the wind, he rolled himself +in his blankets, crouched close against the caribou’s +flank, and went confidently to sleep.</p> +<p>Aware of living companionship, Noël slept soundly +through the clamour of the storm. At last a movement +against his side disturbed him. He woke to +feel that his strange bedfellow had struggled up and +withdrawn. The storm was over. The sky above +his upturned face was sharp with stars. All about +him was laboured movement, with heavy shuffling, +coughing, and snorting. Forgetful of their customary +noiselessness, the caribou were breaking gladly +from their imprisonment. Presently Pete was alone. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +The cold was still and of snapping intensity; but +he, deep in his hollow, and wrapped in his blankets, +was warm. Still drowsy, he muffled his face and +went to sleep again for another hour.</p> +<p>When he roused himself a second time he was +wide awake and refreshed. It was just past the +edge of dawn. The cold gripped like a vice. Faint +mystic hues seemed frozen for ever into the ineffable +crystal of the air. Pete stood up, and looked eastward +along the tumbled trail of the herd. Not half a +mile away stood the forest, black and vast, the trail +leading straight into it. Then, a little farther down +toward the right he saw something that made his +heart leap exultantly. Rising straight up, a lavender +and silver lily against the pallid saffron of the +east, soared a slender smoke. That smoke, his trained +eyes told him, came from a camp chimney; and he +realized that the lumbermen had moved up to him +from the far-off head of the Ottanoonsis.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +<a name='MACPHAIRRSONS_HAPPY_FAMILY' id='MACPHAIRRSONS_HAPPY_FAMILY'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>MacPhairrson’s Happy Family</span></h2> +</div> +<p style='text-align:center; margin:1em auto 1.5em auto;'>I</p> +<p>It was over a little footbridge one had to pass to +visit MacPhairrson and his family, a little, +lofty, curiously constructed footbridge, spanning a +narrow but very furious torrent. At the middle of +the bridge was a gate––or, rather, a door––of close +and strong wire mesh; and at this point, door and +bridge together were encircled by a <i>chevaux-de-frise</i> +of woodwork with sharp, radiating points of heavy +telegraph wire. With the gate shut, nothing less +than a pair of wings in good working order could +carry one over to the steep little island in mid-torrent +which was MacPhairrson’s home and +citadel.</p> +<p>Carried caressingly in the hollow of his left arm, the +Boy held a brown burlap bag, which wriggled violently +at times and had to be soothed into quiescence. +When the Boy arrived at the door in the bridge, +which he found locked, he was met by two strange +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +hosts who peered at him wisely through the meshes +of the door. One of these was a large black and tan +dog, with the long body, wavy hair, drooping silken +ears, and richly feathered tail of a Gordon setter, +most grotesquely supported, at a height of not more +than eight inches from the ground, by the little +bow-legs of a dachshund. This freakish and sinister-looking +animal gazed at the visitor with eyes of +sagacious welcome, tongue hanging amiably half out, +and tail gently waving. He approved of this particular +Boy, though boys in general he regarded as +nuisances to be tolerated rather than encouraged. +The other host, standing close beside the dog as if on +guard, and scrutinizing the visitor with little, pale, +shrewdly non-committal eyes, was a half-grown black +and white pig.</p> +<p>Through the gate the Boy murmured familiar +greetings to its warders while he pulled a wooden +handle which set an old brown cow-bell above the +door jangling hoarsely. The summer air was full +to brimming over with sound––with the roar of the +furious little torrent beneath, with the thunder of +the sheet of cream and amber water falling over the +face of the dam some fifty yards above, with the +hiss and shriek of the saws in the big sawmill perched +beside the dam. Yet through all the interwoven +tissue of noise the note of the cow-bell made itself +heard in the cabin. From behind the cabin arose a +sonorous cry of <i>hong-ka, honk-a-honk</i>, and the snaky +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +black head of a big Canada goose appeared inquiringly +around the corner. On one end of the +hewn log which served as doorstep a preternaturally +large and fat woodchuck sat bolt upright and stared +to see who was coming. A red fox, which had been +curled up asleep under MacPhairrson’s one rose +bush, awoke, and superciliously withdrew to the +other side of the island, out of sight, disapproving +of all visitors on principle. From the shade of a +thick spruce bush near the bridge-end a moose calf +lumbered lazily to her feet, and stood staring, her +head low down and her big ears waving in sleepy +interrogation. From within the cabin came a +series of harsh screeches mixed with discordant +laughter and cries of “Ebenezer! Ebenezer! Oh, +by Gee! Hullo!” Then the cabin door swung +wide, and in the doorway appeared MacPhairrson, +leaning on his crutches, a green parrot on his +shoulder, and beside his crippled feet two big white +cats.</p> +<p>MacPhairrson, the parrot, and the cats, all together +stared hard at the door on the bridge, striving +to make out through the meshes who the visitor +might be. The parrot, scrutinizing fiercely with her +sinister black and orange eyes, was the first to discover. +She proclaimed at once her discovery and +her approval by screeching, “Boy! Boy! Oh, by +Gee! Hullo!” and clambering head-first down the +front of MacPhairrson’s coat. As MacPhairrson +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +hobbled hastily forward to admit the welcome guest, +the parrot, reaching out with beak and claw, transferred +herself to the moving crutch, whence she made +a futile snap at one of the white cats. Foiled in +this amiable attempt, she climbed hurriedly up the +crutch again and resumed MacPhairrson’s shoulder, +in time to greet the Boy’s entrance with a cordial +“Oh, by Gee! Hullo!”</p> +<p>MacPhairrson (he spelled his name scrupulously +MacPherson, but, like all the other dwellers in the +Settlement, pronounced it MacPhairrson, with a +punctilious rolling of the r) was an old lumberman. +Rheumatism, brought on by years of toiling thigh-deep +in the icy waters when the logs were running in +the freshets, had gripped him so relentlessly that one +of his legs was twisted to almost utter uselessness. +With his crutches, however, he could get about after +his fashion; and being handy with his fingers and +versatile of wit, he managed to make a living well +enough at the little odd jobs of mechanical repairing +which the Settlement folk, and the mill hands in +particular, brought to his cabin. His cabin, which +was practically a citadel, stood on a steep cone of +rock, upthrust from the bed of the wild little river +which worked the mill. On the summit of a rock +a few square rods of soil gave room for the cabin, half +a dozen bushes, and some sandy, sun-warmed turf. +In this retreat, within fifty yards of the busy mill, +but fenced about by the foaming torrent and quite +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +inaccessible except by the footbridge, MacPhairrson +lived with the motley group of companions which +men called his Happy Family.</p> +<p>Happy, no doubt, they were, in spite of the strait +confines of their prison, for MacPhairrson ruled +them by the joint forces of authority and love. He +had, moreover, the mystic understanding which is +essential if one would be really intimate with the +kindreds we carelessly call dumb. So it was that he +achieved a fair degree of concord in his Family. +All the creatures were amiable towards him, because +they loved him; and because they wholesomely +feared him, they were amiable in the main towards +each other. There were certain members of the +Family who might be described as perennial. They +were of the nature of established institutions. Such +were Stumpy, the freak-legged dachshund-setter; +James Edward, the wild gander; Butters, the +woodchuck; Melindy and Jim, the two white cats; +Bones, the brown owl, who sat all day on the edge of +a box in the darkest corner of the cabin; and +Ananias-and-Sapphira, the green parrot, so named, +as MacPhairrson was wont to explain, because she +was so human and he never could quite make her +out. Ebenezer, the pig, was still too young to be +promoted to permanence; but he had already +shown such character, intelligence, and self-respecting +individuality that MacPhairrson had vowed he +should never deteriorate into pork. Ebenezer should +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +stay, even though he should grow so big as to be +inconvenient.</p> +<p>But with Susan, the moose calf, and Carrots, the +unsociable young fox, it was different. MacPhairrson +realized that when Susan should come to her full +heritage of stature, he would hardly have room for +her on the island. He would then send to the Game +Commissioner at Fredericton for a permit, and +sell the good soul to the agent for some Zoölogical +Garden, where she would be appreciated and cared +for. As for Carrots, his conduct was irreproachable, +absolutely without blot or blemish, but MacPhairrson +knew that he was quite unregenerate at heart. +The astute little beast understood well enough the +fundamental law of the Family, “Live and let +live,” and he knew that if he should break that law, +doom would descend upon him in an eye-wink. But +into his narrowed, inscrutable eyes, as he lay with +muzzle on dainty, outstretched black paws and +watched the movements of James Edward, the +gander, or Butters, the fat woodchuck, a savage +glint would come, which MacPhairrson unerringly +interpreted. Moreover, while his demeanour was +impeccable, his reserve was impenetrable, and +even the tolerant and kindly MacPhairrson could +find nothing in him to love. The decree, therefore, +had gone forth; that is, it had been announced by +MacPhairrson himself, and apparently approved +by the ever attentive Stumpy and Ebenezer, that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +Carrots should be sold into exile at the very first opportunity.</p> +<p>When the Boy came through the little bridge +gate, the greetings between him and MacPhairrson +were brief and quiet. They were fellows both in the +taciturn brotherhood of the woods. To Stumpy and +Ebenezer, who nosed affectionately at his legs, he +paid no attention beyond a careless touch of caress. +Even to Ananias-and-Sapphira, who had hurriedly +clambered from MacPhairrson’s shoulder to his +and begun softly nipping at his ear with her dreaded +beak, he gave no heed whatever. He knew that the +evil-tempered bird loved him as she loved his master +and would be scrupulously careful not to pinch too +hard.</p> +<p>As the little procession moved gravely and silently +up from the bridge to the cabin, their silence was in +no way conspicuous, for the whole air throbbed with +the rising and falling shriek of the saws, the trampling +of the falls, and the obscurely rhythmic rush of +the torrent around the island base. They were +presently joined by Susan, shambling on her ungainly +legs, wagging her big ears, and stretching out +her long, ugly, flexible, overhanging nose to sniff +inquiringly at the Boy’s jacket. A comparatively +new member of MacPhairrson’s family, she was still +full of curiosity about every one and everything, +and obviously considered it her mission in life +to acquire knowledge. It was her firm conviction +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +that the only way to know a thing was to +smell it.</p> +<p>A few steps from the door James Edward, the +wild gander, came forward with dignity, slightly +bowing his long, graceful black neck and narrow +snaky head as he moved. Had the Boy been a +stranger, he would now have met the first touch of +hostility. Not all MacPhairrson’s manifest favour +would have prevented the uncompromising and +dauntless gander from greeting the visitor with a +savage hiss and uplifted wings of defiance. But +towards the Boy, whom he knew well, his dark, +sagacious eye expressed only tolerance, which from +him was no small condescension.</p> +<p>On the doorstep, as austerely ungracious in his +welcome as James Edward himself, sat Butters, +the woodchuck, nursing some secret grudge against +the world in general, or, possibly, against Ananias-and-Sapphira +in particular, with whom he was on +terms of vigilant neutrality. When the procession +approached, he forsook the doorstep, turned his fat, +brown back upon the visitor, and became engrossed +in gnawing a big cabbage stalk. He was +afraid that if he should seem good-natured and +friendly, he might be called upon to show off some of +the tricks which MacPhairrson, with inexhaustible +patience, had taught him. He was not going to +turn somersaults, or roll over backward, or walk +like a dancing bear, for any Boy alive! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span></p> +<p>This ill humour of Butters, however, attracted no +notice. It was accepted by both MacPhairrson and +his visitor as a thing of course. Moreover, there were +matters of more moment afoot. That lively, squirming +bag which the Boy carried so carefully in the +hollow of his left arm was exciting the old woodsman’s +curiosity. The lumbermen and mill hands, as +well as the farmer-folk of the Settlement for miles +about, were given to bringing MacPhairrson all kinds +of wild creatures as candidates for admission to his +Happy Family. So whenever any one came with +something alive in a bag, MacPhairrson would regard +the bag with that hopeful and eager anticipation +with which a child regards its Christmas stocking.</p> +<p>When the two had entered the cabin and seated +themselves, the Boy in the big barrel chair by the +window, and MacPhairrson on the edge of his bunk, +not three feet away, the rest of the company gathered +in a semicircle of expectation in the middle of the +floor. That is, Stumpy and Ebenezer and the two +white cats did so, their keen noses as well as their +inquisitive eyes having been busied about the bundle. +Even James Edward came a few steps inside the +door, and with a fine assumption of unconcern kept +himself in touch with the proceedings. Only Susan +was really indifferent, lying down outside the door––Susan, +and that big bunch of fluffy brown feathers +on the barrel in the corner of the cabin.</p> +<p>The air fairly thrilled with expectation as the boy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +took the wriggling bag on his knee and started to +open it. The moment there was an opening, out +came a sharp little black nose pushing and twisting +eagerly for freedom. The nose was followed in an +instant by a pair of dark, intelligent, mischievous +eyes. Then a long-tailed young raccoon squirmed +forth, clambered up to the Boy’s shoulder, and +turned to eye the assemblage with bright defiance. +Never before in his young life had he seen such a +remarkable assemblage; which, after all, was not +strange, as there was surely not another like it in the +world.</p> +<p>The new-comer’s reception, on the whole, was not +unfriendly. The two white cats, to be sure, fluffed +their tails a little, drew back from the circle, and +went off to curl up in the sun and sleep off their aversion +to a stranger. James Edward, too, his curiosity +satisfied, haughtily withdrew. But Stumpy, as +acknowledged dean of the Family, wagged his tail, +hung out his pink tongue as far as it would go, and +panted a welcome so obvious that a much less intelligent +animal than the young raccoon could not have +failed to understand it. Ebenezer was less demonstrative, +but his little eyes twinkled with unmistakable +good-will. Ananias-and-Sapphira was extraordinarily +interested. In a tremendous hurry she +scrambled down MacPhairrson’s arm, down his +leg, across the floor, and up the Boy’s trousers. The +Boy was a little anxious. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span></p> +<p>“Will she bite him?” he asked, preparing to defend +his pet.</p> +<p>“I reckon she won’t,” answered MacPhairrson, +observing that the capricious bird’s plumage was not +ruffled, but pressed down so hard and smooth and +close to her body that she looked much less than her +usual size. “Generally she ain’t ugly when she +looks that way. But she’s powerful interested, I tell +you!”</p> +<p>The little raccoon was crouching on the Boy’s +right shoulder. Ananias-and-Sapphira, using beak +and claws, scrambled nimbly to the other shoulder. +Then, reaching far around past the Boy’s face, she +fixed the stranger piercingly with her unwinking +gaze, and emitted an ear-splitting shriek of laughter. +The little coon’s nerves were not prepared for such a +strain. In his panic he fairly tumbled from his perch +to the floor, and straightway fled for refuge to the +broad back of the surprised and flattered pig.</p> +<p>“The little critter’s all right!” declared MacPhairrson, +when he and the Boy were done laughing. +“Ananias-an’-Sapphira won’t hurt him. She likes +all the critters she kin bully an’ skeer. An’ Stumpy +an’ that comical cuss of a Ebenezer, they be goin’ +to look out fer him.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span></p> +<p style='text-align:center; margin:1em auto 1.5em auto;'>II</p> +<p>About a week after this admission of the little +raccoon to his Family, MacPhairrson met with an +accident. Coming down the long, sloping platform +of the mill, the point of one of his crutches caught +in a crack, and he plunged headlong, striking his head +on a link of heavy “snaking” chain. He was +picked up unconscious and carried to the nearest +cabin. For several days his stupor was unbroken, +and the doctor hardly expected him to pull through. +Then he recovered consciousness––but he was no +longer MacPhairrson. His mind was a sort of +amiable blank. He had to be fed and cared for like a +very young child. The doctor decided at last that +there was some pressure of bone on the brain, and +that operations quite beyond his skill would be +required. At his suggestion a purse was made up +among the mill hands and the Settlement folk, and +MacPhairrson, smiling with infantile enjoyment, was +packed off down river on the little tri-weekly steamer +to the hospital in the city.</p> +<p>As soon as it was known around the mill––which +stood amidst its shanties a little apart from the +Settlement––that MacPhairrson was to be laid up +for a long time, the question arose: “What’s to become +of the Family?” It was morning when the +accident happened, and in the afternoon the Boy +had come up to look after the animals. After +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +that, when the mill stopped work at sundown, there +was a council held, amid the suddenly silent saws.</p> +<p>“What’s to be done about the orphants?” was +the way Jimmy Wright put the problem.</p> +<p>Black Angus MacAllister, the Boss––so called to +distinguish him from Red Angus, one of the gang of +log-drivers––had his ideas already pretty well +formed on the subject, and intended that his ideas +should go. He did not really care much about any +one else’s ideas except the Boy’s, which he respected +as second only to those of MacPhairrson where the +wild kindreds were concerned. Black Angus was a +huge, big-handed, black-bearded, bull-voiced man, +whose orders and imprecations made themselves +heard above the most piercing crescendos of the saws. +When his intolerant eyes fixed a man, what he had +to say usually went, no matter what different views +on the subject his hearer might secretly cling to. +But he had a tender, somewhat sentimental streak +in his character, which expressed itself in a fondness +for all animals. The horses and oxen working +around the mill were all well cared for and showed it +in their condition; and the Boss was always ready +to beat a man half to death for some very slight ill-usage +of an animal.</p> +<p>“A man kin take keer o’ himself,” he would say in +explanation, “an’ the dumb critters can’t. It’s our +place to take keer of ’em.”</p> +<p>“Boys,” said he, his great voice not yet toned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +down to the quiet, “I say, let’s divvy up the critters +among us, jest us mill hands an’ the Boy here, an’ +look out fer ’em the best we know how till MacPhairrson +gits well!”</p> +<p>He looked interrogatively at the Boy, and the +Boy, proud of the importance thus attached to him, +answered modestly––</p> +<p>“That’s just what I was hoping you’d suggest, Mr. +MacAllister. You know, of course, they can’t stay +on together there alone. They wouldn’t be a Happy +Family long. They’d get to fighting in no time, +and about half of ’em would get killed quick.”</p> +<p>There was a moment of deliberative silence. No +smoking was allowed in the mill, but the hands all +chewed. Jimmy Wright, marking the bright face of +a freshly sawed deal about eight feet away, spat +unerringly upon its exact centre, then giving a +hitch to his trousers, he remarked––</p> +<p>“Let the Boss an’ the Boy settle it. They onderstand +it the best.”</p> +<p>“That’s right, Jimmy! We’ll fix it!” said Black +Angus. “Now, for mine, I’ve got a fancy for the +parrot an’ the pig. That there Ananias-and-Sapphira, +she’s a bird an’ no mistake. An’ the pig––MacPhairrson +calls him Ebenezer––he’s that smart +ye’d jest kill yerself laffin’ to see him. An’, moreover, +he’s that clean––he’s clean as a lady. I’d +like to have them two around my shanty. An’ I’m +ready to take one more if necessary.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span></p> +<p>“Then I think you’ll have to take the coon too, +Mr. MacAllister,” said the Boy. “He and Ebenezer +just love each other, an’ they wouldn’t be happy +separated.”</p> +<p>“All right. The coon fer me!” responded the +Boss. “Which of the critters will you take yerself?”</p> +<p>“I’ll wait and see which the rest of the boys want,” +replied the Boy. “I like them all, and they all know +me pretty well. I’ll take what’s left.”</p> +<p>“Well, then,” said Jimmy Wright, “me for +Susan. That blame moose calf’s the only one of the +critters that I could ever git along with. She’s a +kind of a fool, an’ seems to like me!” And he decorated +the bright deal once more.</p> +<p>“Me an’ my missus, we’ll be proud to take them +two white cats!” put in grey old Billy Smith. +“She sez, sez she, they be the han’somest cats +in two counties. Mebbe they won’t be so lonesome +with us as they’d be somewheres else, bein’s as our +shanty’s so nigh MacPhairrson’s bridge they kin see +for themselves all the time there ain’t no one on to +the island any more!”</p> +<p>“Stumpy’s not spoken for!” reminded the Boy. +The dog was popular, and half a dozen volunteered +for him at once.</p> +<p>“Mike gits the dawg!” decided the Boss, to head +off arguments.</p> +<p>“Then I’ll take the big gander,” spoke up Baldy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +Pallen, one of the disappointed applicants for +Stumpy. “He knows as much as any dawg ever +lived.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I reckon he kin teach ye a heap, Baldy!” +agreed the Boss. A laugh went round at Baldy’s +expense. Then for a few seconds there were no +more applications.</p> +<p>“No one seems to want poor Butters and Bones!” +laughed the Boy. “They’re neither of them what +you’d call sociable. But Bones has his good points. +He can see in the dark; and he’s a great one for +minding his own business. Butters has a heap of +sense; but he’s too cross to show it, except for MacPhairrson +himself. Guess <i>I’d</i> better take them both, +as I understand their infirmities.”</p> +<p>“An’ ain’t there a young fox?” inquired the +Boss.</p> +<p>“Oh, Carrots; he can just stay on the island,” +answered the Boy. “If some of you’ll throw him a +bite to eat every day, he’ll be all right. He can’t get +into any mischief. And he can’t get away. He +stands on his dignity so, nobody’d get any fun out of +having <i>him!</i>”</p> +<p>These points decided, the council broke up and +adjourned to MacPhairrson’s island, carrying several +pieces of rope, a halter, and a couple of oat-bags. +The members of the Family, vaguely upset over the +long absence of their master, nearly all came down +to the bridge in their curiosity to see who was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +coming––all, indeed, but the fox, who slunk off behind the +cabin; Butters, who retired to his box; and Bones, +who remained scornfully indifferent in his corner. +The rest eyed the crowd uneasily, but were reassured +by seeing the Boy with them. In fact, they +all crowded around him, as close as they could, except +Stumpy, who went about greeting his acquaintances, +and James Edward, who drew back with lifted +wings and a haughty hiss, resolved to suffer no +familiarities.</p> +<p>Jimmy Wright made the first move. He had +cunningly brought some salt in his pocket. With +the casual remark that he wasn’t going to put it on +her tail, he offered a handful to the non-committal +Susan. The ungainly creature blew most of it +away with a windy snort, then changed her mind and +greedily licked up the few remaining grains. Deciding +that Jimmy was an agreeable person with +advantages, she allowed him to slip the halter on her +neck and lead her unprotesting over the bridge.</p> +<p>Then Black Angus made overtures to Ebenezer, +who carried the little raccoon on his back. Ebenezer +received them with a mixture of dignity and doubt, +but refused to stir an inch from the Boy’s side. Black +Angus scratched his head in perplexity.</p> +<p>“’Tain’t no use tryn’ to lead him, I reckon!” he +muttered.</p> +<p>“No, you’ll have to carry him in your arms, Mr. +MacAllister,” laughed the Boy. “Good thing he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +ain’t very big yet. But here, take Ananias-and-Sapphira +first. If <i>she’ll</i> be friends with you, that’ll +mean a lot to Ebenezer.” And he deftly transferred +the parrot from his own shoulder, where she had +taken refuge at once on his arrival, to the lofty shoulder +of the Boss.</p> +<p>The bird was disconcerted for an instant. She +“slicked” down her feathers till she looked small +and demure, and stretched herself far out as if to +try a jump for her old perch. But, one wing being +clipped, she did not dare the attempt. She had had +enough experience of those sickening, flopping +somersaults which took the place of flight when only +one wing was in commission. Turning from the +Boy, she eyed MacAllister’s nose with her evil, unwinking +stare. Possibly she intended to bite it. +But at this moment MacAllister reached up his huge +hand fearlessly to stroke her head, just as fearlessly +as if she were not armed with a beak that could +bite through a boot. Greatly impressed by this +daring, she gurgled in her throat, and took the great +thumb delicately between her mandibles with a +daintiness that would not have marred a rose-petal. +Yes, she concluded at once, this was a man after her +own heart, with a smell to his hands like that of MacPhairrson +himself. Dropping the thumb with a little +scream of satisfaction, she sidled briskly up and down +MacAllister’s shoulder, making herself quite at +home. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></p> +<p>“My, but she’s taken a shine to you, Mr. MacAllister!” +exclaimed the Boy. “I never saw her do like +that before.”</p> +<p>The Boss grinned proudly.</p> +<p>“Ananias-an’-Sapphira be of the female sect, +bain’t she?” inquired Baldy Pallen, with a sly look +over the company.</p> +<p>“Sure, she’s a she!” replied the Boy. “MacPhairrson +says so!”</p> +<p>“That accounts fer it!” said Baldy. “It’s a way +all shes have with the Boss. Jest look at her now!”</p> +<p>“Now for Ebenezer!” interrupted the Boss, to +change the subject. “<i>You</i> better hand him to me, +an’ maybe he’ll take it as an introduction.”</p> +<p>Solemnly the Boy stooped, shoving the little +raccoon aside, and picked the pig up in his arms. +Ebenezer was amazed, having never before been +treated as a lap-dog, but he made no resistance beyond +stiffening out all his legs in a way that made +him most awkward to handle. Placed in the Boss’s +great arms, he lifted his snout straight up in the +air and emitted one shrill squeal; but the sight of +Ananias-and-Sapphira, perched coolly beneath his +captor’s ear, in a measure reassured him, and he +made no further protest. He could not, however, +appear reconciled to the inexplicable and altogether +undignified situation, so he held his snout rigidly as +high aloft as he could and shut his little eyes tight, +as if anticipating some further stroke of fate. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span></p> +<p>Black Angus was satisfied so far. He felt that the +tolerance of Ebenezer and the acceptance of Ananias-and-Sapphira +added distinctly to his prestige.</p> +<p>“Now for the little coon!” said he, jocularly. +But the words were hardly out of his mouth when +he felt sharp claws go up his leg with a rush, and the +next instant the little raccoon was on his shoulder, +reaching out its long, black nose to sniff solicitously +at Ebenezer’s legs and assure itself that everything +was all right.</p> +<p>“Jumping Jiminy! Oh, by Gee!” squealed Ananias-and-Sapphira, +startled at the sudden onset, +and nipped the intruder smartly on the leg till he +squalled and whipped around to the other shoulder.</p> +<p>“Now you’ve got all that’s coming to you, I guess, +Mr. MacAllister,” laughed the Boy.</p> +<p>“Then I reckon I’d better be lightin’ out fer home +with it!” answered Black Angus, hugely elated. +Turning gently, so as not to dislodge the passengers +on his shoulder, he strode off over the bridge and up +the sawdust-muffled street towards his clapboard +cottage, Ebenezer’s snout still held rigidly up in air, +his eyes shut in heroic resignation, while Ananias-and-Sapphira, +tremendously excited by this excursion +into the outer world, kept shrieking at the top of +her voice: “Ebenezer, Ebenezer, Ebenezer! Oh, by +Gee! I want Pa!”</p> +<p>As soon as the noisy and picturesque recessional of +Black Angus had vanished, Baldy Pallen set out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +confidently to capture the wild gander, James +Edward. He seemed to expect to tuck him under +his arm and walk off with him at his ease. Observing +this, the Boy looked around with a solemn wink. +Old Billy Smith and the half-dozen onlookers who +had no responsibility in the affair grinned and +waited. As Baldy approached, holding out a hand +of placation, and “chucking” persuasively as if he +thought James Edward was a hen, the latter reared +his snaky black head and stared in haughty surprise. +Then he gave vent to a strident hiss of +warning. Could it be possible that this impudent +stranger contemplated meddling with him? Yes, +plainly it was possible. It was certain, in fact. +The instant he realized this, James Edward lowered +his long neck, darted it out parallel with the ground, +spread his splendid wings, and rushed at Baldy’s +legs with a hiss like escaping steam. Baldy was +startled and bewildered. His legs tweaked savagely +by the bird’s strong, hard bill, and thumped painfully +by the great, battering, windy wings, he sputtered: +“Jumpin’ Judas!” in an embarrassed tone, +and retreated behind Billy Smith and the Boy.</p> +<p>A roar of delighted laughter arose as James +Edward backed away in haughty triumph, and +strolled carelessly up towards the cabin. There +were cries of “Ketch him quick, Baldy!” “Try a +leetle coaxin’!” “Don’t be so rough with the +gosling, Baldy!” “Jest whistle to him, an’ he’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +folly ye!” But, ignoring these pleasantries, Baldy +rubbed his legs and turned to the Boy for guidance.</p> +<p>“Are you sure you want him now?” inquired the +latter.</p> +<p>“Course I want him!” returned Baldy with a +sheepish grin. “I’ll coax him round an’ make friends +with him all right when I git him home. But how’m +I goin’ to git him? I’m afeared o’ hurtin’ him, he +seems that delicate, and his feelin’s so sensitive +like!”</p> +<p>“We’ll have to surround him, kind of. Just +wait, boys!” said the Boy. And running into the +cabin, past the deliberate James Edward, he reappeared +with a heavy blanket.</p> +<p>The great gander eyed his approach with contemptuous +indifference. He had come to regard the +Boy as quite harmless. When, therefore, the encumbering +folds of the blanket descended, it was +too late to resist. In a moment he was rolled over in +the dark, bundled securely, picked up, and ignominiously +tucked under Baldy Pallen’s arm.</p> +<p>“Now you’ve got him, don’t let go o’ him!” +admonished the Boy, and amid encouraging jeers +Baldy departed, carrying the bundle victoriously. +He had not more than crossed the bridge, however, +when the watchers on the island saw a slender black +head wriggle out from one end of the bundle, dart +upward behind his left arm, and seize the man +viciously by the ear. With a yell Baldy grabbed the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +head, and held it securely in his great fist till the +Boy ran to his rescue. When James Edward’s bill +was removed from Baldy’s bleeding ear, his darting, +furious head tucked back into the blanket, the Boy +said––</p> +<p>“Now, Baldy, that was just your own fault for +not keeping tight hold. You can’t blame James +Edward for biting you!”</p> +<p>“Sure, no!” responded Baldy, cheerfully. “I +don’t blame him a mite. I brag on the spunk of him. +Him an’ me’ll git on all right.”</p> +<p>James Edward gone, the excitement was over. +The Boy picked up the two big white cats, Melindy +and Jim, and placed them in the arms of old Billy +Smith, where they settled themselves, looking about +with an air of sleepy wisdom. From smallest kittenhood +the smell of a homespun shirt had stood to +them for every kind of gentleness and shelter, so +they saw no reason to find fault with the arms of +Billy Smith. By this time old Butters, the woodchuck, +disturbed at the scattering of the Family, had +retired in a huff to the depths of his little barrel by +the doorstep. The Boy clapped an oat-bag over the +end of the barrel, and tied it down. Then he went +into the cabin and slipped another bag over the head +of the unsuspecting Bones, who fluffed all his feathers +and snapped his fierce beak like castanets. In two +minutes he was tied up so that he could neither bite +nor claw. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span></p> +<p>“That was slick!” remarked Red Angus, who +had hitherto taken no part in the proceedings. He +and the rest of the hands had followed in hope of +further excitement.</p> +<p>“Well, then, Angus, will you help me home? Will +you take the barrel, and see that Butters doesn’t gnaw +out on the way?”</p> +<p>Red Angus picked up the barrel and carried it +carefully in front of him, head up, that the sly old +woodchuck might not steal a march on him. Then +the Boy picked up Bones in his oat-bag, and closed +the cabin door. As the party left the island with +loud tramping of feet on the little bridge, the young +fox crept slyly from behind the cabin, and eyed them +through cunningly narrowed slits of eyes. At last +he was going to have the island all to himself; and +he set himself to dig a burrow directly under the +doorstep, where that meddlesome MacPhairrson had +never permitted him to dig.</p> +<p style='text-align:center; margin:1em auto 1.5em auto;'>III</p> +<p>It was in the green zenith of June when MacPhairrson +went away. When he returned, hobbling up +with his tiny bundle, the backwoods world was +rioting in the scarlet and gold of young October. +He was quite cured. He felt singularly well. But +a desperate loneliness saddened his home-coming. +He knew his cabin would be just as he had left it, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +there on its steep little foam-ringed island; and he +knew the Boy would be there, with the key, to admit +him over the bridge and welcome him home. But +what would the island be without the Family? +The Boy, doubtless, had done what he could. +He had probably taken care of Stumpy, and perhaps +of Ananias-and-Sapphira. But the rest of +the Family must inevitably be scattered to the +four winds. Tears came into his eyes as he thought +of himself and Stumpy and the parrot, the poor +lonely three, there amid the sleepless clamour of the +rapids, lamenting their vanished comrades. A chill +that was more than the approaching autumn twilight +could account for settled upon his heart.</p> +<p>Arriving at the little bridge, however, his heart +warmed again, for there was the Boy waving at him, +and hurrying down to the gate to let him in. And +there at the Boy’s heels was Stumpy, sure enough. +MacPhairrson shouted, and Stumpy, at the sound +of the loud voice, went wild, trying to tear his way +through the gate. When the gate opened, he had +to brace himself against the frame, before he could +grasp the Boy’s hand, so extravagant and overwhelming +were the yelping Stumpy’s caresses. +Gladly he suffered them, letting the excited dog +lick his hands and even his face; for, after all, +Stumpy was the best and dearest member of the +Family. Then, to steady him, he gave him his +bundle to carry up to the cabin, and proudly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +Stumpy trotted on ahead with it. MacPhairrson’s +voice trembled as he tried to thank the Boy for +bringing Stumpy back to him––trembled and +choked.</p> +<p>“I can’t help it!” he explained apologetically as +soon as he got his voice again. “I love Stumpy +best, of course! You kept the best fer me! But, +Jiminy Christmas, Boy, how I miss the rest on +’em!”</p> +<p>“I didn’t keep Stumpy!” explained the Boy +as the two went up the path. “It was Mike +Sweeny took care of him for you. He brought him +round this morning because he had to get off to the +woods cruising. I took care of Bones––we’ll find +him on his box inside––and of cross old Butters. +Thunder, how Butters has missed you, MacPhairrson! +He’s bit me twice, just because I wasn’t you. There +he is, poking his nose out of his barrel.”</p> +<p>The old woodchuck thought he had heard +MacPhairrson’s voice, but he was not sure. He +came out and sat up on his fat haunches, +his nostrils quivering with expectation. Then he +caught sight of the familiar limping form. With +a little squeal of joy he scurried forward and fell to +clutching and clawing at his master’s legs till MacPhairrson +picked him up. Whereupon he expressed +his delight by striving to crowd his nose into MacPhairrson’s +neck. At this moment the fox appeared +from hiding behind the cabin, and sat up, with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +ears cocked shrewdly and head to one side, to take +note of his master’s return.</p> +<p>“Lord, how Carrots has growed!” exclaimed +MacPhairrson, lovingly, and called him to come. +But the fox yawned in his face, got up lazily, and +trotted off to the other side of the island. MacPhairrson’s +face fell.</p> +<p>“He’s got no kind of a heart at all,” said the Boy, +soothing his disappointment.</p> +<p>“He ain’t no use to nobody,” said MacPhairrson. +“I reckon we’d better let him go.” Then he hobbled +into the cabin to greet Bones, who ruffled up his +feathers at his approach, but recognized him and +submitted to being stroked.</p> +<p>Presently MacPhairrson straightened up on his +crutches, turned, and gulped down a lump in his +throat.</p> +<p>“I reckon we’ll be mighty contented here,” said +he, “me an’ Stumpy, an’ Butters, an’ Bones. But +I <i>wisht</i> as how I might git to have Ananias-an’-Sapphira +back along with us. I’m goin’ to miss that there +bird a lot, fer all she was so ridiculous an’ cantankerous. +I s’pose, now, you don’t happen to know who’s got +her, do you?”</p> +<p>“I know she’s got a good home!” answered the +Boy, truthfully. “But I don’t know that I could +tell you just where she is!”</p> +<p>At just this minute, however, there came a jangling +of the gate bell, and screeches of–– +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span></p> +<p>“Oh, by Gee! Jumpin’ Jiminy! Oh, Boy! I +want Pa!”</p> +<p>MacPhairrson’s gaunt and grizzled face grew +radiant. Nimbly he hobbled to the door, to see the +Boy already on the bridge, opening the gate. To +his amazement, in strode Black Angus the Boss, +with the bright green glitter of Ananias-and-Sapphira +on his shoulder screeching varied profanities––and +whom at his heels but Ebenezer and the little ring-tailed +raccoon. In his excitement the old woodsman +dropped one of his crutches. Therefore, instead +of going to meet his visitors, he plumped down +on the bench outside his door and just waited. A +moment later the quaint procession arrived. MacPhairrson +found Black Angus shaking him hugely by +the hand, Ebenezer, much grown up, rooting at his +knees with a happy little squeal, and Ananias-and-Sapphira, +as of old, clambering excitedly up his +shirt-front.</p> +<p>“There, there, easy now, old pard,” he murmured +to the pig, fondling the animal’s ears with one hand, +while he gave the other to the bird, to be nibbled +and nipped ecstatically, the raccoon meanwhile looking +on with bright-eyed, non-committal interest.</p> +<p>“Angus,” said the old woodsman presently, by +way of an attempt at thanks, “ye’re a wonderful +hand with the dumb critters––not that one could +rightly call Ananias-an’-Sapphira dumb, o’ course––’n’ +I swear <i>I</i> couldn’t never have kep’ ’em +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +lookin’ so fine and slick all through the summer. I +reckon–––”</p> +<p>But he never finished that reckoning. Down to +his bridge was coming another and a larger procession +than that of Black Angus. First, and even now +entering through the gate, he saw Jimmy Wright +leading a lank young moose cow, whom he recognized +as Susan. Close behind was old Billy Smith with +the two white cats, Melindy and Jim, in his arms; +and then Baldy Fallen, with a long blanket bundle +under his arm. Behind them came the rest of the +mill hands, their faces beaming welcome. MacPhairrson, +shaking all over, with big tears in his +eyes, reached for his fallen crutch and stood up. +When the visitors arrived and gave him their hearty +greetings, he could find no words to answer. Baldy +laid his bundle gently on the ground and respectfully +unrolled it. Out stepped the lordly James Edward +and lifted head and wings with a troubled <i>honk-a, +honka.</i> As soon as he saw MacPhairrson, he came up +and stood close beside him, which was as much enthusiasm +as the haughty gander could bring himself +to show. The cats meanwhile were rubbing and +purring against their old master’s legs, while Susan +sniffed at him with a noisy, approving snort. MacPhairrson’s +throat, and then his whole face, began to +work. How different was this home-coming from +what he had expected! Here, wonder of wonders, +was his beloved Family all gathered about him! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +How good the boys were! He must try to thank +them all. Bracing himself with one crutch, he +strove to express to them his immeasurable gratitude +and gladness. In vain, for some seconds, he struggled +to down the lump in his throat. Then, with a +titanic effort, he blurted out: “Oh, hell, boys!” +and sat down, and hid his wet eyes in Stumpy’s shaggy +hair.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +<a name='ON_BIG_LONELY' id='ON_BIG_LONELY'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>On Big Lonely</span></h2> +</div> +<p>It was no doubt partly pride, in having for once +succeeded in evading her grandmother’s all-seeing +eye, that enabled Mandy Ann to carry, at a trot, a +basket almost as big as herself––to carry it all the way +down the hill to the river, without once stumbling or +stopping to take breath. The basket was not only +large, but uneasy, seeming to be troubled by internal +convulsions, which made it tip and lurch in a way that +from time to time threatened to upset Mandy Ann’s +unstable equilibrium. But being a young person of +character, she kept right on, ignoring the fact that +the stones on the shore were very sharp to her little +bare feet.</p> +<p>At last she reached the sunshiny cove, with shoals +of minnows flickering about its amber shallows, which +was the goal of her flight. Here, tethered to a stake +on the bank, lay the high-sided old bateau, which +Mandy Ann had long coveted as a perfectly ideal +play-house. Its high prow lightly aground, its stern +afloat, it swung lazily in the occasional puffs of lazy +air. Mandy Ann was only four years old, and her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +red cotton skirt just came to her dimpled grimy +little knees, but with that unfailing instinct of her +sex she gathered up the skirt and clutched it securely +between her breast and the rim of the basket. Then +she stepped into the water, waded to the edge of the +old bateau and climbed aboard.