proofreading canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net (this book was created from images of public domain material made available by the university of toronto libraries (http://link.library.utoronto.ca/booksonline/).) the ontario archives: scope of its operations (paper read at the twenty-seventh annual meeting of the american historical association, held at buffalo, n. y., december 27-30, 1911) by alexander fraser ll. d., litt. d., f. s. a., scot. edin. reprinted from the annual report of the american historical association for 1911, pages 353-362 washington 1913 the ontario archives. by alexander fraser, provincial archivist. the line of demarcation between the canadian or dominion archives and the ontario or other provincial archives is somewhat similar to that between the federal and state archives in the united states. it consists with the scope of the jurisdiction of the dominion or major commonwealth, and the narrower or minor jurisdiction of the province. this constitutes a clearly defined boundary within which both work without conflict or overlapping of interests. our public charter is an imperial statute entitled the british north america act, and to-day, when there are nine fully constituted, autonomous provinces within the dominion of canada, it is interesting to recall that when the british north america act became law in 1867 the subtitle set forth that it was "an act for the union of canada, nova scotia, and new brunswick, and the government thereof; and for purposes connected therewith." this act provides for the government of ontario a lieutenant-governor, who represents the crown; an executive council of ministers of state and a legislature composed of duly elected representatives of the people. to this body the act secures exclusive legislative powers in ontario and quebec, in the matter of crown lands, forests and mines; education, from the public common school to the university; municipal government, institutions and laws; incorporation of chartered companies--commercial, financial, professional, or social; solemnization of marriage, involving family history, vital statistics, etc.; property and civil rights; administration of justice, embracing both civil and criminal jurisdiction; agriculture and immigration, under which municipal, industrial, and agricultural statistics are collected, tabulated, and published; the founding and maintenance of provincial institutions such as hospitals, asylums, reformatories, prisons, and institutions for the instruction of the deaf and dumb and the blind; offices for the local registration of deeds, titles to land; the licensing of shops, taverns, hotels, auctioneers, etc.; the erection of local public works; the authorization and regulation of transportation not interprovincial. in short the provincial government gets close to the life of the people and touches its business and social sides intimately. as at present constituted the ministry comprises the departments of: the attorney general, dealing with the administration of law; the provincial secretary, controlling registration, and the public institutions; the provincial treasurer, dealing with the public accounts; agriculture; lands, forests, and mines; public works; and education. the prime minister is statutorily president of the council and head of the ministry. besides these and exercising semi-ministerial or departmental functions are two commissions, the hydro-electric commission and the government railway commission. these, with the legislature itself, are the departments of government in which our archives originate. archives we have defined as the records, the business papers, of the province having a permanent value. all archives need not be of historical value in the narrow sense. public documents may have a business or record value apart from history, yet it would be hard to say that any given document might not be found useful in some way in connection with history. the main value of a document is as an evidence of truth. every document does not contain truth, yet even such a document may, in effect, be a fact in history, and training and experience lead to a reasonably true interpretation. the ontario bureau of archives, organized in 1903, is equally related and attached to all the government departments, and receives all papers and documents of record value or of historical interest, not in current use, from all branches of the public service. when possible, these documents are classified, calendared, and indexed. the archives originating in the legislative assembly are: the scroll of parliament--the documents known by that title being the notes and memoranda made by the clerk, of the routine proceedings of the house during its sessions; the original signatures of the members of the legislative assembly subscribed to the oath of allegiance when "sworn in" as members of the assembly, the signatures being written on parchment; copies of the statutes in the form in which they have been assented to and signed by his honor the lieutenant governor. these copies are printed on good paper, and after having been assented to become the originals of the statutes in force; and the original copy pertaining to the consolidated statutes. among the assembly archives are the manuscripts of all sessional papers not printed (a sessional paper is a return called for by order of the house, whether printed or not, and the reports of departments and all branches of the public service presented to the house); the originals of all petitions presented to the house (these are not printed); the originals of bills in the form in which they are presented to the house; and copies of bills amended during their passage through the house. the original copy of sessional papers which are printed is returned with the proof sheets to the department or officer issuing the same. naturally next in importance to the records of the legislature are those of the executive council or government. all matters requiring executive action are brought before the council upon the recommendation or report of the minister having the subject matter in charge. the recommendation or report is addressed to his honor the lieutenant governor in council. the reports of the committee of council are signed by the prime minister as president, are counter-signed by the clerk and submitted to the lieutenant governor for approval, after which the document becomes and is known as an order of his honor the lieutenant governor in council. effect is given to orders in council affecting the general public by the promulgation of them in the ontario gazette; otherwise by the transmission of certified copies to the departments or persons concerned. the original orders (together with the recommendations, reports, and papers upon which they are based), after being registered in special journals, become most valuable records and much in request. through the department of the attorney general access is obtained to the voluminous records, rich in personal history and jurisprudence, arising from the administration of justice, in its vast ramifications and details, reaching from the policeman and justice of the peace to the high courts and court of appeal; from the homely minutes of the quarter sessions of early times, to the record of the recent cause célèbre which influenced the legislation of the country, or settled questions of constitutional import. with the office of the provincial secretary the provincial archivist necessarily has very close relations. the office of the secretary is the medium of communication, through the lieutenant governor, between the provincial, dominion, and imperial governments. all such correspondence is registered and copies of the dispatches are kept. all commissions bearing the great seal of the province are issued by the secretary, and are registered in his office, as are also all appointments made by his honor the lieutenant governor in council requiring the issuance of a commission. charters of incorporation, licenses for extra-provincial companies doing business in ontario, and marriage licenses are issued here under the direction of the secretary; here also are made records of all crown land patents (the earliest record being 1795), the records of all mining leases and deeds and leases relating to the public lands, etc. in the secretary's office are kept the vital statistics of the province. from the organization of the province in 1792 until 1849 marriages were recorded in the parish and congregational registers kept by clergymen, in the minute books of the quarter sessions of the peace, and in the memorandum books of justices of the peace. in addition to this, fairly complete records of births were made in the baptismal registers, and of deaths in the journals of clergymen, who recorded the deaths of parishioners for congregational purposes. many of these old books, however, have been either lost or destroyed, or their disposition is not known. in 1849 the municipalities were enabled to make provision by by-law for the registration of births, marriages, and deaths, and advantage was taken of that statute to a very considerable extent. from the passing of the law of 1849 until 1874 all records of marriages in the province were returned to the city and county registrars, who became their official custodians. in 1869 the office of the registrar general was established and compulsory registration of births, marriages, and deaths introduced. until 1874 the returns were still sent to the county and city registrars, but since 1874 they have been sent direct to the registrar general's office. the work of transcribing these returns and preserving them in proper form has been proceeding for years; and the documents, books, and statistical papers of the office, which are in safe keeping, form an invaluable collection of archives. in addition to the original vouchers of the public accounts, the treasury department contains the papers of the succession duty office, including affidavits made by the applicants on all applications for letters probate or letters of administration in the province showing the value, as at the date of the death of a deceased person, of such person's estate, with a general statement of the distribution thereof; including copies of wills, affidavits of value, bonds, and other documents which in particular cases have been furnished in order that the amount of succession duty payable, in cases liable to payment, might be ascertained. these documents are not generally accessible to the public, as they relate to the private concerns not only of deceased but of living persons, but they are a valuable addition to the surrogate courts' records which are a mine of genealogical information. the great staple enterprises of ontario are agriculture, industrial production, lumbering, mining, and in general, trade and commerce. of these agriculture is the greatest, and the records of its growth and development have a special value to the student of economics. the statistical branch, formed in 1882, issues annual reports dealing with agricultural and municipal interests--assessment figures, population, areas assessed, taxes imposed, annual receipts and expenditures, assets and liabilities, chattel mortgages, proving of value to municipal debenture holders and the public generally. of all our departments, the bureau of archives has drawn most largely on the documentary treasures of the department of crown lands. the material of historical interest here is exceedingly varied and valuable, embracing the records of the surveys of the province; the original maps, field notes, and diaries relating to the survey of all the townships dating back to 1784, and reports of all the explorations made within the limits of the province since that date; reports showing the planning out and surveys of the old military roads, such as dundas street, yonge street, the penetanguishene and kingston roads, and the papers in connection with the surveys of the talbot road, the huron road, the garafraxa road, the toronto and sydenham road (owen sound). there's much valuable information in the notes concerning the pioneer settlements. this branch also contains plans of all the old indian reserves of the province and reports indicating the early condition of the indian settlements on these reserves; also of the ordnance surveys in the province pertaining to land grants to old settlers; plans of the military reserves and plans showing the location and groundwork of the early forts. besides these there are the original surveys of all the lands acquired by the canada company and of those granted to king's college. a collection of much importance already transferred to the archives vaults is that embracing the diaries or journals of david thompson, the astronomer royal, covering a period of 66 years, from 1784 to 1850, and making about 50 volumes. thompson's famous map showing the continent from the atlantic to the pacific, and from a little south of the great lakes to hudson bay, is carefully preserved in the collection. thompson's journals and map have furnished interesting material to students of our early history. they have been used by mr. coues in his work entitled "new light on the great north-west," and have been found useful in connection with editions of henry's and thompson's journals. competent authorities regard thompson's work as most valuable to the state, especially in the fixing of boundary lines; but of little less importance are the field notes and diaries of many of the early surveyors, not merely for topographical reasons but on account of the detailed information given. in a separate vault are many other valuable and interesting documents, including the united empire loyalists' lists, the records of land grants to immigrants, to discharged soldiers, and the militia grants of warrants to discharged troops, to united empire loyalists, volumes of land board certificates, returns of locations compiled for the quartermaster general, fiat and warrant books, domesday books, containing original entries of every lot that is patented, and extending to 26 large volumes, descriptions and terms or references on which patents and leases are issued, patents for crown lands, mining lands, free grant lands, and mining leases. there are also a series of maps of the townships of the province as surveyed, which have the names of the original holders and settlers entered on each lot or block of land. these maps show among other things the grant made to king's college, and the lands allotted to the canada land co. the historical value of these records is inestimable, for without them the settlement of the province could not be traced or shown. the most interesting archives emanating from the public-works department are the records of the early colonization roads--arteries of settlement and trade routes and the title deeds, plans and specifications, contracts, maps, and documents relating to crown property, buildings, and institutions, a finely conditioned collection. i have thus, at considerable length, described the field in which the archivist of ontario labors and out of which he is gradually building up his storehouse of archives. the main purpose of the bureau is that of a record office of state papers, primarily for their proper preservation and for the greater convenience of the public service. this is in the nature of things. a central office, in which papers from all departments of the government are lodged after they have passed out of current use, examined, classified, and filed by a staff familiar with their contents, need only be brought into use to become indispensably serviceable in the carrying on of public business; but in addition, the archivist, knowing the contents of the documents in his custody, is able to direct and help in a manner that can not otherwise be done, that portion of the public interested in the information contained in the government archives. notwithstanding the completeness and compactness of the field i have briefly sketched as a logical and correct one for the purposes of a state record office, it is nevertheless equally obvious that government records alone do not nor can embrace all the archives properly so called of a state or province. when, therefore, i was asked, eight years ago, to organize a bureau of archives for ontario, i laid out a much wider plan than that i have referred to, with, however, the state record office always as the central idea. the bureau is therefore double barreled; it draws from the pigeonholes of the departments, and it collects outside material that may throw light on the settlement and development of the province of ontario, the source of which is often far afield. for instance, the province of quebec (including ontario), up to 1774 included all to the south and west as far as st. louis and the mississippi, and of course, what became in 1791 upper canada. the british régime is touched by the french and the french by the indian. in carrying out this plan the bureau aims at the collection of documents having, in the widest sense, a bearing upon the political or social history of ontario, and upon its agricultural, industrial, commercial, and financial development; the collection of municipal, school, and church records; the collection and preservation of pamphlets, maps, charts, manuscripts, papers, regimental muster rolls, etc., bearing on its past or present history; the collection and preservation of facts illustrative of the early settlements, pioneer experience, customs, mode of living, prices, wages, boundaries, areas cultivated, homes, etc.; the collection and preservation of correspondence, letters from and to settlers, documents in private hands pertaining to public and social affairs, etc., reports of local events and historic incidents in the family or public life; the rescuing from oblivion of the memory of the pioneer settlers, the obtaining and preserving narratives of their early exploits, and of the part they took in opening up the country for occupation; and the bureau cooperates with the historical societies of ontario and societies kindred to them, helping to consolidate and classify their work, and as far as practicable to direct local effort on given lines. within this scope the following plan of work has been adopted: to divide the history of ontario until the confederation of the provinces in 1867 into its political periods, arranging the material secured in chronological order, and giving each period a series of reports. thus the work has been carried on in all the divisions simultaneously, and when sufficient material has accumulated in any one of them, it has been utilized by the publication of documents without undue delay. from confederation onward, the larger quantity of material to be dealt with, and the probable absence of sweeping constitutional changes to mark eras, suggested a chronological rather than a political basis of division. the periods are: 1. to the close of the french régime, or the period of french discovery, 1763. 2. to the organization of the province of upper canada, 1791. 3. to the legislative union of upper and lower canada, 1841. 4. to confederation, 1867. 5. to the end of the nineteenth century, 1900. in each of these divisions there is much work to do. each has its own distinctive features, and there is abundance of minor incident. material of special interest to ontario bearing on the french régime is contained in the "correspondence générale," in the papers of the "collection de moreau st. méry," which have been transcribed from the paris archives for the canadian archives, most of which has never been published in printed form. there is also valuable ontario material in the "haldimand collection of papers," the "bouquet papers," and the colonial office records bearing on this period. it is intended to collect and publish these papers, accompanied by an adequate translation, when not written in english, and adding extracts in chronological order from the publications of perrot, la potherie, la harpe, charlevoix, de kalm, the jesuit relations, papers by margry, and a portion of the "mémoire pour messire françois bigot," which contains what seems to be an excellent summary of the commerce and condition of all the western trading posts at the time of the conquest. other sources of material for publication have also been considered in connection with this early period. aboriginal or indian history presents many interesting features to us, and some attention has been given to the subject, including an inquiry as to the original savage occupants of ontario, their origin, migrations, traffic, and intercourse; their language, topographical nomenclature, folklore, and literature; the origin and development of their clan, tribal, and national organization; the history and results of european contact; their present condition, capabilities, and tendencies. this period of ontario history, that of the french régime, will be our heroic age, as "distance lends enchantment to the view." here will be found the adventurous coureurs de bois, many of the great routes and trading posts, the headquarters of which in later times, was fort william, on thunder bay. here the huron and iroquois met in deadly conflict; here also the french missionaries of the cross endured untold sufferings with ecstatic heroism, and receiving the martyr's crown left a record of christian zeal and fortitude not surpassed, if at all equaled, in the history of the world. events which stirred the imagination and fascinated the finely poised mind of a parkman will yet furnish the material for canada's great, unwritten epic poem. the ontario bureau of archives has made a beginning in this field by publishing a volume on the "identification of the huron village sites," where those missionaries labored and fell, prepared by the venerable and scholarly archivist of st. mary's college, montreal, the rev. father jones, s. j., a contribution, i believe, of undoubted value. it may be taken as significant of our attitude that a work of such erudite research has been treated as a public document and issued free to the people at the expense of the government. it will soon be followed by the writings of father potier, a work of far-reaching importance and interest, which is in process of preparation for the press. the three volumes of manuscript have been photographed page by page and a zincograph facsimile of the original will be placed before scholars, a work the casual announcement of which has already whetted the appetites of not a few antiquarians. leaving this interesting period for the second i have mentioned, we reach the coming to ontario of the united empire loyalists. these form the basis of our population and still give color to our political thought and form and fashion to our institutions. in this period we have published two volumes, one of about 1,500 pages, being the manuscript of evidence laid before a royal commission reporting on the claims for compensation for losses suffered by the united empire loyalists, a document now out of print and much sought for. the other volume consists of the minutes of the land board of the western district of ontario, bordering on lake erie and the detroit river, containing particulars of grants of land before 1792, schedules, regulations, description lists of grantees, and surveys, and a mass of data connected with indian rights and the settlement of land generally. it has been of value in land-title lawsuits, etc., and extends to more than 500 pages. combining this period with the succeeding one, we have collected the proclamations by the crown from 1763 to 1840 and issued them in a volume, the necessity of which has been felt, as may be understood when it is stated that no such collection had ever been made before, though these proclamations are of public use in an endless variety of business. under our third division the narrower political history of our province begins, the introduction of constitutional government--the work of the legislature, some of whose early records are lost, the outbreak of the war of 1812, the progress of settlement, and the development of municipal and commercial institutions, the restiveness leading to the rising of 1837, and the concessions made to responsible government. here a great deal of archival work has been already accomplished. the journals of the proceedings of the legislature of upper canada from 1792 to 1818, so far as we have been able to find them, have been published and the series will be issued to the year 1824, from which year printed copies are in existence. the journals of the legislative council concurrent with those of the legislative assembly down to 1816 have also been published, and one volume in each series, now in the press, will complete the work. these journals are simply indispensable, being the original evidence of all our legislation. our constitutional development and the history of our legislature can not be studied or understood without them. i may be pardoned should i refer particularly to one of many interesting questions dealt with in the closing years of the eighteenth century as shown in these journals. the legislative assembly, following the rule of the imperial house of commons, claimed the power of the purse, and objected to their supply bill being amended by the legislative council or upper house. a deadlock ensued; neither side would budge from its position; a conference of both houses was held and the assembly won on the understanding that the question would be referred to the law officers of the crown in britain for future guidance. this was accordingly done and the right claimed by the assembly or lower house was conceded to it. thus was solved amicably for canada at the small hamlet of newark, on the banks of the niagara, a constitutional principle which recently shook the united kingdom and produced a serious and radical constitutional crisis, in which once more the commons vindicated their supremacy in questions of national finance. the records of the first court of common pleas for upper canada, with valuable annotations and historical notes, are being prepared for the press. in this division we have in hand among other things the preparation of a domesday book for the province. our plan, which has made substantial progress, is to cover all our settlement of crown lands from 1783 to 1900 by townships, giving each grantee a description, and, for the purpose of reference, a number. succeeding volumes will furnish memoirs, notes, and statistical data of a special character bearing on the grantees and on their settlements. in this connection we are collecting and rapidly accumulating local material which will be drawn upon for this work. this i consider one of the biggest undertakings planned by the bureau, which occupy much time to bring it to completion, but when completed will be a work of reference of permanent use to our historical investigators. we are also collecting papers and documents pertaining to the political history of ontario that ought to be preserved in permanent form, which will be issued in a series of four consecutive volumes. these have been planned on lines that will bring their usefulness directly to the growing class of students of our provincial history. lately a genealogical branch has been included in our program and steps are being taken to obtain by legislation a change of official forms so as to help in the collecting of data. the work will be conducted on the basis of the county unit, with correspondents engaged under the direction of the bureau. while effort has been directed on these lines, i have paid more attention to the collecting of much neglected material throughout the province--in the hands of private individuals, public bodies, or local officials, rather than to the exact and adequate classification and indexing of outside material as it is being received. the province has been so long entirely neglected that when i undertook to organize the department i decided that the most valuable service i could render to the public was to acquire, to collect, and safely preserve whatever material i could find, believing the day would soon come when the value of such material would be fully realized and the necessary office assistance provided to enable me to make the accumulated archives conveniently accessible to the public. transcriber's notes:p. 355 "the lieutanant governor in council." changed to "the lieutenant governor in council." original spelling and punctuation retained. [illustration] the court houses --of a-century. 