</p> +<p>The old craft was quite dry inside, and filled with +a clean pungent scent of warm tar. Mandy Ann +shook out her red skirt and her yellow curls, and +set down the big covered basket on the bottom of +the bateau. The basket continued to move tempestuously.</p> +<p>“Oh, naughty! naughty!” she exclaimed, shaking +her chubby finger at it. “Jest a minute, jest a +teenty minute, an’ we’ll see!”</p> +<p>Peering over the bow, Mandy Ann satisfied herself +that the bateau, though its bottom grated on the +pebbles, was completely surrounded by water. Then +sitting down on the bottom, she assured herself that +she was hidden by the boat’s high flaring sides from +the sight of all interfering domestic eyes on shore. +She felt sure that even the eyes of her grandmother, +in the little grey cottage back on the green hill, could +not reach her in this unguessed retreat. With a sigh +of unutterable content she made her way back into +the extreme stern of the bateau, lugging the tempestuous +basket with her. Sitting down flat, she +took the basket in her lap and loosened the cover, +crooning softly as she did so. Instantly a whiskered, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +brown snub-nose, sniffing and twitching with interrogation, +appeared at the edge. A round brown +head, with little round ears and fearless bright dark +eyes, immediately popped over the edge. With a +squeak of satisfaction a fat young woodchuck, nearly +full-grown, clambered forth and ran up on Mandy +Ann’s shoulder. The bateau, under the influence +of the sudden weight in the stern, floated clear of +the gravel and swung softly at the end of its rope.</p> +<p>Observing that the bateau was afloat, Mandy Ann +was delighted. She felt doubly secure, now, from +pursuit. Pulling a muddy carrot from her pocket +she held it up to the woodchuck, which was nuzzling +affectionately at her curls. But the smell of +the fresh earth reminded the little animal of something +which he loved even better than Mandy Ann––even +better, indeed, than a juicy carrot. He longed +to get away, for a little while, from the loving but +sometimes too assiduous attention with which his +little mistress surrounded him––to get away and +burrow to his heart’s content in the cool brown +earth, full of grass-roots. Ignoring the carrot, he +clambered down in his soft, loose-jointed fashion, +from Mandy Ann’s shoulder, and ran along the gunwale +to the bow. When he saw that he could not +reach shore without getting into the water, which he +loathed, he grumbled squeakingly, and kept bobbing +his round head up and down, as if he contemplated +making a jump for it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span></p> +<p>At these symptoms Mandy Ann, who had been +eyeing him, called to him severely. “Naughty!” +she cried. “Come back this very instant, sir! You’d +jes’ go an’ tell Granny on me! Come right back +to your muzzer this instant!” At the sound of her +voice the little animal seemed to think better of his +rashness. The flashing and rippling of the water +daunted him. He returned to Mandy Ann’s side +and fell to gnawing philosophically at the carrot which +she thrust under his nose.</p> +<p>This care removed, Mandy Ann took an irregular +bundle out of the basket. It was tied up in a blue-and-white +handkerchief. Untying it with extreme +care, as if the contents were peculiarly precious, she +displayed a collection of fragments of many-coloured +glass and gay-painted china. Gloating happily over +these treasures, which flashed like jewels in the sun, +she began to sort them out and arrange them with +care along the nearest thwart of the bateau. Mandy +Ann was making what the children of the Settlement +knew and esteemed as a “Chaney House.” There +was keen rivalry among the children as to both location +and furnishing of these admired creations; and +to Mandy Ann’s daring imagination it had appeared +that a “Chaney House” in the old bateau would be +something surpassing dreams.</p> +<p>For an hour or more Mandy Ann was utterly absorbed +in her enchanting task. So quiet she was +over it that every now and then a yellow-bird or a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +fly-catcher would alight upon the edge of the bateau +to bounce away again with a startled and indignant +twitter. The woodchuck, having eaten his carrot, +curled up in the sun and went to sleep.</p> +<p>Mandy Ann’s collection was really a rich assortment +of colour. Every piece in it was a treasure in +her eyes. But much as she loved the bits of painted +china, she loved the glass better. There were red +bits, and green of many shades, and blue, yellow, +amber, purple and opal. Each piece, before arranging +it in its allotted place on the thwart, she would +lift to her eyes and survey the world through it. +Some near treetops, and the blue sky piled with +white fleeces of summer clouds, were all of the +world she could see from her retreat; but viewed +through different bits of glass these took on an infinite +variety of wonder and delight. So engrossed +she was, it quite escaped her notice that the old bateau +was less steady in its movements than it had been +when first she boarded it. She did not even observe +the fact that there were no longer any treetops in her +fairy-tinted pictures. At last there sounded under +the keel a strange gurgle, and the bateau gave a +swinging lurch which sent half the treasures of the +“Chaney House” clattering upon the bottom or into +Mandy Ann’s lap. The woodchuck woke up frightened +and scrambled into the shelter of its mistress’s +arms.</p> +<p>Much surprised, Mandy Ann knelt upright and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +looked out over the edge of the bateau. She was no +longer in the little sheltered cove, but far out on the +river. The shores, slipping smoothly and swiftly past, +looked unfamiliar to her. Where she expected to +see the scattered cottages of the Settlement, a huge +bank covered with trees, cut off the view. While +she was so engrossed with her coloured glass, a puff of +wind, catching the high sides of the bateau, had caused +it to tug at its tether. The rope, carelessly fastened +by some impatient boy, had slipped its hold; and the +bateau had been swept smoothly out into the hurrying +current. Half a mile below, the river rounded a +woody point, and the drifting bateau was hidden +from the sight of any one who might have hurried to +recover it.</p> +<p>At the moment, Mandy Ann was not frightened. +Her blue eyes danced with excitement as she tossed +back her tousled curls. The river, flowing swiftly +but smoothly, flashed and rippled in the noon sun +in a friendly fashion, and it was most interesting +to see how fast the shores slipped by. There was +no suggestion of danger; and probably, at the back +of her little brain, Mandy Ann felt that the beautiful +river, which she had always loved and never been +allowed to play with, would bring her back to her +Granny as gently and unexpectedly as it had carried +her away. Meanwhile, she felt only the thrilling +and utterly novel excitement of the situation. As +the bateau swung in an occasional oily eddy she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +laughed gaily at the motion, and felt as proud as +if she were doing it herself. And the woodchuck, +which had been very nervous at first, feeling that +something was wrong, was so reassured by its mistress’s +evident satisfaction that it curled up again on +the bottom and hastened to resume its slumber.</p> +<p>In a little while the river curved again, sweeping +back to its original course. Suddenly, in the distance, +the bright spire of the Settlement church +came into view, and then the familiar cottages. +Mandy Ann’s laughing face grew grave, as she saw +how very, very far away they looked. They took +on, also, from the distance, a certain strangeness +which smote her heart. This wonderful adventure +of hers ceased to have any charm for her. She +wanted to go back at once. Then her grandmother’s +little grey house on the slope came into view. Oh, +how terribly little and queer and far away it looked. +And it was getting farther and farther away every +minute. A frightened cry of “Granny! Granny! +Take me home!” broke from her lips. She stood +up, and made her way hurriedly to the other end of +the bateau, which, being upstream, was nearer home. +As her weight reached the bow, putting it deeper +into the grip of the current, the bateau slowly swung +around till it headed the other way. Mandy Ann +turned and hurried again to the point nearest home. +Whereupon the bateau calmly repeated its disconcerting +manœuvre. All at once the whole truth of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +the situation burst upon Mandy Ann’s comprehension. +She was lost. She was being carried +away so far that she would never, never get back. +She was being swept out into the terrible wilds that +she had heard stories about. Her knees gave away +in her terror. Crouching, a little red tumbled heap, +on the bottom of the bateau, she lifted up her voice +in shrill wailings, which so frightened the woodchuck +that he came and crept under her skirt.</p> +<p>Below the Settlement the river ran for miles through +a country of ever-deepening desolation, without +cabin or clearing near its shores, till it emptied itself +into the yet more desolate lake known as “Big +Lonely,” a body of forsaken water about ten miles +long, surrounded by swamps and burnt-lands. From +the foot of Big Lonely the river raged away over a +mile of thundering ledges, through a chasm known +to the lumbermen as “The Devil’s Trough.” The +fury of this madness having spent itself between the +black walls of the canyon, the river continued rather +sluggishly its long course toward the sea. A few +miles below the Settlement the river began to get +hurried and turbulent, chafing white through rocky +rapids. When the bateau plunged into the first of +these, Mandy Ann’s wailing and sobbing stopped +abruptly. The clamour of the white waves and the +sight of their lashing wrath fairly stupefied her. +She sat up on the middle thwart, with the shivering +woodchuck clutched to her breast, and stared about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +with wild eyes. On every side the waves leaped up, +black, white, and amber, jumping at the staggering +bateau. But appalling as they looked to Mandy +Ann, they were not particularly dangerous to the +sturdy, high-sided craft which carried her. The old +bateau had been built to navigate just such waters. +Nothing could upset it, and on account of its high, +flaring sides, no ordinary rapids could swamp it. +It rode the loud chutes triumphantly, now dipping +its lofty nose, now bumping and reeling, but always +making the passage without serious mishap. All +through the rapids Mandy Ann would sit silent, +motionless, fascinated with horror. But in the long, +comparatively smooth reaches she would recover +herself enough to cry softly upon the woodchuck’s +soft brown fur, till that prudent little animal, exasperated +at the damp of her caresses, wriggled away +and crawled into his hated basket.</p> +<p>At last, when the bateau had run a dozen of these +noisy “rips,” Mandy Ann grew surfeited with terror, +and thought to comfort herself. Sitting down again +upon the bottom of the bateau, she sadly sought to +revive her interest in the “Chaney House.” She +would finger the choicest bits of painted porcelain, +and tell herself how pretty they were. She would +choose a fragment of scarlet or purple glass, hold it +up to her pathetic, tear-stained face, and try to interest +herself in the coloured landscape that filed by. +But it was no use. Even the amber glass had lost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +its power to interest her. And at length, exhausted +by her terror and her loneliness, she sank down and +fell asleep.</p> +<p>It was late afternoon when Mandy Ann fell asleep, +and her sleep was the heavy semi-torpor coming after +unrelieved grief and fear. It was unjarred by the +pitching of the fiercer rapids which the bateau +presently encountered. The last mile of the river’s +course before joining the lake consisted of deep, +smooth “dead-water”; but, a strong wind from +the north-west having sprung up toward the end of +the day, the bateau drove on with undiminished +speed. On the edge of the evening, when the sun +was just sinking into the naked tops of the rampikes +along the western shore, the bateau swept out upon +the desolate reaches of Big Lonely, and in the clutch +of the wind hastened down mid-lake to seek the roaring +chutes and shrieking vortices of the “Devil’s +Trough.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Out in the middle of the lake, where the heavy +wind had full sweep, the pitching and thumping of +the big waves terrified the poor little woodchuck +almost to madness; but they made no impression on +the wearied child, where she lay sobbing tremulously +in her sleep. They made a great impression, +however, on a light birch canoe, which was creeping +up alongshore in the teeth of the wind, urged by +two paddles. The paddlers were a couple of lumbermen, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +returning from the mouth of the river. All +the spring and early summer they had been away +from the Settlement, working on “the drive” of +the winter’s logging, and now, hungry for home, +they were fighting their way doggedly against wind +and wave. There was hardly a decent camping-ground +on all the swamp-cursed shores of Big +Lonely, except at the very head of the lake, where +the river came in, and this spot the voyagers were +determined to make before dark. They would then +have clear poling ahead of them next day, to get +them home to the Settlement in time for supper.</p> +<p>The man in the bow, a black-bearded, sturdy +figure in a red shirt, paddled with slow, unvarying +strokes, dipping his big maple paddle deep and +bending his back to it, paying no heed whatever +to the heavy black waves which lurched at him +every other second and threatened to overwhelm the +bow of his frail craft. He had none of the responsibility. +His part was simply to supply power, +steady, unwavering power, to make head against +the relentless wind. The man in the stern, on the +other hand, had to think and watch and meet every +assault, as well as thrust the canoe forward into the +tumult. He was a gaunt, long-armed young giant, +bareheaded, with shaggy brown hair blown back +from his red-tanned face. His keen grey eyes noted +and measured every capricious lake-wave as it lunged +at him, and his wrist, cunning and powerful, delicately +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +varied each stroke to meet each instant’s +need. It was not enough that the canoe should be +kept from broaching-to and swamping or upsetting. +He was anxious that it should not ship water, and +wet certain treasures which they were taking home +to the backwoods from the shops of the little city +down by the sea. And while his eyes seemed to be +so engrossingly occupied in the battle with the waves +of Big Lonely, they were all the time refreshing themselves +with a vision––the vision of a grey house on a +sunny hill-top, where his mother was waiting for +him, and where a little yellow-haired girl would +scream “<i>Dad</i>die, oh, Dad<i>die</i>!” when she saw him +coming up the road.</p> +<p>The dogged voyagers were within perhaps two miles +of the head of the lake, with the sun gone down behind +the desolate rampikes, and strange tints of +violet and rose and amber, beautiful and lonely, +touching the angry turbulence of the waves, when the +man in the bow, whose eyes were free to wander, +caught sight of the drifting bateau. It was a little +ahead of them, but farther out in the lake.</p> +<p>“Ain’t that old Joe’s bateau out yonder, Chris?” +he queried, his trained woodsman’s eye recognizing +the craft by some minute detail of build or blemish.</p> +<p>“I reckon it be!” answered Chris, after a moment’s +scrutiny. “He’s let her git adrift. Water +must be raisin’ sudden!”</p> +<p>“She’ll be a fine quality o’ kindlin’ wood in another +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +hour, the rate she’s travelling” commented the other +with mild interest. But the young giant in the stern +was more concerned. He was sorry that old Joe +should lose his boat.</p> +<p>“Darned old fool, not to tie her!” he growled. +“Ef ’twarn’t fer this wind ag’in’ us, we could ketch +it an’ tow it ashore fer him. But we can’t.”</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t stop fer it ef ’t had a bag o’ gold +into it!” grunted the other, slogging on his paddle +with renewed vigour as he looked forward to the +camp-ground still so far ahead. He was hungry +and tired, and couldn’t even take time to fill his pipe +in that hurly-burly.</p> +<p>Meanwhile the bateau had swept down swiftly, +and passed them at a distance of not more than a +hundred yards. It was with a qualm of regret that +Chris saw it go by, to be ground to splinters in the +yelling madness of the Devil’s Trough. After it +had passed, riding the waves bravely like the good +old craft that it was, he glanced back after it in half-humorous +regret. As he did so, his eye caught +something that made him look again. A little +furry brown creature was peering over the gunwale +at the canoe. The gunwale tipped toward him at +that instant and he saw it distinctly. Yes, it was +a woodchuck, and no mistake. And it seemed to +be making mute appeal to him to come and save it +from a dreadful doom. Chris hesitated, looking +doubtfully at his companion’s heaving back. It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +looked an unresponsive back. Moreover, Chris +felt half ashamed of his own compassionate impulse. +He knew that he was considered foolishly softhearted +about animals and children and women, +though few men cared to express such an opinion +to him too frankly. He suspected that, in the +present case, his companion would have a right to +complain of him. But he could not stand the idea +of letting the little beast––which had so evidently +appealed to him for succour––go down into the +horrors of the Devil’s Trough. His mind was made +up.</p> +<p>“Mart,” he exclaimed, “I’m goin’ to turn. +There’s somethin’ aboard that there old bateau +that I want.” And he put the head of the canoe +straight up into a big wave.</p> +<p>“The devil there is!” cried the other, taking +in his paddle and looking around in angry protest. +“What is it?”</p> +<p>“Paddle, ye loon! Paddle hard!” ordered +Chris. “I’ll tell ye when we git her ’round.”</p> +<p>Thus commanded, and the man at the stern paddle +being supreme in a canoe, the backwoodsman +obeyed with a curse. It was no time to argue, while +getting the canoe around in that sea. But as soon as +the canoe was turned, and scudding with frightened +swoops down the waves in pursuit of the fleeing +bateau, he saw, and understood.</p> +<p>“Confound you, Chris McKeen, if ’tain’t nothin’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +but a blankety blank woodchuck!” he shouted, +making as if to back water and try to turn the +canoe again.</p> +<p>Chris’s grey eyes hardened. “Look a’ here, Mart +Babcock,” he shouted, “don’t you be up to no +foolishness. Ye kin cuss all ye like––but either +paddle as I tell ye or take in yer paddle an’ set quiet. +<i>I’m</i> runnin’ this ’ere canoe.”</p> +<p>Babcock took in his paddle, cursing bitterly.</p> +<p>“A woodchuck! A measly woodchuck!” he +shouted, with unutterable contempt expressed in +every word. “I know’d ye was a fool, Chris McKeen, +but I didn’t know ye was so many kinds of a mush-head +of a fool!”</p> +<p>“Course it’s a woodchuck!” agreed Chris, surging +on his paddle. “Do ye think I’d let the leetle +critter go down the ‘Trough,’ jest so’s ye could git +your bacon an’ tea an hour sooner? I always did +like woodchucks, anyways.”</p> +<p>“I’ll take it out o’ yer hide fer this when we git +ashore; you wait!” stormed Babcock, courageously. +He knew it would be some time before they could get +ashore, and so he would have a chance to forget his +threat.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +<img src='images/illus-066.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 372px; height: 432px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 372px;'> +“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>‘It’s––Mandy Ann!’</span>”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“That’s all right, Mart!” assented McKeen. +“My hide’ll be all here waitin’ on ye. But fer now +you jest git ready to do ez I tell ye, an’ don’t let +the canoe bump ez we come up alongside the bateau. +It’s goin’ to be a mite resky, in this sea, gittin’ hold +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +of the leetle critter. I’m goin’ to take it home for +Mandy Ann.”</p> +<p>As the canoe swept down upon the swooping and +staggering bateau, Babcock put out his paddle in +readiness to fend or catch as he might be directed. +A moment later Chris ran the canoe past and brought +her up dexterously under the lee of the high-walled +craft. Babcock caught her with a firm grip, at the +same time holding her off with the paddle, and +glanced in, while Chris’s eyes were still occupied. +His dark face went white as cotton.</p> +<p>“My God, Chris! Forgive me! I didn’t know!” +he groaned.</p> +<p>“It’s––Mandy Ann!” exclaimed her father, in a +hushed voice, climbing into the bateau and catching +the child into his arms.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +<a name='FROM_BUCK_TO_BEAR_AND_BACK' id='FROM_BUCK_TO_BEAR_AND_BACK'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>From Buck to Bear and Back</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The sunny, weather-beaten, comfortable little +house, with its grey sheds and low grey barn +half enclosing its bright, untidy farmyard, stood +on the top of the open hill, where every sweet forest +wind could blow over it night and day.</p> +<p>Fields of oats, buckwheat, and potatoes came up +all about it over the slopes of the hill; and its only +garden was a spacious patch of cabbages and “garden +sass” three or four hundred yards down +toward the edge of the forest, where a pocket of rich +black loam had specially invited an experiment in +horticulture.</p> +<p>Like most backwoods farmers, Sam Coxen had +been wont to look with large scorn on such petty +interests as gardening; but a county show down +at the Settlement had converted him, and now +his cabbage patch was the chief object of his solicitude. +He had proud dreams of prizes to be won at +the next show––now not three weeks ahead.</p> +<p>It was his habit, whenever he harnessed up the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +team for a drive into the Settlement, to turn his head +the last thing before leaving and cast a long, +gratified look down over the cabbage patch, its +cool, clear green standing out sharply against the +yellow-brown of the surrounding fields. On this +particular morning he did not turn for that look +till he had jumped into the wagon and gathered up +the reins. Then, as he gazed, a wave of indignation +passed over his good-natured face.</p> +<p>There, in the middle of the precious cabbages, +biting with a sort of dainty eagerness at first one +and then another, and wantonly tearing open the +crisp heads with impatient strokes of his knife-edged +fore hoofs, was a tall wide-antlered buck.</p> +<p>Sam Coxen dropped the reins, sprang from the +wagon, and rushed to the bars which led from the +yard to the back field; and the horses––for the +sake of his dignity he always drove the pair when +he went into the Settlement––fell to cropping the +short, fine grass that grew behind the well. In spite +of having grown up in the backwoods, Sam was lacking +in backwoods lore. He was no hunter, and he +cared as little as he knew, about the wild kindreds of +the forest. He had a vague, general idea that all +deer were “skeery critters”; and if any one had +told him that the buck, in mating season, was not +unlikely to develop a fine militant spirit, he would +have laughed with scorn.</p> +<p>Climbing upon the bars, he yelled furiously at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +marauder, expecting to see him vanish like a red +streak. But the buck merely raised his beautiful +head and stared in mild surprise at the strange, +noisy figure on the fence. Then he coolly slashed +open another plump cabbage, and nibbled at the firm +white heart.</p> +<p>Very angry, Coxen yelled again with all the power +of healthy lungs, and waved his arms wildly over +his head. But the vaunted authority of the human +voice seemed in some inexplicable way to miss a +connexion with the buck’s consciousness. The +waving of those angry arms, however, made an impression +upon him. He appeared to take it as a +challenge, for he shook his beautiful antlers and +stamped his forefeet defiantly––and shattered yet +another precious cabbage.</p> +<p>Wrath struggled with astonishment in Sam Coxen’s +primitive soul. Then he concluded that what he +wanted was not only vengeance, but a supply +of deer’s meat to compensate for the lost cabbages.</p> +<p>Rushing into the house, he snatched down his +old muzzle-loader from the pegs where it hung on +the kitchen wall. After the backwoods fashion, +the gun was kept loaded with a general utility +charge of buckshot and slugs, such as might come +handy in case a bear should try to steal the pig. +Being no sportsman, Coxen did not even take the +trouble to change the old percussion-cap, which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +had been on the tube for six months. It was +enough for him that the weapon was loaded.</p> +<p>Down the other slope of the hill, where the buck +could not see him, Coxen hurried at a run, and gained +the cover of the thick woods. Then, still running, +he skirted the fields till the cabbage patch came +once more in sight, with the marauder still enjoying +himself in the midst of it.</p> +<p>At this point the long-dormant instinct of the +hunter began to awake in Sam Coxen. Everything +that he had ever heard about stalking big game +flashed into his mind, and he wanted to apply it all +at once. He noted the direction of the wind, and +was delighted to find that it came to his nostrils +straight from the cabbage patch.</p> +<p>He went stealthily, lifting and setting down his +heavy-booted feet with a softness of which he had +never guessed himself capable. He began to forget +his indignation and think only of the prospect of +bagging the game––so easily do the primeval instincts +spring to life in a man’s brain. Presently, +when within about a hundred yards of the place +where he hoped to get a fair shot, Coxen redoubled +his caution. He went crouching, keeping behind +the densest cover. Then, growing still more crafty, +he got down and began to advance on all fours.</p> +<p>Now it chanced that Sam Coxen’s eyes were not the +only ones which had found interest in the red buck’s +proceedings. A large black bear, wandering just +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +within the shelter of the forest, had spied the buck +in the open, and being curious, after the fashion +of his kind, had sat down in a thicket to watch the +demolition of the cabbages.</p> +<p>He had no serious thought of hunting the big +buck, knowing that he would be hard to catch +and troublesome if caught. But he was in that +investigating, pugnacious, meddlesome mood which +is apt to seize an old male bear in the autumn.</p> +<p>When the bear caught sight of Sam Coxen’s crawling, +stealthy figure, not two paces from his hiding-place, +his first impulse was to vanish, to melt away like a +big, portentous shadow into the silent deeps of the +wood. His next, due to the season, was to rush +upon the man and smite him.</p> +<p>Then he realized that he himself was not the +object of the man’s stealthy approach. He saw +that what the hunter was intent upon was that buck +out in the field. Thereupon he sank back on his +great black haunches to watch the course of events. +Little did Sam Coxen guess of those cunning red +eyes that followed him as he crawled by.</p> +<p>At the point where the cover came nearest to the +cabbage patch, Coxen found himself still out of +range. Cocking his gun, he strode some twenty +paces into the open, paused, and took a long, deliberate +aim.</p> +<p>Catching sight of him the moment he emerged, +the buck stood for some moments eyeing him with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +sheer curiosity. Was this a harmless passer-by, or +a would-be trespasser on his new domain of cabbages? +On second glance, he decided that it looked +like the noisy figure which had waved defiance from +the top of the fence. Realizing this, a red gleam +came into the buck’s eye. He wheeled, stamped, +and shook his antlers in challenge.</p> +<p>At this moment, having got a good aim, Coxen pulled +the trigger. The cap refused to explode. Angrily he +lowered the gun, removed the cap and examined +it. It looked all right, and there was plenty of +priming in the tube. He turned the cap round, +and again took careful aim.</p> +<p>Now these actions seemed to the buck nothing +less than a plain invitation to mortal combat. He +was in just the mood to accept such an invitation. +In two bounds he cleared the cabbages and came +mincingly down to the fray.</p> +<p>This unexpected turn of affairs so flustered the +inexperienced hunter that he altogether forgot to +cock his gun. Twice he pulled desperately on the +trigger, but with no result. Then, smitten with a +sense of impotence, he hurled the gun at the enemy +and fled.</p> +<p>Over the fence he went almost at a bound, and +darted for the nearest tree that looked easy to +climb. As his ill luck would have it, this tree stood +just on the edge of the thicket wherein the much-interested +bear was keeping watch. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></p> +<p>A wild animal knows when a man is running away, +and rarely loses a chance to show its appreciation +of the fact. As Sam Coxen sprang for the lowest +branch and swung himself up, the bear lumbered +out from his thicket and reared himself menacingly +against the trunk.</p> +<p>The buck, who had just cleared the fence, stopped +short. It was clearly his turn now to play the +part of spectator.</p> +<p>When Coxen looked down and saw his new foe +his heart swelled with a sense of injury. Were the +creatures of the wilderness allied against him? +He was no coward, but he began to feel distinctly +worried. The thought that flashed across his mind +was: “What’ll happen to the team if I don’t get +back to unharness them?” But meanwhile he was +climbing higher and higher, and looking out for a +way of escape.</p> +<p>About halfway up the tree a long branch thrust +itself forth till it fairly overhung a thick young +spruce. Out along this branch Coxen worked his +way carefully. By the time the bear had climbed +to one end of the branch, Coxen had reached the +other. Here he paused, dreading to let himself +drop.</p> +<p>The bear came on cautiously; and the great +branch bent low under his weight, till Coxen was +not more than a couple of feet from the top of the +young fir. Then, nervously letting go, he dropped, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +caught the thick branches in his desperate clutch, +and clung secure.</p> +<p>The big branch, thus suddenly freed of Coxen’s +substantial weight, sprang back with such violence +that the bear almost lost his hold. Growling angrily, +he scrambled back to the main trunk, down which +he began to lower himself, tail foremost.</p> +<p>From the business-like alacrity of the bear’s movements, +Coxen realized that his respite was to be only +temporary. He was not more than twelve feet from +the ground, and could easily have made his escape +while the bear was descending the other tree. But +there below was the buck, keeping an eye of alert +interest on both bear and man. Coxen had no mind +to face those keen antlers and trampling hoofs. He +preferred to stay where he was and hope for some +unexpected intervention of fate. Like most backwoodsmen, +he had a dry sense of the ridiculous, and +the gravity of his situation could not quite blind him +to the humour of it.</p> +<p>While Coxen was running over in his mind every +conceivable scheme for getting out of his dilemma, +the last thing he would have thought of actually +happened. The buck lost interest in the man, and +turned all his attention to the bear, which was +just now about seven or eight feet from the ground, +hugging the great trunk and letting himself down +carefully, like a small boy afraid of tearing his +trousers. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span></p> +<p>It is possible that that particular buck may have +had some old score against the bears. If so, this +must have seemed an excellent chance to collect a +little on account. The bear’s awkward position and +unprotected hind quarters evidently appealed to +him. He ambled forward, reared half playfully, half +vindictively, and gave the bear a savage prodding +with the keen tips of his antlers. Then he bounded +back some eight or ten paces, and waited, while the +bear slid abruptly to the ground with a flat grunt +of fury.</p> +<p>Sam Coxen, twisting with silent laughter, nearly +fell out of his fir-tree.</p> +<p>The bear had now no room left for any remembrance +of the man. He was in a perfect ecstasy of rage at +the insolence of the buck, and rushed upon him like +a cyclone. Against that irresistible charge the buck +had no thought of making stand. Just in the nick +of time he sprang aside in a bound that carried him a +full thirty feet. Another such, another and another, +and then he went capering off frivolously down the +woody aisles, while the bear lumbered impotently +after him.</p> +<p>Before they were out of sight Sam Coxen slid +down from his tree and made all haste over the +fence. In the open field he felt more at ease, knowing +he could outrun the bear, in case of need. But +he stopped long enough to pick up the gun.</p> +<p>Then, with one pathetic glance at the ruined cabbages, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +he strode hastily on up the hill, glancing +backward from time to time to assure himself that +neither of his late antagonists was returning to the +attack.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +<a name='IN_THE_DEEP_OF_THE_SNOW' id='IN_THE_DEEP_OF_THE_SNOW'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>In the Deep of the Snow</span></h2> +</div> +<p style='text-align:center; margin:1em auto 1.5em auto;'>I</p> +<p>Around the little log cabin in the clearing +the snow lay nearly four feet deep. It loaded +the roof. It buried the low, broad, log barn almost +to the eaves. It whitely fenced in the trodden, +chip-littered, straw-strewn space of the yard which +lay between the barn and the cabin. It heaped itself +fantastically, in mounds and domes and pillars, +over the stumps that dotted the raw, young clearing. +It clung densely on the drooping branches of +the fir and spruce and hemlock. It mantled in a +kind of breathless, expectant silence the solitude of +the wilderness world.</p> +<p>Dave Patton, pushing down the blankets and +the many-coloured patchwork quilt, lifted himself on +one elbow and looked at the pale face of his young +wife. She was sleeping. He slipped noiselessly +out of the bunk, lightly pulled up the coverings +again, and hurriedly drew on two pairs of heavy, +home-knit socks of rough wool. The cabin was +filled with the grey light of earliest dawn, and with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +a biting cold that made the woodsman’s hardy +fingers ache. Stepping softly as a cat over the +rude plank floor, he made haste to pile the cooking-stove +with birch-bark, kindling, and split sticks +of dry, hard wood. At the touch of the match +the birch-bark caught and curled with a crisp +crackling, and with a roar in the strong draught the +cunningly piled mass burst into blaze. Dave Patton +straightened, and his grey eyes turned to a +little, low bunk with high sides in the farther +corner of the cabin.</p> +<p>Peering over the edge of the bunk with big, eager, +blue eyes, was a round little face framed in a tousled +mop of yellow hair. A red glare from the open +draught of the stove caught the child’s face. The +moment she saw her father looking at her she started +to climb out of the bunk; but Dave was instantly +at her side, kissing her and tucking her down again +into the blankets.</p> +<p>“You mustn’t git out o’ bed, sweetie,” he whispered, +“till the house gits warmed up a bit. An’ +don’t wake mother yet.”</p> +<p>The child’s eyes danced with eagerness, but she +restrained her voice as she replied.</p> +<p>“I thought mebbe ’twas Christmis, popsie!” +she whispered, catching his fingers. “’T first, I +thought mebbe you was Sandy Claus, popsie. Oh, +I wish Christmis ’ld hurry up!”</p> +<p>A look of pain passed over Dave Patton’s face. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span></p> +<p>“Christmas won’t be along fer ’most a week yit, +sweetie!” he answered, in the soft undertone that +took heed of his wife’s slumbers. “An’ anyways, +how do you s’pose Sandy Claus is goin’ to find his +way, ’way out into these great woods, through all +this snow?”</p> +<p>“Oh, <i>popsie!</i>” cried the child, excitedly. Then, +remembering, she lowered her voice again to a +whisper. “Don’t you know Sandy Claus kin go +<i>any</i>wheres? Snow, an’ cold, an’ the––the––the +big, black woods––they don’t bother <i>him</i> one little, +teenty mite. He knows where to find me out here, +jest’s easy’s in at the Settlements, popsie!”</p> +<p>The mother stirred in her bunk, wakened by the +little one’s voice. She sat up, shivering, and pulled +a red shawl about her shoulders. Her eyes sought +Dave’s significantly and sympathetically.</p> +<p>“Mother’s girl must try an’ not think so much +about Sandy Claus,” she pleaded. “I don’t want +her to go an’ be disappointed. Sandy Claus lives +in at the Settlements, an’ you know right well, girlie, +he couldn’t git ’way out here, Christmas Eve, without +neglecting all the little boys an’ girls at the +Settlements. You wouldn’t want <i>them all</i> disappointed, +just so’s he could come to our little girl +’way off here in the woods, what’s got her father an’ +mother anyways!”</p> +<p>The child sat up straight in her bunk, her eyes +grew very wide and filled with tears, and her lips +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +quivered. This was the first really effective blow +that her faith in Christmas and in Santa Claus had +ever received. But instantly her faith recovered +itself. The eager light returned to her face, and she +shook her yellow head obstinately.</p> +<p>“He won’t <i>have to</i> ’lect the children in the Settlements, +will he, popsie?” she cried. And without +waiting for an answer, she went on: “He kin be +everywheres to oncet, Sandy Claus can. He’s so good +an’ kind, he won’t forget <i>one</i> of the little boys an’ +girls in the Settlements, nor me, out here in the +woods. Oh, mumsie, I wisht it was to-night was +Christmas Eve!” And in her happy anticipation +she bounced up and down in the bunk, a figure of +fairy joy in her blue flannel nightgown.</p> +<p>Dave turned away with a heavy heart and jammed +more wood into the stove. Then, pulling on his +thick cowhide “larrigans,” coat and woollen mittens, +he went out to fodder the cattle. With that joyous +roar of fresh flame in the stove the cabin was already +warming up, but outside the door, which Dave +closed quickly behind him, the cold had a kind of +still savagery, edged and instant like a knife. To a +strong man, however, it was a tonic, an honest challenging +to resistance. In spite of his sad preoccupation, +Dave responded to the cold air instinctively, +pausing outside the door to fill his deep lungs +and to glance at the thrilling mystery of the sunrise +before him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span></p> +<p>The cabin stood at the top of the clearing +against a background of dense spruce forest which +sheltered it on the north and north-east. Across +the yard, on the western side of the cabin, the +log barn and the “lean-to” thrust up their laden +roofs from the surrounding snow. In front, the +cleared ground sloped away gently to the woods +below, a snow-swathed, mystically glimmering +expanse, its surface tumbled by the upthrust of +the muffled stumps. From the eastern corner of +the clearing, directly opposite the doorway before +which Dave was standing, the Settlements trail +led straight away, a lane of miraculous glory, into +the very focus of the sunrise.</p> +<p>For miles upon miles the slow slope of the wilderness +was towards the east, so that the trail was +like an open gate into the great space of earth +and sky. The sky, from the eastern horizon to +the zenith––and that was all that Dave Patton +had eyes for––was filled with a celestial rabble +of rose-pink vapours, thin aërial wisps of almost +unimaginable colour. Except the horizon! The +horizon, just where the magic portals of the trail +revealed it, was an unfathomable radiance of intense, +transparent, orange-crimson flame, so thrilling +in its strangeness that Dave seemed to feel his +spirit striving to draw it in as his lungs were drawing +in the vital air. From that fount of living light +rushed innumerable streams of thin colour, making +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +threads and stains and patches of mystical red among +the tops of the lower forest, and dyeing the snowy +surface of the clearing with the tints of mother-of-pearl +and opal. Dave turned his head to glance at +the cabin, the barn, and the woods behind them. +All were bathed in that transfiguring rush of glory. +The beauty of it gave him a curious pang, which +turned instantly, by some association too obscure for +him to trace, into an ache of grief at the disappointment +that was hanging over his little one’s gaily +trusting heart. The fairylike quality of the scene +before him made him think, by a mingling of sympathy +and far-off, dim remembrance, of the fairy +glamour and unreal radiance of beauty that Christmas +tree and Christmas toys stood for in the child’s +bright anticipations. He reminded himself of the +glittering delights with which, during the past +three Christmases, Lidey’s kinsfolk in the Settlement +had lovingly surrounded her. Now he, her +father, could do nothing to make her Christmas +different from all these other days of whose shut-in +monotony she was wearying. Hope, now, and +excited wonder were giving the little one new life. +Dave Patton cringed within at the thought of the +awakening, the disillusionment, the desolation of +sorrow that would come to the baby heart with the +dawn of Christmas. He was overwhelmed with +self-reproach, because he had not realized all this +in time to make provision, before the deep snow +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +had blocked the trail to the Settlement. Now, +what <i>could</i> he do?</p> +<p>Heavily Dave strode across the yard to the door +of the barn. At the sound of his feet crunching +the trodden and brittle snow, there came low mooings +of eagerness from the expectant cattle in the barn. +As he lifted the massive wooden latch and opened +the door, the horse whinnied to him from the innermost +stall, there was a welcoming shuffle of hoofs, +and a comfortable warmth puffed steamily out in +his face. From the horse’s stall, from the stanchions +of the cattle, big, soft eyes all turned to him. +As he bundled the scented hay into the mangers, +and listened to the contented snortings and puffings +as soft muzzles tossed the fodder, he thought how +happy these creatures were in their warm security. +He thought how happy he was, and his wife, reunited +to him after three years of forced and almost continuous +separation. For him, and for the young +wife, now recovering health in the tonic air of the +spruce land after years of invalidism, this had +promised to be a Christmas of unalloyed gladness. +To one only, to the little one whose happiness +was his continual thought, the day would be dark +with the shattering of cherished hopes. The more +he thought of it, the more he felt that it was not to +be borne. Faint but piteous memories from his own +childhood stirred in his brain, and he realized how +irremediable, how final and desperate, seem a child’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +small sorrows. A sudden resolve took hold upon +him. This bitterness, at least, his little one should +not know. He jammed the pitchfork energetically +back into the mow and left the barn with the quick +step of an assured purpose.</p> +<p>Three years before this, Dave Patton, after a +series of misfortunes in the Settlement, which had +reduced him to sharp poverty, had been forced to +leave his wife and three-years-old baby with her own +people, while he betook himself into the remotest +wilderness to carve out a new home for them on a +tract of forest land which was all that remained of +his possessions. The land was fertile and carried +good timber, and he had begun to prosper. But his +wife’s ill-health had long made it impossible for her +to face the hardships and risks of a pioneer’s life +two days’ journey from the nearest civilization. +Not till the preceding spring had Dave dared to bring +his family out to the wilderness home that he had +so long been making ready for them. Then, however, +it had proved a success. In that high and healing +air he had seen the colour slowly come back to his +wife’s pale cheeks; and as for the child, until the +great snows came and cut her off from this novel +and interesting world, she had been absorbingly +happy in the fellowship of the wilderness.</p> +<p>When Dave re-entered the cabin, he found the +table set over by the window, and his wife beating up +the batter for the buckwheat pancakes that she was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +about to griddle for breakfast. Lidey, still in her +little blue flannel nightgown, but with beaded deerskin +moccasins on her tiny feet, and the golden wilfulness +of her hair tied back demurely with a blue +ribbon, was seated at one end of the table, her eager +face half buried in a sheet of paper. She was laboriously +inditing, for perhaps the twentieth time, an +epistle to “Sandy Claus,” telling him what she hoped +he would bring her.</p> +<p>If anything had been needed to confirm Dave +Patton in his resolve, it was this. From the rapt +child his eyes turned and met his wife’s inquiring +glance.</p> +<p>“I reckon I’ve got to go, Mary!” he said quietly. +“Think you two kin git along all right fer four or +five days? We ain’t likely to have no more snow +this moon.”</p> +<p>The woman let a little sigh escape her, but the look +she gave her husband was one of cheerful acquiescence.</p> +<p>“I guess you’re right, dear! I’ll have to let you +go, though five days seems an awful long time to be +alone here. I’ve been thinkin’ it over,” she continued, +guarding her words so that Lidey should not understand––“an’ +I just couldn’t bear to see it, Dave!”</p> +<p>“That’s so!” assented the man. “I’ll leave +heaps o’ wood an’ kindlin’ cut, an’ you’ll jest have to +milk an’ look after the beasts, dear. Long’s you’re +not <i>scairt</i> to be alone, it’s all right, I reckon!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span></p> +<p>“When’ll you start?” asked the wife, turning +to pour the batter in little, sputtering, grey-white +circles on to the hot, greased griddle.</p> +<p>“First thing to-morrow mornin’!” answered +Dave, seating himself at the table as the appetizing +smell of the browning pancakes filled the room. +“Snow’s jest right for snowshoein’, an’ I’ll git back +easy Christmas Eve.”</p> +<p>“You sure won’t be late, popsie?” interrupted the +child, looking up with apprehension in her round +eyes. “I jest wouldn’t care one mite for Sandy Claus +if you weren’t here too!”</p> +<p>“Mebbe I’ll git him to give me a lift in his little +sleigh! Anyways, I’ll be back!” laughed Dave, +gaily.</p> +<p style='text-align:center; margin:1em auto 1.5em auto;'>II</p> +<p>After Dave had gone, setting out at daybreak on +his moose-hide snowshoes, which crunched musically +on the hard snow, things went very well for a +while at the lonely clearing. It was not so lonely, +either, during the bright hours about midday, when +the sunshine managed to accumulate something +almost like warmth in the sheltered yard. About +noon the two red and white cows and the yoke of +wide-horned red oxen would stand basking in front +of the lean-to, near the well, contentedly chewing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +their cuds. At this time the hens, too, yellow and +black and speckled, would come out and scratch in +the litter, perennially undiscouraged by the fact +that the only thing they found beneath it was the +snow. The vivid crossbills, red and black and +white, would come to the yard in flocks, and the +quaker-coloured snow-buntings, and the big, trustful, +childlike, pine grosbeaks, with the growing stain +of rose-purple over their heads and necks. These +kept Lidey interested, helping to pass the days that +now, to her excited anticipations, seemed so long. +Perhaps half a dozen times a day she would print +a difficult communication to Santa Claus with some +new idea, some new suggestion. These missives were +mailed to the good Saint of Children by the swift +medium of the roaring kitchen fire; and as the draught +whisked their scorching fragments upwards, Lidey +was satisfied that they went straight to their destination. +The child’s joy in her anticipations was now +the more complete because, since her father’s departure, +her mother had ceased to discourage her +hopes.</p> +<p>On the day before Christmas Eve, however, the +mother felt symptoms of a return of her old sickness. +Immediately she grew anxious, realizing how necessary +it was that she should keep well. This nervous +apprehension hastened the result that she most +dreaded. Her pain and her weakness grew worse +hour by hour. Mastered by her memories of what +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +she had been through before, she was in no mood +to throw off the attack. That evening, crawling to +the barn with difficulty, she amazed the horse and +the cattle by coaxing them to drink again, then piled +their mangers with a two-days’ store of hay, and +scattered buckwheat recklessly for the hens. The +next morning she could barely drag herself out of bed +to light the fire; and Lidey had to make her breakfast––which +she did contentedly enough––on bread +and butter and unlimited molasses.</p> +<p>It was a weary day for the little one, in spite of +her responsibilities. Muffled up and mittened, she +was able, under her mother’s directions, to carry a +little water to the stock in a small tin kettle, making +many journeys. And she was able to keep the +fire going. But the hours crept slowly, and she +was so consumed with impatience that all her +usual amusements lost their savour. Not even +the rare delight of being allowed to cut pictures +out of some old illustrated papers could divert her +mind from its dazzling anticipations. But before +Christmas could come, must come her father; and +from noon onward she would keep running to the +door every few minutes to peer expectantly down +the trail. She was certain that, at the worst, he +could not by any possibility be delayed beyond +supper-time, for he was needed to get supper––or, +rather, as Lidey expressed it, to help her get supper +for mother! Lidey was not hungry, to be sure, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +she was getting mortally tired of unmitigated bread +and butter and molasses.</p> +<p>Supper-time, however, came and went, and no sign +of Dave’s return. On the verge of tears, Lidey +munched a little of the now distasteful food. Her +mother, worn out with the pain, which had at last +relaxed its grip, fell into a heavy sleep. There was +no light in the cabin except the red glow from the +open draught of the stove, and the intense, blue-white +moonlight streaming in through the front window. +The child’s impatience became intolerable.</p> +<p>Flinging open the door for the hundredth time, +she gazed out eagerly across the moonlit snow and +down the trail. The cloudless moon, floating +directly above it, transfigured that narrow and lonely +road into a path to wonderland. In the mystic +radiance––blue-white, but shot with faint, half-imagined +flashes of emerald and violet––Lidey could +see no loneliness whatever. The monstrous solitude +became to her eyes a garden of silver and crystal. +As she gazed, it lured her irresistibly.</p> +<p>With a sudden resolve she noiselessly closed the +door, lit the lamp, and began to put on her wraps, +stealing about on tiptoe that she might not awaken +her mother. She was quite positive that, by this +time, her father must be almost home. As her little +brain dwelt upon this idea, she presently brought +herself to see him, striding swiftly along in the moonlight +just beyond the turn of the trail. If she hurried, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +she could meet him before he came out upon the +clearing. The thought possessed her. Stealing a +cautious glance at her mother’s face to be sure her +sleep was sound, she slipped out into the shine. A +moment more and her tiny figure, hooded and muffled +and mittened, was dancing on moccasined feet across +the snow.</p> +<p>At the entrance to the trail, Lidey felt the first qualm +of misgiving. The path of light, to be sure, with +all its fairy-book enticement, lay straight before +her. But the solemn woods, on either side of the +path, were filled with great shadows and a terrible +stillness. At this point Lidey had half a mind to +turn back. But she was already a young person of +positive ideas, not lightly to be swerved from a purpose; +and her too vivid imagination still persisted +in showing her that picture of her father, speeding +towards her just beyond the turn of the trail. +She even thought that she could hear his steps upon +the daunting stillness. With her heart quivering, +yet uplifted by an exaltation of hope, she ran on, +not daring to glance again into the woods. To sustain +her courage she kept thinking of the look of gay +astonishment that would flash into her father’s face +as he met her running towards him––just around +the turn of the trail!</p> +<p>The turn was nearly a quarter of a mile distant, +but the child reached it at last. With a little cry +of confident relief she rushed forward. The long +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +trail––now half in shadow from the slight change +in its direction––stretched out empty before her. +In the excess of her disappointment she burst into +tears and sat down on the snow irresolutely.</p> +<p>Her first impulse––after she had cried for a minute, +and wiped her eyes with the little mittens, which +promptly stiffened in the stinging frost––was to face +about and run for home as fast as she could. But +when she turned and glanced behind her, the backward +path appeared quite different. When she +no longer faced the moonlight, the world took on an +unfriendly, sinister look. There were unknown terrors +all along that implacable blue-white way through +the dread blackness of the woods. Sobbing with +desolation, she turned again towards the moon. +Ahead, for all her fears, the trail still held something +of the glamour and the dazzle. Ahead, too, +as she reminded herself, was surely her father, hastening +to meet her, only not quite so near as she had +imagined. Summoning back her courage, and +comforting her lonely spirit with thoughts of what +Santa Claus was going to bring her, she picked herself +up and continued her journey at a hurried little +walk.</p> +<p>She had not gone more than a few steps, when a +strange, high sound, from somewhere far behind +her, sent her heart into her throat and quickened +her pace to a run.</p> +<p>Again came that high, long-drawn, quavering +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +sound; and the child’s heart almost stopped beating. +If only she could see her father coming! She had +never heard any sound just like that; it was not savage, +nor very loud, but somehow it seemed to carry a +kind of horror on its floating cadence. It reminded +her, very faintly, of the howling of some dogs that +she had heard in the Settlement. She was not afraid +of dogs. But she knew there were no dogs in the +forest.</p> +<p>Just as she was beginning to lose her breath and +slacken her pace, that terrible cry came wavering +again through the trees, much louder now and nearer. +It lent new strength to her tired little feet, and she +fled on faster than ever, her red lips open and her +eyes wide. Another slight turn of the trail, and it +ran once more directly towards the moon, stretching +on and on till it narrowed from sight. And nowhere +in the shining track was Dave to be seen. Lidey +had now, however, but one thought in her quivering +brain, and that was to keep running and get to her +father before those dreadful voices could overtake her. +She knew they were coming up swiftly. They sounded +terribly near. When she had gone about two hundred +yards beyond the last bend of the trail, she +noticed, a few steps ahead of her, a tiny clearing, +and at its farther edge the gable of a little hut rising +a couple of feet above the snow. She knew the +place. She had played in it that summer, while +Dave was cutting the coarse hay on the clearing. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +It was a place that had been occupied by lonely trappers +and lumber prospectors. Being a work of men’s +hands, it gave the child a momentary sense of comfort, +of companionship in the dreadful wild. She paused, +uncertain whether to continue along the trail or to +seek the shelter of the empty hut.</p> +<p>When the crunching of her own little footsteps +stopped, however, she was instantly aware of the +padding of other feet behind her. Looking back, she +saw a pack of grey beasts just coming around the turn. +They were something like dogs. But Lidey knew +they were not dogs. She had seen pictures of them––awful +pictures. She had read stories of them which +had frozen her blood as she read. Now, her very +bones seemed to melt within her. They were wolves! +For a moment her throat could form no sound. +Then––“Father!” she screamed despairingly, and +rushed for the hut.</p> +<p>As she reached it, the wolves were hardly a dozen +paces behind. The door stood half open, but drifted +full of snow to within little more than a foot of the +top. Into the low opening the child dived head +first, like a rabbit, crept behind the door, and fell +upon the snow, gasping, too horror-stricken to make +any outcry.</p> +<p>A step from the hut door the wolves halted +abruptly. The half-buried hut, and the dark hole +leading into it––these were things they did not +understand, except that they recognized them as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +belonging to man. Anything belonging to man was +dangerous. In that dark hole they suspected a trap. +The leader went up to it, and almost poked his nose +into it, sniffing. But he backed away sharply as if +he had met with a blow on the snout, and his +nostrils wrinkled in savage enmity. The man +smell was strong in the hut. It seemed very like a +trap.</p> +<p>Lying flat on her stomach behind the door, Lidey +stared out through the narrow crack with eyes that +seemed starting from her head. Out there in the +clear glitter of the moonlight she saw the wolves go +prowling savagely to and fro, and heard their steps +as they cautiously circled the hut, seeking another +entrance. They kept about five or six feet distant +from it at first, so suspicious were they of that man +smell that had greeted the leader’s first attempt at +investigation. When they had prowled about the +hut for several minutes, they all sat down on their +haunches before the door and seemed to deliberate. +The child felt their dreadful eyes piercing her through +and through, as they searched her out through the +crack and penetrated her vain hiding.</p> +<p>Suddenly, while the eyes of all the pack were +flaming upon her, she saw the leader come swiftly forward +and thrust his fierce snout right against the +crack of the door. In a sort of madness she struck +at it with her little, mittened hand. The wolf, apparently +still disconcerted by the man smell that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +greeted his nostrils, sprang back warily. Then the +whole pack drew a foot or two closer to the open +doorway. Ravenous though they were, they were +not yet assured that the hut was not a trap. They +were not yet quite ready to crawl in and secure their +prey. But gradually they were edging nearer. A +few moments more and the leader, no less crafty than +savage, would creep in. Already he had accustomed +himself to the menace of that scent. Now, he did +creep in, as far as the middle of his body, investigating. +His red jaws and long, white teeth appeared +around the edge of the door. At the sight Lidey’s +voice returned to her. Shrinking back against the +farthest wall, she gave shriek after shriek that seemed +to tear the dreadful stillness. In the madness of her +terror she hardly noticed that the wolf’s head was +suddenly withdrawn.</p> +<p style='text-align:center; margin:1em auto 1.5em auto;'>III</p> +<p>When Dave Patton set out for the Settlement, he +found the snow-shoeing so good, the biting air so +bracing, and his own heart so light with hope and +health, that he was able to make the journey in +something less than a day and a half. Out of this time +he had allowed himself four hours for sleep, in an old +lumber camp beside the trail. At the Settlement, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +which boasted several miscellaneous stores, where +anything from a baby’s rattle to a bag of fertilizer +or a bedroom suite could be purchased, he had no +difficulty in gathering such gay-coloured trifles, +together with more lasting gifts, as he thought would +meet Lidey’s anticipations. When he went to his +wife’s people, he found that all had something to +add to his Santa Claus pack, for Mary as well as +for the little one; and he hugged himself with elation +at the thought of what a Christmas there was +going to be in the lonely wilderness cabin. He had +bought two or three things for his wife; and when he +shouldered his pack, slinging it high and strapping +it close that it might not flop with his rapid stride, +he found the burden no light one. But the lightness +of his heart made compensation.</p> +<p>That night he took but two hours’ sleep in the old +lumber camp, aiming to reach home soon after noon. +In the morning, however, things began to go wrong. +First the pack, as packs sometimes will for no visible +reason, developed a kink that galled his shoulders +obstinately. Again and again he paused and tried to +readjust it. But in vain. Finally he had to stop, +undo the bundle, and rearrange every article in it, +before he could induce it to “carry” smoothly.</p> +<p>Half an hour later, as he turned a step off the trail +to get a drink at a bubbling spring, that kept open +all through the bitterest winter, he caught his snowshoe +on a buried branch and fell forward, breaking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +the frame. In his angry impatience he attempted +no more than a temporary repair of the damage, +such as he thought might see him to the end of his +journey. But the poor makeshift broke down before +he had gone a mile. There was nothing for him to +do but to stop long enough to make a good job of +it, which he did by chopping out a piece of ash, whittling +down a couple of thin but tough strips, and splicing +the break securely with the strong “salmon +twine” that he always carried. Even so, he realized +that to avoid further delay he would have to go cautiously +and humour the mend. And soon he had +to acknowledge to himself that it would be long after +supper-time, long after Lidey’s bed-time, before he +could get home.</p> +<p>As the moon rose, he was accompanied by his +shadow, a gigantic and grotesque figure that danced +fantastically along the snow before him. As the moon +climbed the icy heaven, the shadow shortened and +acquired more sobriety of demeanour. Plodding doggedly +onward, too tired to think, Dave amused himself +with the antics of the shadow, which seemed responsible +for a portion of the crisp music that came +from his snowshoes.</p> +<p>From this careless reverie Dave was suddenly +aroused by a ghost of sound that drifted towards him +through the trees. It was a long, wailing cry, which +somehow stirred the roots of his hair. He did not +recognize it. But he felt that it was nothing human. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +It came from somewhere between himself and home, +however; and he instinctively quickened his steps, +thinking with satisfaction of the snug and well-warmed +cabin that sheltered his dear ones.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +<img src='images/illus-098.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 384px; height: 522px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 384px;'> +“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Where anything from a baby’s rattle to a bag of fertilizer could be purchased</span>.”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>Presently the long cry sounded again, nearer and +clearer now, and tremulous. Dave had heard +wolves before, in Labrador and in the West. Had he +not been quite sure that wolves were unknown in this +part of the country, he would have sworn that the +sound was the hunting cry of a wolf-pack. But +the idea was impossible. He had no sooner made up +his mind to this, however, than the cry was repeated +once more. Thereupon Dave reluctantly changed +his mind. That the sound meant wolves was not only +possible, but certain. It filled him with resentment +to think that those ravening marauders had come into +the country.</p> +<p>It was soon manifest to Dave’s initiated ears +that the wolves were coming directly towards him. +But he gathered, too, that they were in pursuit of some +quarry. Dave had the eastern woodsman’s contempt +for wolves, unless in a very large pack; and he soon +decided that this pack was a small one. He did not +think that it would dare to face him. Nevertheless, +he recognized the remote possibility of their being +so hungry as to forget their dread of man. That in +such case his axe would be an all-sufficient defence +he did not doubt. But he was in a fierce hurry to +get home. He did not want to be stopped and forced +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +into any fight. For a moment he thought of turning +off through the woods and giving these night foragers +a wide berth. Then he remembered his uncertain +snowshoes. The snow would be very soft off the +trail, and there would be the chance of breaking +the shoe again. Who was he, to be turned out of his +path by a bunch of wild curs? It was the snow-shoe +that settled it. He set his jaws grimly, unslung his +axe, and pressed forward. The clamour of the pack +was now so near and loud that it quite drowned one +single, piercing cry of “Father!” that would otherwise +have reached his ears. There was a new note +in the howling, too, which Dave’s ear interpreted as +meaning that the quarry was in sight. Then the +noise stopped abruptly, save for an impatient yelp +or two.</p> +<p>“Whatever it be they’re after, it’s took to cover,” +said Dave to himself. “An’ in the old shanty, too!” +he added, as he saw the little patch of clearing open +before him.</p> +<p>Realizing that the wolves had something to occupy +fully their attention, he now crept noiselessly forward +just within the edge of the wood. Peering forth +from behind the cover of a drooping hemlock branch, +he saw the roof of the hut, the half-open doorway +nearly choked with snow, and the wolves prowling +and sniffing around it, but keeping a couple of yards +away.</p> +<p>“Scairt of a trap!” he thought to himself with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +a grin, and cursed his luck that he had not his rifle +with him.</p> +<p>“A couple o’ them thick, grey pelts,” he thought––“what +a coat they’d make for the little one!”</p> +<p>There were six wolves, and big ones––enough to +make things look pretty ugly for one man with only +an axe. Dave was glad they had something to keep +them from turning their attention to him. He +watched them for a few moments, then decided to +go around by the other side of the clearing and +avoid trouble.</p> +<p>He drew back as silently as a lynx. Where the +woods overhead were thick, the snow was soft, +with no crispness on the surface; and instead of +the crunching that his steps made on the trail, here +the snow made no sound under his feet but a sort of +thick sigh.</p> +<p>Dave had taken several paces in retreat, when an +idea flashed up that arrested him. <i>Why</i> were the +wolves so wary about entering the hut, when +their quarry was certainly inside? Their dread of +a trap was not, of itself, quite enough to explain +their caution. The thought gave him a qualm of +uneasiness. He would return and have another +look at them! Then his impatience got the better +of him. Mary and the little one were waiting and +watching for him at home. He retreated another +pace or two. What should he be doing, wasting +his time over a parcel of wolves that had got a fox +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +cornered in the old shanty? Dave felt sure it was +a fox. But no! He could not escape the conviction––much +as he wished to––that if the fugitive +were a fox, or any other animal of the north-eastern +woods, it would not take six hungry wolves +much more than six seconds to get over their suspicions +and go in after him. What if it should be +some half-starved old Indian, working his way into +the Settlement after bad luck with his hunting and +his trapping! Whoever it was, he had no gun, +or there would have been shooting before this. +Dave saw that he must go back and look into the +matter. But he was angry at this new delay. Cursing +the wolves, and the Indian who didn’t know +enough to take care of himself, Dave stole back to +his covert behind the hemlock branch, and peered +forth once more, no longer interested, but aggrieved.</p> +<p>The wolves were now sitting on their haunches +around the hut door. Their unusual behaviour convinced +him that there was a man inside. Well, there +was no getting around the fact that he was in for a +fight. He only hoped that the chap inside was some +good, and would have “somethin’ to say fer himself, +darn him!” Dave gently lowered the bundle +from his back, and threw off his thick coat to allow +his arms freer play.</p> +<p>It was at this moment that the leader of the pack +made up his mind to crawl into the hut. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span></p> +<p>As the wolf’s head entered the low opening, Dave +gripped his axe, thrust aside the hemlock branch, and +silently darted forth into the clearing. He did +not shout, for he wanted to take his enemies, as far +as possible, unawares. He had but a score of yards +to go. So intent were they upon their leader’s movements +that Dave was almost upon them ere they +heeded the sound of his coming. Then they looked +around. Three shrank back, startled at the tall +and threatening shape. But two sprang at his throat +with snapping jaws. The first met the full sweep of +his axe, in the chest and dropped in a heap. The +second dodged a short blow and warily drew back +again. Then, from within the darkness of the hut, +came those screams of the madness of terror.</p> +<p>For one beat Dave’s heart stopped. He knew the +voice!</p> +<p>The big wolf was just backing out. He turned, +jerking himself around like a loosed spring, as he +saw Dave towering over him. But he was not +in time. The axe descended, sheering his haunches +across, and he stretched out, working his great jaws +convulsively. Dave saw that the jaws had no blood +upon them, and his own blood returned to his heart. +He had come in time. The screams within the hut +died into piteous sobs.</p> +<p>Across Dave’s mind flamed a vision of the agony of +horror that Lidey had been suffering since first +those howlings fell upon his ears. His heart-break +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +transformed itself into a mad rage of vengeance. +As he turned, with a hoarse shout, upon the rest +of the pack, he felt a hot breath on his neck, and +bare fangs snapped savagely within an inch of his +throat. His assailant sprang back in time to escape +the deadly sweep of the axe, but at the same +instant the other three were leaping in. One of +these caught a glancing blow, which drove him off, +snarling. But the other two were so close that there +was no time for Dave to recover. Instinctively he +jabbed a short back-stroke with the end of the axe-handle, +and caught one of his assailants in the belly. +Sickened, and daunted by this unexpected form of +reprisal, the brute hunched itself with a startled +yelp and ran off with its tail between its legs. At the +same moment, dropping the axe, Dave caught the +other wolf fairly by the throat. The gripping hand +was a kind of weapon that the beast had never +learned to guard against, and it was taken at a disadvantage. +With a grunt of fury and of effort Dave +closed his grip inexorably, braced himself, and swung +the heavy brute off its feet. Whirling it clear +around his head, he let go. The animal flew sprawling +and twisting through the air, and came down on +its back ten feet away. When it landed, there was +no more fight left in it. Before Dave could reach +it with his axe it was up and away in a panic after its +two remaining fellows.</p> +<p>Breathing heavily from his effort and from the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +storm of emotion still surging in his breast, Dave +turned to the hut door and called––</p> +<p>“Lidey! Lidey! Are you there?”</p> +<p>“Popsie! Oh, popsie, <i>dear!</i> I thought you weren’t +goin’ to come!” cried a quivering little voice. And +the child crept out into the moonlight.</p> +<p>“Oh, popsie!” she sobbed, hiding her eyes in his +neck as he crushed her to his heart, “they were goin’ +to eat me up, an’ I thought you wouldn’t ever +come!”</p> +<p style='text-align:center; margin:1em auto 1.5em auto;'>IV</p> +<p>With the bundle on his back and Lidey in his arms, +Dave strode homeward, his weariness forgotten. +His first anxiety about his wife was somewhat +eased when he learned that Lidey had left her asleep; +for he remembered that a heavy sleep always marked +the end of one of her attacks. He only hoped that +the sleep would hold her until they got home, for +his heart sank at the thought of her terror if she should +wake and find Lidey gone. As they came out on the +edge of the clearing, and saw that all was quiet in the +cabin, Dave said––</p> +<p>“We won’t tell mother nothin’ about the wolves +to-night, sweetie, eh? It ’ld jest git her all worked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +up, an’ she couldn’t stand it when she’s sick. We +won’t say nothin’ about that till to-morrow!”</p> +<p>“Yes!” murmured Lidey, “she’d be awful +scairt!”</p> +<p>They were then about halfway up the slope, when +from the cabin came a frightened cry of “Lidey! +Lidey!” The door was flung open, the lamplight +streamed out in futile contest with the moonlight, and +Mrs. Patton appeared. Her face was white with +fear. As she saw Dave and the little one hurrying +towards her, both hands went to her heart in the +extremity of her relief, and she sank back into a chair +before the door.</p> +<p>Dave kicked off his snow-shoes with a dexterous +twist, stepped inside, slammed the door, and with +a laugh and a kiss deposited Lidey in her mother’s +lap.</p> +<p>“She jest run down to meet me!” explained Dave, +truthfully but deceptively.</p> +<p>“Oh, girlie, how you frightened me!” cried +the woman, divided between tears and smiles. “I +woke up, Dave, an’ found her gone; an’ bein’ kind o’ +bewildered, I couldn’t understand it!”</p> +<p>She clung to his hand, while he looked tenderly +down into her face.</p> +<p>“Poor little woman!” he murmured, “you’ve +had a bad turn ag’in, Lidey tells me. Better now, +eh?”</p> +<p>“I’m plumb all right ag’in, Dave, now you’re +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +back,” she answered, squeezing his hand hard. +“But land’s sakes, Dave, how ever did you git all +that blood on your pants?”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said the man, lightly, “that’s nothin.’ +Tell you about it bime-by. I’m jest starvin’ now. +Let’s have supper quick, and then give old Mr. Sandy +Claus a chance. Tomorrow we’re going to have the +greatest Christmas ever was, us three!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +<a name='THE_GENTLING_OF_RED_MCWHA' id='THE_GENTLING_OF_RED_MCWHA'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Gentling of Red McWha</span></h2> +</div> +<p style='text-align:center; margin:1em auto 1.5em auto;'>I</p> +<p>It was heavy sledding on the Upper Ottanoonsis +trail. The two lumbermen were nearing the +close of the third day of the hard four days’ haul +in from the Settlements to the camp. At the head +of the first team, his broad jaw set and his small grey +eyes angry with fatigue, trudged the big figure +of Red McWha, choosing and breaking a way +through the deep snow. With his fiery red head and +his large red face, he was the only one of his colouring +in a large family so dark that they were known +as the “Black McWhas,” and his temper seemed +to have been chronically soured by the singularity +of his type. But he was a good woodsman and a +good teamster, and his horses followed confidently +at his heels like dogs. The second team was led by +a tall, gaunt-jawed, one-eyed lumberman named +Jim Johnson, but invariably known as “Walley.” +From the fact that his blind eye was of a peculiar +blankness, like whitish porcelain, he had been nicknamed +“Wall-Eye”; but, owing to his general +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +popularity, combined with the emphatic views he +held on that particular subject, the name had been +mitigated to Walley.</p> +<p>The two were hauling in supplies for Conroy’s +Camp, on Little Ottanoonsis Lake. Silently, but +for the clank and creak of the harness, and the +soft “thut, thut” of the trodden snow, the little +procession toiled on through the soundless desolation. +Between the trees––naked birches and scattered, +black-green firs––filtered the lonely, yellowish-violet +light of the fading winter afternoon. When +the light had died into ghostly grey along the corridors +of the forest, the teams rounded a turn of the +trail, and began to descend the steep slope which +led down to Joe Godding’s solitary cabin on the edge +of Burnt Brook Meadows. Presently the dark outline +of the cabin came into view against the pallor of +the open clearing.</p> +<p>But there was no light in the window. No +homely pungency of wood-smoke breathed welcome +on the bitter air. The cabin looked startlingly +deserted.</p> +<p>“Whoa!” commanded McWha, sharply, and +glanced round at Johnson with an angry misgiving +in his eyes. The teams came to a stop with a shiver +of all their bells.</p> +<p>Then, upon the sudden stillness, arose the faint +sound of a child’s voice, crying hopelessly.</p> +<p>“Something wrong down yonder!” growled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +McWha, his expectations of a hot supper crumbling +into dust.</p> +<p>As he spoke, Walley Johnson sprang past him and +went loping down the hill with long, loose strides +like a moose.</p> +<p>Red McWha followed very deliberately with the +teams. He resented anything emotional. And he +was prepared to feel himself aggrieved.</p> +<p>When he reached the cabin door the sound of +weeping had stopped. Inside he found Walley Johnson +on his knees before the stove, hurriedly lighting +a fire. Wrapped in his coat, and clutching his arm +as if afraid he might leave her, stood a tiny, flaxen-haired +child, perhaps five years old. The cabin +was cold, almost as cold as the snapping night +outside. Along the middle of the floor, with bedclothes +from the bunk heaped awkwardly upon it +in the little one’s efforts to warm it back to responsive +life, sprawled rigidly the lank body of Joe +Godding.</p> +<p>Red McWha stared for a moment in silence, then +stooped, examined the dead man’s face, and felt his +breast.</p> +<p>“Deader’n a herring!” he muttered.</p> +<p>“Yes! the poor old shike-poke!” answered Johnson, +without looking up from his task.</p> +<p>“Heart?” queried McWha, laconically.</p> +<p>Johnson made no reply till the flame caught the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +kindling and rushed inwards from the open draught +with a cordial roar. Then he stood up.</p> +<p>“Don’ know about that,” said he. “But he’s +been dead these hours and hours! An’ the fire +out! An’ the kid most froze! A sick man like he was, +to’ve kept the kid alone here with him that way!” +And he glanced down at the dead figure with severe +reprobation.</p> +<p>“Never was much good, that Joe Godding!” muttered +McWha, always critical.</p> +<p>As the two woodsmen discussed the situation, the +child, a delicate-featured, blue-eyed girl, was gazing +up from under her mop of bright hair, first at one, +then at the other. Walley Johnson was the one +who had come in answer to her long wailing, who +had hugged her close, and wrapped her up, and +crooned over her in his pity, and driven away the +terrors. But she did not like to look at him, though +his gaunt, sallow face was strong and kind.</p> +<p>People are apt to talk easy generalities about the +intuition of children! As a matter of fact, the +little ones are not above judging quite as superficially +and falsely as their elders. The child looked at her +protector’s sightless eye, then turned away and +sidled over to McWha with one hand coaxingly +outstretched. McWha’s mouth twisted sourly. +Without appearing to see the tiny hand, he deftly +evaded it. Stooping over the dead man, he picked +him up, straightened him out decently on his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +bunk, and covered him away from sight with the +blankets.</p> +<p>“Ye needn’t be so crusty to the kid, when she +wants to make up to ye!” protested Walley, as +the little one turned back to him with a puzzled +look in her tearful blue eyes.</p> +<p>“It’s all alike they be, six, or sixteen, or sixty-six!” +remarked McWha, sarcastically, stepping to +the door. “I don’t want none of ’em! Ye kin look +out for ’er! I’m for the horses.”</p> +<p>“Don’t talk out so loud,” admonished the +little one. “You’ll wake Daddy. Poor Daddy’s +sick!”</p> +<p>“Poor lamb!” murmured Johnson, folding her +to his great breast with a pang of pity. “No; we +won’t wake daddy. Now tell me, what’s yer +name?”</p> +<p>“Daddy called me Rosy-Lilly!” answered the +child, playing with a button on Johnson’s vest. +“Is he gettin’ warmer now? He was so cold, and +he wouldn’t speak to Rosy-Lilly.”</p> +<p>“Rosy-Lilly it be!” agreed Johnson. “Now we +jest won’t bother daddy, him bein’ so sick! You an’ +me’ll git supper.”</p> +<p>The cabin was warm now, and on tiptoe Johnson +and Rosy-Lilly went about their work, setting +the table, “bilin’ the tea,” and frying the bacon. +When Red McWha came in from the barn, and +stamped the snow from his feet, Rosy-Lilly said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +“Hush!” laid her finger on her lip, and glanced +meaningly at the moveless shape in the bunk.</p> +<p>“We mus’ let ’im sleep, Rosy-Lilly says,” decreed +Johnson, with an emphasis which penetrated McWha’s +unsympathetic consciousness, and elicited a +non-committal grunt.</p> +<p>When supper was ready, Rosy-Lilly hung around +him for a minute or two before dragging her chair +up to the table. She evidently purposed paying +him the compliment of sitting close beside him and +letting him cut her bacon for her. But finding that +he would not even glance at her, she fetched a deep +sigh, and took her place beside Johnson. When +the meal was over and the dishes had been washed +up, she let Johnson put her to bed in her little bunk +behind the stove. She wanted to kiss her father +for good-night, as usual; but when Johnson insisted +that to do so might wake him up, and be bad for +him, she yielded tearfully; and they heard her +sobbing herself to sleep.</p> +<p>For nearly an hour the two men smoked in silence, +their steaming feet under the stove, their backs +turned towards the long, unstirring shape in the +big bunk. At last Johnson stood up and shook +himself.</p> +<p>“Well,” he drawled, “I s’pose we mus’ be doin’ +the best we kin fer poor old Joe.”</p> +<p>“He ain’t left us no ch’ice!” snapped McWha. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></p> +<p>“We can’t leave him here in the house,” continued +Johnson, irresolutely.</p> +<p>“No, no!” answered McWha. “He’d ha’nt it, +an’ us, too, ever after, like as not. We got to give +’im lumberman’s shift, till the Boss kin send and +take ’im back to the Settlement for the parson to do +’im up right an’ proper.”</p> +<p>So they rolled poor Joe Godding up in one of the +tarpaulins which covered the sleds, and buried him +deep in the snow, under the big elm behind the cabin, +and piled a monument of cordwood above him, so +that the foxes and wild cats could not disturb his +lonely sleep, and surmounted the pile with a rude +cross to signify its character. Then, with lighter +hearts, they went back to the cabin fire, which +seemed to burn more freely now that the grim +presence of its former master had been removed.</p> +<p>“Now what’s to be done with the kid––with +Rosy-Lilly?” began Johnson.</p> +<p>Red McWha took his pipe from his mouth, and +spat accurately into the crack of the grate to signify +that he had no opinion on that important subject.</p> +<p>“They do say in the Settlements as how Joe Godding +hain’t kith nor kin in the world, savin’ an’ +exceptin’ the kid only,” continued Johnson.</p> +<p>McWha nodded indifferently.</p> +<p>“Well,” went on Johnson, “we can’t do nawthin’ +but take her on to the camp now. Mebbe the Boss’ll +decide she’s got to go back to the Settlement, along +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +o’ the fun’ral. But mebbe he’ll let the hands keep +her, to kinder chipper up the camp when things gits +dull. I reckon when the boys sees her sweet face +they’ll all be wantin’ to be guardeens to her.”</p> +<p>McWha again spat accurately into the crack of the +grate.</p> +<p>“I ain’t got no fancy for young ’uns in camp, +but ye kin do ez ye like, Walley Johnson,” he answered +grudgingly. “Only I want it understood, +right now, I ain’t no guardeen, an’ won’t be, to nawthin’ +that walks in petticoats! What I’m thinkin’ +of is the old cow out yonder, an’ them hens o’ Joe’s +what I seen a-roostin’ over the cowstall.”</p> +<p>“Them’s all Rosy-Lilly’s, an’ goes with us an’ +her to camp to-morrer,” answered Johnson with +decision. “We’ll tell the kid as how her daddy +had to be took away in the night because he was +so sick, an’ couldn’t speak to nobody, an’ we was +goin’ to take keer o’ her till he gits back! An’ +that’s the truth,” he added, with a sudden passion +of tenderness and pity in his tone.</p> +<p>At this hint of emotion McWha laughed sarcastically. +Then knocking out his pipe, he proceeded +to fill the stove for the night, and spread his +blanket on the floor beside it.</p> +<p>“If ye wants to make the camp a baby-farm,” +he growled, “don’t mind me!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span></p> +<p style='text-align:center; margin:1em auto 1.5em auto;'>II</p> +<p>Under the dominion of Rosy-Lilly fell Conroy’s +camp at sight, capitulating unconditionally to +the first appeal of her tearful blue eyes, and little, +hurt red mouth. Dan Logan, the Boss, happened +to know just how utterly alone the death of her +father had left the child, and he was the first to +propose that the camp should adopt her. Fully +bearing out the faith which Walley Johnson had so +confidently expressed back in the dead man’s cabin, +Jimmy Brackett, the cook, on whom would necessarily +devolve the chief care of this new member +of his family, jumped to the proposal of the Boss +with enthusiastic support.</p> +<p>“We’ll every mother’s son o’ us be guardeen +to her!” he declared, with the finality appropriate +to his office as autocrat second only to the Boss +himself. Every man in camp assented noisily, +saving only Red McWha; and he, as was expected +of him, sat back and grinned.</p> +<p>From the first, Rosy-Lilly made herself at home +in the camp. For a few days she fretted after her +father, whenever she was left for a moment to her +own devices; but Jimmy Brackett was ever on +hand to divert her mind with astounding fairy-tales +during the hours when the rest of the hands +were away chopping and hauling. Long after she +had forgotten to fret, she would have little “cryin’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +spells” at night, remembering her father’s good-night +kiss. But a baby’s sorrow, happily, is +shorter than its remembrance; and Rosy-Lilly soon +learned to repeat her phrase: “Poor Daddy had +to go ’way-’way-off,” without the quivering lip and +wistful look which made the big woodsmen’s hearts +tighten so painfully beneath their homespun shirts. +Conroy’s Camp was a spacious, oblong cabin of +“chinked” logs, with a big stove in the middle. +The bunks were arranged in a double tier along one +wall, and a plank table (rude, but massive) along +the other. Built on at one end, beside the door, was +the kitchen, or cookhouse, crowded, but clean and +orderly, and bright with shining tins. At the inner +end of the main room a corner was boarded off +to make a tiny bedroom, no bigger than a cupboard. +This was the Boss’s private apartment. It contained +two narrow bunks––one for the Boss himself, +who looked much too big for it; and one for the +only guest whom the camp ever expected to entertain, +the devoted missionary-priest, who, on his snowshoes, +was wont to make the round of the widely +scattered camps once or twice in a winter. This +guest-bunk the Boss at once allotted to Rosy-Lilly, +but on the strict condition that Johnson +should continue to act as nurse and superintend +Rosy-Lilly’s nightly toilet.