1800-1900. [illustration: house of lieut. james munro, erected 1798, lot 14, con. 5, charlotteville--used as court house, london district, 1800-1802. (_reproduced by permission of the ontario historical society and william briggs, publisher._)] [illustration] the court houses --of a-century. a brief historical sketch of the court houses of the london district, the county of middlesex and county of elgin. compiled by kenneth w. mckay, county clerk. published by the elgin county council. with introduction by james h. coyne, b. a. the times printing company of st. thomas, limited. 1901. contents. page. 1. introduction. by j. h. coyne, b. a. 1 2. the munro house, 1800-1802 5 3. the turkey point court house 6 4. the vittoria court house, 1815-1826 7 5. the london court houses, 1826-1853 7 6. the elgin court houses, 1853-1900 9 7. statistics--population, number of houses, etc. 27 8. plan of court house 28 illustrations. 1. frontispiece. the munro house 2. the london court house 8 3. warden locker, 1852-1855 10 4. the elgin court house, 1860 11 5. d. j. hughes, esq., county judge, 1853 12 6. the elgin court house before the fire 13 7. court room after the fire 14 8. wardens 1898-1899, chairman building committee, architect and contractor 16 9. new court house 17 10. d. j. hughes, esq., county judge, 1899 18 11. court room 19 12. library 20 13. county council chamber 21 14. county clerk's office 22 15. stained glass window, main stairway 23 16. court house, east side, showing jail entrance 24 17. gaol yard 25 18. a gaol ward 26 19. plan of building 28 references. district and county records. oxford gazetteer, by shenston. u. e. l. settlement at long point, by tasker. _"in any age it is a duty which every country owes to itself, to preserve the records of the past and to honor the men and women whose lives and deeds made possible its present, and to-day when the whole civilized world is throbbing to social and political impulses of the greatest significance for the future, we ought especially to call to mind such lives and deeds and catch, if we can, inspiration for acting well the part that falls to each of us."_ introduction. the passing century. the wonderful century is before the bar of history. its record shows everywhere progress, consolidation, expansion, improvement. civilization has spread, barbarism has given away. labor has been restored to its honorable station, and idleness is accounted dishonor. privilege has been curtailed, liberty has widened its borders. slavery has almost disappeared from the earth. the beneficent forces are stronger. the comforts and conveniences of life are increased and more evenly distributed. disease and pain have been brought under control. life has been made more interesting. travel is easier and cheaper, and mankind has become acquainted with the world it inhabits. the stars have been discovered. they have been weighed and analysed. the human mind has expanded with wider knowledge. the railway, electricity and the postal union have gone far to blend the nations into one. every day, all round the globe, men read the same news, think the same thoughts, are thrilled with the same tidings of heroism or suffering. human sympathy is broadened and deepened. mankind is more homogeneous in spirit. statecraft, literature, society, have become democratic and cosmopolitan. the spirit of union dominates the century. the forces of disunion and disintegration are everywhere routed. mutual benevolence is organized for greater effectiveness. universal education, equality of rights and responsibilities, are principles of government. religion, emphasizing points of agreement and ignoring points of difference, manifests itself in its works as never before. the century spans the years from copenhagen to paardeburg, from nelson and napoleon to roberts and kruger. as the battle of copenhagen established the naval supremacy of britain, so paardeburg welded the empire, one and inseparable. in 1800 the principle of a united empire was represented by the loyalists of upper canada standing almost alone. in 1900, borne by their descendants to the distant plains of south africa, it reached its full fruition in the final charge by the canadians under otter, on the banks of the modder river. the principle includes the realization of all that the century stands for--union, equal rights, progress, justice, humanity. it is my task to say a brief foreword on the progress of canada and especially the county of elgin. the beginning of the century found ontario almost an unbroken wilderness. rare and scanty were the clearings here and there along lakes erie and ontario, and on the great rivers. the winter express from detroit to york or niagara, made its way along the lonely forest path. at long intervals only did he perceive the smoke rising in the crisp air, from the hospitable and welcome cabin. the frightened deer bounded across his path into the deeper woods. the bear hybernated in the hollow tree. the long howling of the wolves broke on the midnight air. the lynx and panther crouched among the branches, ready to spring on the unwary traveller. the only sign of human life was the indian hunter following the trail of the turkey or wild beast. it was in the first year of the century that a young man of twenty-nine, giving up brilliant prospects in the army, and turning his back on society, found his way to the township of yarmouth and began a clearing at or near port stanley. with royal dukes for his advocates, he applied to the imperial authorities for a large grant of land to form a settlement. two years later he succeeded. yarmouth had been appropriated to others, and colonel thomas talbot began his actual settlement in dunwich. in the middle of the century, or more accurately in the year 1853, he died. in the same year the separation of elgin from middlesex was completed, and colonel talbot's "capital," st. thomas, was made the county town. nearly another half century has passed since then, and it includes the history of the county of elgin as a separate municipality. the death of the eccentric founder of the settlement divides nearly equally the history of the county from the time when its only inhabitants were the bear, wolf and panther, to the end of the century, which finds the county well cleared and cultivated throughout its entire extent; intersected by splendid highways, including the lines of five railway companies; peopled with a numerous and enterprising community, god-fearing and law-abiding, industrious and prosperous. the thriving city of st. thomas, the enterprising and flourishing town of aylmer, and numerous promising villages, advancing with rapid strides in magnitude and importance, form centres of population, where a century ago the primeval silence was unbroken, save by the footfall of the mississaga ranging the woods in pursuit of game. it was during the first decades of the century that the pioneers came. from them the present population is largely sprung. dunwich was the first to be settled. a few immigrants from the eastern states settled near port talbot. then the overflow of settlement from long point made itself felt in southwold, yarmouth, malahide and bayham. before 1820 the highland settlements began in aldborough and dunwich. the wanderings of the kildonan settlers from hudson's bay to red river, and thence eastward to upper canada and southward, to the settlements on lake erie, add a tragic episode to the story of the pioneers of west elgin. their hardships, sufferings and heroism can never be forgotten. much later came the settlement of south dorchester. these were the men who felled the forest, let the sunlight into the wilderness, drained the swamps, cleared and fenced the bush, made the roads and bridged the fords, "drave out the beasts," and established schools and churches. they were the sifted grain of canadian immigration. for the colonel was determined to have none but the loyal, industrious and enterprising, and was discriminating in the choice of settlers for this county, among the numerous applicants for land. such were the pioneers of elgin. we inherit the fruits of their strenuous toil and struggle. it was they who, with dauntless courage and unfaltering determination, braved all hardships, the loneliness, the privations, the sufferings of pioneer life, that we might enjoy the harvest of their labors. they slept on the bare ground in the forest shanty, and hewed with mighty toil the log huts, that their sons might live in framed houses, and their grandchildren in houses of brick furnished with the appliances of modern civilization. they sowed and we reap. in the old churchyards at tyrconnel, new glasgow, st. thomas, and elsewhere near the lake shore, they rest well after their labors. the mouldered headboards have given way to the marble slab or stately monument, that records their brief history--that they lived and died. their true and imperishable monument is the manhood and womanhood of elgin, the beautiful farms and homes, the noble institutions of religion and education. their names will be forever honored among the founders of the canadian nation, and after a thousand years men will be proud to count their descent from the pioneers of elgin. the public buildings of a community are a fair index of the character of the people. in this view, the completion of the new court house is an event, and its evolution, as recorded in this volume, is a study of historical and sociological value. the new building is admirably adapted to the purposes for which it is intended. it is up-to-date in every particular. visitors from other parts pronounce it, as its predecessor was pronounced when first erected, one of the handsomest and most commodious public buildings in the province. the architect and contractors have done their part well; but the credit is mainly and beyond all due to the public spirit of the people of elgin, who were resolved that nothing short of best would satisfy them, and who were willing to be taxed to a reasonable extent upon the sole condition that the building should be well and honestly built, be a credit to the county and answer its purpose. doubtless before another century rolls round, the increase of population and wealth may call for an enlarged building, but it is certain that no changes in architectural science will produce one that will better reflect the intelligence and enterprise, the wealth and the culture of the people, than the beautiful and commodious structure, which is to-day the pride and the boast of the citizens of this county. james h. coyne. the court houses of a century. the history of the court houses of ontario is closely associated with the development of the province. the first recognition of population in south western ontario was the formation in 1788, of the district of hesse and the appointment of justices of the court of common pleas, and other officials. the only inhabitants were in the french settlements around detroit, where the barracks and government house were located. in 1792 upper canada, now ontario, was divided into nineteen counties, norfolk, suffolk, essex and kent occupying nearly the same territory as the district of hesse. representatives to the provincial parliament were elected and, at the first session convened at niagara in september, 1792, an act was passed for building a gaol and court house in every district, and for altering the names of the districts. hesse was hereafter called the western district, and the court house and gaol was ordered to be built at detroit. the courts were held there until the evacuation of detroit by the british in 1795, after which they were held in the parish of assumption, now sandwich. d. w. smith, in his gazetteer of 1799, states: "that there is a good gaol and court house," in sandwich, "situated a little below the fort of detroit, on the east side of the river." the munro house, 1800-1802. the u. e. loyalists settlement of norfolk commenced in 1793, and in 1798 the rapid increase in population was recognized by a division of the western district and the formation of three counties, norfolk, oxford and middlesex to be known as the london district. this was organized by the appointment of a general commission of the peace and the necessary officials. the first meeting of the resident magistrates was held in the house of lieutenant james munro, of charlotteville, on 1st april, 1800, for the purpose of carrying the