</p> +<p>Rosy-Lilly had not been in the camp a week +before McWha’s “ugliness” to her had aroused +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +even the Boss’s resentment, and the Boss was a +just man. Of course, it was generally recognized +that McWha was not bound, by any law or obligation, +to take any notice of the child, still less to “make +a fuss over her,” with the rest of the camp. But +Jimmy Brackett expressed the popular sentiment +when he growled, looking sourly at the back of +McWha’s unconscious red head bowed ravenously +over his plate of beans––</p> +<p>“If only he’d <i>do</i> something, so’s we c’ld <i>lick</i> +some decency inter ’im!”</p> +<p>There was absolutely nothing to be done about +it, however; for Red McWha was utterly within +his rights.</p> +<p>Rosy-Lilly, as we have seen, was not yet five +years old; but certain of the characteristics of her +sex were already well developed within her. The +adulation of the rest of the camp, poured out at her +tiny feet, she took graciously enough, but rather as a +matter of course. It was all her due. But what +she wanted was that that big, ugly, red-headed man, +with the cross grey eyes and loud voice, should be +nice to her. She wanted <i>him</i> to pick her up, and +set her on his knee, and whittle wonderful wooden +dogs and dolls and boats and boxes for her with +his jack-knife, as Walley Johnson and the others +did. With Walley she would hardly condescend +to coquet, so sure she was of his abject slavery to +her whims; and, moreover, as must be confessed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +with regret, so unforgiving was she in her heart +toward his blank eye. She merely consented to +make him useful, much as she might a convenient +and altogether doting but uninteresting grandmother. +To all the other members of the camp––except +the Boss, whom she regarded with some +awe––she would make baby-love impartially and +carelessly. But it was Red McWha whose notice +she craved.</p> +<p>When supper was over, and pipes filled and +lighted, some one would strike up a “chantey”––one +of those interminable, monotonous ballad-songs +which are peculiar to the lumber camps.</p> +<p>These “chanteys,” however robust their wordings +or their incidents, are always sung in a plaintive +minor which goes oddly with the large-moulded +virility of the singers. Some are sentimental, or +religious, to the last degree, while others reek with +an indecency of speech that would shroud the +Tenderloin in blushes. Both kinds are equally +popular in the camps, and both are of the most +astounding <i>naïveté</i>. Of the worst of them, even, +the simple-minded woodsmen are not in the least +ashamed. They seem unconscious of their enormity. +Nevertheless, it came about that, without a word +said by any one, from the hour of Rosy-Lilly’s +arrival in camp, all the indecent “chanteys” +were dropped, as if into oblivion, from the woodsmen’s +repertoire. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></p> +<p>During the songs, the smoking, and the lazy +fun, Rosy-Lilly would slip from one big woodsman +to another, an inconspicuous little figure in the +smoke-gloomed light of the two oil-lamps. Man +after man would snatch her up to his knee, lay +by his pipe, twist her silky, yellow curls about his +great blunt fingers, and whisper wood-folk tales +or baby nonsense into her pink little ear. She +would listen solemnly for a minute or two, then +wriggle down and move on to another of her admirers. +But before long she would be standing by the bench +on which sat Red McWha, with one big knee usually +hooked high above the other, and his broad back +reclined against the edge of a bunk. For a few +minutes the child would stand there smiling with a +perennial confidence, waiting to be noticed. Then +she would come closer, without a word from her +usually nimble little tongue, lean against McWha’s +knee, and look up coaxingly into his face. If +McWha chanced to be singing, for he was a “chanter” +of some note, he would appear so utterly absorbed +that Rosy-Lilly would at last slip away, with a +look of hurt surprise in her face, to be comforted +by one of her faithful. But if McWha were not +engrossed in song, it would soon become impossible +for him to ignore her. He would suddenly look +down at her with his fierce eyes, knit his shaggy +red brows, and demand harshly: “Well, Yaller Top, +an’ what d’<i>you</i> want?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span></p> +<p>From the loud voice and angry eye the child +would retreat in haste, clear to the other end of the +room, and sometimes a big tear would track its way +down either cheek. After such an experiment +she would usually seek Jimmy Brackett, who would +console her with some sticky sweetmeat, and strive +to wither McWha with envenomed glances. McWha +would reply with a grin, as if proud of having +routed the little adventurer so easily. He had +discovered that the name “Yaller Top” was an +infallible weapon of rebuff, as Rosy-Lilly considered +it a term of indignity. To his evil humour +there was something amusing in abashing Rosy-Lilly +with the title she most disliked. Moreover, +it was an indirect rebuke to the “saft” way the +others acted about her.</p> +<p>If Rosy-Lilly felt rebuffed for the moment by +McWha’s rudeness, she seemed always to forget it +the next time she saw him. Night after night she +would sidle up to his knee, and sue for his notice; +and night after night she would retire discomfited. +But on one occasion the discomfiture was McWha’s. +She had elicited the customary rough demand––</p> +<p>“Well, Yaller Top, what d’<i>you</i> want?”</p> +<p>But this time she held her ground, though with +quivering lips.</p> +<p>“Yaller Top ain’t my name ’tall,” she explained +with baby politeness. “It’s Rosy-Lilly; ’n’ I jes’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +thought you <i>might</i> want me to sit on yer knee a +little, teeny minit.”</p> +<p>Much taken aback, McWha glanced about the +room with a loutish grin. Then he flushed angrily, +as he felt the demand of the sudden silence. Looking +down again, with a scowl, at the expectant +little face of Rosy-Lilly, he growled: “Well, not +as I knows of!” and rose to his feet, thrusting +her brusquely aside.</p> +<p>“Ain’t he uglier’n hell?” murmured Bird Pigeon +to Walley Johnson, spitting indignantly on the stove-leg. +“He’d ’a’ cuffed the kid ef he da’st, he glared +at her that ugly!”</p> +<p>“Like to see ’im try it!” responded Johnson +through his teeth, with a look to which his blank +eye lent mysterious menace.</p> +<p>The time soon came, however, when McWha resumed +his old seat and his old attitude on the +bench. Rosy-Lilly avoided him for two evenings, +but on the third the old fascination got the better +of her pique. McWha saw her coming, and, growing +self-conscious, he hurriedly started up a song with +the full strength of his big voice.</p> +<p>The song was a well-known one, and nothing in +it to redden the ear of a maiden; but it was +profane with that rich, ingenious amplitude of +profanity which seems almost instinctive among +the lumbermen––a sort of second mother-tongue to +them. Had it been any one but McWha who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +started it, nothing would have been said; but, as it +was, Walley Johnson took alarm on the instant. +To his supersensitive watchfulness, McWha was +singing that song “jest a purpose to be ugly to +the kid.” The fact that “the kid” would hardly +understand a word of it, did not occur to him. +Rising up from his bench behind the stove he +shouted out across the smoky room: “Shet up +that, Red!”</p> +<p>The song stopped. Every one looked inquiringly +at Johnson. For several moments there was silence, +broken only by an uneasy shuffling of feet. Then +McWha got up slowly, his eyebrows bristling, his +angry eyes little pin-points. First he addressed +himself to Johnson.</p> +<p>“What the ––– business is’t o’ yourn what I +sing?” he demanded, opening and shutting his big +fingers.</p> +<p>“I’ll show ye what,” began Johnson, in a tense +voice. But the Boss interrupted. Dave Logan +was a quiet man, but he ruled his camp. Moreover, +he was a just man, and Johnson had begun the +dispute.</p> +<p>“Chuck that, Walley!” he snapped, sharp as a +whip. “If there’s to be any row in this here camp, +I’ll make it myself, an’ don’t none o’ you boys forgit +it!”</p> +<p>McWha turned upon him in angry appeal.</p> +<p>“You’re Boss, Dave Logan, an’ what you sez goes, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +fer’s I’m concerned,” said he. “But I ax you, <i>as</i> +Boss, be this here camp a <i>camp</i>, er a camp-meetin’? +Walley Johnson kin go straight to hell; +but ef <i>you</i> sez we ’ain’t to sing nawthin’ but hymns, +why, o’ course, it’s hymns for me––till I kin git +away to a camp where the hands is men, an’ not +wet-nurses!”</p> +<p>“That’s all right, Red!” said the Boss. “I +kin make allowances for yer gittin’ riled, considerin’ +the jolt Walley’s rude interruption give ye! He +hadn’t no right to interrupt, nor no call to. This +ain’t no camp-meetin’. The boys have a right +to swear all they like. Why, ’twouldn’t be noways +natural in camp ef the boys couldn’t swear! +somethin’d hev to bust before long. An’ the boys +can’t be expected to go a-tiptoe and talk prunes an’ +prisms, all along o’ a little yaller-haired kid what’s +come to brighten up the old camp fer us. That +wouldn’t be sense! But all we’ve got to mind is +jest this––<i>nothin’ vile!</i> That’s all, boys. We’ll +worry along without that!”</p> +<p>When the Boss spoke, he liked to explain himself +rather fully. When he ceased, no one had a word +to say. Every one was satisfied but Johnson; +and he was constrained to seem so. There was an +oppressive silence for some seconds. It was broken +by the soft treble of Rosy-Lilly, who had been +standing before the Boss and gazing up into his +face with awed attention throughout the harangue. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></p> +<p>“What did you say, Dave?” she piped, her hands +clasped behind her back.</p> +<p>“Somethin’ as shall never tech you, Rosy-Lilly!” +declared Johnson, snatching up the child and +bearing her off to bed, amid a roar of laughter +which saved Dave Logan the embarrassment of a +reply.</p> +<p>For a time, now, Rosy-Lilly left McWha alone, so +markedly that it looked as if Walley Johnson or +Jimmy Brackett had admonished her on the subject. +She continued, indeed, to cast at him eyes of pleading +reproach, but always from a distance, and such appeals +rolled off McWha’s crude perception like water +off a musk rat’s fur. He had nothing “agin her,” +as he would have put it, if only she would keep out +of his way. But Rosy-Lilly, true to her sex, was +not vanquished by any means, or even discouraged. +She was only biding her time. Bird Pigeon, who +was something of a beau in the Settlements, understood +this, and stirred the loyal wrath of Walley +Johnson by saying so.</p> +<p>“There ain’t nawthin’ about Red McWha to +make Rosy-Lilly keer shucks fer ’im, savin’ an’ except +that she can’t git him!” said Bird. “She’s +that nigh bein’ a woman a’ready, if she <i>be</i> but five +year old!”</p> +<p>Johnson fixed him with his disconcerting eye, and +retorted witheringly––</p> +<p>“Ye thinks ye knows a pile about women, Bird +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +Pigeon. But the kind ye knows about ain’t the +kind Rosy-Lilly’s agoin’ to be!”</p> +<p>Nearly a week went by before Rosy-Lilly saw +another chance to assail McWha’s forbidding +defences. This time she made what her innocent +heart conceived to be a tremendous bid for the +bad-tempered woodsman’s favour. Incidentally, too, +she revealed a secret which the Boss and Walley +Johnson had been guarding with guilty solicitude +ever since her coming to the camp.</p> +<p>It chanced that the Boss and Johnson together +were kept away from camp one night till next morning, +laying out a new “landing” over on Fork’s +Brook. When it came time for Rosy-Lilly to be +put to bed, the honour fell, as a matter of course, to +Jimmy Brackett. Rosy-Lilly went with him willingly +enough, but not till after a moment of hesitation, in +which her eyes wandered involuntarily to the +broad, red face of McWha behind its cloud of smoke.</p> +<p>As a nursemaid, Jimmy Brackett flattered himself +that he was a success––till the moment came +when Rosy-Lilly was to be tucked into her bunk. +Then she stood and eyed him with solemn question.</p> +<p>“What’s wrong, me honey-bug?” asked Brackett, +anxiously.</p> +<p>“You hain’t heard me my prayers!” replied +Rosy-Lilly, with a touch of severity in her voice.</p> +<p>“Eh? What’s that?” stammered Brackett, +startled quite out of his wonted composure. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span></p> +<p>“Don’t you know little girls has to say their +prayers afore they goes to bed?” she demanded.</p> +<p>“No!” admitted Brackett, truthfully, wondering +how he was going to get out of the unexpected +situation.</p> +<p>“Walley Johnson hears me mine!” continued +the child, her eyes very wide open as she weighed +Brackett’s qualifications in her merciless little +balance.</p> +<p>Here, Brackett was misguided enough to grin, +bethinking him that now he “had the laugh” on +the Boss and Walley. That grin settled it.</p> +<p>“I dess you don’t know how to hear me say +’em, Jimmy!” she announced inexorably. And +picking up the skirt of her blue homespun “nightie,” +so that she showed her little red woollen socks and +white deer-hide moccasins, she tripped forth into +the big, noisy room.</p> +<p>At the bright picture she made, her flax-gold hair +tied in a knob on top of her head that it might not +get tangled, the room fell silent instantly, and +every eye was turned upon her. Nothing abashed +by the scrutiny, she made her way sedately down +the room and across to McWha’s bench. Unable +to ignore her, and angry at the consciousness that +he was embarrassed, McWha eyed her with a grim +stare. But Rosy-Lilly put out her hands to him +confidingly.</p> +<p>“I’m goin’ to let you hear me my prayers,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +she said, her clear, baby voice carrying every syllable +to the furthest corner of the room.</p> +<p>An ugly light flamed into McWha’s eyes, and he +sprang to his feet, brushing the child rudely aside.</p> +<p>“That’s some o’ Jimmy Brackett’s work!” he +shouted. “It’s him put ’er up to it, curse him!”</p> +<p>The whole room burst into a roar of laughter at +the sight of his wrath. Snatching his cap from +its peg, he strode furiously out to the stable, slamming +the door behind him.</p> +<p>In their delight over McWha’s discomfiture the +woodsmen quite forgot the feelings of Rosy-Lilly. +For a second or two she stood motionless, her lips +and eyes wide open with amazement. Then, hurt +as much by the laughter of the room as by McWha’s +rebuff, she burst into tears, and stood hiding her +face with both hands, the picture of desolation.</p> +<p>When the men realized that she thought they were +laughing at her, they shut their mouths with amazing +promptitude, and crowded about her. One after +another picked her up, striving to console her with +caresses and extravagant promises. She would not +uncover her eyes, however, for any one, and her +heart-broken wailing was not hushed till Brackett +thrust his way through the crowd, growling inarticulate +blasphemies at them all, and bore her back +to her room. When he emerged twenty minutes +later no one asked him about Rosy-Lilly’s prayers. +As for Rosy-Lilly, her feelings were this time so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +outraged that she would no longer look at McWha.</p> +<p style='text-align:center; margin:1em auto 1.5em auto;'>III</p> +<p>The long backwoods winter was now drawing near +its end, and the snow in the open spaces was getting +so soft at midday as to slump heavily and hinder +the work of the teams. Every one was working with +feverish haste to get the logs all out to the “landings,” +on the river banks before the hauling should +go to pieces. At night the tired lumbermen would +tumble into their bunks as soon as supper was over, +too greedy of sleep to think of songs or yarns. And +Rosy-Lilly began to feel a little aggrieved at the inadequate +attention which she was now receiving from +all but Jimmy Brackett and the ever-faithful +Johnson. She began to forgive McWha, and once +more to try her baby wiles upon him. But McWha +was as coldly unconscious as a stone.</p> +<p>One day, however, Fate concluded to range herself +on Rosy-Lilly’s side. A dead branch, hurled +through the air by the impact of a falling tree, +struck Red McWha on the head, and he was carried +home to the cabin unconscious, bleeding from a long +gash in his scalp. The Boss, something of a surgeon +in his rough and ready way, as bosses need to be, +washed the wound and sewed it up. Then he handed +over his own bunk to the wounded man, declaring +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +optimistically that McWha would come round all +right, his breed being hard to kill.</p> +<p>It was hours later when McWha began to recover +consciousness, and just then, as it happened, there +was no one near him but Rosy-Lilly. Smitten +with pity, the child was standing beside the bunk, +murmuring: “Poor! poor! I so sorry!” and slowly +shaking her head and lightly patting the big, limp +hand where it lay outside the blanket.</p> +<p>McWha half opened his eyes, and their faint +glance fell on the top of Rosy-Lilly’s head as she +bent over his hand. With a wry smile he shut +them again, but to his surprise, he felt rather +gratified. Then Jimmy Brackett came in and +whisked the child away. “’S if he thought I’d +bite ’er!” mused McWha, somewhat inconsistently.</p> +<p>For a long time he lay wondering confusedly. At +last he opened his eyes wide, felt his bandaged head, +and called for a drink of water in a voice which he +vainly strove to make sound natural. To his surprise +he was answered by Rosy-Lilly, so promptly +that it was as if she had been listening for his voice. +She came carrying the tin of water in both little +hands, and, lifting it very carefully, she tried to +hold it to his lips. Neither she nor McWha was +quite successful in this, however. While they were +fumbling over it, Jimmy Brackett hurried in, followed +by the Boss, and Rosy-Lilly’s nursing was +superseded. The Boss had to hold him up so that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +he could drink; and when he had feverishly gulped +about a quart, he lay back on his pillow with a huge +sigh, declaring weakly that he was all right.</p> +<p>“Ye got off mighty easy, Red,” said the Boss, +cheerfully, “considerin’ the heft o’ the knot ’at hit +ye. But you McWhas was always hard to kill.”</p> +<p>McWha’s hand was drooping loosely over the +edge of the bunk. He felt the child’s tiny fingers +brushing it again softly and tenderly. Then he +felt her lips upon it, and the sensation was so novel +that he quite forgot to reply to the Boss’s pleasantry.</p> +<p>That night McWha was so much better that +when he insisted on being removed to his own bunk +on the plea that he “didn’t feel at home in a cupboard +like,” the Boss consented. Next day he +wanted to go back to work, but the Boss was derisively +inexorable, and for two days McWha was +kept a prisoner.</p> +<p>During this time Jimmy Brackett, with severe +and detailed admonition, kept Rosy-Lilly from +again obtruding upon the patient’s leisure; and +McWha had nothing to do but smoke and whittle. +He whittled diligently, but let no one see what he +was making. Then, borrowing a small tin cup from +the cook, he fussed over the stove with some dark, +smelly decoction of tobacco-juice and ink. Rosy-Lilly +was consumed with curiosity, especially when +she saw him apparently digging beads off an Indian +tobacco-pouch which he always carried. But she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +did not go near enough to get enlightened as to his +mysterious occupation.</p> +<p>On the following day McWha went to work again, +but not till after breakfast, when the others had +long departed. Rosy-Lilly, with one hand twisted +in her little apron, was standing in the doorway +as he passed out. She glanced up at him with the +most coaxing smile in her whole armoury of allurements. +McWha would not look at her, and his face +was as sullenly harsh as ever; but as he passed he +slipped something into her hand. To her speechless +delight, it proved to be a little dark-brown wooden +doll, daintily carved, and with two white beads, +with black centres, cunningly set into its face for +eyes.</p> +<p>Rosy-Lilly hugged the treasure to her breast. +Her first proud impulse was to run to Jimmy +Brackett with it. But a subtler instinct withheld +her. The gift had been bestowed in such a surreptitious +way that she felt it to be somehow a kind of +secret. She carried it away and hid it in her bunk, +where she would go and look at it from time to time +throughout the day. That night she brought it forth, +but with several other treasures, so that it quite +escaped comment. She said nothing about it to +McWha, but she played with it when he could not +help seeing it. And thereafter her “nigger-baby” +was always in her arms.</p> +<p>This compliment, however, was apparently all lost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +on McWha, who had again grown unconscious +of her existence. And Rosy-Lilly, on her part, no +longer strove to win his attention. She was content +either with the victory she had won, or with the +secret understanding which, perforce, now existed +between them. And things went on smoothly in +the camp, with every one now too occupied to do +more than mind his own business.</p> +<p>It chanced this year that the spring thaws were +early and unusually swift, warm rains alternating +with hot, searching sunshine which withered and +devoured the snow. The ice went out with a rush +in the rapidly rising Ottanoonsis; and from every +brookside “landing” the logs came down in black, +tumbling swarms. Just below Conroy’s Camp the +river wallowed round a narrow bend, tangled with +slate ledges. It was a nasty place enough at low +water, but in freshet a roaring terror to all the river-men. +When the logs were running in any numbers, +the bend had to be watched with vigilance lest a +jam should form, and the waters be dammed back, +and the lumber get “hung up” all over the swamps +of the upper reaches.</p> +<p>And here, now, in spite of the frantic efforts of +Dave Logan and his crew, the logs suddenly began +to jam. Pitching downward as if propelled by a +pile-driver, certain great timbers drove their ends +between the upstanding strata of the slate, and held +against the torrent till others came and wedged them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +securely. The jam began between two ledges in +midstream, where no one could get near it. In a +few minutes the interlocked mass stretched from +bank to bank, with the torrent spurting and spouting +through it in furious milk-white jets. Log after +log was chopped free by the axemen along the shore, +but the mass remained unshaken. Meanwhile the +logs were gathering swiftly behind, ramming down +and solidifying the whole structure, and damming +back the flood till its heavy thunder diminished to +the querulous rattling of a mill-race. In a short +time the river was packed solid from shore to shore +for several hundred yards above the brow of the +jam; and above that again the waters were rising +at a rate which threatened in a few hours to flood +the valley and sweep away the camp itself.</p> +<p>At this stage of affairs the Boss, axe in hand, +picked his way across the monstrous tangle of the +face of the jam between the great white jets, till +he gained the centre of the structure. Here his +practised eye, with the aid of a perilous axe-stroke +here and there,––strokes which might possibly bring +the whole looming mass down upon him in a moment,––presently +located the timbers which held the +structure firm, “the key-logs,” as the men call +them. These he marked with his axe. Then, returning +to the shore, he called for two volunteers +to dare the task of cutting these key-logs away.</p> +<p>Such a task is the most perilous that a lumberman, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +in all his daring career, can be called upon to perform. +So perilous is it that it is always left to volunteers. +Dave Logan had some brilliant feats of jam-breaking +to his credit, from the days before he was +made a Boss; and now, when he called for volunteers, +every unmarried man in camp responded, +with the exception, of course, of Walley Johnson, +whose limited vision unfitted him for such a venture. +The Boss chose Bird Pigeon and Andy White, because +they were not only “smart” axemen, but +also adepts in the river-men’s games of “running +logs.”</p> +<p>With a jaunty air the two young men spat on +their hands, gripped their axes, and sprang out +along the base of the jam. Every eye in camp was +fixed upon them with a fearful interest as they plied +their heavy blades. It was heroic, of a magnificence +of valour seldom equalled on any field, the work +of these two, chopping coolly out there in the daunting +tumult, under that colossal front of death. +Their duty was nothing less than to bring the toppling +brow of the jam down upon them, yet cheat +Fate at the last instant, if possible, by leaping to +shore before the chaos quite overwhelmed them.</p> +<p>Suddenly, while the two key-logs were not yet +half cut through, the trained eye of the Boss detected +a settling near the top of the jam. His yell +of warning tore through the clamour of the waters. +At the instant came a vast grumbling, like underground +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +thunder, not loud apparently, yet dulling +all other sounds. The two choppers sprang wildly +for shore, as the whole face of the jam seemed to +crumble in a breath.</p> +<p>At this moment a scream of terror was heard––and +every heart stopped. Some thirty yards or so +upstream, and a dozen, perhaps, from shore, stood +Rosy-Lilly, on a log. While none were observing +her she had gleefully clambered out over the solid +mass, looking for spruce-gums. But now, when +the logs moved, she was so terror-stricken that she +could not even try to get ashore. She just fell +down upon her log, and clung to it, screaming.</p> +<p>A groan of horror went up. The awful grinding +of the break-up was already under way. To every +trained eye it was evident that there was no human +possibility of reaching the child, much less of saving +her. To attempt it would be such a madness as to +jump into the hopper of a mill. The crowd surged +to the edge––and sprang back as the nearest logs +bounded up at them. Except Walley Johnson. +He leaped wildly out upon the nearest logs, fell +headforemost, and was dragged back, fighting +furiously, by a dozen inexorable hands.</p> +<p>Just as Johnson went down, there arose a great +bellowing cry of rage and anguish; then Red McWha’s +big form shot past, leaping far out upon the logs. +Over the sickening upheaval he bounded this way +and that, with miraculous sure-footedness. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +reached the pitching log whereon Rosy-Lilly still +clung. He clutched her by the frock. He tucked +her under one arm like a rag-baby. Then he turned, +balancing himself for an instant, and came leaping +back towards shore.</p> +<p>A great shout of wonder and joy went up––to be +hushed in a second as a log reared high in McWha’s +path and hurled him backwards. Right down into +the whirl of the dreadful grist he sank. But with +a strength that seemed more than human he recovered +himself, climbed forth dripping, and came +on again with those great, unerring leaps. This +time there was no shout. The men waited with +dry throats. They saw that his ruddy face had gone +white as chalk. Within two feet of shore a log toward +which he had jumped was jerked aside just +before he reached it, and, turning in the air as he +fell, so as to save the child, he came down across +it on his side with stunning violence. As he fell +the Boss and Brackett and two of the others sprang +out to meet him. They reached him somehow, +and covered with bruises which they did not feel, +succeeded in dragging him, with his precious burden, +up from the grinding hell to safety. When his +feet touched solid ground he sank unconscious, but +with his arm so securely gripped about the child +that they had difficulty in loosing his hold.</p> +<p>Rosy-Lilly, when they picked her up, was quivering +with terror, but unharmed. When she saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +McWha stretched out upon the bank motionless, +with his eyes shut and his white lips half open, she +fought savagely to be put down. She ran and flung +herself down beside her rescuer, caught his big white +face between her tiny hands, and fell to kissing him. +Presently McWha opened his eyes, and with a +mighty effort rose upon one elbow. A look of +embarrassment passed over his face as he glanced +at the men standing about him. Then he looked +down at Rosy-Lilly, grinned with a shamefaced +tenderness, and pulled her gently towards him.</p> +<p>“I’m right––glad––ye––” he began with painful +effort. But before he could complete the sentence +his eyes changed, and he fell back with a clicking +gasp.</p> +<p>Jimmy Brackett, heedless of her wailing protests, +snatched up Rosy-Lilly, and carried her back to the +camp.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +<a name='MELINDY_AND_THE_LYNXES' id='MELINDY_AND_THE_LYNXES'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Melindy and the Lynxes</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The deep, slow-gathering snows of mid-February +had buried away every stump in the pasture +lot and muffled from sight all the zigzag fences of +the little lonely clearing. The Settlement road was +simply smoothed out of existence. The log cabin, +with its low roof and one chimney, seemed half +sunken in the snow which piled itself over the lower +panes of its three tiny windows.</p> +<p>The log barn, and the lean-to, which served as +wood-shed and wagon-house, showed little more than +the black edges of their snow-covered roofs over the +glittering and gently billowing white expanse.</p> +<p>In the middle of the yard the little well-house, +shaped like the top of a “grandfather’s clock,” carried +a thick, white, crusted cap, and was encircled with a +streaky, irregular mass of ice, which had gradually +accumulated almost up to the brim of the watering-trough. +From the cabin door to the door of the +barn, and over most of the yard space, but particularly +in front of the sunward-facing lean-to, the +snow was trodden down and littered with chips and +straw. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span></p> +<p>Here in the mocking sunshine huddled four white +sheep, while half a dozen hens and a red Shanghai +cock scratched in the litter beside them. The low +door of the barn was tightly closed to protect the cow +and horse from the bitter cold––which the sheep, +with their great fleeces, did not seem to mind.</p> +<p>Inside the cabin, where an old-fashioned, high-ovened +kitchen stove, heated to the point where a +dull red glow began to show itself in spots, kept the +close air at summer temperature, a slim girl with +fluffy, light hair and pale complexion stood by the +table, vigorously mixing a batter of buckwheat +flour for pancakes. Her slender young arms were +streaked with flour, as was her forehead also, from +her frequent efforts to brush her hair out of her eyes +by quick upward dashes of her forearm.</p> +<p>On the other side of the stove, so close to it that +her rugged face was reddened by the heat, sat a +massive old woman in a heavy rocking-chair, knitting. +She knitted impetuously, impatiently, as if +resenting the employment of her vigorous old fingers +upon so mild a task.</p> +<p>Through a clear space in one pane of the window +beside her––a space where the heat within had triumphed +over the frost without––she cast restless, +keen eyes out across the yard to the place where the +road, the one link between the cabin and the settlement, +lay smothered from sight.</p> +<p>“It’s one week to-day, Melindy,” she announced +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +in a voice of accusing indignation, “since there’s +been a team got through; and it’s going to be another +before they’ll get the road broke out!”</p> +<p>“Like as not, Granny,” responded the girl, beating +the batter with an impatience that belied the cheerfulness +of her tone. “But what does it matter, +anyway? We’re all right here for a month!”</p> +<p>As she spoke, however, her eyes, too, gazed out +wistfully over the buried road. She was wearying +for the sound of bells and for a drive into +the Settlement.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, from the edge of the woods on the +other side of the cabin, hidden from the keen eyes +within by the roofs of the barn and the shed, came +two great, grey, catlike beasts, creeping belly to the +snow.</p> +<p>Their broad, soft-padded paws were like snow +shoes, bearing them up on the wind-packed surface. +Their tufted ears stood straight up, alert for any +unwonted sound. Their absurd stub tails, not four +inches long, and looking as if they had been bitten +off, twitched with eagerness. Their big round eyes, +of a pale greenish yellow, and with the pupils narrowed +to upright, threadlike black slits by the +blinding glare, glanced warily from side to side +with every step they took.</p> +<p>The lynxes had the keenest dislike to crossing the +open pasture in this broad daylight, but they had +been driven by hunger to the point where the customs +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +and cautions of their wary kind are recklessly thrown +aside. Hunger had driven the pair to hunt together, +in the hope of together pulling down game too powerful +for one to master alone. Hunger had overcome +their savage aversion to the neighbourhood of man, +and brought them out in the dark of night to prowl +about the barn and sniff longingly the warm smell +of the sheep, steaming through the cracks of the +clumsy door.</p> +<p>Watching from under the snow-draped branches, +they had observed that only in the daytime were the +sheep let out from their safe shelter behind the clumsy +door. And now, forgetting everything but the +fierce pangs that urged them, the two savage beasts +came straight down the rolling slope of the pasture +towards the barn.</p> +<p>A few minutes later there came from the yard a +wild screeching and cackling of the hens, followed +by a trampling rush and agonized bleating. The old +woman half rose from her chair, but sank back instantly, +her face creased with a spasm of pain, for +she was crippled by rheumatism. The girl dropped +her big wooden spoon on the floor and rushed to the +window that looked out upon the yard. Her pale +face went paler with horror, then flushed with wrath +and pity; and a fierce light flashed into her wide +blue eyes.</p> +<p>“It’s lynxes!” she cried, snatching up the wooden +spoon and darting for the door. “And they’ve +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +got one of the sheep! Oh, oh, they’re tearing +it!”</p> +<p>“Melindy!” shouted the old woman, in a voice +of strident command––such a compelling voice that +the girl stopped short in spite of herself. “Drop +that fool spoon and get the gun!”</p> +<p>The girl dropped the spoon as if it had burned her +fingers, and looked irresolutely at the big duck-gun +hanging on the log wall. “I can’t fire it!” she exclaimed, +shaking her head. “I’d be scared to death +of it!”</p> +<p>But even as the words left her mouth, there came +another outburst of trampling and frantic clamour +from the yard. She snatched up the little, long-handled +axe which leaned beside the door-post, threw +the door wide open, and with a pitying cry of “Oh! +oh!” flew forth to the rescue of her beloved sheep.</p> +<p>“Did you ever see the like of that?” muttered +the old woman, her harsh face working with excitement +and high approbation. “Scairt to death of a +gun––and goes out to fight lynxes all by herself!”</p> +<p>And with painful effort she began hitching herself +and the big chair across the floor, seeking a position +where she could both reach the gun and command +a view through the wide-open door.</p> +<p>When Melindy, her heart aflame with pity for +the helpless ewes, rushed out into the yard, she +saw one woolly victim down, kicking silently on +the bloodstained snow, while a big lynx, crouched +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +upon its body, turned upon her a pair of pale eyes +that blazed with fury at the interruption to his feast.</p> +<p>The other sheep were foundered helplessly in the +deep snow back of the well––except one. This one, +which had evidently been headed off from the flock, +and driven round to the near side of the watering-trough +before its savage enemy overtook it, was not +half a dozen paces from the cabin door. It was +just stumbling forward upon its nose, with a despairing +<i>baa-a-a!</i> while the second and larger lynx, +clinging upon its back, clutched hungrily for its +throat through the thick, protecting wool.</p> +<p>On ordinary occasions the girl was as timid as +her small, pale face and gentle blue eyes made her +look. At this crisis, however, a sort of fury of compassion +swept all fear from her heart.</p> +<p>Like the swoop of some strange bird, her skirts +streaming behind her, she flung herself upon the +great cat, and aimed a lightning blow at his head +with her axe. In her frail grip the axe turned, so that +the brute caught the flat of it instead of the edge.</p> +<p>Half-stunned, he lost his hold and fell with a +startled <i>pfiff</i> on the snow, while his victim, bleeding, +but not mortally hurt, ran bleating towards the rest +of the flock, where they floundered, stupidly helpless, +in three feet of soft snow.</p> +<p>The next moment the baffled lynx recovered himself, +and faced the girl with so menacing a snarl +that she hesitated to follow up her advantage, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +but paused, holding the axe in readiness to repel +attack.</p> +<p>For a few seconds they faced each other so, the +girl and the beast. Then the pale, beast eyes shifted +under the steady, dominating gaze of the blue +human ones; and at last, with a spitting growl, +which ended in a hoarse screech of rage, the big +cat bounded aside and whisked behind the well-house. +The next moment it was again among +the sheep, where they huddled incapable of a +struggle.</p> +<p>Again the girl sprang to the rescue; and now, +because of that one flash of fear which had deprived +her of her first advantage, her avenging wrath was +fiercer and more resolute than before. This time, +as she darted upon the enemy, she gave an involuntary +cry of rage, piercing and unnatural. At +this unexpected sound the lynx, desperate though +he was with rage and hunger, lost his courage.</p> +<p>Seeing the girl towering almost over him, he +doubled back with a mighty leap, just avoiding the +vengeful sweep of the axe, and darted back to the +front of the shed, where his mate was now ravenously +feasting on her easy prey.</p> +<p>Although the first victim was now past all suffering, +being no more a motive for heroism than so +much mutton, the girl’s blood was too hot with +triumphant indignation to let her think of such an +unimportant point as that. She was victor. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +had outfaced and routed the foe. She had saved +one victim. She would avenge the other.</p> +<p>With the high audacity of those who have overcome +fear, she now, with a hysterical cry of menace, +ran at the two lynxes, to drive them from their prey.</p> +<p>The situation which she now confronted, however, +was altogether changed from what had gone before. +The two lynxes were together, strong in that alliance +which they had formed for purpose of battle. They +were fairly mad with famine––or, indeed, they +would never have ventured on the perilous domains +of man.</p> +<p>Moreover, they were in possession of what they +held to be their lawful prey––a position in defence +of which all the hunting tribes of the wild will fight +against almost any odds. As they saw their strange +adversary approaching, the hair stood straight up +along their backs, their little tails puffed to bottle +brushes, their ears lay flat back on their heads, and +they screeched defiance in harsh unison. Then, as +if by one impulse, they turned from their prey and +crept stealthily towards her.</p> +<p>They did not like that steady light in her blue eyes, +but they felt by some instinct that she was young +and unstable of nerve. At this unexpected move on +their part the girl stopped short, suddenly undecided +whether to fight or flee.</p> +<p>At once the lynxes stopped also, and crouched +flat, tensely watching, their claws dug deep into the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +hard-trodden snow so as to give them purchase for +an instant, powerful spring in any direction.</p> +<p>In the meantime, however, the crippled old woman +within doors had not been idle. Great of spirit, +and still mighty of sinew for all her ailment, she +had managed to work the weight of the heavy chair +and her own solid bulk all the way across the cabin +floor. Being straight in front of the door, she had +seen almost all that happened; and her brave +old berserk heart was bursting with pride in the +courage of this frail child, whom she had hitherto +regarded with a kind of affectionate scorn.</p> +<p>The Griffises of Nackawick and Little River +had always been sizable men, men of sinew and bulk, +and women tall and ruddy; and this small, blue-eyed +girl had seemed to her, in a way, to wrong the +stock. But she was quick to understand that the +stature of the spirit is what counts most of +all.</p> +<p>Now, in this moment of breathless suspense, when +she saw Melindy and the two great beasts thus holding +each other eye to eye in a life and death struggle +of wills, her heart was convulsed with a wild fear. +In the spasm of it she succeeded in lifting herself +almost erect, and so gained possession of the big +duck-gun, which her son Jake, now away in the +lumber woods, always kept loaded and ready for +use. As she cocked it and settled back into her +chair, she called in a piercing voice–– +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span></p> +<p>“Don’t stir one step, Melindy! I’m going to +shoot!”</p> +<p>The girl never stirred a muscle, although she +turned pale with terror of the loud noise which was +about to shock her ears. The two lynxes, however, +turned their heads, and fixed the pale glare of their +eyes upon the figure seated in the doorway.</p> +<p>The next moment came a spurt of red flame, a +belch of smoke, a tremendous report that seemed +as if it must have shattered every pane of glass in +the cabin windows. The bigger of the two lynxes +turned straight over backward and lay without a +quiver, smashed by the heavy charge of buckshot +with which Jake had loaded the gun. The other, +grazed by a scattering pellet, sprang into the air +with a screech, then turned and ran for her life +across the snow, stretching out like a terrified cat.</p> +<p>With a proud smile the old woman stood the +smoking gun against the wall and straightened her +cap. For perhaps half a minute Melindy stood +rigid, staring at the dead lynx. Then, dropping her +axe, she fled to the cabin, flung herself down with +her face in her grandmother’s lap, and broke into a +storm of sobs.</p> +<p>The old woman gazed down upon her with some +surprise, and stroked the fair, fluffy head lovingly as +she murmured: “There, there! There’s nothing to +take on about! Though you be such a little mite +of a towhead, you’ve got the grit, you’ve got the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +grit, Melindy Griffis. It’s proud of you I am, and it’s +proud your father’ll be when I tell him about it.”</p> +<p>Then, as the girl’s weeping continued, and her +slender shoulders continued to twist with her sobs, +the rugged old face that bent above her grew tenderly +solicitous.</p> +<p>“There, there!” she murmured again. “’Tain’t +good for you to take on so, deary. Hadn’t you better +finish beating up the pancakes before the batter +spiles?”</p> +<p>Thus potently adjured, although she knew as well +as her grandmother that there was no immediate +danger of the batter spoiling, the girl got up, dashed +the back of her hand across her eyes with a little +laugh, closed the door, got out another spoon from +the table drawer, and cheerfully resumed her interrupted +task of mixing pancakes. And the sheep, +having slowly extricated themselves from the deep +snow behind the well-house, huddled together, with +heads down, in the middle of the yard, fearfully eyeing +the limp body which lay before the shed.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +<a name='MRS_GAMMITS_PIG' id='MRS_GAMMITS_PIG'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Mrs. Gammit’s Pig</span></h2> +</div> +<p>“I’ve come to borry yer gun!” said Mrs. Gammit, +appearing suddenly, a self-reliant figure, +at the open door of the barn where Joe Barron sat +mending his harness. She wore a short cotton +homespun petticoat and a dingy waist; while a +limp pink cotton sunbonnet, pushed far back from +her perspiring forehead, released unmanageable +tufts of her stiff, iron-grey hair.</p> +<p>“What be <i>you</i> awantin’ of a gun, Mrs. Gammit?” +inquired the backwoodsman, looking up without +surprise. He had not seen Mrs. Gammit, to be +sure, for three months; but he had known all the +time that she was there, on the other side of the +ridge, one of his nearest neighbours, and not more +than seven or eight miles away as the crow flies.</p> +<p>“It’s the bears!” she explained. “They do be +gittin’ jest a leetle mite <i>too</i> sassy, down to my place. +There ain’t no livin’ with ’em. They come rootin’ +round in the garden, nights. An’ they’ve et up the +white top-knot hen, with the whole settin’ of eggs, +that was to hev’ hatched out next Monday. An’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +they’ve took the duck. An’ last night they come +after the pig.”</p> +<p>“They didn’t git <i>him</i>, did they?” inquired Joe +Barron sympathetically.</p> +<p>“No, siree!” responded Mrs. Gammit with decision. +“An’ they ain’t agoin’ to! They scairt him +though, snuffin’ round outside the pen, trying to +find the way in.––I’ve hearn tell they was powerful +fond of pork.––He set up sich a squealin’ it woke me; +an’ I yelled at ’em out of the winder. I seen +one big black chap lopin’ off behind the barn. I +hadn’t nothin’ but the broom fer a weapon, so he +got away from me. I’ll git him to-night, though, +I reckon, if I kin have the loan of your gun.”</p> +<p>“Sartain,” assented the woodsman, laying down +the breech-strap he was mending. “Did you ever +fire a gun?” he inquired suddenly, as he was starting +across the yard to fetch the weapon from his +cabin.</p> +<p>“I can’t rightly say I hev’,” answered Mrs. Gammit, +with a slight note of scorn in her voice. “But +from the kind of men I’ve seen as <i>kin</i>, I reckon it +ain’t no great trick to larn.”</p> +<p>Joe Barron laughed, and went for the weapon. +He had plenty of confidence in his visitor’s ability to +look out for herself, and felt reasonably sure that +the bears would be sorry for having presumed upon +her unprotected state. When he returned with the +gun––an old, muzzle-loading duck-gun, with a huge +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +bore––she accepted it with careless ease and held +it as if it were a broom. But when he offered her +the powder-horn and a little bag of buckshot, she +hesitated.</p> +<p>“What be <i>them</i> for?” she inquired.</p> +<p>Joe Barren looked serious.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Gammit,” said he, “I know you kin do +most anything a man kin do––an’ do it better, maybe! +A woman like you don’t have to apologize for +nothin’. But you was not <i>brung up</i> in the woods, +an’ you can’t expect to know all about a gun jest +by <i>heftin’</i> it. Folks that’s been brung up in town, +like you, have to be <i>told</i> how to handle a gun. This +here gun ain’t <i>loaded</i>. And them ’ere’s the powder +an’ buckshot to load her with. An’ here’s caps,” +he added, producing a small, brown tin box of +percussion caps from his trousers pocket.</p> +<p>Mrs. Gammit felt abashed at her ignorance, but +gratified, at the same time, by the reproach of +metropolitanism. This implication of town-bred +incompetency was most flattering to the seven frame +houses and one corner store of Burd Settlement, +whence she hailed.</p> +<p>“I reckon you’d better show me how to load the +thing, Mr. Barron,” she agreed quite humbly. And +her keen grey eyes took in every detail, as the woodsman +rammed home the powder hard, wadded down +the charge of buckshot lightly, and pointed out +where she must put the percussion cap when she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +should be ready to call upon the weapon for its +services.</p> +<p>“Then,” said he in conclusion, as he lifted the +gun to his shoulder and squinted along the barrel, +“of course you know all the rest. Jest shet one eye, +an’ git the bead on him fair, an’ let him have it––a +leetle back of the fore-shoulder, fer choice! An’ +<i>that</i> b’ar ain’t agoin’ to worry about no more pork, +nor garden sass. An’ recollect, Mrs. Gammit, at +this time of year, when he’s fat on blueberries, +he’ll make right prime pork himself, ef he ain’t <i>too</i> +old and rank.”</p> +<p>As Mrs. Gammit strode homeward through the +hot, silent woods with the gun––still carrying it as if +it were a broom––she had no misgivings as to her fitness +to confront and master the most redoubtable +of all the forest kindreds. She believed in herself––and +not only her native Burd Settlement, but the +backwoods generally held that she had cause to. +A busy woman always, she had somehow never +found time to indulge in the luxury of a husband; +but the honorary title of “Mrs.” had early been conferred +upon her, in recognition of her abundant and +confident personality and her all-round capacity +for taking care of herself. To have called her +“Miss” would have been an insult to the fitness of +things. When, at the age of sixty, she inherited +from an only, and strictly bachelor, brother a little +farm in the heart of the wilderness, some forty miles +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +in from the Settlement, no one doubted her ability +to fill the rôle of backwoodsman and pioneer. It +was vaguely felt that if the backwoods and Mrs. +Gammit should fail to agree on any important point, +so much the worse for the backwoods.</p> +<p>And indeed, for nearly two years and a half +everything had gone swimmingly. The solitude +had never troubled Mrs. Gammit, to whom her own +company was always congenial––and, as she felt, +the only company that one could depend upon. +Then she had her two young steers, well broken +to the yoke; the spotted cow, with one horn turned +up and the other down; the grey and yellow cat, +with whom she lived on terms of mutual tolerance; +a turkey-cock and two turkey hens, of whom she +expected much; an assortment of fowls, brown, +black, white, red, and speckled; one fat duck, +which had so far been nothing but a disappointment +to her; and the white pig, which was her pride. +No wonder she was never lonely, with all these good +acquaintances to talk to. Moreover, the forces of +the wild, seeming to recognize that she was a woman +who would have her way, had from the first easily +deferred to her. The capricious and incomprehensible +early frosts of the forest region had spared her +precious garden patch; cut-worm and caterpillar +had gone by the other way; the pip had overlooked +her early chickens; and as for the customary +onslaughts of wildcat, weasel, fox, and skunk, she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +had met them all with such triumphant success that +she began to mistake her mere good luck for the +quintessence of woodcraft. In fact, nothing had happened +to challenge her infallibility, nothing whatever, +until she found that the bears were beginning +to concern themselves about her.</p> +<p>To be sure, there was only one bear mixed up in +the matter; but he chanced to be so diligent, +interested, and resourceful, that it was no wonder +he had got himself multiplied many times over in +Mrs. Gammit’s indignant imagination. When she +told Joe Barron “that the bears was gittin’ so +sassy there wasn’t no livin’ with ’em,” she had little +notion that what she referred to was just one, solitary, +rusty, somewhat moth-eaten animal, crafty +with experience and years. This bear, as it chanced, +had had advantages in the way of education not +often shared by his fellow-roamers of the wilderness. +He had passed several seasons in captivity in one of +the settlements far south of the Quah-Davic Valley. +Afterwards, he had served an unpleasant term in a +flea-ridden travelling menagerie, from which a +railway smash-up had given him release at the +moderate cost of the loss of one eye. During his +captivity he had acquired a profound respect for +men, as creatures who had a tendency to beat him +over the nose and hurt him terribly if he failed to +do as they wished, and who held in eye and voice the +uncomprehended but irresistible authority of fate. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +For women, however, he had learned to entertain a +casual scorn. They screamed when he growled, +and ran away if he stretched out a paw at them. +When, therefore, he had found himself once more +in the vast responsible freedom of the forest, and +reviving with some difficulty the half-forgotten art +of shifting for himself, he had given a wide berth to +the hunters’ shacks and the cabins of lumbermen +and pioneers. But when, on the other hand, he +had come upon Mrs. Gammit’s clearing, and realized, +after long and cautious investigations, that its presiding +genius was nothing more formidable than +one of those petticoated creatures who trembled +at his growl, he had licked his chops with pleasant +anticipation. Here, at last, was his opportunity,––the +flesh-pots of servitude, with freedom.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, the old bear was prudent. He +would not presume too quickly, or too far, upon the +harmlessness of a petticoat, and––as he had observed +from a dense blackberry thicket on the other side of +the fence, while she was at work hoeing her potatoes––there +was an air about Mrs. Gammit which seemed +to give her petticoats the lie. He had watched +her for some time before he could quite satisfy +himself that she was a mere woman. Then he +had tried some nocturnal experiments on the +garden, sampling the young squashes which were +Mrs. Gammit’s peculiar pride, and finding them +so good that he had thought surely something would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +happen. Nothing did happen, however, because Mrs. +Gammit slept heavily; and her indignation in the +morning he had not been privileged to view.</p> +<p>After this he had grown bolder––though always +under cover of night. He had sampled everything +in the garden––the abundance of his foot-prints +convincing Mrs. Gammit that there was also an +abundance of bears. From the garden, at length, +he had ventured to the yard and the barn. In a +half-barrel, in a corner of the shed, he had stumbled +upon the ill-fated white top-knot hen, faithfully +brooding her eggs. Undeterred by her heroic scolding, +and by the trifling annoyance of her feathers +sticking in his teeth, he had made a very pleasant +meal of her. And still he had heard nothing from +Mrs. Gammit, who, for all her indignation, could not +depart from her custom of sound sleeping. If he +had taken the trouble to return in the morning, he +might have perceived that the good lady was far +from pleased, and that there was likely to be something +doing before long if he continued to take such +liberties with her. And then, as we have seen, he +had found the duck––but <i>her</i> loss Mrs. Gammit had +taken calmly enough, declaring it to be nothing +more than a good riddance to bad rubbish.</p> +<p>It was not until the return of moonlight nights +that the bear had discovered the white pig, and thus +come face to face, at last, with a thoroughly aroused +Mrs. Gammit. True to his kind, he did like pork; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +but absorbed in the easier adventures of the garden +and the shed, he had not at first noted the rich +possibilities of the pig-pen, which occupied one +corner of the barn, under the loft. Suspicious of +traps, he would not, at first, enter the narrow +opening of the stable door, the wide main doors being +shut. He had preferred rather to sniff around outside +at the corner of the barn, under the ragged birch-tree +in which the big turkey-cock had his perch. +The wakeful and wary old bird, peering down upon +him with suspicion, had uttered a sharp <i>qwit, qwit</i>, +by way of warning to whom it might concern; +while the white pig, puzzled and worried, had sat up +in the dark interior of the pen and stared out at him +in silence through the cracks between the boards. +At last, growing impatient, the bear had caught the +edge of a board with his claws, and tried to tear it +off. Nothing had come except some big splinters; +but the effort, and the terrifying sound that accompanied +it, had proved too much for the self-control +of the white pig. An ear-splitting succession of +squeals had issued from the dark interior of the pen, +and the bear had backed off in amazement.</p> +<p>Before he could recover himself and renew his +assault, the window of the cabin had gone up with +a skittering slam. The white pig’s appeal for help +had penetrated Mrs. Gammit’s solid slumbers, +and she had understood the situation. “Scat! +you brute!” she had yelled frantically, thrusting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +head and shoulders so far out through the window +that she almost lost her balance in the effort to shake +both fists at once.</p> +<p>The bear, not understanding the terms of her +invective, had sat up on his haunches and turned +his one eye mildly upon the bristling tufts of grey +hair which formed a sort of halo around Mrs. +Gammit’s virginal nightcap. Then Mrs. Gammit, +realizing that the time for action was come, had +rushed downstairs to the kitchen, seized the first +weapon she could lay hands upon––which chanced +to be the broom––flung open the kitchen door, and +dashed across the yard, screaming with indignation.</p> +<p>It was certainly an unusual figure that she made in +the radiant moonlight, her sturdy, naked legs revolving +energetically beneath her sparse nightgown, +and the broom whirling vehemently around her head. +For a moment the bear had contemplated her with +wonder. Then his nerves had failed him. Doubtless, +this was a woman––but not quite like the ordinary +kind. It was better, perhaps, to be careful. With +a reluctant grunt he had turned and fled, indifferent +to his dignity. And he had thought best not to stop +until he found himself quite beyond the range of +Mrs. Gammit’s disconcerting accents, which rang harsh +triumph across the solemn, silvered stillness of the +forest.</p> +<p>It was, of course, this imminent peril to the pig +which had roused Mrs. Gammit to action and sent +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +her on that long tramp over the ridges to borrow +Joe Barron’s gun. In spite of her easy victory in +this particular instance, she had appreciated the +inches of that bear, and realized that in case of any +further unpleasantnesses with him a broom might +not prove to be the most efficient of weapons. With +the gun, however, and her distinct remembrance of +Joe Barron’s directions for its use, she felt equal to +the routing of any number of bears––provided, of +course, they would not all come on together. As +the idea flashed across her mind that there might be a +pack of bears to face, she felt uneasy for a second, +and even thought of bringing the pig into the house +for the night, and conducting her campaign from +the bedroom window. Then she remembered she +had never heard of bears hunting in packs, and her +little apprehension vanished. In fact, she now grew +quite eager for night to bring the fray.</p> +<p>It was a favourite saw of Mrs. Gammit’s that “a +watched pot takes long to bile”; and her experience +that night exemplified it. With the kitchen +door ajar, she sat a little back from the window. +Herself hidden, she had a clear view across the bright +yard. Very slowly the round moon climbed the +pallid summer sky, changing the patterns of the +shadows as she rose. But the bear came not. Mrs. +Gammit began to think, even to fear, that her impetuosity +of the night before had frightened him away. +At last her reveries grew confused. She sat up very +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +straight, and blinked very hard, to make sure that +she was quite awake. Just as she had got herself +most perfectly reassured on this point, her head sank +gently forward upon the window-sill, and she slept +deeply, with her cheek against the cold, brown barrel +of the gun.</p> +<p>Yes, the bear had hesitated long that night. +And he came late. The moon had swung past her +zenith, and was pointing her black shadows across +the yard in quite another direction when he came. +By this time he had recovered confidence and made +up his mind that Mrs. Gammit <i>was</i> only a woman. +After sniffing once more at the cracks to assure himself +that the pig was still there, he went around to the +stable door and crept cautiously in.</p> +<p>As his clumsy black shape appeared in the bright +opening, the pig saw it. It filled his heart with a +quite justifiable horror, which found instant poignant +expression. Within those four walls the noise +was so startlingly loud that, in spite of himself, the +bear drew back––not intending to retreat, indeed, +but only to consider. As it chanced, however, +seeing out of only one eye, he backed upon the +handle of a hay rake which was leaning against the +wall. The rake very properly resented this. It fell +upon him and clutched at his fur like a live thing. +Startled quite out of his self-possession, he retreated +hurriedly into the moonlight, for further consideration +of these unexpected phenomena. And as he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +did so, across the yard the kitchen door was flung +open, and Mrs. Gammit, with the gun, rushed forth.</p> +<p>The bear had intended to retire behind the barn +for a few moments, the better to weigh the situation. +But at the sight of Mrs. Gammit’s fluttering petticoat +he began to feel annoyed. It seemed to him +that he was being thwarted unnecessarily. At the +corner of the barn, just under the jutting limb of +the birch-tree, he stopped, turned, and sat up on his +haunches with a growl. The old turkey-cock, +stretching his lean neck, glared down upon him with +a terse <i>qwit! qwit!</i> of disapproval.</p> +<p>When the bear stopped, in that resolute and +threatening attitude, Mrs. Gammit instinctively +stopped too. Not, as she would have explained +had there been any one to explain to, that she was +“one mite scairt,” but that she wanted to try Joe +Barren’s gun. Raising the gun to her shoulder, +she shut one eye, looked carefully at the point of +the barrel with the other, and pulled the trigger. +Nothing whatever happened. Lowering the weapon +from her shoulder she eyed it severely, and perceived +that she had forgotten to cock it. At this a shade +of embarrassment passed over her face, and she glanced +sharply at the bear to see if he had noticed her mistake. +Apparently, he had not. He was still sitting +there, regarding her unpleasantly with his one small +eye.</p> +<p>“Ye needn’t think ye’re agoin to git off, jest because +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +I made a leetle mistake like that!” muttered +Mrs. Gammit, shutting her teeth with a snap, and +cocking the gun as she raised it once more to her +shoulder.</p> +<p>Now, as it chanced, Joe Barren had neglected to +tell her which eye to shut, so, not unnaturally, Mrs. +Gammit shut the one nearest to the gun––nearest +to the cap which was about to go off. She also neglected +to consider the hind-sight. It was enough +for her that the muzzle of the gun seemed to cover +the bear. Under these conditions she got a very +good line on her target, but her elevation was somewhat +at fault. She pulled the trigger.</p> +<p>This time it was all right. There was a terrific, +roaring explosion, and she staggered backwards +under the savage kick of the recoil. Recovering +herself instantly, and proud of the great noise she +had made, she peered through the smoke, expecting +to see the bear topple over upon his nose, extinguished. +Instead of that, however, she observed a +convulsive flopping of wings in the birch-tree above +the bear’s head. Then, with one reproachful +“gobble” which rang loud in Mrs. Gammit’s ears, +the old turkey-cock fell heavily to the ground. He +would have fallen straight upon the bear, but that +the latter, his nerves completely upset by so much +disturbance, was making off at fine speed through +the bushes.</p> +<p>The elation on Mrs. Gammit’s face gave way to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +consternation. Then she reddened to the ears with +wrath, dashed the offending gun to the ground, and +stamped on it. She had done her part, that she knew, +but the wretched weapon had played her false. Well, +she had never thought much of guns, anyway. Henceforth +she would depend on herself.</p> +<p>The unfortunate turkey-cock now lay quite still. +Mrs. Gammit crossed the yard and bent over the +sprawling body in deep regret. She had had a +certain affection for the noisy and self-sufficient +old bird, who had been “company” for her as he +strutted “gobbling” about the yard with stiff-trailed +wings while his hens were away brooding +their chicks. “Too bad!” she muttered over him, +by way of requiem; “too bad ye had to go an’ git in +the road o’ that blame gun!” Then, suddenly bethinking +herself that a fowl was more easily plucked +while yet warm, she carried the limp corpse, head +downward, across the yard, fetched a basket from +the kitchen, sat down on the doorstep in the moonlight, +and began sadly stripping the victim of his +feathers. He was a fine, heavy bird. As she surveyed +his ample proportions Mrs. Gammit murmured +thoughtfully: “I reckon as how I’m goin’ +to feel kinder sick o’ turkey afore I git this all +et up!”</p> +<p>On the following day Mrs. Gammit carefully +polished the gun with a duster, removing all trace +of the indignities she had put upon it, and stood it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +away behind the dresser. She had resolved to +conduct the rest of the campaign against the bears +in her own way and with her own weapons. The +way and the weapons she now proceeded to think out +with utmost care.</p> +<p>Being a true woman and a true housewife, it was +perhaps inevitable that she should think first, and, +after due consideration given to everything else, +including pitchforks and cayenne pepper, that she +should think last and finally, of the unlimited +potentialities of boiling water. To have it actually +boiling, at the critical moment, would of course be +impracticable; but with a grim smile she concluded +that she could manage to have it hot enough for her +purpose. She had observed that this bear which +was after the pig had learned the way into the pen. +She felt sure that, having found from experience +that loud noises did not produce bodily injuries, he +would again come seeking the pig, and this time with +more confidence than ever.</p> +<p>On this point, thanks to her ignorance of bears in +general, she was right. Most bears would have +been discouraged. But this bear in particular had +learned that when men started out to be disagreeable +to bears, they succeeded only too well. He had +realized clearly that Mrs. Gammit had intended to +be disagreeable to him. There was no mistaking +her intentions. But she had not succeeded. Ergo, +she was not, as he had almost feared, a man, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +really and truly a woman. He came back the next +night fully determined that no squeals, or brooms, +or flying petticoats, or explosions, should divert +him from his purpose and his pork. He came early; +but not, as it chanced, too early for Mrs. Gammit, +who seemed somehow to have divined his plans and +so taken time by the forelock.</p> +<p>The pen of the white pig, as we have already +noted, was in a corner of the barn, and under one +end of the loft. Immediately above the point where +the bear would have to climb over, in order to get +into the pen, Mrs. Gammit removed several of the +loose boards which formed the flooring of the loft. +Beside this opening, at an early hour, she had ensconced +herself in secure ambuscade, with three +pails of the hottest possible hot water close beside +her. The pails were well swathed in blankets, +quilts, and hay, to keep up the temperature of their +contents. And she had also a pitchfork “layin’ +handy,” wherewith to push the enemy down in +case he should resent her attack and climb up to +expostulate.</p> +<p>Mrs. Gammit had not time to grow sleepy, or +even impatient, so early did the bear arrive. The +white pig, disturbed and puzzled by the unwonted +goings-on above his head, had refused to go to bed. +He was wandering restlessly up and down the pen, +when, through the cracks, he saw an awful black +shadow darken the stable door. He lost not a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +second, but lifted his voice at once in one of those +ear-piercing appeals which had now twice proved +themselves so effective.</p> +<p>The bear paused but for a moment, to cast his +solitary eye over the situation. Mrs. Gammit fairly +held her breath. Then, almost before she could +realize what he was doing, he was straight beneath +her, and clambering into the pen. The white pig’s +squeals redoubled, electrifying her to action. She +snatched a steaming bucket from its wrappings, +and dashed it down upon the vaguely heaving form +below.</p> +<p>On the instant there arose a strange, confused, +terrific uproar, from which the squeals of the white +pig stood out thin and pathetic. Without waiting +to see what she had accomplished, Mrs. Gammit +snatched up the second bucket, and leaned forward +to deliver a second stroke. Through a cloud of +steam she saw the bear reaching wildly for the wall +of the pen, clawing frantically in his eagerness to +climb over and get away. She had given him a +lesson, that was clear; but she was resolved to give +him a good one while she was about it. Swinging +far forward, she launched her terrible missile +straight upon his huge hind-quarters just as they +went over the wall. But at the same moment she +lost her balance. With an indignant yell she plunged +downward into the pen.</p> +<p>It was like Mrs. Gammit, however, that even in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +this dark moment her luck should serve her. She +landed squarely on the back of the pig. This +broke her fall, and, strangely enough, did not break +the pig. The latter, quite frenzied by the accumulation +of horrors heaped upon him, bounced frantically +from beneath her indiscreet petticoats, and +dashed himself from one side of the pen to the other +with a violence that threatened to wreck both pig +and pen.</p> +<p>Somewhat breathless, but proudly conscious that +she had won a splendid victory, Mrs. Gammit +picked herself up and shook herself together. The +bear had vanished. She eyed with amazement the +continued gyrations of the pig.</p> +<p>“Poor dear!” she muttered presently, “some o’ +the bilin’ water must ’ave slopped on to him! Oh, +well, I reckon he’ll git over it bime-by. Anyhow, +it’s a sight better’n being all clawed an’ et up by a +bear, I reckon!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Gammit now felt satisfied that this particular +bear would trouble her no more, and she had +high hopes that his experience with hot water +would serve as a lesson to all the other bears with +whom she imagined herself involved. The sequel +fulfilled her utmost expectations. The bear, smarting +from his scalds and with all his preconceived +ideas about women overthrown, betook himself in +haste to another and remoter hunting-ground. A +good deal of his hair came off, in patches, and for a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +long time he had a rather poor opinion of himself.</p> +<p>When, for over a week, there had been no more +raids upon barn or chicken-roost, and no more +bear-tracks about the garden, Mrs. Gammit knew +that her victory had been final, and she felt so elated +that she was even able to enjoy her continuing diet of +cold turkey. Then, one pleasant morning when a +fresh, sweet-smelling wind made tumult in the forest, +she took the gun home to Joe Barren.</p> +<p>“What luck did ye hev, Mrs. Gammit?” inquired +the woodsman with interest.</p> +<p>“I settled them bears, Mr. Barren!” she replied. +“But it wasn’t the gun as done it. It was bilin’ +water. I’ve found ye kin always depend on bilin’ +water!”</p> +<p>“I hope the gun acted right by you, however!” +said the woodsman.</p> +<p>Mrs. Gammit’s voice took on a tone of reserve.</p> +<p>“Well, Mr. Barren, I thank ye kindly for the +loan of the weepon. Ye <i>meant</i> right. But it’s on +my mind to warn ye. Don’t ye go for to trust +that gun, or ye’ll live to regret it. <i>It don’t hit what +it’s aimed at.</i>”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +<a name='THE_BLACKWATER_POT' id='THE_BLACKWATER_POT'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Blackwater Pot</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The lesson of fear was one which Henderson +learned late. He learned it well, however, +when the time came. And it was Blackwater Pot +that taught him.</p> +<p>Sluggishly, reluctantly, impotently, the spruce +logs followed one another round and round the circuit +of the great stone pot. The circling water +within the pot was smooth and deep and black, +but streaked with foam. At one side a gash in the +rocky rim opened upon the sluicing current of the +river, which rushed on, quivering and seething, to +plunge with a roar into the terrific cauldron of the +falls. Out of that thunderous cauldron, filled with +huge tramplings and the shriek of tortured torrents, +rose a white curtain of spray, which every now and +then swayed upward and drenched the green birches +which grew about the rim of the pot. For the break +in the rim, which caught at the passing current and +sucked it into the slow swirls of Blackwater Pot, +was not a dozen feet from the lip of the falls. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span></p> +<p>Henderson sat at the foot of a ragged white birch +which leaned from the upper rim of the pot. He +held his pipe unlighted, while he watched the logs +with a half-fascinated stare. Outside, in the river, he +saw them in a clumsy panic haste, wallowing down +the white rapids to their awful plunge. When a +log came close along shore its fate hung for a +second or two in doubt. It might shoot straight on, +over the lip, into the wavering curtain of spray and +vanish into the horror of the cauldron. Or, at the +last moment, the eddy might reach out stealthily +and drag it into the sullen wheeling procession within +the pot. All that it gained here, however, was a +terrible kind of respite, a breathing-space of agonized +suspense. As it circled around, and came again to +the opening by which it had entered, it might continue +on another eventless revolution, or it might, +according to the whim of the eddy, be cast forth +once more, irretrievably, into the clutch of the awful +sluice. Sometimes two logs, after a pause in what +seemed like a secret death-struggle, would crowd +each other out and go over the falls together. And +sometimes, on the other hand, all would make the +circuit safely again and again. But always, at the +cleft in the rim of the pot, there was the moment of +suspense, the shuddering, terrible panic.</p> +<p>It was this recurring moment that seemed to fasten +itself balefully upon Henderson’s imagination, +so that he forgot to smoke. He had looked into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +the Blackwater before, but never when there were +any logs in the pot. Moreover, on this particular +morning, he was overwrought with weariness. For +a little short of three days he had been at the utmost +tension of body, brain, and nerve, in hot but wary +pursuit of a desperado whom it was his duty, as +deputy-sheriff of his county, to capture and bring +to justice.</p> +<p>This outlaw, a French half-breed, known through +the length and breadth of the wild backwoods +county as “Red Pichot,” was the last but one––and +accounted the most dangerous––of a band which +Henderson had undertaken to break up. Henderson +had been deputy for two years, and owed his +appointment primarily to his pre-eminent fitness +for this very task. Unacquainted with fear, he was +at the same time unrivalled through the backwoods +counties for his subtle woodcraft, his sleepless endurance, +and his cunning.</p> +<p>It was two years now since he had set his hand +to the business. One of the gang had been hanged. +Two were in the penitentiary, on life sentence. Henderson +had justified his appointment to every one +except himself. But while Pichot and his gross-witted +tool, “Bug” Mitchell, went unhanged, +he felt himself on probation, if not shamed. Mitchell +he despised. But Pichot, the brains of the gang, +he honoured with a personal hatred that held +a streak of rivalry. For Pichot, though a beast +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +for cruelty and treachery, and with the murder of a +woman on his black record––which placed him, +according to Henderson’s ideas, in a different +category from a mere killer of men––was at the same +time a born leader and of a courage none could +question. Some chance dash of Scotch Highland +blood in his mixed veins had set a mop of hot red +hair above his black, implacable eyes and cruel, dark +face. It had touched his villainies, too, with an +imagination which made them the more atrocious. +And Henderson’s hate for him as a man was mixed +with respect for the adversary worthy of his +powers.</p> +<p>Reaching the falls, Henderson had been forced to +acknowledge that, once again, Pichot had outwitted +him on the trail. Satisfied that his quarry was by +this time far out of reach among the tangled ravines +on the other side of Two Mountains, he dismissed +the two tired river-men who constituted his posse, +bidding them go on down the river to Greensville +and wait for him. It was his plan to hunt alone for +a couple of days in the hope of catching his adversary +off guard. He had an ally, unsuspected and +invaluable, in a long-legged, half-wild youngster +of a girl, who lived alone with her father in a clearing +about a mile below the falls, and regarded Henderson +with a childlike hero-worship. This shy little +savage, whom all the Settlement knew as “Baisley’s +Sis,” had an intuitive knowledge of the wilderness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +and the trails which rivalled even Henderson’s accomplished +woodcraft; and the indomitable deputy +“set great store,” as he would have put it, by her +friendship. He would go down presently to the +clearing and ask some questions of the child. But +first he wanted to do a bit of thinking. To think the +better, the better to collect his tired and scattered +wits, he had stood his Winchester carefully upright +between two spruce saplings, filled his pipe, lighted +it with relish, and seated himself under the old birch +where he could look straight down upon the wheeling +logs in Blackwater Pot.</p> +<p>It was while he was looking down into the terrible +eddy that his efforts to think failed him and his +pipe went out, and his interest in the fortunes +of the captive logs gradually took the hold of +a nightmare upon his overwrought imagination. +One after one he would mark, snatched in by the +capricious eddy and held back a little while from +its doom. One after one he would see crowded out +again, by inexplicable whim, and hurled on into the +raging horror of the falls. He fell to personifying +this captive log or that, endowing it with sentience, +and imagining its emotions each time it circled +shuddering past the cleft in the rim, once more +precariously reprieved.</p> +<p>At last, either because he was more deeply exhausted +than he knew, or because he had fairly +dropped asleep with his eyes open and his fantastic +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +imaginings had slipped into a veritable dream, he felt +himself suddenly become identified with one of the +logs. It was one which was just drawing around to +the fateful cleft. Would it win past once more? +No; it was too far out! It felt the grasp of the +outward suction, soft and insidious at first, then resistless +as the falling of a mountain. With straining +nerves and pounding heart Henderson strove to hold +it back by sheer will and the wrestling of his +eyes. But it was no use. Slowly the head of the +log turned outward from its circling fellows, quivered +for a moment in the cleft, then shot smoothly forth +into the sluice. With a groan Henderson came to +his senses, starting up and catching instinctively +at the butt of the heavy Colt in his belt. At the same +instant the coil of a rope settled over his shoulders, +pinioning his arms to his sides, and he was jerked +backwards with a violence that fairly lifted him +over the projecting root of the birch. As he fell +his head struck a stump; and he knew nothing +more.</p> +<p>When Henderson came to his senses he found +himself in a most bewildering position. He was +lying face downwards along a log, his mouth +pressed upon the rough bark. His arms and legs +were in the water, on either side of the log. Other +logs moved past him sluggishly. For a moment he +thought himself still in the grip of his nightmare, and +he struggled to wake himself. The struggle revealed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +to him that he was bound fast upon the log. At +this his wits cleared up, with a pang that was more +near despair than anything he had ever known. +Then his nerve steadied itself back into its wonted +control.</p> +<p>He realized what had befallen him. His enemies +had back-trailed him and caught him off his guard. +He was just where, in his awful dream, he had +imagined himself as being. He was bound to one of +the logs down in the great stone pot of Blackwater +Eddy.</p> +<p>For a second or two the blood in his veins +ran ice, as he braced himself to feel the log +lurch out into the sluice and plunge into the +trampling of the abyss. Then he observed that the +other logs were overtaking and passing him. His +log, indeed, was not moving at all. Evidently, +then, it was being held by some one. He tried to +look around, but found himself so fettered that he +could only lift his face a few inches from the log. +This enabled him to see the whole surface of the eddy +and the fateful cleft, and out across the raving +torrents into the white curtain that swayed above +the cauldron. But he could not, with the utmost +twisting and stretching of his neck, see more than a +couple of feet up the smooth stone sides of the +pot.</p> +<p>As he strained on his bonds he heard a harsh +chuckle behind him; and the log, suddenly loosed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +with a jerk which showed him it had been held by +a pike-pole, began to move. A moment later the +sharp, steel-armed end of the pike-pole came down +smartly on the forward end of the log, within a dozen +inches of Henderson’s head, biting a secure hold. +The log again came to a stop. Slowly, under pressure +from the other end of the pike-pole, it rolled +outward, submerging Henderson’s right shoulder, +and turning his face till he could see all the way up +the sides of the pot.</p> +<p>What he saw, on a ledge about three feet above +the water, was Red Pichot, holding the pike-pole +and smiling down upon him smoothly. On the rim +above squatted Bug Mitchell, scowling, and gripping +his knife as if he thirsted to settle up all scores on +the instant. Imagination was lacking in Mitchell’s +make-up; and he was impatient––so far as he dared +to be––of Pichot’s fantastic procrastinatings.</p> +<p>When Henderson’s eyes met the evil, smiling +glance of his enemy they were steady and cold as +steel. To Henderson, who had always, in every +situation, felt himself master, there remained now +no mastery but that of his own will, his own spirit. +In his estimation there could be no death so dreadful +but that to let his spirit cower before his adversary +would be tenfold worse. Helpless though he was, +in a position that was ignominiously and grotesquely +horrible, and with the imminence of an appalling +doom close before his eyes, his nerve never failed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +him. With cool contempt and defiance he met Red +Pichot’s smile.</p> +<p>“I’ve always had an idee,” said the half-breed, +presently, in a smooth voice that penetrated the mighty +vibrations of the falls, “ez how a chap on a log +could paddle roun’ this yere eddy fer a deuce of +a while afore he’d hev to git sucked out into the +sluice!”</p> +<p>As a theory this was undoubtedly interesting. But +Henderson made no answer.</p> +<p>“I’ve held that idee,” continued Pichot, after a +civil pause, “though I hain’t never yet found a +man, nor a woman nuther, as was willin’ to give it +a fair trial. But I feel sure ye’re the man to +oblige me. I’ve left yer arms kinder free, leastways +from the elbows down, an’ yer legs also, more or +less, so’s ye’ll be able to paddle easy-like. The +walls of the pot’s all worn so smooth, below high-water +mark, there’s nothin’ to ketch on to, so there’ll +be nothin’ to take off yer attention. I’m hopin’ +ye’ll give the matter a right fair trial. But ef ye +gits tired an’ feels like givin’ up, why, don’t consider +my feelin’s. There’s the falls awaitin’. An’ +I ain’t agoin’ to bear no grudge ef ye don’t quite come +up to my expectations of ye.”</p> +<p>As Pichot ceased his measured harangue he +jerked his pike-pole loose. Instantly the log began +to forge forward, joining the reluctant procession. +For a few moments Henderson felt like shutting his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +eyes and his teeth and letting himself go on with all +speed to the inevitable doom. Then, with scorn +of the weak impulse, he changed his mind. To the +last gasp he would maintain his hold on life, and +give fortune a chance to save him. When he could +no longer resist, then it would be Fate’s responsibility, +not his. The better to fight the awful fight that +was before him, he put clear out of his mind the +picture of Red Pichot and Mitchell perched on the +brink above, smoking, and grinning down upon the +writhings of their victim. In a moment, as his log +drew near the cleft, he had forgotten them. There +was room now in all his faculties for but one impulse, +one consideration.</p> +<p>The log to which he was bound was on the extreme +outer edge of the procession, and Henderson realized +that there was every probability of its being at once +crowded out the moment it came to the exit. With +a desperate effort he succeeded in catching the log +nearest to him, pushing it ahead, and at last, just +as they came opposite the cleft, steering his own +log into its place. The next second it shot quivering +forth into the sluice, and Henderson, with a sudden +cold sweat jumping out all over him, circled slowly +past the awful cleft. A shout of ironical congratulation +came to him from the watchers on +the brink above. But he hardly heard it, and +heeded it not at all. He was striving frantically, +paddling forward with one hand and backward with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +the other, to steer his sluggish, deep-floating log +from the outer to the inner circle. He had already +observed that to be on the outer edge would mean +instant doom for him, because the outward suction +was stronger underneath than on the surface, and his +weighted log caught its force before the others did. +His arms were so bound that only from the elbows +down could he move them freely. He did, however, +by a struggle which left him gasping, succeed in working +in behind another log––just in time to see +that log, too, sucked out into the abyss, and himself +once more on the deadly outer flank of the circling +procession.</p> +<p>This time Henderson did not know whether the +watchers on the brink laughed or not as he won past +the cleft. He was scheming desperately to devise +some less exhausting tactics. Steadily and rhythmically, +but with his utmost force, he back-paddled +with both hands and feet, till the progress of his log +was almost stopped. Then he succeeded in catching +yet another log as it passed and manœuvring +in behind it. By this time he was halfway around +the pot again. Yet again, by his desperate back-paddling, +he checked his progress, and presently, +by most cunning manipulation, managed to edge in +behind yet another log, so that when he again came +round to the cleft there were two logs between him +and doom. The outermost of these, however, was +dragged instantly forth into the fury of the sluice, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +thrust forward, as it was, by the grip of the suction +upon Henderson’s own deep log. Feeling himself +on the point of utter exhaustion, he nevertheless continued +back-paddling, and steering and working +inward, till he had succeeded in getting three files +of logs between himself and the outer edge. Then, +almost blind and with the blood roaring so loud in +his ears that he could hardly hear the trampling of +the falls, he hung on his log, praying that strength +might flow back speedily into his veins and +nerves.