commission into execution, and the first general quarter sessions of the peace for the district was ordered to be holden at the same place on tuesday, the 8th day of april, 1800. the munro house above referred to, was built in 1796, on lot 14 in the 5th concession of charlotteville. it was the best house which had been erected up to that time, and stands to-day as an old land mark, about a half mile back from the road running straight west from vittoria. it is a two story frame house of considerable size. the frame was made of hewn timber, with bents four feet apart, strengthened by tie girths, morticed and tendoned--a marvel of axeman's skill. the planks for the floor and sheeting were cut out by the whip saw. the original roof is on the building at the present time. the shingles are of cedar, rudely whittled by the draw knife, and show in places an original thickness of over an inch. a temporary jail was erected near the house, a log building fourteen feet by twenty-five feet, divided into two rooms--one for the debtors and the other for those charged with criminal offences. this building was erected during the winter of 1800 by day labor, and was used for nearly a year. the courts were held here until 1802, when they were removed to turkey point or fort norfolk under the authority of an act passed in the year 1801. turkey point, 1802-1812. the courts at turkey point were first held in the public house of job loder. in 1803 the contract for a court house was awarded. it was to be a frame building forty feet in length by twenty-six feet in width, to be two stories high, the first or lower story to be ten feet between floor and ceiling, and the second or upper story to be eight feet high. the original specifications were as follows: "the building to be erected on a foundation of white oak timber squared, the same to be sound and of sufficient thickness, the building to be shingled and to have two sufficient floors, an entry eight feet wide to be made from the front door across one end of the lower story, from which winding stairs are to be erected to ascend to the second story; two rooms are to be partitioned off in the second or upper story for juries. nine windows are to be made in front and ten in rear, of twenty-four lights each, seven by three. the front door to be made of inch and a half plank, six panel, and to have a good sufficient lock and key. two windows are to be finished in the first story opposite each other, so as to afford sufficient light to the bar, besides two windows of fifteen lights each behind the judge or chairman's seat. the rest of the windows are to be cased and nailed up for the present. the bar, table, justices' seat, benches for the bar and a table for each jury room, and benches for the same are to be finished; the three inside doors to be temporary; a seat and writing table for clerk, to be made between the bench and the bar. note--the house to be raised, shingled, weather-boarded and floored, and the bench for the judge and justices, judge or chairman's writing desk, clerk's seat and table, the bar and table and benches therefor, the four windows below and two above to be finished, the rest of the windows cased and nailed up. the front door to be finished, and the other three temporary doors to be made and hung. comprehends the present contract proposed by the court to be performed by the next assizes for this district." courts were held in this building commencing in the year 1804 until it was appropriated for the use of prisoners during the war of 1812. the vittoria court house, 1815-1826. in 1815 an act was passed which provided that the courts of general quarter sessions for the district of london should be held at charlotteville. the magistrates were ordered to make a choice of the most convenient place, and a meeting was accordingly held at the house of thomas finch on the 13th june, 1815. john backhouse, thomas talbot and robert finch were appointed commissioners to superintend the building, and a brick court house and gaol was erected at vittoria at an expense of â£9,000. during the erection of the building, courts were held in the houses of thomas finch, francis beaupre and mathias steel. the first meeting of the sessions was held in the new court house on 8th april, 1817, and it was used until 1826, when it was partially destroyed by fire. the london court houses, 1826-1853. an act was then passed to establish a district town in a more central place, and courts were ordered to be held in some part of the reservation made for the site of a town near the forks of the river thames. this was at london where four acres were set apart for the purposes of the jail and court house. the commissioners appointed for the purpose of erecting the building, thomas talbot, mahlon burwell, james hamilton, charles ingersoll and john matthews, held their first meeting in st. thomas. during the erection of the court house at london, courts were held in a private house at vittoria, and afterwards at st. thomas. dr. c. hodgins, in his history of education of upper canada, states that on one occasion the court of king's bench, with judge sherwood presiding and the late sir john beverley robinson in attendance as king's attorney, was held in an upper room of a building used by mr. stephen randal as a grammar school. this building was afterwards removed to the school lot near the present residence of judge ermatinger, and was known as the "talbot seminary." [illustration: the london court house. _from "illustrated london," copyrighted. by permission london printing and lithographing co. (limited.)_] the first court house in london was constructed of flat logs, and on the ground floor was a log partition to separate the jail from the jailer's room. the court room above was reached by stairs outside. this was followed by the erection of a two story frame building upon the same square where the present court house stands, but closer to the street. in one end of the first floor were placed two cells, which were rendered more secure by being surrounded with logs, from which the building acquired the distinctive title of "the old log court house." courts were first held there in 1828. in 1838 a new jail was proposed, and in the years 1843 and 1844 the present jail and court house in london was completed at a cost of â£8,500. the latter resembles the castle of malahide near dublin, the birth place of col. talbot. the elgin court house, 1853-1898. the county of elgin was established by an act of the legislature passed in august, 1851, and formed a union with middlesex until county buildings were erected. the provisional county council held its first meeting in the town hall, st. thomas, on april 15th, 1852. the first business was to erect a jail and court house. offers of building sites were received from messrs. curtis and lawrence and benjamin drake. the curtis sites were north of talbot street and west of east street. the lawrence site, two acres, included the lot on which the post office now stands. the drake site appears to have been considered suitable before the county was formed as a deed from benjamin drake to queen victoria, dated the 25th of october, 1848, and registered the 30th of october, 1851, conveys the jail and court house block to her majesty for public buildings for county and district purposes only. a resolution of the county council shows that the final acceptance of this site depended on obtaining water at fifteen feet, failing this a new site was to be chosen. the location for the building on lot selected was next considered. petitions to front the buildings on stanley street were presented, but they were ordered to face north so as to stand parallel with the talbot road in front of queen street. plans were received from architects thomas and tully, of toronto, and john turner of brantford. the plans submitted by mr. turner were the same as for the court house at brantford, which he was building. these were adopted with some changes suggested by other plans before the council. the contract was awarded to garner ellwood for â£4,580, on the 19th june, 1852. the jail, jailor's house, etc., to be completed by the 15th september following, and the court house on the 1st august, 1853. the building committee consisted of the whole council, of which messrs. clark and locker of malahide, ganson of yarmouth, skinner of bayham, munro of southwold and parish of st. thomas, were the most active. thomas cheeseman was the architect's superintendent in charge of the work. [illustration: warden locker, 1852-1855] the jail was not completed until the spring of 1853, and on the 23rd of march mr. ellwood gave up the contract, â£2,764 having been expended. the warden was then authorized to proceed with the work which, with the exception of minor contracts, was completed by day labor, with thomas fraser, builder, of london, as superintendent. the gaol as at first erected was not satisfactory, the plan being defective. this increased the cost and when the buildings were completed and furnished in 1854, the total expenditure was â£11,405. mr. ellwood in tendering for the buildings was guided by the figures supplied by architect turner who was then erecting a court house at brantford. in a subsequent report to the council mr. turner states that in the erection of the brantford building he ruined himself, and that he could not have erected the elgin buildings at a less price than they cost the county. a special committee reported on completion of the work: "that after taking into consideration the advance in price of material and labor--that the buildings have been erected in as judicious and economical a manner as the circumstances would admit, and that the beautiful workmanship and design is not surpassed by any building in canada west." [illustration: the elgin courthouse, 1860.] the royal arms rampant, which is very much admired, on the front of the court house, is in size twelve feet by six feet, and cost â£93. they were supplied by messrs. cochranes and pollock of toronto, from a sketch drawn by mr. john m. walthew who also painted the picture placed in the court room, the beauty of which the council acknowledged by special resolution in january 1855. sculptured faces were placed in the east and west gables of the building. that in the west resembles lord elgin, after whom the county was named, and the other may be architect turner but at present no one seems to know definitely who they were intended to represent. in 1853 the town hall of the village of st. thomas was secured for court purposes on condition that any fittings, etc., required were to be supplied by the county, and left in the building when court house was completed. plans of the new buildings and of the town hall were submitted to the statutory commissioners, and approved of as suitable for court purposes. on the 30th of september, 1852, a proclamation was published in the official gazette, dissolving the union of elgin and middlesex. [illustration: d. j. hughes, esq., county judge, 1853.] the officers appointed were: judge, david john hughes. sheriff, colin munro. registrar, john mckay. clerk of peace, james farley. clerk of the court, peter murtagh. jailor, john king. county clerk. william mckay. county treasurer, william coyne. county engineer, charles fraser. during november, 1853, the offices of the sheriff, clerk of the peace and clerk of the county court were located in one room in the apartments erected for the jailor. on the 15th of november, 1853, the first court of quarter sessions of the county of elgin opened at st. thomas in the town hall, david john hughes, county judge, presiding. in opening the court, the judge delivered the following address to the grand jury: gentlemen of the grand jury.