</p> +<p>Not till he had twice more made the circuit of the +pot, and twice more seen a log sucked out from +his very elbow to leap into the white horror of the +abyss, did Henderson stir. The brief stillness, +controlled by his will, had rested him for the moment. +He was cool now, keen to plan, cunning to husband +his forces. Up to the very last second that he could +he would maintain his hold on life, counting always +on the chance of the unexpected.</p> +<p>With now just one log remaining between himself +and death, he let himself go past the cleft, and +saw that one log go out. Then, being close to the +wall of the pot, he tried to delay his progress by clutching +at the stone with his left hand and by dragging +upon it with his foot. But the stone surface +was worn so smooth by the age-long polishing +of the eddy that these efforts availed him little. +Before he realized it he was almost round again, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +and only by the most desperate struggle did he +succeed in saving himself. There was no other log +near by this time for him to seize and thrust forward +in his place. It was simply a question of his restricted +paddling, with hands and feet, against the +outward draught of the current. For nearly a +minute the log hung in doubt just before the opening, +the current sucking at its head to turn it outward, +and Henderson paddling against it not only with +hands and feet, but with every ounce of will and +nerve that his body contained. At last, inch by +inch, he conquered. His log moved past the gate +of death; and dimly, again, that ironical voice +came down to him, piercing the roar.</p> +<p>Once past, Henderson fell to back-paddling again––not +so violently now––till other logs came by within +his reach and he could work himself into temporary +safety behind them. He was soon forced to the +conviction that if he strove at just a shade under +his utmost he was able to hold his own and keep one +log always between himself and the opening. But +what was now his utmost, he realized, would very +soon be far beyond his powers. Well, there was +nothing to do but to keep on trying. Around and +around, and again and again around the terrible, +smooth, deliberate circuit he went, sparing himself +every ounce of effort that he could, and always +shutting his eyes as the log beside him plunged +out into the sluice. Gradually, then, he felt himself +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +becoming stupefied by the ceaselessly recurring +horror, with the prolonged suspense between. He +must sting himself back to the full possession of his +faculties by another burst of fierce effort. Fiercely +he caught at log after log, without a let-up, till, luck +having favoured him for once, he found himself on +the inner instead of the outer edge of the procession. +Then an idea flashed into his fast-clouding brain, +and he cursed himself for not having thought of it +before. At the very centre of the eddy, of course, +there must be a sort of core of stillness. By a +vehement struggle he attained it and avoided crossing +it. Working gently and warily he kept the log right +across the axis of the eddy, where huddled a crowd +of chips and sticks. Here the log turned slowly, +very slowly, on its own centre; and for a few +seconds of exquisite relief Henderson let himself +sink into a sort of lethargy. He was roused by a +sudden shot, and the spat of a heavy bullet into the +log about three inches before his head. Even +through the shaking thunder of the cataract he +thought he recognized the voice of his own heavy +Colt; and the idea of that tried weapon being +turned against himself filled him with childish rage. +Without lifting his head he lay and cursed, grinding +his teeth impotently. A few seconds later came +another shot, and this time the ball went into the +log just before his right arm. Then he understood, +and woke up. Pichot was a dead shot. This was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +his intimation that Henderson must get out into the +procession again. At the centre of the eddy he was +not sufficiently entertaining to his executioners. +The idea of being shot in the head had not greatly +disturbed him––he had felt as if it would be rather +restful, on the whole. But the thought of getting +a bullet in his arm, which would merely disable +him and deliver him over helpless to the outdraught, +shook him with something near a panic. He fell to +paddling with all his remaining strength, and drove +his log once more into the horrible circuit. The +commendatory remarks with which Pichot greeted +this move went past his ears unheard.</p> +<p>Up to this time there had been a strong sun +shining down into the pot, and the trees about its +rim had stood unstirred by any wind. Now, however, +a sudden darkness settled over everything, +and sharp, fitful gusts drew in through the cleft, +helping to push the logs back. Henderson was +by this time so near fainting from exhaustion that +his wits were losing their clearness. Only his horror +of the fatal exit, the raving sluice, the swaying white +spray-curtain, retained its keenness. As to all else +he was growing so confused that he hardly realized +the way those great indrawing gusts, laden with +spray, were helping him. He was paddling and +steering and manœuvring for the inner circuit +almost mechanically now. When suddenly the +blackness about him was lit with a blue glare, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +the thunder crashed over the echoing pot with an +explosion that outroared the falls, he hardly noted it. +When the skies seemed to open, letting down the +rain in torrents, with a wind that almost blew it +level, it made no difference to him. He went on +paddling dully, indifferent to the bumping of the +logs against his shoulders.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_5' id='linki_5'></a> +<img src='images/illus-184.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 489px; height: 305px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 489px;'> +“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>He was roused by a sudden shot.</span>”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>But to this fierce storm, which almost bent double +the trees around the rim of the pot, Red Pichot and +Mitchell were by no means so indifferent. About +sixty or seventy yards below the falls they had a snug +retreat which was also an outlook. It was a cabin +built in a recess of the wall of the gorge, and to be +reached only by a narrow pathway easy of defence. +When the storm broke in its fury Pichot sprang to +his feet.</p> +<p>“Let’s git back to the Hole,” he cried to his +companion, knocking the fire out of his pipe. “We +kin watch just as well from there, an’ see the beauty +slide over when his time comes.”</p> +<p>Pichot led the way off through the straining and +hissing trees, and Mitchell followed, growling but +obedient. And Henderson, faint upon his log in +the raving tumult, knew nothing of their going.</p> +<p>They had not been gone more than two minutes +when a drenched little dark face, with black hair +plastered over it in wisps, peered out from among +the lashing birches and gazed down anxiously into +the pot. At the sight of Henderson on his log, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +lying quite close to the edge, and far back from the +dreadful cleft, the terror in the wild eyes gave way +to inexpressible relief. The face drew back; and +an instant later a bare-legged child appeared, carrying +the pike-pole which Pichot had tossed into the +bushes. Heedless of the sheeting volleys of the +rain and the fierce gusts which whipped her dripping +homespun petticoat about her knees, she clambered +skilfully down the rock wall to the ledge whereon +Pichot had stood. Bracing herself carefully, she +reached out with the pike-pole, which, child though +she was, she evidently knew how to use.</p> +<p>Henderson was just beginning to recover from +his daze, and to notice the madness of the storm, +when he felt something strike sharply on the log +behind him. He knew it was the impact of a pike +pole, and he wondered, with a kind of scornful +disgust, what Pichot could be wanting of him now. +He felt the log being dragged backwards, then held +close against the smooth wall of the pot. A moment +more and his bonds were being cut––but laboriously, +as if with a small knife and by weak hands. Then +he caught sight of the hands, which were little +and brown and rough, and realized, with a great +burst of wonder and tenderness, that old Baisley’s +“Sis,” by some miracle of miracles, had come to +his rescue. In a few seconds the ropes fell apart, +and he lifted himself, to see the child stooping down +with anxious adoration in her eyes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span></p> +<p>“Sis!” he cried. “You!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Mr. Henderson, come quick!” she panted. +“They may git back any minit.” And clutching +him by the shoulder, she tried to pull him up +by main strength. But Henderson needed no +urging. Life, with the return of hope, had surged +back into nerve and muscle; and in hardly more +time than it takes to tell it, the two had clambered +side by side to the rim of the pot and darted into +the covert of the tossing trees.</p> +<p>No sooner were they in hiding than Henderson +remembered his rifle and slipped back to get it +His enemies had not discovered it. It had fallen +into the moss, but the well-oiled, perfect-fitting +chamber had kept its cartridges dry. With that +weapon in his hands Henderson felt himself once +more master of the situation. Weariness and +apprehension together slipped from him, and one +purpose took complete possession of him. He +would settle with Red Pichot right there, on the +spot where he had been taught the terrible lesson of +fear. He felt that he could not really feel himself +a man again unless he could settle the whole score +before the sun of that day should set.</p> +<p>The rain and wind were diminishing now; the +lightning was a mere shuddering gleam over the +hill-tops beyond the river; and the thunder no +longer made itself heard above the trampling of the +falls. Henderson’s plans were soon laid. Then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +he turned to Sis, who stood silent and motionless +close at his side, her big, alert, shy eyes watching +like a hunted deer’s the trail by which Red Pichot +might return. She was trembling in her heart at +every moment that Henderson lingered within that +zone of peril. But she would not presume to suggest +any move.</p> +<p>Suddenly Henderson turned to her and laid an +arm about her little shoulders.</p> +<p>“You saved my life, kid!” he said, softly. +“How ever did you know I was down there in that +hell?”</p> +<p>“I jest <i>knowed</i> it was you, when I seen Red Pichot +an’ Bug Mitchell a-trackin’ some one,” answered +the child, still keeping her eyes on the trail, as if it +was her part to see that Henderson was not again +taken unawares. “I <i>knowed</i> it was you, Mister +Henderson, an’ I followed ’em; an’ oh, I seen it all, +I seen it all, an’ I most died because I hadn’t no +gun. But I’d ’ave killed ’em both, some day, sure, +ef––ef they hadn’t went away! But they’ll be back +now right quick.”</p> +<p>Henderson bent and kissed her wet black head, +saying, “Bless you, kid! You an’ me’ll always be +pals, I reckon!”</p> +<p>At the kiss the child’s face flushed, and, for one +second forgetting to watch the trail, she lifted glowing +eyes to his. But he was already looking +away. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span></p> +<p>“Come on,” he muttered. “This ain’t no place +for you an’ me <i>yet</i>.”</p> +<p>Making a careful circuit through the thick undergrowth, +swiftly but silently as two wildcats, the +strange pair gained a covert close beside the trail +by which Pichot and Mitchell would return to the +rim of the pot. Safely ambuscaded, Henderson laid +a hand firmly on the child’s arm, resting it there for +two or three seconds, as a sign of silence.</p> +<p>Minute after minute went by in the intense stillness. +At last the child, whose ears were even keener +than Henderson’s, caught her breath with a little +indrawing gasp and looked up at her companion’s +face. Henderson understood; and every muscle +stiffened. A moment later and he, too, heard the +oncoming tread of hurried footsteps. Then Pichot +went by at a swinging stride, with Mitchell skulking +obediently at his heels.</p> +<p>Henderson half raised his rifle, and his face turned +grey and cold like steel. But it was no part of his +plan to shoot even Red Pichot in the back. From +the manner of the two ruffians it was plain that they +had no suspicion of the turn which affairs had taken. +To them it was as sure as two and two make four +that Henderson was still on his log in the pot, if he +had not already gone over into the cauldron. As +they reached the rim Henderson stepped out into +the trail behind them, his gun balanced ready like +a trapshooter’s. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span></p> +<p>As Pichot, on the very brink, looked down into the +pot and saw that his victim was no longer there, he +turned to Mitchell with a smile of mingled triumph +and disappointment.</p> +<p>But, on the instant, the smile froze on his face. It +was as if he had felt the cold, grey gaze of Henderson +on the back of his neck. Some warning, certainly, +was flashed to that mysterious sixth sense +which the people of the wild, man or beast, seem +sometimes to be endowed with. He wheeled like +lightning, his revolver seeming to leap up from his +belt with the same motion. But in the same +fraction of a second that his eyes met Henderson’s +they met the white flame-spurt of Henderson’s +rifle––and then, the dark.</p> +<p>As Pichot’s body collapsed, it toppled over the +rim into Blackwater Pot and fell across two moving +logs. Mitchell had thrown up his hands straight +above his head when Pichot fell, knowing instantly +that that was his only hope of escaping the same +fate as his leader’s.</p> +<p>One look at Henderson’s face, however, satisfied +him that he was not going to be dealt with on the +spot, and he set his thick jaw stolidly. Then his +eyes wandered down into the pot, following the +leader whom, in his way, he had loved if ever he had +loved any one or anything. Fascinated, his stare +followed the two logs as they journeyed around, +with Pichot’s limp form, face upwards, sprawled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +across them. They reached the cleft, turned, and +shot forth into the raving of the sluice, and a groan +of horror burst from “Bug’s” lips. By this Henderson +knew what had happened, and, to his immeasurable +self-scorn, a qualm of remembered fear caught +sickeningly at his heart. But nothing of this +betrayed itself in his face or voice.</p> +<p>“Come on, Mitchell!” he said, briskly. “I’m +in a hurry. You jest step along in front, an’ see ye +keep both hands well up over yer head, or ye’ll be +savin’ the county the cost o’ yer rope. Step out, +now.”</p> +<p>He stood aside, with Sis at his elbow, to make +room. As Mitchell passed, his hands held high, a +mad light flamed up into his sullen eyes, and he +was on the point of springing, like a wolf, at his +captor’s throat. But Henderson’s look was cool +and steady, and his gun held low. The impulse +flickered out in the brute’s dull veins. But as he +glanced at Sis he suddenly understood that it was +she who had brought all this to pass. His black +face snarled upon her like a wolf’s at bay, with +an inarticulate curse more horrible than any +words could make it. With a shiver the child +slipped behind Henderson’s back and hid her +face.</p> +<p>“Don’t be skeered o’ him, kid, not one little +mite,” said Henderson, gently. “He ain’t agoin’ +to trouble this earth no more. An’ I’m goin’ to get +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +yer father a job, helpin’ me, down somewheres near +Greensville––because I couldn’t sleep nights knowin’ +ye was runnin’ round anywheres near that hell-hole +yonder!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +<a name='THE_IRON_EDGE_OF_WINTER' id='THE_IRON_EDGE_OF_WINTER'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Iron Edge of Winter</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The glory of the leaves was gone; the glory of +the snow was not yet come; and the world, +smitten with bitter frost, was grey like steel. The +ice was black and clear and vitreous on the forest +pools. The clods on the ploughed field, the broken +hillocks in the pasture, the ruts of the winding backwoods +road, were hard as iron and rang under the +travelling hoof. The silent, naked woods, moved +only by the bleak wind drawing through them from +the north, seemed as if life had forgotten them.</p> +<p>Suddenly there came a light thud, thud, thud, with +a pattering of brittle leaves; and a leisurely rabbit +hopped by, apparently on no special errand. At +the first of the sounds, a small, ruddy head with +bulging, big, bright eyes had appeared at the mouth +of a hole under the roots of an ancient maple. The +bright eyes noted the rabbit at once, and peered +about anxiously to see if any enemy were following. +There was no danger in sight.</p> +<p>Within two or three feet of the hole under the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +maple the rabbit stopped, sat up as if begging, +waved its great ears to and fro, and glanced around +inquiringly with its protruding, foolish eyes. As +it sat up, it felt beneath its whitey fluff of a tail +something hard which was not a stone, and promptly +dropped down again on all fours to investigate. +Poking its nose among the leaves and scratching with +its fore-paws, it uncovered a pile of beech-nuts, at +which it began to sniff. The next instant, with +a shrill, chattering torrent of invective, a red squirrel +whisked out from the hole under the maple, and +made as if to fly in the face of the big, good-natured +trespasser. Startled and abashed by this noisy +assault, the rabbit went bounding away over the +dead leaves and disappeared among the desolate +grey arches.</p> +<p>The silence was effectually dispelled. Shrieking +and scolding hysterically, flicking his long +tail in spasmodic jerks, and calling the dead +solitudes to witness that the imbecile intruder had +uncovered one of his treasure-heaps, the angry +squirrel ran up and down the trunk for at least two +minutes. Then, his feelings somewhat relieved by +this violent outburst, he set himself to gathering +the scattered nuts and bestowing them in new and +safer hiding-places.</p> +<p>In this task he had little regard for convenience, +and time appeared to be no object whatever. Some +of the nuts he took over to a big elm fifty paces distant, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +and jammed them one by one, solidly and conscientiously, +into the crevices of the bark. Others +he carried in the opposite direction, to the edge of +the open where the road ran by. These he hid under +a stone, where the passing wayfarer might step over +them, indeed, but would never think of looking for +them. While he was thus occupied, an old countryman +slouched by, his heavy boots making a noise on +the frozen ruts, his nose red with the harsh, unmitigated +cold. The squirrel, mounted on a fence +stake, greeted him with a flood of whistling and shrieking +abuse; and he, not versed in the squirrel tongue, +muttered to himself half enviously: “Queer how +them squur’ls can keep so cheerful in this weather.” +The tireless little animal followed him along +the fence rails for perhaps a hundred yards, seeing +him off the premises and advising him not to return, +then went back in high feather to his task. When +all the nuts were once more safely hidden but two +or three, these latter he carried to the top of a stump +close beside the hole in the maple, and proceeded +to make a meal. The stump commanded a view +on all sides; and as he sat up with a nut between +his little, hand-like, clever fore-paws, his shining eyes +kept watch on every path by which an enemy might +approach.</p> +<p>Having finished the nuts, and scratched his ears, +and jumped twice around on the stump as if he were +full of erratically acting springs, he uttered his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +satisfaction in a long, vibrant chir-r-r-r, and started +to re-enter his hole in the maple-roots. Just at the +door, however, he changed his mind. For no apparent +reason he whisked about, scurried across the +ground to the big elm, ran straight up the tall trunk, +and disappeared within what looked like a mass of +sticks perched among the topmost branches.</p> +<p>The mass of sticks was a deserted crow’s nest, +which the squirrel, not content with one dwelling, +had made over to suit his own personal needs. He +had greatly improved upon the architecture of the +crows, giving the nest a tight roof of twigs and moss, +and lining the snug interior with fine dry grass and +soft fibres of cedar-bark. In this secure and softly +swaying refuge, far above the reach of prowling +foxes, he curled himself up for a nap after his toil.</p> +<p>He slept well, but not long; for the red squirrel +has always something on his mind to see to. In +less than half an hour he whisked out again in great +excitement, jumped from branch to branch till he +was many yards from his own tree, and then +burst forth into vehement chatter. He must have +dreamed that some one was rifling his hoards, for +he ran eagerly from one hiding-place to another +and examined them all suspiciously. As he had +at least two-score to inspect, it took him some time; +but not till he had looked at every one did he seem +satisfied. Then he grew very angry, and scolded and +chirruped, as if he thought some one had made a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +fool of him. That he had made a fool of himself +probably never entered his confident and self-sufficient +little head.</p> +<p>While indulging this noisy volubility he was +seated on the top of his dining-stump. Suddenly he +caught sight of something that smote him into silence +and for the space of a second turned him to stone. +A few paces away was a weasel, gliding toward +him like a streak of baleful light. For one second +only he crouched. Then his faculties returned, and +launching himself through the air he landed on the +trunk of the maple and darted up among the branches.</p> +<p>No less swiftly the weasel followed, hungry, +bloodthirsty, relentless on the trail. Terrified into +folly by the suddenness and deadliness of this peril, +the squirrel ran too far up the tree and was almost +cornered. Where the branches were small there +was no chance to swing to another tree. Perceiving +this mistake, he gave a squeak of terror, then +bounded madly right over his enemy’s head, and +was lucky enough to catch foothold far out on a +lower branch. Recovering himself in an instant, +he shot into the next tree, and thence to the next +and the next. Then, breathless from panic rather +than from exhaustion, he crouched trembling behind +a branch and waited.</p> +<p>The weasel pursued more slowly, but inexorably +as doom itself. He was not so clever at branch-jumping +as his intended prey, but he was not to be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +shaken off. In less than a minute he was following +the scent up the tree wherein the squirrel was hiding; +and again the squirrel dashed off in his desperate +flight. Twice more was this repeated, the squirrel +each time more panic-stricken and with less power +in nerve or muscle. Then wisdom forsook his brain +utterly. He fled straight to his elm and darted into +his nest in the swaying top. The weasel, running +lithely up the ragged trunk, knew that the chase +was at an end. From this cul de sac the squirrel +had no escape.</p> +<p>But Fate is whimsical in dealing with the wild +kindreds. She seems to delight in unlooked-for interventions. +While the squirrel trembled in his dark +nest, and the weasel, intent upon the first taste of +warm blood in his throat, ran heedlessly up a bare +stretch of the trunk, there came the chance which a +foraging hawk had been waiting for. The hawk, +too, had been following this breathless chase, but +ever baffled by intervening branches. Now he +swooped and struck. His talons had the grip of +steel. The weasel, plucked irresistibly from his +foothold, was carried off writhing to make the great +bird’s feast. And the squirrel, realizing at last that +the expected doom had been somehow turned aside, +came out and chattered feebly of his triumph.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +<a name='THE_GRIP_IN_DEEP_HOLE' id='THE_GRIP_IN_DEEP_HOLE'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Grip in Deep Hole</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The roar of the falls, the lighter and shriller +raging of the rapids, had at last died out +behind the thick masses of the forest, as Barnes +worked his way down the valley. The heat in the +windless underbrush, alive with insects, was stifling. +He decided to make once more for the bank of the +stream, in the hope that its character might by +this time have changed, so as to afford him an easier +and more open path. Pressing aside to his left, +he presently saw the green gloom lighten before +him. Blue sky and golden light came low through +the thinning trees, and then a gleam of unruffled +water. He was nearing the edge now; and because +the underbrush was so thick about him he began +to go cautiously.</p> +<p>All at once, he felt his feet sinking; and the screen +of thick bushes before him leaned away as if bowed +by a heavy gust. Desperately he clutched with +both hands at the undergrowth and saplings on +either side; but they all gave way with him. In +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +a smother of leafage and blinding, lashing branches +he sank downwards––at first, as it seemed, slowly, +for he had time to think many things while his heart +was jumping in his throat. Then, shooting through +the lighter bushy companions of his fall, and still +clutching convulsively at those upon which he had +been able to lay his grasp, he plunged feet first +into a dark water.</p> +<p>The water was deep and cold. Barnes went +down straight, and clear under, with a strangled +gasp. His feet struck, with some force, upon a +tangled, yielding mass, from which he rose again +with a spring. His head shot up above the surface, +above the swirl of foam, leafage, and débris; and +splutteringly he gulped his lungs full of air. But +before he could clear his eyes or his nostrils, or +recover his self-possession, he was stealthily dragged +down again. And with a pang of horror he realized +that he was caught by the foot.</p> +<p>A powerful swimmer, Barnes struck out mightily +with his arms and came to the surface again at +once, rising beyond the shoulders. But by so much +the more was he violently snatched back again, +strangling and desperate, before he had time to +empty his lungs and catch breath. This time the +shock sobered him, flashing the full peril of the +situation before his startled consciousness. With +a tremendous effort of will he stopped his +struggling, and contented himself with a gentle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +paddling to keep upright. This time he came more +softly to the surface, clear beyond the chin. The +foam and débris and turbulence of little waves +seethed about his lips, and the sunlight danced confusingly +in his streaming eyes; but he gulped a fresh +lungful before he again went under.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_6' id='linki_6'></a> +<img src='images/illus-200.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 480px; height: 272px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 480px;'> +“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>He realized that he was caught by the foot.</span>”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>Paddling warily now, he emerged again at once, +and, with arms outspread, brought himself to a +precarious equilibrium, his mouth just above the +surface so long as he held his head well back. Keeping +very still, he let his bewildered wits clear, and +the agitated surface settle to quiet.</p> +<p>He was in a deep, tranquil cove, hardly stirred +by an eddy. Some ten paces farther out from +shore the main current swirled past sullenly, +as if weary from the riot of falls and rapids. +Across the current a little space of sand-beach, +jutting out from the leafy shore, shone golden in +the sun. Up and down the stream, as far as his +extremely restricted vision would suffer him to see, +nothing but thick, overhanging branches, and the +sullen current. Very cautiously he turned his +head––though to do so brought the water over his +lips––and saw behind him just what he expected. +The high, almost perpendicular bank was scarred +by a gash of bright, raw, reddish earth, where the +brink had slipped away beneath his weight.</p> +<p>Just within reach of his hand lay, half submerged, +the thick, leafy top of a fallen poplar sapling, its +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +roots apparently still clinging to the bank. Gently +he laid hold of it, testing it, in the hope that it +might prove solid enough to enable him to haul +himself out. But it came away instantly in his +grasp. And once more, in this slight disturbance +of his equilibrium, his head went under.</p> +<p>Barnes was disappointed, but he was now absolutely +master of his self-possession. In a moment +he had regained the only position in which he could +breathe comfortably. Then, because the sun was +beating down too fiercely on the top of his head, he +carefully drew the bushy top of the poplar sapling +into such a position that it gave him shade. As its +roots were still aground, it showed no tendency to +float off and forsake him in his plight.</p> +<p>A very little consideration, accompanied by a +cautious investigation with his free foot, speedily +convinced Barnes, who was a practical woodsman, +that the trap in which he found himself caught could +be nothing else than a couple of interlaced, twisted +branches, or roots, of some tree which had fallen +into the pool in a former caving-in of the bank. +In that dark deep wherein his foot was held fast, +his mind’s eye could see it all well enough––the +water-soaked, brown-green, slimy, inexorable coil, +which had yielded to admit the unlucky member, +then closed upon the ankle like the jaws of an otter +trap. He could feel that grip––not severe, but +uncompromisingly firm, clutching the joint. As he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +considered, he began to draw comfort, however, +from the fact that his invisible captor had displayed +a certain amount of give and take. This elasticity +meant either that it was a couple of branches slight +enough to be flexible that held him, or that the submerged +tree itself was a small one, not too steadfastly +anchored down. He would free himself easily +enough, he thought, as soon as he should set himself +about it coolly and systematically.</p> +<p>Taking a long breath he sank his head under the +surface, and peered downward through the amber-brown +but transparent gloom. Little gleams of +brighter light came twisting and quivering in from the +swirls of the outer current. Barnes could not discern +the bottom of the pool, which was evidently +very deep; but he could see quite clearly the +portion of the sunken tree in whose interwoven +branches he was held. A shimmering golden ray +fell just on the spot where his foot vanished to +the ankle between two stout curves of what looked +like slimy brown cable or sections of a tense snake +body.</p> +<p>It was, beyond question, a nasty-looking trap; +and Barnes could not blink the fact that he was in +a tight place. He lifted his face above the surface, +steadied himself carefully, and breathed deeply and +quietly for a couple of minutes, gathering strength +for a swift and vigorous effort. Then, filling his +lungs very moderately, the better to endure a strain, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +he stooped suddenly downward, deep into the yellow +gloom, and began wrenching with all his force at +those oozy curves, striving to drag them apart. +They gave a little, but not enough to release the +imprisoned foot. Another moment, and he had to +lift his head again for breath.</p> +<p>After some minutes of rest, he repeated the +choking struggle, but, as before, in vain. He could +move the jaws of the trap just enough to encourage +him a little, but not enough to gain his release. +Again and again he tried it, again and again to +fail just as he imagined himself on the verge of success; +till at last he was forced, for the moment, +to acknowledge defeat, finding himself so exhausted +that he could hardly keep his mouth above water. +Drawing down a stiffish branch of the sapling, +he gripped it between his teeth and so held himself +upright while he rested his arms. This was +a relief to nerves as well as muscles, because it +made his balance, on which he depended for the +chance to breathe, so much the less precarious.</p> +<p>As he hung there pondering, held but a bare half-inch +above drowning, the desperateness of the situation +presented itself to him in appalling clearness. +How sunny and warm and safe, to his woods-familiar +eyes, looked the green forest world about him. No +sound broke the mild tranquillity of the solitude, +except, now and then, an elfish gurgle of the slow +current, or the sweetly cheerful <i>tsic-a-dee-dee</i> of an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +unseen chicadee, or, from the intense blue overhead, +the abrupt, thin whistle of a soaring fish-hawk. +To Barnes it all seemed such a safe, friendly world, +his well-understood intimate since small boyhood. +Yet here it was, apparently, turned smooth traitor +at last, and about to destroy him as pitilessly as +might the most scorching desert or blizzard-scourged +ice-field. A silent rage burned suddenly +through all his veins––which was well, since the +cold of that spring-fed river had already begun to +finger stealthily about his heart. A delicate little +pale-blue butterfly, like a periwinkle-petal come to +life, fluttered over Barnes’s grim, upturned face, +and went dancing gaily out across the shining water, +joyous in the sun. In its dancing it chanced to +dip a hair’s-breadth too low. The treacherous, +bright surface caught it, held it; and away it swept, +struggling in helpless consternation against this +unexpected doom. Before it passed out of Barnes’s +vision a great trout rose and gulped it down. Its +swift fate, to Barnes’s haggard eyes, seemed an +analogue in little to his own.</p> +<p>But it was not in the woodsman’s fibre to acknowledge +himself actually beaten, either by man or +fate, so long as there remained a spark in his brain +to keep his will alive. He presently began searching +with his eyes among the branches of the poplar +sapling for one stout enough to serve him as a +lever. With the right kind of a stick in his hand, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +he told himself, he might manage to pry apart the +jaws of the trap and get his foot free. At last +his choice settled upon a branch that he thought +would serve his turn. He was just about to +reach up and break it off, when a slight crackling +in the underbrush across the stream caught +his ear.</p> +<p>His woodsman’s instinct kept him motionless as +he turned his eyes to the spot. In the thick leafage +there was a swaying, which moved down along the +bank, but he could not see what was causing it. +Softly he drew over a leafy branch of the sapling +till it made him a perfect screen, then he peered up +the channel to find out what the unseen wayfarer +was following.</p> +<p>A huge salmon, battered and gashed from a vain +struggle to leap the falls, was floating, belly-upward, +down the current, close to Barnes’s side of the +stream. A gentle eddy caught it, and drew it into +the pool. Sluggishly it came drifting down toward +Barnes’s hidden face. In the twigs of the poplar +sapling it came to a halt, its great scarlet gills barely +moving as the last of life flickered out of it.</p> +<p>Barnes now understood quite well that unseen +commotion which had followed, along shore, the +course of the dying salmon. It was no surprise to +him whatever when he saw a huge black bear +emerge upon the yellow sandspit and stand staring +across the current. Apparently, it was staring +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +straight at Barnes’s face, upturned upon the surface +of the water. But Barnes knew it was staring at +the dead salmon. His heart jumped sickeningly +with sudden hope, as an extravagant notion flashed +into his brain. Here was his rescuer––a perilous +one, to be sure––vouchsafed to him by some whim +of the inscrutable forest-fates.</p> +<p>He drew down another branchy twig before his +face, fearful lest his concealment should not be adequate. +But in his excitement he disturbed his +balance, and with the effort of his recovery the water +swirled noticeably all about him. His heart sank. +Assuredly, the bear would take alarm at this and be +afraid to come for the fish.</p> +<p>But to his surprise the great beast, which had +seemed to hesitate, plunged impetuously into the +stream. Nothing, according to a bear’s knowledge +of life, could have made that sudden disturbance in +the pool but some fish-loving otter or mink, intent +upon seizing the booty. Indignant at the prospect +of being forestalled by any such furtive marauder, +the bear hurled himself forward with such force that +the spray flew high into the branches, and the noise +of his splashing was a clear notification that trespassers +and meddlers had better keep off. That +salmon was his, by right of discovery; and he was +going to have it.</p> +<p>The bear, for all the seeming clumsiness of his +bulk, was a redoubtable swimmer; and almost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +before Barnes had decided clearly on his proper +course of action those heavy, grunting snorts and +vast expulsions of breath were at his ear. Enormously +loud they sounded, shot thus close along the +surface of the water. Perforce, Barnes made up his +mind on the instant.</p> +<p>The bunch of twigs which had arrested the progress +of the floating salmon lay just about an arm’s +length from Barnes’s face. Swimming high, his +mighty shoulders thrusting up a wave before him +which buried Barnes’s head safely from view, the +bear reached the salmon. Grabbing it triumphantly +in his jaws, he turned to make for shore again.</p> +<p>This was Barnes’s moment. Both arms shot +out before him. Through the suffocating confusion +his clutching fingers encountered the bear’s haunches. +Sinking into the long fur, they closed upon it with +a grip of steel. Then, instinctively, Barnes shut his +eyes and clenched his teeth, and waited for the shock, +while his lungs felt as if they would burst in another +moment.</p> +<p>But it was no long time he had to wait––perhaps +two seconds, while amazement in the bear’s brain +translated itself through panic into action. Utterly +horrified by this inexplicable attack, from the rear +and from the depths, the bear threw himself shoulder +high from the water, and hurled himself forward +with all his strength. Barnes felt those tremendous +haunches heaving irresistibly beneath his clutching +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +fingers. He felt himself drawn out straight, and +dragged ahead till he thought his ankle would snap. +Almost he came to letting go, to save the ankle. But +he held, on, as much with his will as with his grip. +Then, the slimy thing in the depths gave way. He +felt himself being jerked through the water––free. +His fingers relaxed their clutch on the bear’s fur––and +he came to the surface, gasping, blinking, and +coughing.</p> +<p>For a moment or two he paddled softly, recovering +his breath and shaking the water from nostrils +and eyes. He had an instant of apprehensiveness, +lest the bear should turn upon him and attack him +at a disadvantage; and by way of precaution he +gave forth the most savage and piercing yell that +his labouring lungs were capable of. But he saw +at once that on this score he had nothing to fear. It +was a well-frightened bear, there swimming frantically +for the sandspit; while the dead salmon, quite +forgotten, was drifting slowly away on the sullen +current.</p> +<p>Barnes’s foot was hurting fiercely, but his heart +was light. Swimming at leisure, so as to just keep +head against the stream, he watched the bear scuttle +out upon the sand. Once safe on dry land, the great +beast turned and glanced back with a timid air to +see what manner of being it was that had so astoundingly +assailed him. Man he had seen before––but +never man swimming like an otter; and the sight +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +was nothing to reassure him. One longing look he +cast upon the salmon, now floating some distance +away; but that, to his startled mind, was just a lure +of this same terrifying and perfidious creature +whose bright grey eyes were staring at him so +steadily from the surface of the water. He turned +quickly and made off into the woods, followed by +a loud, daunting laugh which spurred his pace to a +panicky gallop.</p> +<p>When he was gone, Barnes swam to the sandspit. +There he wrung out his dripping clothes, and lay +down in the hot sand to let the sun soak deep into +his chilled veins.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +<a name='THE_NEST_OF_THE_MALLARD' id='THE_NEST_OF_THE_MALLARD'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Nest of the Mallard</span></h2> +</div> +<p>When the spring freshet went down, and the +rushes sprang green all about the edges of the +shallow, marshy lagoons, a pair of mallards took +possession of a tiny, bushy island in the centre of +the broadest pond. Moved by one of those inexplicable +caprices which keep most of the wild +kindreds from too perilous an enslavement to +routine, this pair had been attracted by the vast, +empty levels of marsh and mere, and had dropped +out from the ranks of their northward-journeying +comrades. Why should they beat on through +the raw, blustering spring winds to Labrador, +when here below them was such a nesting-place +as they desired, with solitude and security and +plenty. The flock went on, obeying an ancestral +summons. With heads straight out before, +and rigid, level necks––with web feet folded like +fans and stretched straight out behind, rigid and +level––they sped through the air on short, powerful, +swift-beating wings at the rate of sixty or seventy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +miles an hour. Their flight, indeed, and their terrific +speed were not unlike those of some strange +missile. The pair who had dropped behind paid no +heed to their going; and in two minutes they had +faded out against the pale saffron morning sky.</p> +<p>These two were the only mallards in this whole +wide expanse of grass and water. Other kinds of +ducks there were, in plenty, but the mallards at this +season kept to themselves. The little island which +they selected for their peculiar domain was so +small that no other mating couples intruded upon +its privacy. It was only about ten feet across; +but it bore a favourable thicket of osier-willow, and +all around it the sedge and bulrush reared an impenetrable +screen. Its highest point was about two +feet above average water level; and on this highest +point the mallard duck established her nest.</p> +<p>The nest was a mere shallow pile of dead leaves +and twigs and dry sedges, scraped carelessly together. +But the inside was not careless. It was +a round smooth hollow, most softly lined with down +from the duck’s own breast. When the first pale, +greenish-tinted egg was laid in the nest, there was +only a little of this down; but the delicate and warm +lining accumulated as the pale green eggs increased +in number.</p> +<p>In the construction of the nest and the accumulation +of the eggs no interest whatever was displayed +by the splendid drake. He never, unless by chance, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +went near it. But as a lover the lordly fellow was +most gallant and ardent. While his mate was on +the nest laying, he was usually to be seen floating +on the open mere beyond the reed-fringe, pruning his +plumage in the cold pink rays of the first of the sunrise.</p> +<p>It was plumage well worth pruning, this of his, +and fully justified his pride in it. The shining, silken, +iridescent dark green of the head and neck; the +snowy, sharply defined, narrow collar of white, +dividing the green of the neck from the brownish +ash of the back and the gorgeous chestnut of the +breast; the delicate pure grey of the belly finely pencilled +with black lines; the rich, glossy purple +of the broad wing-bars shot with green reflections; +the jaunty, recurved black feathers of the tail; +the smart, citron-yellow of the bill and feet;––all +these charms were ample excuse for his coxcombry +and continual posings. They were ample excuse, +too, for the admiration bestowed upon him by his +mottled brown mate, whose colours were obviously +designed not for show but for concealment. When +sitting on her nest, she was practically indistinguishable +from the twigs and dead leaves that surrounded +her.</p> +<p>Having laid her egg, the brown duck would cover +the precious contents of the nest with twigs and leaves, +that they might not be betrayed by their conspicuous +colour. Then she would steal, silently +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +as a shadow, through the willow stems to the water’s +edge, and paddle cautiously out through the rushes +to the open water. On reaching her mate all this +caution would be laid aside, and the two would set +up an animated and confidential quacking. They +would sometimes sail around each other slowly in +circles, with much arching of necks and quaint stiff +bowing of heads; and sometimes they would chase +each other in scurrying, napping rushes along the +bright surface of the water. Both before and after +these gay exercises they would feed quietly in the +shallows, pulling up water-weed sprouts and tender +roots, or sifting insects and little shellfish from the +mud by means of the sensitive tips and guttered +edges of their bills. The mallard pair had few enemies +to dread, their island being so far from shore that no +four-footed marauder, not even the semi-amphibious +mink himself, ever visited it. And the region was +one too remote for the visits of the pot-hunter. In +fact, there was only one foe against whom it behoved +them to be on ceaseless guard. This was that bloodthirsty +and tireless slayer, the goshawk, or great +grey henhawk. Where that grim peril was concerned, +the brown duck would take no risks. For +the sake of those eggs among the willow stems, she +held her life very dear, never flying more than a short +circle around the island to stretch her wings, never +swimming or feeding any distance from the safe covert +of the rushes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span></p> +<p>But with the glowing drake it was different. +High spirited, bold for all his wariness, and magnificently +strong of wing, from sheer restlessness he +occasionally flew high above the ponds. And one +day, when some distance from home, the great hawk +saw him and swooped down upon him from aërial +heights.</p> +<p>The impending doom caught the drake’s eye in +time for him to avoid the stroke of that irresistible +descent. His short wings, with their muscles of +steel, winnowed the air with sudden, tremendous +force, and he shot ahead at a speed which must +have reached the rate of a hundred miles an +hour. When the swooping hawk had rushed +down to his level, he was nearly fifty yards in +the lead.</p> +<p>In such a case most of the larger hawks would +have given up the chase, and soared again to abide +the chance for a more fortunate swoop. But not +so the implacable goshawk. His great pinions were +capable not only of soaring and sailing and swooping, +but of the rapid and violent flapping of the short-winged +birds; and he had at his command a speed +even greater than that of the rushing fugitive. +As he pursued, his wings tore the air with a strident, +hissing noise; and the speed of the drake seemed +as nothing before that savage, inescapable onrush. +Had the drake been above open water, he would +have hurled himself straight downward, and seized +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +the one chance of escape by diving; but beneath +him at this moment there was nothing but naked +swamp and sloppy flats. In less than two minutes +the hiss of the pursuing wings was close behind him. +He gave a hoarse squawk, as he realized that doom +had overtaken him. Then one set of piercing +talons clutched his outstretched neck, cutting clean +through his wind-pipe; and another set bit deep +into the glossy chestnut of his breast.</p> +<p>For several days the widowed duck kept calling +loudly up and down the edges of the reeds––but at +a safe distance from the nest. When she went to +lay, she stayed ever longer and longer on the eggs, +brooding them. Three more eggs she laid after +the disappearance of her mate, and then, having +nine in the nest, she began to sit; and the open water +beyond the reed fringes saw her no more.</p> +<p>At first she would slip off the nest for a few minutes +every day, very stealthily, to feed and stretch and +take a noiseless dip in the shallow water among the +reeds; but as time went on she left the eggs only +once in two days. Twice a day she would turn the +eggs over carefully, and at the same time change +their respective positions in the nest, so that those +which had been for some hours in the centre, close +to her hot and almost naked breast, might take their +turn in the cooler space just under her wings. By +this means each egg got its fair share of heat, +properly distributed, and the little life taking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +shape within escaped the distortion which might +have been caused by lying too long in one position. +Whenever the wary brown mother left the nest, she +covered the eggs with down, now, which kept the +warmth in better than leaves could. And whenever +she came back from her brief swim, her dripping +feathers supplied the eggs with needed moisture.</p> +<p>It is a general law that the older an egg is the longer +it takes to hatch. The eggs of the mallard mother, +of course, varied in age from fifteen days to one +before she began to sit. This being the case, at +the end of the long month of incubation they would +have hatched at intervals covering in all, perhaps, +a full day and a half; and complications +would have arisen. But the wise mother had counteracted +the working of the law by sitting a little while +every day. Therefore, as a matter of fact, the +older eggs got the larger share of the brooding, in +exact proportion; and the building of the little +lives within the shells went on with almost perfect +uniformity.</p> +<p>During the long, silent month of her patient +brooding, spring had wandered away and summer +had spread thick green and yellow lily blooms all +over the lonely meres. A bland but heavy heat came +down through the willow tops, so that the brown +duck sometimes panted at her task, and sat with +open bill, or with wings half raised from the eggs. +Then, one night, she heard faint tappings and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +peepings beneath her. Sturdy young bills began +chipping at the inside of the shells, speedily +breaking them. Each duckling, as he chipped the +shell just before the tip of his beak, would turn a +little way around in his narrow quarters; till presently +the shell would fall apart, neatly divided into +halves; and the wet duckling, tumbling forth, would +snuggle up against the mother’s hot breast and +thighs to dry. Whenever this happened, the wise +mother would reach her head beneath, and fit the +two halves of shell one within the other, or else thrust +them out of the nest entirely, lest they should +get slipped over another egg and smother the +occupant. Sometimes she fitted several sets of +the empty shells together, that they might take +up less room; and altogether she showed that she +perfectly understood her business. Then, late in +the morning, when the green world among the +willows and rushes was still and warm and sweet, +she led her fluffy, sturdy brood straight down to the +water, and taught them to feed on the insects that +clung to the bulrush stalks.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +<a name='MRS_GAMMIT_AND_THE_PORCUPINES' id='MRS_GAMMIT_AND_THE_PORCUPINES'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Mrs. Gammit and the Porcupines</span></h2> +</div> +<p>“I hain’t come to borry yer gun, Mr. Barron, +but to ax yer advice.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Gammit’s rare appearances were always +abrupt, like her speech; and it was without surprise––though +he had not seen her for a month or +more––that Joe Barron turned to greet her.</p> +<p>“It’s at yer sarvice, jest as the gun would be ef +ye wanted it, Mrs. Gammit––<i>an’</i> welcome! But +come in an’ set down an’ git cooled off a mite. ’Tain’t +no place to talk, out here in the bilin’ sun.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Gammit seated herself on the end of the bench, +just inside the kitchen door, twitched off her limp, +pink cotton sunbonnet, and wiped her flushed +face with the sleeve of her calico waist. Quite +unsubdued by the heat and moisture of the noonday +sun, under which she had tramped nine miles +through the forest, her short, stiff, grey hair stood +up in irregular tufts above her weather-beaten +forehead. Her host, sitting sidewise on the edge +of the table so that he could swing one leg freely and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +spit cleanly through the open window, bit off +a contemplative quid of “blackjack” tobacco, and +waited for her to unfold the problems that troubled +her.</p> +<p>Mrs. Gammit’s rugged features were modelled +to fit an expression of vigorous, if not belligerent, +self-confidence. She knew her capabilities, well-tried +in some sixty odd years of unprotected spinsterhood. +Merit alone, not matrimony, it was, that +had crowned this unsullied spinsterhood with the +honorary title of “Mrs.” Her massive and energetic +nose was usually carried somewhat high, in a +not unjustifiable scorn of such foolish circumstance +as might seek to thwart her will.</p> +<p>But to-day these strenuous features found themselves +surprised by an expression of doubt, of +bewilderment, almost one might say of humility. +At her little clearing in the heart of the great wilderness +things had been happening which, to her +amazement, she could not understand. Hitherto +she had found an explanation, clear at least to +herself, for everything that befell her in these silent +backwoods which other folks seemed to find so +absurdly mysterious. Armed with her self-confidence +she had been able, hitherto, to deal with +every situation that had challenged her, and in a +manner quite satisfactory to herself, however the +eternal verities may have smiled at it. But now, +at last, she was finding herself baffled. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span></p> +<p>Joe Barron waited with the patience of the backwoodsman +and the Indian, to whom, as to Nature +herself, time seems no object, though they always +somehow manage to be on time. Mrs. Gammit +continued to fan her hot face with her sunbonnet, +and to ponder her problems, while the lines deepened +between her eyes. A big black and yellow wasp +buzzed angrily against the window-pane, bewildered +because it could not get through the transparent +barrier. A little grey hen, with large, drooping +comb vividly scarlet, hopped on to the doorsill, +eyed Mrs. Gammit with surprise and disapprobation, +and ran away to warn the rest of the flock that +there was a woman round the place. That, as they +all knew by inheritance from the “shooings” +which their forefathers had suffered, meant that they +would no longer be allowed in the kitchen to pick +up crumbs.</p> +<p>At last Mrs. Gammit spoke––but with difficulty, +for it came hard to her to ask advice of any one.</p> +<p>“I sp’ose now, mebbe, Mr. Barron, you know more +about the woods critters’n what I do?” she inquired, +hopefully but doubtfully.</p> +<p>The woodsman lifted his eyebrows in some surprise +at the question.</p> +<p>“Well, now, if I don’t I’d <i>oughter</i>,” said he, “seein’ +as how I’ve kinder lived round amongst ’em all my +life. If I know <i>anything</i>, it’s the backwoods an’ +all what pertains to that same!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></p> +<p>“Yes, you’d <i>oughter</i> know more about them +than I do!” assented Mrs. Gammit, with a touch of +severity which seemed to add “and see that you do!” +Then she shut her mouth firmly and fell to fanning +herself again, her thoughts apparently far +away.</p> +<p>“I hope ’tain’t no <i>serious</i> trouble ye’re in!” +ventured her host presently, with the amiable intention +of helping her to deliver her soul of its +burden.</p> +<p>But, manlike, he struck the wrong note.</p> +<p>“Do you suppose,” snapped Mrs. Gammit, “I’d +be traipsin’ over here nine mile thro’ the hot woods +to ax yer advice, Mr. Barron, if <i>’twarn’t</i> serious?” +And she began to regret that she had come. Men +never did understand anything, anyway.</p> +<p>At this sudden acerbity the woodsman stroked his +chin with his hand, to hide the ghost of a smile which +flickered over his lean mouth.</p> +<p>“Jest like a woman, to git riled over nawthin’!” +he thought. “Sounds kinder nice an’ homey, too!” +But aloud, being always patient with the sex, he said +coaxingly––</p> +<p>“Then it’s right proud I am that ye should come +to me about it, Mrs. Gammit. I reckon I kin help +you out, mebbe. What’s wrong?”</p> +<p>With a burst of relief Mrs. Gammit declared her +sorrow.</p> +<p>“It’s the aigs,” said she, passionately. “Fer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +nigh on to a month, now, I’ve been alosin’ of ’em +as fast as the hens kin git ’em laid. An’ all I kin do, +I cain’t find out what’s atakin’ ’em.”</p> +<p>Having reached the point of asking advice, an +expression of pathetic hopefulness came into her +weather-beaten face. Under quite other conditions +it might almost have been possible for Mrs. Gammit +to learn to lean on a man, if he were careful not to +disagree with her.</p> +<p>“Oh! Aigs!” said the woodsman, relaxing +slightly the tension of his sympathy. “Well, now, +let’s try an’ git right to the root of the trouble. +Air ye plumb sure, in the first place, that the +hens is really <i>layin’</i> them aigs what ye don’t +git?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Gammit stiffened.</p> +<p>“Do I look like an eejut?” she demanded.</p> +<p>“Not one leetle mite, you don’t!” assented her +host, promptly and cordially.</p> +<p>“I was beginning to think mebbe I did!” persisted +the injured lady.</p> +<p>“Everybody knows,” protested the woodsman, +“as how what you don’t know, Mrs. Gammit, ain’t +hardly wuth knowin’.”</p> +<p>“O’ course, that’s puttin’ it a leetle too strong, +Mr. Barron,” she answered, much mollified. “But +I do reckon as how I’ve got <i>some</i> horse sense. Well, +I <i>thought</i> as how them ’ere hens <i>might</i> ’ave stopped +layin’ on the suddint; so I up an’ watched ’em. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +Land’s sakes, but they was alayin’ fine. Whenever +I kin take time to stan’ right by an’ <i>watch</i> ’em lay, I +git all the aigs I know what to do with. But when +I <i>don’t</i> watch ’em, <i>clost</i>––nary an aig. Ye ain’t +agoin’ to persuade me a hen kin jest quit layin’ when +she’s a mind ter, waitin’ tell ye pass her the compliment +o’ holdin’ out yer hand fer the aig!”</p> +<p>“There’s lots o’ hens that pervarted they’ll +turn round an’ <i>eat</i> their own aigs!” suggested the +woodsman, spitting thoughtfully through the open +window. The cat, coiled in the sun on a log outside, +sprang up angrily, glared with green eyes at +the offending window, and scurried away to cleanse +her defiled coat.</p> +<p>“Them’s not <i>my</i> poultry!” said Mrs. Gammit +with decision. “I thought o’ that, too. An’ I +watched ’em on the sly. But they hain’t a one of +’em got no sech onnateral tricks. When they’re +through layin’, they jest hop off an’ run away acacklin’, +as they should.” And she shook her head heavily, +as one almost despairing of enlightenment. “No, +ef ye ain’t got no more idees to suggest than that, +I might as well be goin’.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I was jest kinder clearin’ out the underbrush, +so’s to git a square good look at the situation,” +explained Barron. “Now, I kin till ye somethin’ +about it. Firstly, it’s a weasel, bein’ so sly, an’ +quick, an’ audashus! Ten to one, it’s a weasel; +an’ ye’ve got to trap it. Secondly, if ’tain’t a weasel, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +it’s a fox, an’ a <i>mighty</i> cute fox, as ye’re goin’ to have +some trouble in aketchin’. An’ thirdly––an’ lastly––if +’tain’t neither weasel nor fox, it’s jest bound to be +an extra cunnin’ skunk, what’s takin’ the trouble +to be keerful. Generally speakin’, skunks ain’t +keerful, because they don’t have to be, nobody +wantin’ much to fool with ’em. But onc’t in a +while ye’ll come across’t one that’s as sly as a +weasel.”</p> +<p>“Oh, ’tain’t none o’ them!” said Mrs. Gammit, +in a tone which conveyed a poor opinion of her host’s +sagacity and woodcraft. “I’ve suspicioned the +weasels, an’ the foxes, an’ the woodchucks, but hain’t +found a sign o’ any one of ’em round the place. An’ +<i>as</i> fer <i>skunks</i>––well, I reckon, I’ve got a nose +on my face.” And to emphasize the fact, she +sniffed scornfully.</p> +<p>“To be sure! An’ a fine, handsome nose it is, Mrs. +Gammit!” replied the woodsman, diplomatically. +“But what you <i>don’t</i> appear to know about skunks +is that when they’re up to mischief is jest the +time when you don’t smell ’em. Ye got to bear +that in mind!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Gammit looked at him with suspicion.</p> +<p>“Be that reelly so?” demanded she, sternly.</p> +<p>“True’s gospel!” answered Barron. “A skunk +ain’t got no smell unless he’s a mind to.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said she, “I guess it ain’t no skunk, anyhow. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +I kind o’ feel it in my bones ’tain’t no skunk, +smell or no smell.”</p> +<p>The woodsman looked puzzled. He had not +imagined her capable of such unreasoning obstinacy. +He began to wonder if he had overrated her intelligence.</p> +<p>“Then I give it up, Mrs. Gammit,” said he, with +an air of having lost all interest in the problem.</p> +<p>But that did not suit his visitor at all. Her +manner became more conciliatory. Leaning forward, +with an almost coaxing look on her face, she murmured––</p> +<p>“I’ve had an <i>idee</i> as how it <i>might</i> be––mind, I +don’t say it is, but jest it <i>might</i> be–––” and she +paused dramatically.</p> +<p>“Might be what?” inquired Barron, with reviving +interest.</p> +<p>“Porkypines!” propounded Mrs. Gammit, with +a sudden smile of triumph.</p> +<p>Joe Barron neither spoke nor smiled. But in +his silence there was something that made Mrs. +Gammit uneasy.</p> +<p>“Why <i>not</i> porkypines?” she demanded, her face +once more growing severe.</p> +<p>“It <i>might</i> be porkypines as took them aigs o’ yourn, +Mrs. Gammit, an’ it <i>might be bumbly-bees</i>!” responded +Barron. “But ’tain’t likely!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Gammit snorted at the sarcasm.</p> +<p>“Mebbe,” she sneered, “ye kin tell me <i>why</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +it’s so impossible it could be porkypines. I seen a +big porkypine back o’ the barn, only yestiddy. An’ +that’s more’n kin be said o’ yer weasels, an’ foxes, +an’ skunks, what ye’re so sure about, Mr. Barron.”</p> +<p>“A porkypine ain’t necess<i>ar</i>ily after aigs jest +because he’s back of a barn,” said the woodsman. +“An’ anyways, a porkypine don’t eat aigs. He hain’t +got the right kind o’ teeth fer them kind o’ vittles. +He’s <i>got</i> to have something he kin gnaw on, somethin’ +substantial an’ solid––the which he prefers a +young branch o’ good tough spruce, though it <i>do</i> +make his meat kinder strong. No, Mrs. Gammit, it +ain’t no porkypine what’s stealin’ yer aigs, take my +word fer it. An’ the more I think o’ it the surer I +be that it’s a weasel. When a weasel learns to suck +aigs, he gits powerful cute. Ye’ll have to be right +smart, I’m telling ye, to trap him.”</p> +<p>During this argument of Barron’s his obstinate +and offended listener had become quite convinced +of the justice of her own conclusions. The sarcasm +had settled it. She <i>knew</i>, now, that she +had been right all along in her suspicion of the porcupines. +And with this certainty her indignation +suddenly disappeared. It is <i>such</i> a comfort to be +certain. So now, instead of flinging his ignorance in +his face, she pretended to be convinced––remembering +that she needed his advice as to how to trap the +presumptuous porcupine.</p> +<p>“Well, Mr. Barron,” said she, with the air of one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +who would take defeat gracefully, “supposin’ ye’re +right––an’ ye’d <i>oughter</i> know––how would ye go +about <i>ketchin’</i> them weasels?”</p> +<p>Pleased at this sudden return to sweet reasonableness, +the woodsman once more grew interested.</p> +<p>“I reckon we kin fix <i>that</i>!” said he, confidently +and cordially. “I’ll give ye three of my little mink +traps. There’s holes, I reckon, under the back an’ +sides o’ the shed, or barn, or wherever it is that the +hens have their nests?”</p> +<p>“Nat’rally!” responded Mrs. Gammit. “The +thieves ain’t agoin’ to come in by the front doors, +right under my nose, be they?”</p> +<p>“Of course,” assented the woodsman. “Well, +you jest set them ’ere traps in three o’ them holes, +well under the sills an’ out o’ the way. Don’t go fer +to bait’em, mind, or Mr. Weasel’ll git to suspicionin’ +somethin’, right off. Jest sprinkle bits of straw, +an’ hayseed, an’ sech rubbish over ’em, so it all looks +no ways out o’ the ordinary. You do this right, +Mrs. Gammit; an’ first thing ye know ye’ll have yer +thief. I’ll git the traps right now, an’ show ye how +to set ’em.”</p> +<p>And as Mrs. Gammit walked away with the three +steel traps under her arm, she muttered to herself––</p> +<p>“Yes, Joe Barron, an’ I’ll show ye the thief. An’ +he’ll have quills on him, sech as no <i>weasel</i> ain’t never +had on him, I reckon.”</p> +<p>On her return, Mrs. Gammit was greeted by the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +sound of high excitement among the poultry. They +were all cackling wildly, and craning their necks to +stare into the shed as if they had just seen a ghost +there. Mrs. Gammit ran in to discover what all the +fuss was about. The place was empty; but a smashed +egg lay just outside one of the nests, and a generous +tuft of fresh feathers showed her that there had been +a tussle of some kind. Indignant but curious, Mrs. +Gammit picked up the feathers, and examined them +with discriminating eyes to see which hen had suffered +the loss.</p> +<p>“Lands sakes!” she exclaimed presently, “ef ’tain’t +the old rooster! He’s made a fight fer that ’ere aig! +Lucky he didn’t git stuck full o’ quills!”</p> +<p>Then, for perhaps the hundredth time, she ran +fiercely and noisily behind the barn, in the hope of +surprising the enemy. Of course she surprised nothing +which Nature had endowed with even the merest +apology for eyes and ears; and a cat-bird in the choke-cherry +bushes squawked at her derisively. Stealth +was one of the things which Mrs. Gammit did +not easily achieve. Staring defiantly about her, +her eyes fell upon a dark, bunchy creature in the +top of an old hemlock at the other side of the fence. +Seemingly quite indifferent to her vehement existence, +and engrossed in its own affairs, it was crawling out +upon a high branch and gnawing, in a casual way, +at the young twigs as it went.</p> +<p>“Ah, ha! What did I tell ye? I knowed all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +along as how it was a porkypine!” exclaimed Mrs. +Gammit, triumphantly, as if Joe Barron could hear +her across eight miles of woods. Then, as she eyed +the imperturbable animal on the limb above her, her +face flushed with quick rage, and snatching up a stone +about the size of her fist she hurled it at him with +all her strength.</p> +<p>In a calmer moment she would never have done +this––not because it was rude, but because she had +a conviction, based on her own experience, that a +stone would hit anything rather than what it was +aimed at. And in the present instance she found no +reason to change her views on the subject. The +stone did not hit the porcupine. It did not, even +for one moment, distract his attention from the +hemlock twigs. Instead of that, it struck a low +branch, on the other side of the tree, and bounced +back briskly upon Mrs. Gammit’s toes.</p> +<p>With a hoarse squeak of surprise and pain the +good lady jumped backwards, and hopped for some +seconds on one foot while she gripped the other with +both hands. It was a sharp and disconcerting +blow. As the pain subsided a concentrated fury +took its place. The porcupine was now staring down +at her, in mild wonder at her inexplicable gyrations. +She glared up at him, and the tufts of grey hair about +her sunbonnet seemed to rise and stand rigid.</p> +<p>“Ye think ye’re smart!” she muttered through +her set teeth. “But I’ll fix ye fer that! Jest you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +wait!” And turning on her heel she stalked back +to the house. The big, brown teapot was on the +back of the stove, where it had stood since breakfast, +with a brew rust-red and bitter-strong enough to +tan a moose-hide. Not until she had reheated it +and consumed five cups, sweetened with molasses, +did she recover any measure of self-complacency.</p> +<p>That same evening, when the last of the sunset was +fading in pale violet over the stump pasture and her +two cow-bells were <i>tonk-tonking</i> softly along the +edge of the dim alder swamp, Mrs. Gammit stealthily +placed the traps according to the woodsman’s directions. +Between the massive logs which formed the +foundations of the barn and shed, there were openings +numerous enough, and some of them spacious +enough, almost, to admit a bear––a very small, +emaciated bear. Selecting three of these, which +somehow seemed to her fancy particularly adapted +to catch a porcupine’s taste, she set the traps, +tied them, and covered them lightly with fine rubbish +so that, as she murmured to herself when all was done, +“everythin’ looked as nat’ral as nawthin’.” Then, +when her evening chores were finished, she betook +herself to her slumbers, in calm confidence that in the +morning she would find one or more porcupines in +the trap.</p> +<p>Having a clear conscience and a fine appetite, in +spite of the potency of her tea Mrs. Gammit slept +soundly. Nevertheless, along toward dawn, in that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +hour when dream and fact confuse themselves, her +nightcapped ears became aware of a strange sound +in the yard. She snorted impatiently and sat up in +bed. Could some beneficent creature of the night be +out there sawing wood for her? It sounded like it. +But she rejected the idea at once. Rubbing her +eyes with both fists, she crept to the window and +looked out.</p> +<p>There was a round moon in the sky, shining over +the roof of the barn, and the yard was full of a white, +witchy radiance. In the middle of it crouched +two big porcupines, gnawing assiduously at a +small wooden tub. The noise of their busy teeth on +the hard wood rang loud upon the stillness, and a +low <i>tonk-a-tonk</i> of cow-bells came from the pasture +as the cows lifted their heads to listen.</p> +<p>The tub was a perfectly good tub, and Mrs. Gammit +was indignant at seeing it eaten. It had contained +salt herrings; and she intended, after getting the flavour +of fish scoured out of it, to use it for packing her +winter’s butter. She did not know that it was for the +sake of its salty flavour that the porcupines were +gnawing at it, but leaped to the conclusion that +their sole object was to annoy and persecute herself.</p> +<p>“Shoo! Shoo!” she cried, snatching off her nightcap +and flapping it at them frantically. But the +animals were too busy to even look up at her. The +only sign they gave of having heard her was to raise +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +their quills straight on end so that their size apparently +doubled itself all at once.</p> +<p>Mrs. Gammit felt herself wronged. As she turned +and ran downstairs she muttered, “First it’s me aigs––an’ +now it’s me little tub––an’ Lordy knows what +it’s goin’ to be next!” Then her dauntless spirit +flamed up again, and she snapped, “But there ain’t +agoin’ to be no next!” and cast her eyes about her +for the broom.</p> +<p>Of course, at this moment, when it was most +needed, that usually exemplary article was not where +it ought to have been––standing beside the dresser. +Having no time to look for it, Mrs. Gammit snatched +up the potato-masher, and rushed forth into the moonlight +with a gurgling yell, resolved to save the +tub.</p> +<p>She was a formidable figure as she charged down +the yard, and at ordinary times the porcupines might +have given way. But when a porcupine has found +something it really likes to eat, its courage is superb. +These two porcupines found the herring-tub delicious +beyond anything they had ever tasted. Reluctantly +they stopped gnawing for a moment, and turned +their little twinkling eyes upon Mrs. Gammit in sullen +defiance.</p> +<p>Now this was by no means what she had expected, +and the ferocity of her attack slackened. Had it +been a lynx, or even a bear, her courage would probably +not have failed her. Had it been a man, a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +desperado with knife in hand and murder in his eyes, +she would have flown upon him in contemptuous +fury. But porcupines were different. They were +mysterious to her. She believed firmly that they +could shoot their quills, like arrows, to a distance +of ten feet. She had a swift vision of herself stuck +full of quills, like a pincushion. At a distance of +eleven feet she stopped abruptly, and hurled the +potato-masher with a deadly energy which carried +it clean over the barn. Then the porcupines resumed +their feasting, while she stared at them helplessly. +Two large tears of rage brimmed her eyes, and rolled +down her battered cheeks; and backing off a few +paces she sat down upon the saw-horse to consider +the situation.</p> +<p>But never would Mrs. Gammit have been what she +was had she been capable of acknowledging defeat. +In a very few moments her resourceful wits reasserted +themselves.</p> +<p>“Queer!” she mused. “One don’t never kinder +seem to hit what one aims at! But one always hits +<i>somethin’</i>! Leastways, I do! If I jest fling enough +things, an’ keep on aflingin’, I might hit a porkypine +jest as well as anything else. There ain’t nawthin’ +onnateral about a porkypine, to keep one from +hitt’n’ him, I reckon.”</p> +<p>The wood-pile was close by; and the wood, which +she had sawed and split for the kitchen stove, was +of just the handy size. She was careful, now, not to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +take aim, but imagined herself anxious to establish +a new wood-pile, in haste, just about where that sound +of insolent gnawing was disturbing the night. In +a moment a shower of sizable firewood was dropping +all about the herring-tub.</p> +<p>The effect was instantaneous. The gnawing +stopped, and the porcupines glanced about uneasily. +A stick fell plump upon the bottom of the tub, +staving it in. The porcupines backed away and eyed +it with grieved suspicion. Another stick struck it +on the side, so that it bounced like a jumping, live +thing, and hit one of the porcupines sharply, rolling +him over on his back. Instantly his valiant quills +went down quite flat; and as he wriggled to his feet +with a squeak of alarm, he looked all at once little +and lean and dark, like a wet hen. Mrs. Gammit +smiled grimly.</p> +<p>“Ye ain’t feelin’ quite so sassy now, be ye?” +she muttered; and the sticks flew the faster from +her energetic hands. Not many of them, to be sure, +went at all in the direction she wished, but enough +were dropping about the herring-tub to make the +porcupines remember that they had business elsewhere. +The one that had been struck had no longer +any regard for his dignity, but made himself as small +as possible and scurried off like a scared rat. The +other, unvanquished but indignant, withdrew slowly, +with every quill on end. The sticks fell all about him; +but Mrs. Gammit, in the excitement of her triumph, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +was now forgetting herself so far as to take aim, +therefore never a missile touched him. And presently, +without haste, he disappeared behind the +barn.</p> +<p>With something almost like admiration Mrs. +Gammit eyed his departure.</p> +<p>“Well, seein’ as I hain’t scairt ye <i>much</i>,” she muttered +dryly, “mebbe ye’ll obleege me by coming back +an’ gittin’ into my trap. But ye ain’t agoin’ +to hev no more o’ my good herrin’-tub, ye ain’t.” +And she strode down the yard to get the tub. It +was no longer a good tub, for the porcupines had +gnawed two big holes in the sides, and Mrs. Gammit’s +own missiles had broken in the bottom. But she +obstinately bore the poor relics into the kitchen. +Firewood they might become, but not food for the +enemy.</p> +<p>No more that night was the good woman’s sleep +disturbed, and she slept later than usual. As she +was getting up, conscience-stricken at the sound of +the cows in the pasture lowing to be milked, she heard +a squawking and fluttering under the barn, and +rushed out half dressed to see what was the matter. +She had no doubt that one of the audacious porcupines +had got himself into a trap.</p> +<p>But no, it was neither porcupine, fox, nor weasel. +To her consternation, it was her old red top-knot +hen, which now lay flat upon the trap, with outstretched +wings, exhausted by its convulsive floppings. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +She picked it up, loosed the deadly grip +upon its leg, and slammed the offending trap across +the barn with such violence that it bounced up and +fell into the swill-barrel. Her feelings thus a little +relieved, she examined Red Top-knot’s leg with care. +It was hopelessly shattered and mangled.</p> +<p>“Ye cain’t never scratch with <i>that</i> ag’in, ye cain’t!” +muttered Mrs. Gammit, compassionately. “Poor +dear, ther ain’t nawthin’ fer it but to make vittles +of ye now! Too bad! Too bad! Ye was always +sech a fine layer an’ a right smart setter!” And +carrying the victim to the block on which she was +wont to split kindling wood, she gently but firmly +chopped her head off.</p> +<p>Half an hour later, as Mrs. Gammit returned from +the pasture with a brimming pail of milk, again she +heard a commotion under the barn. But she would +not hurry, lest she should spill the milk. “Whatever +it be, it’ll be there when I git there!” she muttered +philosophically; and kept on to the cool +cellar with her milk. But as soon as she had deposited +the pail she turned and fairly ran in her eagerness. +The speckled hen was cackling vain-gloriously; +and as Mrs. Gammit passed the row of +nests in the shed she saw a white egg shining. But +she did not stop to secure it.</p> +<p>As she entered the barn, a little yellowish brown +animal, with a sharp, triangular nose and savage +eyes like drops of fire, ran at her with such fury that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +for an instant she drew back. Then, with a roar +of indignation at its audacity, she rushed forward +and kicked at it. The kick struck empty air; but +the substantial dimensions of the foot seemed to +daunt the daring little beast, and it slipped away +like a darting flame beneath the sill of the barn. +The next moment, as she stooped to look at the nearest +of the two traps, another slim yellow creature, +larger than the first, leaped up, with a vicious cry, +and almost reached her face. But, fortunately for +her, it was held fast by both hind legs in the trap, +and fell back impotent.</p> +<p>Startled and enraged, Mrs. Gammit kicked at it, +where it lay darting and twisting like a snake. Naturally, +she missed it; but it did not miss her. +With unerring aim it caught the toe of her heavy cowhide +shoe, and fixed its teeth in the tough leather. +Utterly taken by surprise, Mrs. Gammit tried +to jump backwards. But instead of that, she +fell flat on her back, with a yell. Her sturdy heels +flew up in the air, while her petticoats flopped back +in her face, bewildering her. The weasel, however, +had maintained his dogged grip upon the toe of her +shoe; so something <i>had</i> to give. That something +was the cord which anchored the trap. It broke +under the sudden strain. Trap and weasel together +went flying over Mrs. Gammit’s prostrate head. +They brought up with a stupefying slam against +the wall of the pig-pen, making the pig squeal +apprehensively. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span></p> +<p>Disconcerted and mortified, Mrs. Gammit scrambled +to her feet, shook her petticoats into shape, and +glanced about to see if the wilderness in general had +observed her indiscretion. Apparently, nothing +had noticed it. Then, with an air of relief, she +glanced down at her vicious little antagonist. The +weasel lay stunned, apparently dead. But she was +not going to trust appearances. Picking trap and +victim up together, on the end of a pitchfork, she +carried them out and dropped them into the barrel +of rain water at the corner of the house. Half-revived +by the shock, the yellow body wriggled for +a moment or two at the bottom of the barrel. +As she watched it, a doubt passed through Mrs. +Gammit’s mind. Could Joe Barron have been +right? <i>Was</i> it weasels, after all, that were taking +her eggs? But she dismissed the idea at once. Joe +Barron didn’t know everything! And there, indisputably, +were the porcupines, bothering her all +the time, with unheard-of impudence. Weasels, indeed!</p> +<p>“’Twa’n’t <i>you</i> I was after,” she muttered obstinately, +apostrophizing the now motionless form in +the rain-barrel. “It was them dratted porkypines, +as comes after my aigs. But <i>ye’re</i> a bad lot, +too, an’ I’m right glad to have got ye where ye won’t +be up to no mischief.”</p> +<p>All athrill with excitement, Mrs. Gammit hurried +through her morning’s chores, and allowed herself no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +breakfast except half a dozen violent cups of tea +“with sweetenin’.” Then, satisfied that the weasel +in the rain-barrel was by this time securely and permanently +dead, she fished it out, and reset the trap +in its place under the barn. The other trap she discovered +in the swill-barrel, after a long search. Relieved +to find it unbroken, she cleaned it carefully +and put it away to be returned, in due time, to its +owner. She would not set it again––and, indeed, she +would have liked to smash it to bits, as a sacrifice +to the memory of poor Red Top-knot.</p> +<p>“I hain’t got no manner o’ use fer a porkypine +trap what’ll go out o’ its way to ketch hens,” she +grumbled.</p> +<p>The silent summer forenoon, after this, wore +away without event. Mrs. Gammit, working in her +garden behind the house, with the hot, sweet scent +of the flowering buckwheat-field in her nostrils and +the drowsy hum of bees in her ears, would throw +down her hoe about once in every half-hour and run +into the barn to look hopefully at the traps. But +nothing came to disturb them. Neither did anything +come to disturb the hens, who attended so well +to business that at noon Mrs. Gammit had seven +fresh eggs to carry in. When night came, and +neither weasels nor porcupines had given any further +sign of their existence, Mrs. Gammit was puzzled. +She was one of those impetuous women who expect +everything to happen all at once. When milking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +was over, and her solitary, congenial supper, she sat +down on the kitchen doorstep and considered the +situation very carefully.</p> +<p>What she had set herself out to do, after the interview +with Joe Barron, was to catch a porcupine in +one of his traps, and thus, according to her peculiar +method of reasoning, convince the confident woodsman +that porcupines <i>did</i> eat eggs! As for the +episode of the weasel, she resolved that she would +not say anything to him about it, lest he should twist +it into a confirmation of his own views. As for +those seven eggs, so happily spared to her, she +argued that the capture of the weasel, with all its +attendant excitement, had served as a warning to +the porcupines and put them on their guard. Well, +she would give them something else to think about. +She was now all impatience, and felt unwilling to +await the developments of the morrow, which, after +all, might refuse to develop! With a sudden resolution +she arose, fetched the gnawed and battered +remains of the herring-tub from their concealment +behind the kitchen door, and propped them +up against the side of the house, directly beneath +her bedroom window.</p> +<p>At first her purpose in this was not quite clear to +herself. But the memory of her triumph of the +previous night was tingling in her veins, and she +only knew she wanted to lure the porcupines back, +that she might do <i>something</i> to them. And first, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +being a woman, that something occurred to her in +connexion with hot water. How conclusive it +would be to wait till the porcupines were absorbed +in their consumption of the herring-tub, and then +pour scalding water down upon them. After all, +it was more important that she should vanquish her +enemies than prove to a mere man that they +really were her enemies. What did she care, anyway, +what that Joe Barron thought? Then, once more, a +doubt assailed her. What if he were right? Not +that she would admit it, for one moment. But just +supposing! Was she going to pour hot water on +those porcupines, and scald all the bristles off their +backs, if they really <i>didn’t</i> come after her eggs? +Mrs. Gammit was essentially just and kind-hearted, +and she came to the conclusion that the scheme might +be too cruel.</p> +<p>“Ef it be you uns as takes the aigs,” she murmured +thoughtfully, “a kittle o’ bilin’ water to yer backs +ain’t none too bad fer ye! But ef it be <i>only</i> my old +herrin’-tub ye’re after, then bilin’ water’s too +ha’sh!”</p> +<p>In the end, the weapon she decided upon was the +big tin pepper-pot, well loaded.</p> +<p>Through the twilight, while the yard was all in +shadow, Mrs. Gammit sat patient and motionless +beside her open window. The moon rose, seeming to +climb with effort out of the tangle of far-off treetops. +The faint, rhythmic breathing of the wilderness, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +which, to the sensitive ear, never ceases even in the +most profound calm, took on the night change, +the whisper of mystery, the furtive suggestion of +menace which the daylight lacks. Sitting there in +ambush, Mrs. Gammit felt it all, and her eager face +grew still and pale and solemn like a statue’s. +The moonlight crept down the roofs of the barn and +shed and house, then down the walls, till only the +ground was in shadow. And at last, through this +lower stratum of obscurity, Mrs. Gammit saw two +squat, sturdy shapes approaching leisurely from +behind the barn.</p> +<p>She held her breath. Yes, it was undoubtedly +the porcupines. Undaunted by the memory of +their previous discomfiture, they came straight across +the yard, and up to the house, and fell at once to +their feasting on the herring-tub. The noise of their +enthusiastic gnawing echoed strangely across the +attentive air.</p> +<p>Very gently, with almost imperceptible motion, +Mrs. Gammit slid her right hand, armed with the +pepper-pot, over the edge of the window-sill. The +porcupines, enraptured with the flavour of the +herring-tub, never looked up. Mrs. Gammit was +just about to turn the pepper-pot over, when she +saw a third dim shape approaching, and stayed her +hand. It was bigger than a porcupine. She kept +very still, breathing noiselessly through parted lips. +Then the moonlight reached the ground, the shadows +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +vanished, and she saw a big wildcat stealing up to +find out what the porcupines were eating.</p> +<p>Seeing the feasters so confident and noisy, yet +undisturbed, the usually cautious wildcat seemed to +think there could be no danger near. Had Mrs. +Gammit stirred a muscle, he would have marked +her; but in her movelessness her head and hand +passed for some harmless natural phenomenon. +The wildcat crept softly up, and as he drew near, +the porcupines raised their quills threateningly, till +nothing could be seen of their bodies but their blunt +snouts still busy on the herring-tub. At a distance +of about six feet the big cat stopped, and +crouched, glaring with wide, pale eyes, and sniffing +eagerly. Mrs. Gammit was amazed that the porcupines +did not at once discharge a volley at him and +fill him full of quills for his intrusion.