---"it is usual for the presiding justice at our criminal courts to address to grand inquests, remarks upon the duties which have to be discharged by them. this being the first time we have met together in our relative capacities, i think the occasion a becoming one for congratulating you and the inhabitants of this fine county in general, in being now separated from the senior county for the transaction of all the judicial, municipal and other business of our inhabitants. [illustration: the elgin court house before the fire.] anyone who has lived in what was the london district for twenty years, and who will look back upon the time when, with little better than a mere track to guide or assist them, most of the settlers were obliged to travel the primeval forests to distances of fifty or sixty miles to attend courts, and for other purposes in the way of business, and who now have public offices almost brought within reach of their own doors, cannot but feel thankful that a gracious providence has favored the country and its inhabitants with such prosperity--a prosperity which is still on the increase, at a rate surpassing the expectations of the most sanguine. if we look beyond the limits of our own county and view the province at large, we see progress and prosperity, peace, contentment and general happiness surrounding us. we find the minds of the people progressing too, for with a bountiful provision for schools and a well ordered system, the rising generation are enabled, and doubtless will keep pace with their monetary prosperity. the encouragement that agriculture has met with in an increased demand for the staple produce of the county, and remunerative prices will call for an improved system of tilling the fields. the encouragement given to manufactures by the increased consumption, justifies enterprise in an increase of fabrics; and all these call forth the necessary supply of improved and cultivated minds--so that enquiry is awakened, and the benefit of our schools and colleges is every year becoming more and more appreciated and will be so much better attended and encouraged, that they will themselves improve in their standard and tone, so that canada in one or two generations will equal, if not successfully rival, parts of the world which are now considered amongst the freest and most contented. [illustration: court room after the fire.] we enjoy a liberty in our civil and religious affairs which admits not only of a freedom of thought, but action. we can watch our very rulers, and have the means in our hands of curbing usurpation of power or infringements of rights by the privilege we can exercise of approving or disapproving of the advisers of the crown. we can worship the almighty in our own way; no one venturing to disturb or make us afraid. we can educate our children almost entirely at the public expense, and place them within reach of the highest honors that their talents entitle them to, or that the country can bestow. the time has gone by for those honors to belong only to a class; or when promising aspirants can be successfully frowned upon by those who fancy that they hold a prescriptive right to them; and the time has arrived for men not to be judged by the occupations they are day by day employed in, but by the integrity of their purposes, the cultivation of their minds, the uprightness of their characters, and their successfulness in accomplishing some good for themselves and their fellow-men. in entering upon the duties of the office i fill, i must confess my misgivings as to the ability to discharge them aright. they are onerous, responsible, and will be at times arduous and disagreeable. i depend upon the forbearance of those with whom i shall be brought in contact, and claim their assistance and advice when necessity shall suggest it. i desire to see the great body of the people, whose business or affairs shall be brought under my judicial notice, satisfied that justice and right are aimed at, however, i may fall short in administering them, and in my magisterial capacity i rely upon the aid of my brother magistrates to further these motives; for i doubt not that by mutually according to one another, integrity of purpose, (as i shall at times desire to attribute to them) we shall be able to accomplish much good in the way of checking vice and setting a good example to the several neighborhoods we respectively inhabit. the county buildings are not yet quite completed, but i am informed that before the next sessions, the court may be held in them; and when finished i am satisfied they will not be surpassed in beauty, convenience and comfort by any in the province." the first court of quarter sessions was held in the court house, on the 5th of january, 1854, and on the 11th of april, in the same year, hon. justice draper opened the first court of assize. col. john prince, q. c., one of the lawyers in attendance at this court, complimented the county on the magnificence of the court house, which, he said, was unsurpassed by any court house in the province. on june 7th, 1854, all of the offices in the court house were occupied, and the building completed, with the exception of some painting and the erection of the royal arms. the county buildings remained the same until the gaol was rebuilt, and wall erected in 1872. this was followed by a new registry office in 1874, and a gaoler's residence in 1889-1891. on the 1st of july, 1898, a fire occurred at midnight, destroying the roof and upper portion of the court house, the whole building being damaged by water. [illustration: daniel lang. warden, 1898.] [illustration: oscar mckenney. warden, 1898.] [illustration: archibald j. leitch. chairman building committee. 1898-1899.] [illustration: neil r. darrach. architect.] [illustration: robert carroll. contractor.] the elgin court house, 1898-1900. [illustration: the new court house.] the first meeting of the county council, after the burning of the court house, was held in the grand central hotel, st. thomas, on july 8th. the insurance appraisers' award fixing the amount of damage at $5,509, was then presented. mr. j. m. green, contractor, was valuator on behalf of the county. the county officials were consulted in reference to temporary accommodation, and the clerk was authorized to rent offices from mr. charles spohn, on the south-west corner of william and talbot streets. a special building committee was appointed, with power to employ an architect, visit other court houses, to have plans prepared, and report. the committee, consisting of messrs. a. j. leitch, s. b. morris, d. turner, r. locker, d. f. moore. w. b. cole and warden lang, accompanied by n. r. darrach, architect, and j. a. bell, county engineer, proceeded to brantford, to examine the county buildings, which had recently been enlarged. instructions were given to prepare plans to include enlargement of building and re-modelling jail and jailer's residence and kitchen. the county council met on the 27th of july, to receive report presented by architect darrach, who estimated the cost of plans submitted at about $33,000. opposition was offered by some members of the council, who were desirous of limiting the cost of building to $20,000, but the architect's plans were adopted. a by-law was passed appointing a special building committee, and authorizing the warden to sign contracts. the architect's fee was fixed at $1,200 for the whole work. tenders were received, and as all of them exceeded the architect's estimate, a special meeting of the council was called for the 8th of september, to consider the matter. at this session the building committee reported in favor of the adoption of the following tenders: j. h. mcknight & co., toronto, for the whole work, with the exception of the electric wiring, iron work and plumbing. $33,990 00 r. a. l. grey, toronto, electric wiring 346 00 stacey & co., st. thomas, iron work 1,231 42 c. t. bull, st. thomas, plumbing 1,047 00 [illustration: d. j. hughes, esq., county judge, 1899.] this report was adopted and contracts signed by all with the exception of mr. bull. mr. a. j. leitch, chairman of the building committee, was appointed to inspect the work as it progressed, and issue orders for payment in accordance with the architect's estimates. tenders for heating and plumbing were received in january, 1899, and contracts awarded--the heating to joseph harrison for $3,146, and the plumbing to keith & fitzsimmons, toronto, for $1,125. the building committee next considered the question of furnishing, and for the purpose of securing information, visited the court houses in stratford and woodstock, and in march, 1899, tenders were received and the following contracts awarded: j. acheson, st. thomas, hardware $400 00 mcdonald & wilson, toronto, gas fixtures 645 00 the preston office & school furniture company, for special work 2,995 00 and for furniture, desks, etc 556 80 the office specialty company, toronto, for letter press, stands, vault fittings, etc 892 50 [illustration: court room.] carpets and window blinds were procured from j. b. kay, son & co., toronto, and rubber matting for the stairs from the gutta percha & rubber co., two clocks for the court room and council chamber, from w. r. jackson. stained glass windows with appropriate designs were ordered from n. t. lyons, toronto, for the main stairway, one contains a picture of the old and new buildings; the other, the names of the county council for the years 1898 and 1899. stone walks around the building and through the grounds were put down by the silica barytic stone company, of ingersoll, at the cost of $579.02. the work of grading the grounds was completed under superintendence of w. irving. opening proceedings. the court house was formally opened on wednesday, the 13th day of december, 1899, the occasion being the first day of the court of general sessions of the peace, and of the county court. the proceedings commenced at 2.40 p. m. judge hughes presided, and on his right was junior judge ermatinger, and on his left sheriff brown. judge hughes explained that he had invited rev. canon hill and vicar-general bayard to be present, to assist in the opening proceedings, but they had other engagements and could not attend. there were present revs. d. r. drummond, prof. t. l. fowler, of the disciples college, and rev. r. i. warner, principal of alma college. [illustration: library.] rev. d. r. drummond opened the proceedings with prayer, rev. prof. fowler read the scriptures, and rev. prof. warner led in prayer. mr. oscar mckenney, warden of elgin county, read the following address to judge hughes, on behalf of the county council: "before proceeding with the business of the county court and general sessions of the peace, the county council desire to congratulate your honor on your good health and physical and mental vigor, which is remarkable when we consider that you have occupied your present position for over forty-six years. you had the honor of presiding at the first court held in the old buildings in 1854, and have since done much to assist in the development of the county. you have witnessed many changes and can refer to many pleasant experiences which are the accompaniment of a long and useful life. the court house which we hereby formally hand over to you for court purposes, is representative of our idea of the advancement made by a wealthy and prosperous community during the past half a century. we hope you may enjoy continued good health, and that the remainder of your life may be pleasant and a restful recompense for many busy years. the members of the council will make a few remarks as they feel it is difficult in a brief address to refer to all the circumstances that have brought us together to-day." [illustration: county council chamber.] [illustration: county clerk's office.] councillor frank hunt delivered the oration of the day on behalf of the county council. he spoke as follows: "this is an important occasion. important because it makes a page in the history of the county. it establishes a milestone marking the progress of a people who first planted civilization in this county a century ago. the burning of the old court house necessitated the building of a new one, and this gave the present council the opportunity to erect a building characteristic of the people, and of the arts and sciences of this particular period. the old court house was emblematic of the pioneers of this county. it exhibited wisdom, strength and beauty. as much as i admire the new structure i am glad the front of the old court house is preserved, and will hand down to future ages in its grecian columns and pilasters, the artistic taste of the pioneers who could spare from the rewards of unceasing toil money to erect a court house that bore the impress of the best art of their time. the excellence and thoroughness of the structure attest the true worth and integrity of the pioneers of the county of elgin. i cannot but think, when considering the population and wealth of the county fifty years ago with that of to-day, that in the erection of the new court house we have spent less for artistic effect than did the pioneers. modern requirements for the comforts of those attending courts, or on official business, entailed a large expense, which was not considered in the erection of buildings fifty years ago. the provision made for women during a forced attendance at court shows how far we have advanced on one particular line. it is a grand building of the utilitarian type, and erected on such lines that great beauty may be discovered by a casual glance. i want to say a word in praise of the architect who designed the building and supervised its erection to the satisfaction of the building committee. the epitaph in st. paul's cathedral says: "if you would know the genius of christopher wren, look around you." i will say, also, and it is all that is necessary, if you would know the genius of mr. darrach, look around you and see that he is master of his art. new occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth, we must upward still and onward, who would reach the realms of truth. [illustration: art, national or individual, is the result of a long course of previous life and training; a necessary result, if that life has been loyal, and an impossible one, if it has been base.--_ruskin._ window, main stairway. in its important examples, all municipal art should be at once a decoration and a commemoration--it must beautify and should celebrate; thus becoming a double stimulus, first to the aesthetic sense, second to the sense of patriotism.--_blashfield._] i cannot close without reference to his honor judge hughes and his long judicial career in the county of elgin. he opened the old court house forty-six years ago; he has been spared to open the new. in the first courts he grasped by the hand the men who planted civilization on the shores of lake erie. he has lived to grasp by the hand their children and grand-children. he came here in his early years, a type of that manhood which comes from the chisel of pericles, and the great masters of the grecian school. he has seen the county a wilderness, he now sees it populous and wealthy, inhabited by a people educated, industrious; a people who love god and keep his commandments. [illustration: court house, east side, showing gaol entrance.] he has left his impress on his county and its people, and can it not be said that it has been for the good of society, for the happiness and advancement of the people? his legal knowledge, and his great ability is known throughout the province. his untiring industry has been proverbial. he has administered the law with fairness, and tempered justice with mercy. it is not contended that he was or is faultless. who thinketh a faultless man to see? thinks what ne'er was and ne'er shall be. it is the desire of the council that his learning and great abilities may long be spared to his fellow-citizens, and that an old age serene and bright, lovely as a lapland night, shall lead thee to the grave." county councillor j. h. yarwood voiced the sentiments of mr. hunt, and extended the congratulations of the county to the judge for the manner in which he had administered the affairs of the county, and hoped he would be spared for many years. county councillors s. b. morris, w. o. pollock, d. lang, w. m. ford, e. mckellar, mahlon lyon, d. moore and a. j. leitch also delivered addresses of congratulation. [illustration: gaol yard.] judge hughes thanked the county council for the privilege of opening the new court house. the county building was a testimonial to the advancement of the county council. he had to acknowledge with thanks the many kind things said of him personally, and of the way he had administered justice in the county. the building is an index, not only of enterprise and good taste, but also of conception for the convenience of those who had to attend the county buildings to do business. the mistake with the old building was that architect turner had his plans interfered with, and all the rooms, except the court room, were but half the size intended. he concurred in all that had been said of the architect. the contractors, too, had performed their work well. the court house was a manifestation of the progress of municipal institutions. he had found the county council always ready to encourage education and grammar schools, and this building was a monument to their honor. the county court was then opened by court crier hopkins, when mr. john crawford, of aylmer, on behalf of the bar of elgin, extended to judge hughes their congratulations upon the long term he had served on the bench, and upon his distinguished services during that time. the members of the bar were in hearty sympathy with and heartily endorsed the remarks made by the members of the county council. the members of the bar hoped the judge might be long spared to occupy the high position which he did. judge hughes said he could only express his high appreciation of the kind things said of him. it was an honor for a man to act as judge where there was such a bar as in the county of elgin. he concluded by thanking mr. crawford and the other members for their kind remarks. [illustration: f. hunt, j. p., holding court in a gaol ward, after the fire.] in the evening the judge entertained the members of the bar and the municipal and judicial officers of the county of elgin at a banquet in honor of the occasion of the re-opening of the court house and the 46th anniversary of his appointment. this was held at the grand central hotel. all the work connected with the court house improvements was completed in the spring of 1900. the final report of the building committee was not, however presented until the 23rd of november. the total cost was $50,954.72, and of this amount the city of st. thomas contributed $12,178.17. the excellent service rendered to the county by architect darrach was recognized by the presentation of an address, suitably engrossed, expressing the councils appreciation of his efforts. the report also directed attention to the satisfactory manner in which messrs. mcknight & co., the principal contractors, who were represented by the senior member of the firm, mr. r. carroll, had completed their work. after the adoption of the report a resolution was passed tendering the thanks of the council to a. j. leitch, esq., for his services as chairman of the building committee. _statistics._ county || population. | of elgin. || 1817 | 1841 | 1851 | 1861 | 1871 | 1881 | 1891 | -------------++------+------+------+------+------+------+------+ aldborough || 400| 733| 1,226| 2,325| 3,500| 4,718| 5,299| || | | | | | | | bayham || | 2,108| 5,092| 5,141| 4,895| 4,689| 3,856| || | | | | | | | dunwich || 500| 633| 1,948| 2,888| 3,731| 4,290| 3,663| || | | | | | | | dorchester || | 635| 1,477| 2,204| 2,071| 1,844| 1,624| || | | | | | | | malahide || 775| 2,218| 4,050| 5,320| 5,554| 4,415| 3,851| || | | | | | | | southwold || 900| 2,563| 5,063| 5,467| 5,559| 5,206| 4,766| || | | | | | | | yarmouth || 400| 3,664| 5,288| 6,166| 5,563| 5,575| 5,471| || | | | | | | | st. thomas || | | 1,274| 1,631| 2,197| 8,367|10,370| || | | | | | | | vienna || | | | | 590| 528| 398| || | | | | | | | port stanley || | | | | | 674| 616| || | | | | | | | aylmer || | | | | | 1,540| 2,167| || | | | | | | | springfield || | | | | | 555| 463| || | | | | | | | dutton || | | | | | | 838| -------------++------+------+------+------+------+------+------+ totals ||2,975 |12,554|25,418|31,142|33,660|42,401|43,382| -------------++------+------+------+------+------+------+------+ county || number of houses. |schools.| of elgin. || 1817 | 1841 | 1851 | 1861 | 1871 | 1881 | 1891 | 1817 | -------------++------+------+------+------+------+------+------+--------+ aldborough || 90| 13| 189| 311| 630| 880| 1,064| 1 | || | | | | | | | | bayham || 60| 133| 732| 887| 955| 978| 882| 2 | || | | | | | | | | dunwich || 100| 45| 316| 450| 673| 820| 744| 1 | || | | | | | | | | dorchester || | 10| 238| 345| 378| 423| 341| | || | | | | | | | | malahide || 150| 125| 692| 726| 1,104| 956| 887| 2 | || | | | | | | | | southwold || 180| 175| 800| 579| 993| 998| 973| 3 | || | | | | | | | | yarmouth || 75| 299| 881| 1,128| 1,067| 1,161| 1,150| 2 | || | | | | | | | | st. thomas || | | 226| 390| 417| 1,634| 2,205| | || | | | | | | | | vienna || | | | | 103| 105| 99| | || | | | | | | | | port stanley || | | | | | 139| 128| | || | | | | | | | | aylmer || | | | | | 330| 521| | || | | | | | | | | springfield || | | | | | 130| 123| | || | | | | | | | | dutton || | | | | | | 167| | -------------++------+------+------+------+------+------+------+--------+ totals || 655| 800| 4,074| 4,816| 6,320| 8,554| 9,284| 11 | -------------++------+------+------+------+------+------+------+--------+ the statistics of 1817 are taken from robt. gourlay's book. for other years official census reports were referred to. plan of the court house. ground floor. no. by whom occupied. 1-2. county attorney and clerk of the peace. 3-4-5. county court clerk. the vault was formerly used as an office by county court clerk and junior judge. 6. inspector of public schools. formerly occupied with vault adjoining by clerk of the peace. 7. junior judge's office. formerly occupied: (1) county treasurer's office. (2) law library. (3) jailer. (4) county engineer. 8. county treasurer's office. used as registry office up to 1875. 9. county clerk. 10. county engineer. 12-13. sheriff. 14. telephone. 15. janitor. 16. jailer. 17. jail kitchen. originally occupied as jailer's residence and afterwards as county clerk's and jailer's offices. the heaters are in basement under these rooms. the space occupied by lavatories and main stairway was formerly the sheriff's office. first floor. 18. county judge's office. 19. barristers. 21. crown counsel. formerly county judge's office. 22. law library. 23. lady witnesses. formerly petit jury. 25. court room. 26. witnesses. formerly crown counsel room, afterwards law library. 27. county council chamber, also used for small courts. 28-29. local master. } } 31. judges' parlor. } } 32. turnkeys. } originally occupied as jailer's residence, } and afterwards as county judge's office. 33. petit jury. } } 34. gaol stores. } the space occupied by main stairway was formerly the county clerk's office and afterwards a witness room. second floor. 35-41. janitor's apartments. 37 and 41 formerly grand jury rooms. 42-43. witnesses. 42 was formerly occupied by local master and afterwards by county police magistrate. 45. historical society. the space occupied by main stairway was formerly a store room. [illustration: elgin county court house n. r. darrach, archt., s^{t}. thomas, ont. ground floor plan first floor plan] [illustration: county â· building â· at â· st â· thomas â· ont. n â· r â· darrach â· â· â· architect.] [illustration: second floor plan] members of elgin county council. 1852. aldborough--duncan mccoll. dunwich--moses willey. southwold--colin munro, nicol mccoll. yarmouth--elisha s. ganson (warden), leslie pierce. malahide--thomas locker (warden), lewis j. clarke. bayham--john elliott, j. skinner. south dorchester--jacob cline. st. thomas--david parish. 1898-1899. district no. 1--(aldborough) s. b. morris, daniel lang (warden 1898). district no. 2--(dutton and dunwich) a. j. leitch, edward mckellar. district no. 3--(port stanley and southwold) william jackson, donald turner, 1898, francis hunt, 1899. district no. 4--(yarmouth) james h. yarwood, wm. b. cole, 1898, wm. o. pollock, 1899. district no. 5--(aylmer, vienna, polling sub-divisions 1 and 2 of bayham, and malahide, except polling sub-division 5) oscar mckenney, (warden, 1899) richard locker, 1898, mahlon e. lyon, 1899. district no. 6--(springfield, south dorchester, malahide (division 5) and bayham (except divisions 1 and 2)) david f. moore, (warden, 1900) wm. m. ford. transcriber's note. illustrations have been moved to avoid breaks in paragraphs. minor punctuation errors have been corrected without note. the single table of statistics in the original has been reformatted into two separate tables for ease of reading, one for population and one for houses and schools. typographical errors have been corrected as follows: p. 5 'east side of the river."'--closing quotation mark added. p. 5 'tuesday, the 8th day of april, 1800.'--had '1900.' p. 6 'tie girths, morticed and tenoned'--had 'tendoned.' p. 12 'sessions of the county of elgin opened'--had 'couty.' p. 24 'contended that he was or is faultless'--had 'fautless.' p. 24 'shall lead thee to the grave."'--closing quotation mark added. p. 25 'his plans interfered with, and all the'--had 'iterferred.' p. 28 '26. witnesses. formerly crown counsel room'--had '36.' unusual spellings of hybernated, mississaga; inconsistent spellings of jail/jailer, gaol/gaoler; inconsistent hyphenation and capitalisation are as per the original. history of farming in ontario by c. c. james [illustration: publisher's device] reprinted from canada and its provinces a history of the canadian people and their institutions by one hundred associates edited by adam shortt and a. g. doughty history of farming in ontario by c. c. james c.m.g. [illustration: publisher's device] toronto glasgow, brook & company 1914 this volume consists of a reprint, for private circulation only, of the one hundred and sixteenth signed contribution contained in canada and its provinces, a history of the canadian people and their institutions by one hundred associates. adam shortt and arthur g. doughty, general editors history of farming the land and the people from the most southern point of ontario on lake erie, near the 42nd parallel of latitude, to moose factory on james bay, the distance is about 750 miles. from the eastern boundary on the ottawa and st lawrence rivers to kenora at the manitoba boundary, the distance is about 1000 miles. the area lying within these extremes is about 220,000 square miles. in 1912 a northern addition of over 100,000 square miles was made to the surface area of the province, but it is doubtful whether the agricultural lands will thereby be increased. of this large area about 25,000,000 acres are occupied and assessed, including farm lands and town and city sites. it will be seen, therefore, that only a small fraction of the province has, as yet, been occupied. practically all the occupied area lies south of a line drawn through montreal, ottawa, and sault ste marie, and it forms part of the great productive zone of the continent. the next point to be noted is the irregularity of the boundary-line, the greater portion of which is water--lakes superior, huron, erie, ontario, the st lawrence river, the ottawa river, james bay, and hudson bay. the modifying effect of great bodies of water must be considered in studying the agricultural possibilities of ontario. across this great area of irregular outline there passes a branch of the archæan rocks running in a north-western direction and forming a watershed, which turns some of the streams to hudson bay and the others to the st lawrence system. an undulating surface has resulted, more or less filled with lakes, and almost lavishly supplied with streams, which are of prime importance for agricultural life and of incalculable value for commercial purposes. to these old rocks which form the backbone of the province may be traced the origin of the large stretches of rich soil with which the province abounds. an examination of the map, and even a limited knowledge of the geological history of the province, will lead to the conclusion that in ontario there must be a wide range in the nature and composition of the soils and a great variety in the climatic conditions. these conditions exist, and they result in a varied natural production. in the extreme south-western section plants of a semi-tropical nature were to be found in the early days in luxurious growth; while in the extreme north, spruce, somewhat stunted in size and toughened in fibre, are still to be found in vast forests. it is with the southern section, that lying south of the laurentian rocks, that our story is mainly concerned, for the occupation and exploitation of the northland is a matter only of recent date. nature provided conditions for a diversified agriculture. it is to such a land that for over a hundred years people of different nationalities, with their varied trainings and inclinations, have been coming to make their homes. we may expect, therefore, to find a great diversity in the agricultural growth of various sections, due partly to the variety of natural conditions and partly to the varied agricultural training of the settlers in their homelands. early settlement, 1783-1816 originally this province was covered with forest, varied and extensive, and was valued only for its game. the hunter and trapper was the pioneer. to protect and assist him, fortified posts were constructed at commanding points along the great waterways. in the immediate vicinity of these posts agriculture, crude in its nature and restricted in its area, had its beginning. it was into this wooded wilderness that the united empire loyalists, numbering in all approximately ten thousand people, came in the latter part of the eighteenth century.