</p> +<p>The wildcat knew too much about porcupines to +dream of attacking them. It was what they were +eating that interested him. They seemed to enjoy +it so much. He crept a few inches nearer, and +caught a whiff of the herring-tub. Yes, it was +certainly fish. A true cat, he doted on fish, even +salt fish. He made another cautious advance, +hoping that the porcupines might retire discreetly. +But instead of that they merely stopped gnawing, +put their noses between their forelegs, squatted +flat, and presented an unbroken array of needle +points to his dangerous approach. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></p> +<p>The big cat stopped, quite baffled, his little short +tail, not more than three inches long, twitching +with anger. He could not see that the tub was +empty; but he could smell it, and he drew in his +breath with noisy sniffling. It filled him with +rage to be so baffled; for he knew it would be fatal +to go any nearer, and so expose himself to a deadly +slap from the armed tails of the porcupines.</p> +<p>Just what he would have attempted, however, +in his eagerness, will never be known. For at this +point, Mrs. Gammit’s impatience overcame her +curiosity. With a gentle motion of her wrist she +turned the pepper-pot over, and softly shook it. The +eyes of the wildcat were fixed upon that wonderful, +unattainable herring-tub, and he saw nothing +else. But Mrs. Gammit in the vivid moonlight saw +a fine cloud of pepper sinking downwards slowly on +the moveless air.</p> +<p>Suddenly the wildcat pawed at his nose, drew +back, and grew rigid with what seemed an effort +to restrain some deep emotion. The next moment +he gave vent to a loud, convulsive sneeze, and began +to spit savagely. He appeared to be not only very +angry, but surprised as well. When he fell to clawing +frantically at his eyes and nose with both paws, Mrs. +Gammit almost strangled with the effort to keep +from laughing. But she held herself in, and continued +to shake down the pungent shower. A +moment more, and the wildcat, after an explosion +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +of sneezes which almost made him stand on his head, +gave utterance to a yowl of consternation, and turned +to flee. As he bounded across the yard he evidently +did not see just where he was going, for +he ran head first into the wheelbarrow, which +straightway upset and kicked him. For an instant +he clawed at it wildly, mistaking it for a living assailant. +Then he recovered his wits a little, and scurried +away across the pasture, sneezing and spitting +as he went.</p> +<p>Meanwhile the porcupines, with their noses to the +ground and their eyes covered, had been escaping +the insidious attack of the pepper. But at last it +reached them. Mrs. Gammit saw a curious shiver +pass over the array of quills.</p> +<p>Now it was contrary to all the most rigid laws of +the porcupine kind to uncoil themselves in the face +of danger. At the same time, it was impossible +to sneeze in so constrained an attitude. Their +effort was heroic, but self-control at last gave way. +As it were with a snap, one of the globes of quills +straightened itself out, and sneezed and sneezed and +sneezed. Then the other went through the same +spasmodic process, while Mrs. Gammit, leaning halfway +out of the window, squealed and choked with delight. +But the porcupines were obstinate, and would +not run away. Very slowly they turned and retired +down the yard, halting every few feet to sneeze. With +tears streaming down her cheeks Mrs. Gammit +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +watched their retreat, till suddenly some of the +vagrant pepper was wafted back to her own nostrils, +and she herself was shaken with a mighty sneeze. +This checked her mirth on the instant. Her face +grew grave, and drawing back with a mortified air +she slammed the window down.</p> +<p>“Might ’a’ knowed I’d be aketchin’ cold,” she +muttered, “settin’ in a draught this time o’ night.”</p> +<p>Not until she had thoroughly mastered the +tickling in her nostrils did she glance forth again. +Then the porcupines were gone, and not even an +echo of their far-off sneezes reached her ears.</p> +<p>In the days that followed, neither weasel, wildcat, +nor porcupine came to Mrs. Gammit’s clearing, and +the daily harvest of strictly fresh eggs was unfailing. +At the end of a week, the good lady felt justified in +returning the traps to Joe Barron, and letting him +know how mistaken he had been.</p> +<p>“There, Mr. Barron,” said she, handing him the +three traps, “I’m obleeged to you, an’ there’s yer +traps. But there’s one of ’em ain’t no good.”</p> +<p>“Which one be it?” asked the woodsman as he took +them.</p> +<p>“I’ve marked it with a bit of string,” replied Mrs. +Gammit.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with it? I don’t see nawthin’ +wrong with it!” said Barron, examining it critically.</p> +<p>“Tain’t no good! You take my word fer it! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +That’s all I’ve got to say!” persisted Mrs. Gammit.</p> +<p>“Oh, well, seem’ as it’s you sez so, Mrs. Gammit, +that’s enough,” agreed the woodsman, civilly. “But +the other is all right, eh? What did they ketch?”</p> +<p>“Well, they ketched a big weasel!” said Mrs. +Gammit, eyeing him with challenge.</p> +<p>A broad smile went over Barron’s face.</p> +<p>“I knowed it,” he exclaimed. “I knowed as how +it was a weasel.”</p> +<p>“An’ <i>I</i> knowed as how ye’d say jest them very +words,” retorted Mrs. Gammit. “But ye don’t +know everythin’, Joe Barron. It wa’n’t no weasel +as was takin’ them there aigs!”</p> +<p>“What were it then?” demanded the woodsman, +incredulously.</p> +<p>“It was two big porkypines an’ a monstrous big +wildcat,” answered Mrs. Gammit in triumph.</p> +<p>“Did ye ketch ’em at it?” asked the woodsman, +with a faint note of sarcasm in his voice. But the +sarcasm glanced off Mrs. Gammit’s armour. She +regarded the question as a quite legitimate one.</p> +<p>“No, I kain’t say as I did, <i>exackly</i>,” she replied. +“But they come anosin’ round, an’ to teach ’em a +lesson to keep ther noses out o’ other people’s hens’ +nests I shook a little pepper over ’em. I tell ye, they +took to the woods, asneezin’ that bad I thought +ye might ’a’ heard ’em all the way over here. +Ye’d ’ave bust yerself laffin’, ef ye could ’a’ seed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +’em rootin’. An’ since then, Mr. Barron, I git +all the aigs I want. Don’t ye talk to me o’ <i>weasels</i>––the +skinny little rats. <i>They</i> ain’t wuth noticin’, +no more’n a chipmunk.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +<a name='THE_BATTLE_IN_THE_MIST' id='THE_BATTLE_IN_THE_MIST'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Battle in the Mist</span></h2> +</div> +<p>In the silver-grey between dawn and sunrise the +river was filled with mist from bank to bank. It +coiled and writhed and rolled, here thinning, there +thickening, as if breathed upon irregularly by +innumerable unseen mouths. But there was no +wind astir; and the brown-black, glistening current +beneath the white folds was glassy smooth save +where the occasional big swirls boiled up with a +swishing gurgle, or the running wave broke musically +around an upthrust shoulder of rock or a weedy +snag. The river was not wide––not more than +fifty yards from bank to bank; but from the +birch canoe slipping quietly down along one shore, +just outside the fringe of alder branches, the opposite +shore was absolutely hidden. There was +nothing to indicate that an opposite shore existed, +save that now and again the dark top of a soaring +pine or elm would show dimly for a moment, seeming +to float above the ghostly gulfs of mist.</p> +<p>The canoe kept close along the shore for guidance, +as one feels one’s way along a wall in the dark. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +channel, moreover, was deep and clear in shore; +while out under the mist the soft noises of ripples +proclaimed to the ears of the two canoeists the presence +of frequent rock and snag and shallow. Lest +they should run upon unseen dangers ahead, the +canoeists were travelling very slowly, the bow-man +resting with his paddle across the gunwales before +him, while the stern-man, his paddle noiselessly +waving like the fin of a trout, did no more +than keep his craft to her course and let her run +with the current.</p> +<p>Down along the shore, keeping just behind the +canoe and close to the water’s edge, followed a +small, dark, sinuous creature, its piercing eyes, +bead-black with a glint of red behind them, fixed in +savage curiosity upon the canoemen. It was about +two feet in length, with extremely short legs, and a +sharp, triangular head. As it ran––and its movements +were as soundless and effortless as those of +a snake––it humped its long, lithe body in a way +that suggested a snake’s coils. It seemed to be +following the canoe out of sheer curiosity––a +curiosity, however, which was probably well mixed +with malevolence, seeing that it was the curiosity +of a mink. These two strange creatures moving on +the water were, of course, too large and formidable +for the big mink to dream of attacking them; +but he could wonder at them and hate them––and +who could say that some chance to do them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +a hurt might not arise? Stealthy, wary, and bold, +he kept his distance about eight or ten feet from +the canoe; and because he was behind he imagined +himself unseen. As a matter of fact, however, the +steersman of the canoe, wiser in woodcraft and +cunninger even than he, had detected him and +was watching him with interest from the corner +of his eye. So large a mink, and one so daring in +curiosity, was a phenomenon to be watched and +studied with care. The canoeist did not take his +comrade in the bow into his confidence for some +minutes, lest the sound of the human voice should +daunt the animal. But presently, in a monotonous, +rhythmic murmur which carried no alarm to the +mink’s ear but only heightened its interest, he +called the situation to his companion’s notice; +and the latter, without seeming to see, kept watch +through half-closed lids.</p> +<p>A little way down the shore, close to the water’s +edge, something round and white caught the mink’s +eye. Against the soft browns and dark greys of the +wet soil, the object fairly shone in its whiteness, and +seemed absurdly out of place. It was a hen’s +egg, either dropped there by a careless hen from the +pioneer’s cabin near by, or left by a musk-rat disturbed +in his poaching. However it had got there, +it was an egg; and the canoeists saw that they no +longer held the mink’s undivided attention. Gently +the steersman sheered out a few feet farther from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +the bank, and at the same time checked the canoe’s +headway. He wanted to see how the mink would +manipulate the egg when he got to it.</p> +<p>The egg lay at the foot of a little path which led +down the bushy bank to the water––a path evidently +trodden by the pioneer’s cattle. Down +this path, stepping daintily and turning his long +inquisitive nose and big, bright, mischievous eyes +from side to side, came a raccoon. He was a small +raccoon, a little shorter than the mink, but looking +heavier by reason of his more stocky build and +bushier, looser fur. His purpose was to fish or +hunt frogs in the pool at the foot of the path; but +when he saw the egg gleaming through the misty +air, his eyes sparkled with satisfaction. A long +summer passed in proximity to the pioneer’s cabin +had enabled him to find out that eggs were good. +He hastened his steps, and with a sliding scramble, +which attracted the attention of the men in the +canoe, he arrived at the water’s edge. But to his +indignant astonishment he was not the first to +arrive.</p> +<p>The mink was just ahead. He reached the egg, +laid one paw upon it in possession, and turned with a +snarl of defiance as the raccoon came down the +bank. The latter paused to note the threatening +fangs and malign eyes of his slim rival. Then, with +that brisk gaiety which the raccoon carries into the +most serious affairs of his life, and particularly into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +his battles, he ran to the encounter. The men in the +canoe, eagerly interested, stole nearer to referee the +match.</p> +<p>Quick as the raccoon was, his snake-like adversary +was quicker. Doubling back upon himself, the +mink avoided that confident and dangerous rush, and +with a lightning snap fixed hold upon his enemy’s +neck. But it was not, by half an inch, the hold +he wanted; and his long, deadly teeth sank not, as +he had planned, into the foe’s throat, but into the +great tough muscles a little higher up. He dared +not let go to try for the deadlier hold, but locked his +jaws and whipped his long body over the other’s back, +hoping to evade his antagonist’s teeth.</p> +<p>The raccoon had lost the first point, and his large +eyes blazed with pain and anger. But his dauntless +spirit was not in the least dismayed. Shaking +the long, black body from his back, he swung himself +half round and caught his enemy’s slim loins between +his jaws. It was a cruelly punishing grip, +and under the stress of it the mink lashed out so violently +that the two, still holding on with locked +jaws, rolled over into the water, smashing the egg as +they fell. The canoe, now close beside them, they +heeded not at all.</p> +<p>“Two to one on the mink!” whispered the traveller +in the bow of the canoe, delightedly. But the steersman +smiled, and said “Wait!”</p> +<p>To be in the water suited the mink well enough. A +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +hunter of fish in their holes, he was almost as much +at home in the water as a fish. But the raccoon it +did not suit at all. With a splutter he relinquished +his hold on the mink’s loins; and the latter, perceiving +the advantage, let go and snapped again for +the throat. But again he miscalculated the alertness +of the raccoon’s sturdy muscles. The latter had +turned his head the instant that the mink’s jaws +relaxed, and the two gnashed teeth in each other’s +faces, neither securing a hold. The next moment +the raccoon had leaped back to dry land, turning in +threatening readiness as he did so.</p> +<p>Though there was no longer anything to fight +about, the mink’s blood was up. His eyes glowed +like red coals, his long, black shape looked very +fit and dangerous, and his whole appearance was that +of vindictive fury. The raccoon, on the other hand, +though bedraggled from his ducking, maintained his +gay, casual air, as if enjoying the whole affair +too much to be thoroughly enraged. When the +mink darted upon him, straight as a snake strikes, +he met the attack with a curious little pirouette; +and the next instant the two were once more locked +in a death grapple.</p> +<p>It was some moments before the breathless +watchers in the canoe could make out which was +getting the advantage, so closely were the grey +body and the black intertwined. Then it was seen +that the raccoon was using his flexible, hand-like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +paws as a bear might, to hold his foe down to the +punishment. Both contestants were much cut, and +bleeding freely; but the mink was now getting +slow, while the raccoon was as cheerfully alert as +ever. At length the mink tore loose and made one +more desperate reach for his favourite throat-hold. +But this time it was the raccoon who avoided. He +danced aside, flashed back, and caught the mink +fairly under the jaw. Then, bracing himself, he +shook his foe as a terrier might. And in a minute +or two the long, black shape straightened out +limply amid the sand and dead leaves.</p> +<p>When the body was quite still the raccoon let +go and stood over it expectantly for some minutes. +He bit it several times, and seeing that this treatment +elicited no retort, suffered himself to feel +assured of his victory. Highly pleased, he skipped +back and forth over the body, playfully seized it +with his fore-paws, and bundled it up into a heap. +Then seeming to remember the origin of the quarrel, +he sniffed regretfully at the crumbled fragments +of egg-shell. His expression of disappointment was +so ludicrous that in spite of themselves the men in +the canoe exploded with laughter.</p> +<p>As the harsh, incongruous sound startled the +white stillnesses, in the lifting of an eyelid the little +conqueror vanished. One of the canoeists stepped +ashore, picked up the body of the slain mink, and +threw it into the canoe. As the two resumed their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +paddles and slipped away into the mist, they knew +that from some hiding-place on the bank two +bright, indignant eyes were peering after them in +wonder.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +<a name='MELINDY_AND_THE_SPRING_BEAR' id='MELINDY_AND_THE_SPRING_BEAR'></a> +<h2><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Melindy and the Spring Bear</span></h2> +</div> +<p>Soft, wet and tender, with a faint green filming +the sodden pasture field, and a rose-pink veil +covering the maples, and blue-grey catkins tinting +the dark alders, spring had come to the lonely little +clearing in the backwoods. From the swampy +meadow along the brook’s edge, across the road from +the cabin and the straw-littered barn-yard, came +toward evening that music which is the distinctive +note of the northern spring––the thrilling, mellow, +inexpressibly wistful fluting of the frogs.</p> +<p>The sun was just withdrawing his uppermost +rim behind the far-off black horizon line of fir-tops. +The cabin door stood wide open to admit the sweet +air and the sweet sound. Just inside the door +sat old Mrs. Griffis, rocking heavily, while the woollen +sock which she was knitting lay forgotten in her +lap. She was a strong-featured, muscular woman, +still full of vigour, whom rheumatism had met and +halted in the busy path of life. Her keen and restless +eyes were following eagerly every movement of a +slender, light-haired girl in a blue cotton waist +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +and grey homespun skirt, who was busy at the +other side of the yard, getting her little flock of +sheep penned up for the night for fear of wild +prowlers.</p> +<p>Presently the girl slammed the pen door, jammed +the hardwood peg into the staple, ran her fingers +nervously through the pale fluff of her hair, and +came hurrying across the yard to the door with a +smile on her delicate young face.</p> +<p>“<i>There</i>, Granny!” she exclaimed, with the air +of one who has just got a number of troublesome +little duties accomplished, “I guess no lynxes, or +nothing, ’ll get the sheep to-night, anyways. Now, +I must go an’ hunt up old ‘Spotty’ afore it gets too +dark. I don’t see what’s made her wander off to-day. +She always sticks around the barn close as a +burr!”</p> +<p>The old woman smiled, knowing that the survival +of a wild instinct in the cow had led her to seek +some hiding-place, near home but secluded, wherein +to secrete her new-born calf.</p> +<p>“I guess old ‘Spotty’ knows enough to come +home when she gets ready, Child!” she answered. +“She’s been kept that close all winter, the snow +bein’ so deep, I don’t wonder she wants to roam a +bit now she can git ’round. Land sakes, I wish’t <i>I</i> +could roam a bit, ’stead er sittin’, sittin’, an’ knittin’, +knittin’, mornin’, noon an’ night, all along of these +’ere useless old legs of mine!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span></p> +<p>“Poor Granny!” murmured the girl, softly, tears +coming into her eyes. “I wish’t we could get +’round, the two of us, in these sweet-smellin’ spring +woods, an’ get the first Mayflowers together! +Couldn’t you just try now, Granny? I believe +you are goin’ to walk all right again some day, just +as well as any of us. Do try!”</p> +<p>Thus adjured, the old woman grasped the arms +of her chair sturdily, set her jaw, and lifted herself +quite upright. But a groan forced itself from her +lips, and she sank back heavily, her face creased +with pain. Recovering herself with a resolute +effort, however, she smiled rather ruefully.</p> +<p>“Some day, mebbe, if the good Lord wills!” +said she, shaking her head. “But ’tain’t this day, +Melindy! You’ll be the death o’ me yet, Child, +you’re so set on me gittin’ ’round ag’in!”</p> +<p>“Why, Granny, you did splendid!” cried the +girl. “That was the best yet, the best you’ve +ever done since I come to you. You stood just as +straight as anybody for a minute. Now, I’ll go +an’ hunt old ‘Spotty.’” And she turned toward +the tiny path that led across the pasture to the +burnt-woods.</p> +<p>But Mrs. Griffis’s voice detained her.</p> +<p>“What’s the good o’ botherin’ about old ‘Spotty’ +to-night, Melindy? Let her have her fling. Them +frogs make me that lonesome to-night I can’t +bear to let ye a minnit out o’ my sight, Child! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +Ther’ ain’t no other sound like it, to my way +o’ thinkin’, for music nor for lonesomeness. It +’most breaks my heart with the sweetness of it, +risin’ an’ fallin’ on the wet twilight that way. +But I just got to have somebody ’round when I +listen to it!”</p> +<p>“Yes, Granny, I love it, too!” assented Melindy +in a preoccupied tone, “when I ain’t too bothered +to listen. Just now, I’m thinkin’ about old ‘Spotty’ +out there alone in the woods, an’ maybe some +hungry lynxes watchin’ for her to lie down an’ go +to sleep. You know how hungry the bears will be +this spring, too, Granny, after the snow layin’ deep +so late. I just couldn’t sleep, if I thought old +‘Spotty’ was out there in them queer, grey, empty +woods all night. In summer it’s different, an’ +then the woods are like home.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said her grandmother, seeing that the +girl was bent upon her purpose, “if ye’re skeered +for old ‘Spotty,’ ye’d better be a little mite skeered +for yerself, Child! Take along the gun. Mebbe +ye might see a chipmunk a-bitin’ the old cow jest +awful!”</p> +<p>Heedless of her grandmother’s gibe, Melindy, who +had a very practical brain under her fluffy light +hair, picked up the handy little axe which she used +for chopping kindling.</p> +<p>“No guns for me, Granny, you know,” she retorted. +“This ’ere little axe’s good enough for me!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +And swinging it over her shoulder she went lightly +up the path, her head to one side, her small mouth +puckered in a vain effort to learn to whistle.</p> +<p>What Melindy and her grandmother called the +“Burnt Lands” was a strip of country running +back for miles from the clearing. The fire had +gone over it years before, cutting a sharply defined, +gradually widening path through the forest, and +leaving behind it only a few scattered rampikes, or +tall, naked trunks bleached to whiteness by the +storms of many winters. Here and there amid +these desolate spaces, dense thickets of low growth +had sprung up, making a secure hiding-place of +every hollow where the soil had not had all the life +scorched out of it.</p> +<p>Having crossed the pasture, Melindy presently +detected those faint indications of a trail which the +uninitiated eye finds it so impossible to see. Slight +bendings and bruises of the blueberry and laurel +scrub caught her notice. Then she found, in a +bare spot, the unmistakable print of a cow’s hoof. +The trail was now quite clear to her; and it was +clearly that of old “Spotty.” Intent upon her +quest she hurried on, heedless of the tender colours +changing in the sky above her head, of the first +swallows flitting and twittering across it, of the +keen yet delicate fragrance escaping from every +sap-swollen bud, and of the sweetly persuasive +piping of the frogs from the water meadow. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +had no thought at that moment but to find the +truant cow and get her safely stabled before dark.</p> +<p>The trail led directly to a rocky hollow about a +hundred yards from the edge of the pasture––perhaps +a hundred and fifty yards from the doorway +wherein Mrs. Griffis sat intently watching Melindy’s +progress. The hollow was thick with young spruce +and white birch, clustered about a single tall and +massive rampike.</p> +<p>Into this shadowy tangle the girl pushed fearlessly, +peering ahead beneath the dark, balsam-scented +branches. She could see, in a broken fashion, to +the very foot of the rampike, across which lay a huge +fallen trunk. But she could see nothing of old +“Spotty,” who, by reason of her vivid colouring +of red and white splotches, would have been conspicuous +against those dark surroundings.</p> +<p>There was something in the silence, combined +with the absence of the cow whom she confidently +expected to find, which sent a little chill to the +girl’s heart. She gripped her axe more tightly, and +stood quite motionless, accustoming her eyes to the +confused gloom; and presently she thought she +could distinguish a small brownish shape lying on +a mound of moss near the foot of the rampike. A +moment more and she could see that it was looking +at her, with big, soft eyes. Then a pair of big ears +moved. She realized that it was a calf she was +looking at. Old “Spotty’s” truancy was accounted for. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span></p> +<p>But where was old “Spotty”? Melindy thought +for a moment, and concluded very properly that +the mother, considering the calf well-hidden, had +slipped away to the spring for a drink. She was on +the point of stepping forward to admire the little +new-comer and see if it was yet strong enough to +be led home to the barn, when a stealthy rustling +at the farther side of the thicket arrested her.</p> +<p>Certainly that could not be the cow, who was +anything but stealthy in her movements. But what +could it be?</p> +<p>Melindy had a sudden prescience of peril. But +her nerves stiffened to it, and she had no thought of +retreat. It might be one of those savage lynxes, +spying upon the calf in its mother’s absence. At +this idea Melindy’s small mouth itself set very grimly, +and she rejoiced that she had brought the axe along. +The lynx, of all the wild creatures, she regarded +with special antagonism.</p> +<p>The stealthy movements came nearer, nearer, +then suddenly died out. A moment more and a +dark bulk took shape noiselessly among the fir-branches, +some ten or twelve feet beyond the spot +where the helpless calf was lying.</p> +<p>For a second Melindy’s heart stood still. What +was her little axe against a bear! Then she recalled +the general backwoods faith that the biggest black +bear would run from a human being, if only he had +plenty of room to run. She looked at the helpless +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +little one curled up on its mossy bed. She looked +at the savage black shape gliding slowly forward to +devour it. And her heart leaped with returning +courage.</p> +<p>The bear, its fierce eyes glancing from side to +side, was now within five or six feet of its intended +prey. With a shrill cry of warning and defiance +Melindy sprang forward, swinging her axe, and ordered +the beast to “Git out!” She was greatly in hopes +that the animal would yield to the authority of the +human voice, and retire abashed.</p> +<p>At any other season, it is probable that the bear +would have done just as she hoped it would. But +now, it had the courage of a rampant spring appetite. +Startled it was, and disturbed, at the girl’s sudden +appearance and her shrill cry; and it half drew +back, hesitating. But Melindy also hesitated; and +the bear was quick to perceive her hesitation. For a +few seconds he stood eyeing her, his head down and +swinging from side to side. Then, seeming to conclude +that she was not a formidable antagonist, +he gave vent to a loud, grunting growl, and lurched +forward upon the calf.</p> +<p>With a wild scream, half of fury, half of fear, +Melindy also darted forward, trusting that the +animal would not really face her onslaught. And +the calf, terrified at the sudden outcry, staggered +to its feet with a loud bleating.</p> +<p>The bear was just upon it, with great black paw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +uplifted for the fatal stroke that would have broken +its back, when he saw Melindy’s axe descending. +With the speed of a skilled boxer he changed the +direction of his stroke, and fended off the blow so +cleverly that the axe almost flew from the girl’s +grasp. The fine edge, however, caught a partial +hold, and cleft the paw to the bone.</p> +<p>Furious with the pain, and his fighting blood now +thoroughly aroused, the bear forgot the calf and +sprang at his daring assailant. Light-footed as a +cat, the girl leapt aside, just in time, darted over +the fallen trunk, and dodged around the base of +the rampike. She realized that she had undertaken +too much, and her only hope now was that either +she would be able to outrun the bear, or that the +latter would turn his attentions again to the calf and +forget about her.</p> +<p>The bear, however, had no intention of letting her +escape his vengeance. For all his bulk, he was +amazingly nimble and was at her heels again in a +second. Though she might have outstripped him +in the open, he would probably have caught her in +the hampering thicket; but at this crucial moment +there came a bellow and a crashing of branches +close behind him, and he whirled about just in time +to receive the raging charge of old “Spotty,” who +had heard her youngster’s call.</p> +<p>The bear had no time to dodge or fend this onslaught, +but only to brace himself. The cow’s horns, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +unfortunately, were short and wide-spreading. She +caught him full in the chest, with the force of a +battering-ram, and would have hurled him backwards +but that his mighty claws and forearms, +at the same instant, secured a deadly clutch upon +her shoulders. She bore him backward against +the trunk indeed, but there he recovered himself; +and when she strove to withdraw for another battering +charge, she could not tear herself free. Foiled +in these tactics, she lunged forward with all her +strength, again and again, bellowing madly, and +endeavouring to crush out her enemy’s breath +against the tree. And the bear, grunting, growling, +and whining, held her fast while he tore at her with +his deadly claws.</p> +<p>Too much excited to think any longer of flight, +Melindy stood upon the fallen trunk and breathlessly +watched the battle. In a few moments she realized +that old “Spotty” was getting the worst of it; +and upon this her courage once more returned. +Running down the great log as close as she dared, +she swung up her axe, and paused for an opening. +She was just about to strike, when a well-known +voice arrested her, and she jumped back.</p> +<p>“Git out of the way, Child,” it commanded, +piercing the turmoil. “Git out of the way an’ let +me shoot!”</p> +<p>The crippled old woman, too, had heard the cry +of her young. When that scream of Melindy’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +cleft the evening air, Mrs. Griffis had shot out of her +chair as if she had never heard of rheumatism. She +did not know anything hurt her. At the summons +of this imperious need her old vigour all came back. +Snatching up the big duck-gun from the corner, +where it stood always loaded and ready, she went +across the pasture and through the laurel patches +at a pace almost worthy of Melindy herself. When +she plunged through the bushes into the hollow, +and saw the situation, her iron will steadied her +nerves to meet the crisis.</p> +<p>The instant Melindy had jumped out of the way +Mrs. Griffis ran close up to the combatants. The +bear was being kept too busy to spare her any attention +whatever. Coolly setting the muzzle of the +big gun (which was loaded with buckshot) close +to the beast’s side, just behind the fore-shoulder, +she pulled the trigger. There was a roar that filled +the hollow like the firing of a cannon, and the bear +collapsed sprawling, with a great hole blown through +his heart.</p> +<p>Old “Spotty” drew back astonished, snorted +noisily, and rolled wild eyes upon her mistress. +Then, unable to believe that her late foe was really +no longer a menace to her precious calf, she fell +once more upon the lifeless form and tried to beat +it out of all likeness to a bear. The calf, who had +been knocked over but not hurt in the bear’s charge +upon Melindy, had struggled to its feet again; and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +Mrs. Griffis pushed it forward to attract its mother’s +attention. This move proved successful; and presently, +in the task of licking the little creature +all over to make sure it was not hurt, “Spotty” +forgot her noble rage. Then, slowly and patiently, +by pushing, pulling, and coaxing, the two women +got the calf up out of the hollow and along the homeward +path, while the mother, heedless of her streaming +wounds, crowded against them, mooing softly +with satisfaction. She was craving now, for her +little one, the safe shelter of the barn-yard.</p> +<p>At the well the quaint procession stopped, and +the calf fell to nursing; while Melindy washed the +cow’s wounds, and Mrs. Griffis hunted up some tar +to use as a salve upon them. As she moved briskly +about the yard, Melindy broke into a peal of joyous +but almost hysterical laughter.</p> +<p>“I declare to goodness, Granny,” she cried, in +response to the old woman’s questioning look, “if +you ain’t just as spry as me. I’ve heard tell that +bear’s grease was a great medicine for rheumatism. +It’s plain to be seen, Granny, that you’ve used up +a whole bear for yours.”</p> +<p>“It wasn’t the bear, Child!” answered the old +woman, gravely. “It was that ter’ble scream o’ +yours cured my rheumatiz! Old ‘Spotty,’ she +come to her young one’s call. Could I do less, Child, +when I heerd my little one cry out fer me?”</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p>WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE’S</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>A Certain Rich Man</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Cloth, $1.50 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“It pulsates with humor, interest, passionate love, adventures, pathos––every +page is woven with threads of human nature, life as we know it, +life as it is, and above it all a spirit of righteousness, true piety, and +heroic patriotism. These inspire the author’s genius and fine literary +quality, thrilling the reader with tenderest emotion, and holding to the +end his unflagging, absorbing interest.”––<i>The Public Ledger</i>, Philadelphia.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“Mr. White has written a big and satisfying book made up of the elements +of American life as we know them––the familiar humor, sorrows, +ambitions, crimes, sacrifices––revealed to us with peculiar freshness and +vigor in the multitude of human actions and by the crowd of delightful +people who fill his four-hundred odd pages.... It deserves a high +place among the novels that deal with American life. No recent American +novel save one has sought to cover so broad a canvas, or has created +so strong an impression of ambition and of sincerity.”––<i>Chicago Evening Post.</i></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“The great fictional expression of this mighty Twentieth Century altruistic +movement is sure to be something in kind and in degree akin to Mr. +White’s ’A Certain Rich Man.’”––<i>Brooklyn Daily Eagle</i>.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“An American novel, home-grown in home soil, vital with homely +American motives, and fragrant with homely American memories, Mr. +White has certainly achieved.”––<i>New York Times</i>.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>Dr. Washington Gladden considered this book of sufficient importance to +take it and the text from which the title was drawn as his subject for an +entire sermon, in the course of which he said: “In its ethical and social +significance it is the most important piece of fiction that has lately +appeared in America. I do not think that a more trenchant word has +been spoken to this nation since ’Uncle Tom’s Cabin.’ And it is profoundly +to be hoped that this book may do for the prevailing Mammonism +what ’Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ did for slavery.”</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>PUBLISHED BY<br /> +THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> +64-66 Fifth Avenue, New York<br /></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>AMONG RECENT NOVELS<br /> +<br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -1.0em;'>F. MARION CRAWFORD’S</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>Stradella</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Illustrated, cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“Schools of fiction have come and gone, but Mr. Crawford has always +remained in favor. There are two reasons for his continued popularity; +he always had a story to tell and he knew how to tell it. He was a +born story teller, and what is more rare, a trained one.”––<i>The Independent.</i></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>The White Sister</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Illustrated, cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“Mr. Crawford tells his love story with plenty of that dramatic instinct +which was ever one of his best gifts. We are, as always, absorbed and +amused.”––<i>New York Tribune</i>.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“Good stirring romance, simple and poignant.”––<i>Chicago Record Herald.</i></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“His people are always vividly real, invariably individual.”––<i>Boston Transcript.</i></p> +<hr class='space' /> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -1.0em;'>ROBERT HERRICK’S</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>Together</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“An able book, remarkably so, and one which should find a place in the +library of any woman who is not a fool.”––<i>Editorial in the New York +American.</i></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>A Life for a Life</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>Mr. W. D. Howells says in the North American Review: “What I +should finally say of his work is that it is more broadly based than that +of any other American novelist of his generation.... Mr. Herrick’s +fiction is a force for the higher civilization, which to be widely felt, needs +only to be widely known.”</p> +<hr class='space' /> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -1.0em;'>JAMES LANE ALLEN’S</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>The Bride of the Mistletoe</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“He has achieved a work of art more complete in expression than anything +that has yet come from him. It is like a cry of the soul, so intense +one scarcely realizes whether it is put into words or not.”––<i>Bookman</i>.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“It is a masterpiece ... the most carefully wrought out of all his work.”</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -1.0em;'>WINSTON CHURCHILL’S</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>Mr. Crewe’s Career</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Illustrated, cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“Mr. Churchill rises to a level he has never known before and gives us +one of the best stories of American life ever written; ... it is written +out of a sympathy that goes deep.... We go on to the end with growing +appreciation.... It is good to have such a book.”––<i>New York +Tribune.</i></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“American realism, American romance, and American doctrine, all +overtraced by the kindliest, most appealing American humor.”––<i>New +York World.</i></p> +<hr class='space' /> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -1.0em;'>ELLEN GLASGOW’S</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>The Romance of a Plain Man</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“To any one who has a genuine interest in American literature there is +no pleasanter thing than to see the work of some good American writer +strengthening and deepening year by year as has the work of Miss Ellen +Glasgow. From the first she has had the power to tell a strong story, +full of human interest, but as the years have passed and her work has +continued it has shown an increasing mellowness and sympathy. This +is particularly evident in ’The Romance of a Plain Man.’”––<i>Chicago +Daily Tribune.</i></p> +<hr class='space' /> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -1.0em;'>JACK LONDON’S</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>Martin Eden</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>The stirring story of a man who rises by force of sheer ability and perseverance +from the humblest beginning to a position of fame and influence. +The elemental strength, the vigor and determination of Martin Eden, +make him the most interesting character that Mr. London has ever +created. The plan of the novel permits the author to cover a wide +sweep of society, the contrasting types of his characters giving unfailing +variety and interest to the story of Eden’s love and fight.</p> +<hr class='space' /> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -1.0em;'>ZONA GALE’S</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>Friendship Village</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“As charming as an April day, all showers and sunshine, and sometimes +both together, so that the delighted reader hardly knows whether +laughter or tears are fittest for his emotion.... The book will stir the +feelings deeply.”––<i>New York Times</i>.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>To be followed by “Friendship Village Love Stories.”</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -1.0em;'>CHARLES MAJOR’S</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>A Gentle Knight of Old Brandenburg</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Illustrated, cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>Mr. Major has selected a period to the romance of which other historical +novelists have been singularly blind. The boyhood of Frederick the +Great and the strange wooing of his charming sister Wilhelmina have +afforded a theme, rich in its revelation of human nature and full of +romantic situations.</p> +<hr class='space' /> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -1.0em;'>MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT’S</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>Poppea of the Post Office</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“A rainbow romance, ... tender yet bracing, cheerily stimulating ... +its genial entirety refreshes like a cooling shower.”––<i>Chicago Record +Herald.</i></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“There cannot be too many of these books by ’Barbara.’ Mrs. Wright +knows good American stock through and through and presents it with +effective simplicity.”––<i>Boston Advertiser</i>.</p> +<hr class='space' /> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -1.0em;'>FRANK DANBY’S</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>Sebastian</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>Whenever a father’s ideals conflict with a mother’s hopes for the son of +their dreams, you meet the currents underlying the plot of “Sebastian.” +Its author’s skill in making vividly real the types and conditions of London +has never been shown to better advantage.</p> +<hr class='space' /> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -1.0em;'>EDEN PHILLPOTTS’</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '><span style='font-weight:bold'>The Three Brothers</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>“‘The Three Brothers’ seems to us the best yet of the long series of these +remarkable Dartmoor tales. If Shakespeare had written novels we can +think that some of his pages would have been like some of these. Here +certainly is language, turn of humor, philosophical play, vigor of incident, +such as might have come straight from Elizabeth’s day.... The book +is full of a very moving interest and is agreeable and beautiful.”––<i>The New York Sun</i>.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>PUBLISHED BY<br /> +THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> +64-66 Fifth Avenue, New York<br /></p> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: ppg0522 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sun May 24 08:30:42 -0600 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Backwoodsmen, by Charles G. D. 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