[1] they were a people of varied origins--highland scottish, german, dutch, irish palatine, french huguenot, english. most of them had lived on farms in new york state, and therefore brought with them some knowledge and experience that stood them in good stead in their arduous work of making new homes in a land that was heavily wooded. in the year 1783 prospectors were sent into western quebec, the region lying west of the ottawa river, and selections were made for them in four districts--along the st lawrence, opposite fort oswegatchie; around the bay of quinte, above fort cataraqui; in the niagara peninsula, opposite fort niagara; and in the south-western section, within reach of fort detroit. two reasons determined these locations; first, the necessity of being located on the water-front, as lake and river were the only highways available; and, secondly, the advisability of being within the protection of a fortified post. the dependence of the settlers upon the military will be realized when we remember that they had neither implements nor seed grain. in fact, they were dependent at first upon the government stores for their food. it is difficult at the present time to realize the hardships and appreciate the conditions under which these united empire loyalist settlers began life in the forest of 1784. having been assigned their lots and supplied with a few implements, they began their work of making small clearings and the erection of rude log-houses and barns. among the stumps they sowed the small quantities of wheat, oats, and potatoes that were furnished from the government stores. cattle were for many years few in number, and the settler, to supply his family with food and clothing, was compelled to add hunting and trapping to his occupation of felling the trees. gradually the clearings became larger and the area sown increased in size. the trails were improved and took on the semblance of roads, but the waterways continued to be the principal avenues of communication. in each of the four districts the government erected mills to grind the grain for the settlers. these were known as the king's mills. water-power mills were located near kingston, at gananoque, at napanee, and on the niagara river. the mill on the detroit was run by wind power. an important event in the early years was when the head of the family set out for the mill with his bag of wheat on his back or in his canoe, and returned in two or three days, perhaps in a week, with a small supply of flour. in the early days there was no wheat for export. the question then may be asked, was there anything to market? yes; as the development went on, the settlers found a market for two surplus products, timber and potash. the larger pine trees were hewn into timber and floated down the streams to some convenient point where they were collected into rafts, which were taken down the st lawrence to montreal and quebec. black salt or crude potash was obtained by concentrating the ashes that resulted from burning the brush and trees that were not suitable for timber. for the first thirty years of the new settlements the chief concern of the people was the clearing of their land, the increasing of their field crops, and the improving of their homes and furnishings. it was slow going, and had it not been for government assistance, progress, and even maintenance of life, would have been impossible. that was the heroic age of upper canada, the period of foundation-laying in the province. farming was the main occupation, and men, women, and children shared the burdens in the forest, in the field, and in the home. roads were few and poorly built, except the three great military roads planned by lieutenant-governor simcoe running east, west, and north from the town of york. social intercourse was of a limited nature. here and there a school was formed when a competent teacher could be secured. church services were held once a month, on which occasions the missionary preacher rode into the district on horseback. perhaps once or twice in the summer the weary postman, with his pack on his back, arrived at the isolated farmhouse to leave a letter, on which heavy toll had to be collected. progress was slow in those days, but after thirty years fair hope of an agricultural country was beginning to dawn upon the people when the war of 1812 broke out. by this time the population of the province had increased to about eighty thousand. during this first thirty years very little had been done in the way of stimulating public interest in agricultural work. conditions were not favourable to organization. the 'town meeting' was concerned mainly with the question of the height of fences and regulations as to stock running at large. one attempt, however, was made which should be noted. lieutenant-governor simcoe took charge of affairs early in 1792, and, immediately after the close of the first session of the legislature at newark (niagara) in the autumn of that year, organized an agricultural society at the headquarters which met occasionally to discuss agricultural questions. there are no records to show whether social intercourse or practical agricultural matters formed the main business. the struggle for existence was too exacting and the conditions were not yet favourable for organization to advance general agricultural matters. when the war of 1812 broke out the clearings of the original settlers had been extended, and some of the loyalists still lived, grown grey with time and hardened by the rough life of the backwoods. their sons, many of whom had faint recollection of their early homes across the line, had grown up in an atmosphere of strictest loyalty to the british crown, and had put in long years in clearing the farms on which they lived and adding such comforts to their houses, that to them, perhaps as to no other generation, their homes meant everything in life. the summons came to help to defend those homes and their province. for three years the agricultural growth received a severe check. fathers and sons took their turn in going to the front. the cultivation of the fields, the sowing and the harvesting of the crops, fell largely to the lot of the mothers and the daughters left at home. but they were equal to it. in those days the women were trained to help in the work of the fields. they did men's work willingly and well. in many cases they had to continue their heroic work after the close of the war, until their surviving boys were grown to years of manhood, for many husbands and sons went to the front never to return. footnotes: [1] see 'pioneer settlements' in this section. a period of expansion, 1816-46 the close of the war saw a province that had been checked at a time of vigorous growth now more or less impoverished, and, in some sections, devastated. this was, however, but the gloomy outlook before a period of rapid expansion. in 1816, on the close of the napoleonic wars in europe, large numbers of troops were disbanded, and for these new homes and new occupations had to be found. then began the first emigration from britain overseas to upper canada. all over the british isles little groups were forming of old soldiers reunited to their families. a few household furnishings were packed, a supply of provisions laid in, a sailing vessel chartered, and the trek began across the atlantic. the emigrants sailed from many ports of england, scotland, and ireland. sometimes the trip was made in three or four weeks; but often, through contrary winds or rough weather, three or four months passed before the vessel sailed up the st lawrence and landed the newcomers at montreal. hardly half of their difficulties were then overcome or half of their dangers passed. if they were to find their new locations by land, they must walk or travel by slow ox-cart; if they journeyed by water, they must make their way up the st lawrence by open boat, surmounting the many rapids in succession, poling the boats, pulling against the stream, at times helping to carry heavy loads over the portages. their new homes in the backwoods were in townships in the rear of those settled by the loyalists, or in unoccupied areas lying on the lake-fronts between the four districts referred to as having been taken up by the loyalists. then began the settlements along the north shore of lake ontario and of lake erie, and the population moved forward steadily. in 1816 the total population of the province was approximately 100,000; by 1826, according to returns made to the government, it had increased to 166,000; in 1836 it was 374,000, and in 1841 it was 456,000. the great majority of these people, of course, lived upon the land, the towns being comparatively small, and the villages were composed largely of people engaged in agricultural work. this peaceful british invasion contributed a new element to the province and added still further to the variety of the people. in one township could be found a group of english settlers, most of whom came from a southern county of england, near by a township peopled by scottish lowlanders, and not far away a colony of north of ireland farmers, or perhaps a settlement composed entirely of people from the vicinity of cork or limerick. these british settlers brought new lines of life, new plans for houses and barns, new methods of cultivation, new varieties of seed, and, what was perhaps of most influence upon the agricultural life of the province, new kinds of live stock. even to this day can be seen traces of the differences in construction of buildings introduced by the different nationalities that came as pioneers into the various sections of the province--the french canadian constructed his buildings with long, steep roofs; the englishman followed his home plan of many small, low outbuildings with doors somewhat rounded at the top; the german and dutch settler built big barns with their capacious mows. these latter have become the type now generally followed, the main improvement in later years being the raising of the frames upon stone foundations so as to provide accommodation for live stock in the basement. it would be interesting and profitable to study carefully the different localities to determine what elements have contributed to the peculiar agricultural characteristics of the present day. in this connection the language also might be investigated. for instance, to the early dutch farmers of upper canada we owe such common words as 'stoop,' 'bush,' 'boss,' 'span.' to the early british settler these were foreign words. when the oversea settlers came up the st lawrence they were transported from montreal either by 'bateau' or by 'durham boat.'[2] special reference must be made to the live stock introduced by the british settlers. this was one of the most important elements in the expansion and permanent development of the agriculture of the province. the british isles have long been noted for their pure-bred stock. in no other part of the world have so many varieties been originated and improved. in horses, there are the clydesdale, the shire, the thoroughbred, and the hackney; in cattle, shorthorns, herefords, ayrshires, devon, and the dairy breeds of jersey and guernsey; in sheep, southdowns, shropshires, leicesters; in swine, berkshires and yorkshires. many other breeds might be added to these. poultry and dogs also might be referred to. the britisher has been noted for his love of live stock. he has been trained to their care, his agricultural methods have been ordered to provide food suitable for their wants, and he has been careful to observe the lines of breeding so as to improve their quality. in the earliest period of the settlement of the province live stock was not numerous and the quality was not of the best. whatever was to be found on the farms came mainly from the united states and was of inferior type. the means of bringing in horses, cattle, and sheep were limited. the result was that field work at that time was largely done by hand labour. hunting and fishing helped to supply the table with the food that to-day we obtain from the butcher. when the britisher came across the atlantic he brought to upper canada his love for live stock and his knowledge how to breed and care for the same. the result was seen in the rapid increase in the number of horses, cattle, sheep, and swine, and the placing of the agriculture of the province on a firm basis for future growth. by 1830 the population had grown to about 213,000, practically all located on the land. in that year there were only five towns of 1000 or over: namely, kingston, 3587; york (toronto), 2860; london, (including the township), 2415; hamilton (including the township), 2013; and brockville, 1130. the returns to the government show that of the 4,018,385 acres occupied 773,727 were under cultivation. on the farms were to be found 30,776 horses, 33,517 oxen, 80,892 milch cows, and 32,537 young cattle. it is interesting to note that oxen, so useful in clearing land and in doing heavy work, were more numerous than horses. oxen were hardier than horses; they could forage for themselves and live on rough food, and when disabled could be converted into food. they thus played a very important part in the pioneer life. there were no improved farm implements in those days: the plough, the spade, the hoe, the fork, the sickle, the hook, the cradle, and the rake--implements that had been the husbandman's equipment for centuries--completed the list. with these the farmer cultivated his lands and gathered his crops. with two stout hickory poles, joined together at the end with tough leather thongs, a flail was made with which he threshed out his grain on the floor of his barn. the earliest pioneers raised some flax, and from the fibre made coarse linen fabrics, supplementing these by skins of wild animals and the hides of cattle. with the introduction of sheep by the british settlers wool became an important product, and homespun garments provided additional clothing for all the members of the family. seeds of various fruit trees were planted, and by 1830 the products of these seedlings supplemented the wild plums and cherries of the woods and the wild raspberries that sprang up in abundance in the clearings and slashes. by this time every farm had one or more milch cows and the farmer's table was supplied with fresh milk, butter, and home-made cheese. as the first half-century of the province was drawing to its close, some of the comforts of home life began to be realized by the farming community. the isolation of the former period disappeared as roads of communication were opened up and extended. here and there societies were formed for the exhibition of the products of the farm and for friendly competitions. so important were these societies becoming in the life of the whole community that in 1830 the government gave them recognition and provided an annual grant to assist them in their work. this is an important event in agricultural history, for it marks the beginning of government assistance to the agricultural industry. between 1820 and 1830 probably not more than half a dozen agricultural societies were organized. some records of such were preserved at york, kingston, and in the newcastle district. from the record of the county of northumberland agricultural society it is learned that its first show was held in the public square of the village of colborne on october 19, 1828, when premiums were awarded amounting in all to seventy-seven dollars. there were fourteen prizes for live stock, two prizes for cheese, two for field rollers, and two for essays on the culture of wheat. the first prize essay, for which the winner received five dollars, was printed for distribution. the prize list was limited in range, but it shows how this new settlement, formed largely by british settlers since 1816, was giving particular attention to the encouragement of live stock. a short quotation from the prize essay as to the best method of clearing the land for wheat should be found of interest. as a great part of our county is yet in a wilderness state and quite a share of the wheat brought to our markets is reared on new land, i deem it important that our enterprising young men who are clearing away the forest should know how to profit by their hard labor. let the underwood be cut in the autumn before the leaves fall, and the large timber in the winter or early in the spring. this will insure a good burn, which is the first thing requisite for a good crop. do your logging in the month of june, and if you wish to make money, do it before you burn your brush and save the ashes; these will more than half pay you for clearing the land: and by burning at this season you will attract a drove of cattle about you that will destroy all sprouts which may be growing; do not leave more than four trees on an acre and girdle these in the full moon of march and they will never leaf again; thus you may have your land prepared for the seed before harvest. the act of 1830 provided a grant of £100 for a society in each district, upon condition that the members subscribed and paid in at least £50, and in the case of a society being organized in each county the amount was to be equally divided among the societies. the condition of making the grant was set forth in the act as follows: 'when any agricultural society, for the purpose of importing valuable live stock, grain, grass seeds, useful implements or whatever else might conduce to the improvement of agriculture in this province,' etc. as a result of this substantial assistance by the government, agricultural societies increased in number, and their influence, in assisting in the improvement of the live stock and the bringing of new implements to the attention of farmers, was most marked. horses, sheep and milch cows increased rapidly. purebred cattle now began to receive some attention. the first record of importation is the bringing of a shorthorn bull and a cow from new york state in 1831 by robert arnold of st catharines. in 1833 rowland wingfield, an englishman farming near guelph, brought a small herd of choice animals across the ocean, landed them at montreal, took them to hamilton by way of the ottawa river, the rideau canal, and lake ontario, and then drove them on foot to wellington county. the hon. adam fergusson of woodhill followed two or three years later with a similar importation. the first ayrshire cattle can be traced back to the scottish settlers who arrived during this period. these emigrants had provided their own food for the voyage to canada, and in some cases brought a good milch cow to provide fresh milk on the voyage. she would be disposed of on landing, at montreal or in the eastern part of upper canada. this accounts for the early predominance of ayrshires in eastern ontario. thus to the period 1830-45 belongs the first foundation of the pure-bred stock industry. it was in this period also that the first signs appear of improved farm implements and labour-saving machinery. ploughs of improved pattern, lighter and more effective, were being made. land rollers and harrows made in the factory began to take the place of the home-made articles. crude threshing machines, clover-seed cleaners, root-cutters, and a simple but heavy form of hay-rake came into use. the mowing machine and the reaper were making their appearance in great britain and the united states, but they had not yet reached upper canada. the organization of agricultural societies in the various districts, and the great impetus given to the keeping of good stock, led in 1843 to the suggestion that a provincial organization would be of benefit to the farming industry. in the neighbouring state of new york a similar organization had been in existence since 1832 and successful state fairs had been held, which some of the more prominent farmers of upper canada had visited. an agricultural paper called the _british american cultivator_ had been established in york, and through this paper, in letters and editorials, the idea of a provincial association was advocated. for three years the discussion proceeded, until finally, in 1846, there was organized the provincial agricultural association and board of agriculture for canada west, composed of delegates from the various district societies. the result was that the first provincial exhibition was held in toronto on october 21 and 22 of that year. the old government house at the south-western corner of king street and simcoe street, then empty, was used for the exhibits, and the stock and implements were displayed in the adjoining grounds. the canada company gave a contribution of $200, eight local societies made donations, about $280 was secured as gate money, and 297 members paid subscriptions. premiums were paid to the amount of $880, the bulk of which went to live stock; books, which cost about $270, were given as prizes; and there was left a cash balance on hand of $400. a ploughing match was held, and on the evening of the first day a grand banquet was given, attended by the officers and directors and by some of the leading citizens of toronto. among the speakers at this banquet were chief justice robinson and egerton ryerson, superintendent of education. footnotes: [2] see 'shipping and canals' in section v. pp. 489-90. organized agriculture, 1846-67 the organization of this provincial association fittingly introduces another era in agricultural growth. it is to be noted that this provincial organization was a self-created body; it drew at first no government funds direct. it commended itself to the people, for on july 28, 1847, the provincial parliament in session at montreal passed an act incorporating it under the name of the agricultural association of upper canada, and in the charter named as members a number of the leading citizens of the province. it was governed by a board of directors, two of whom were chosen annually by each district agricultural society. the objects set forth were the improvement of farm stock and produce, the improvement of agricultural implements, and the encouragement of domestic manufactures, of useful inventions applicable to agricultural or domestic purposes, and of every branch of rural and domestic economy. out of this provincial association came all the further agricultural organizations of a provincial nature, and ultimately, some forty years later, the ontario department of agriculture. the second provincial exhibition was held at hamilton in 1847, and lord elgin, the governor-general, was in attendance. he was also a generous patron, for his name appears as a donor of $100. the address which he delivered at the banquet has been preserved in the published records and is copiously marked with cheers and loud applause. the third exhibition was held at cobourg in 1848. the official report of the exhibits indicates that pure-bred stock was rapidly increasing and improving in quality; but the most significant paragraph is that dealing with implements, and this is well worth quoting in full. of implements of canada make, the show was deficient; and we were much indebted to our american neighbours for their valuable aid on this occasion. a large number of ploughs, straw-cutters, drills, cornshellers, churns, etc., etc., were brought over by messrs briggs & co. of rochester, mr emery of albany, and a large manufacturing firm near boston. mr bell of toronto exhibited his excellent plough, straw-cutter, and reaping machine. the first prize for the latter article was awarded to mr helm of cobourg for the recent improvements which he has effected. mr clark of paris exhibited his one-horse thrashing-mill, which attracted much attention. at the fourth exhibition, held at kingston in 1849, the show of implements was much more extensive, and comment was made on the improvement of articles of home manufacture. at this meeting professor j. f. w. johnson, of edinburgh, who was making a tour of north america, was present. the address of the president, henry ruttan of cobourg, is a most valuable reference article descriptive of the agricultural progress of the province from the first settlements in 1783 to the time of the exhibition. ruttan was a loyalist's son, and, from his own personal knowledge, he described the old plough that was given by the government to each of the first settlers. it consisted of a small iron socket, whose point entered by means of a dove-tailed aperture into the heel of the coulter, which formed the principal part of the plough, and was in shape similar to the letter l, the shank of which went through the wooden beam, and the foot formed the point which was sharpened for operation. one handle and a plank split from the side of a winding block of timber, which did duty for the mould-board, completed the implement. besides provisions for a year, i think each family had issued to them a plough-share and coulter, a set of dragg-teeth, a log chain, an axe, a saw, a hammer, a bill hook and a grubbing hoe, a pair of hand-irons and a cross-cut saw amongst several families, and a few other articles. he then refers to the large number of implements then being pressed upon the farmers, until 'they have almost become a nuisance to the farmer who desires to purchase a really useful article.' all of which indicates that a distinctive feature of the period beginning with 1846 was the introduction and rapid extension of improved farm machinery. a few words as to the reaping machine, which contributed more than any other modern implement to the development of agriculture in the past century, may not be out of place. various attempts had been made at producing a machine to supersede the sickle, the scythe, and the cradle before the rev. patrick bell, in 1826, presented his machine to the highland agricultural society of scotland for its examination. bell's machine was fairly successful, and one was then in operation on the farm of his brother, inch-michael, in the carse of gowrie. one set of knives was fixed, another set worked above and across these like the blades of a pair of scissors. the grain fell on an endless cloth which carried and deposited the heads at the side of the machine. a horse pushed it forward and kept all parts in motion. it was simple, and, we are told, harvested twelve acres in a day. this was in 1826. in the _new york farmer and american gardener's magazine_ for 1834 may be found the descriptions and illustrations of obed hussey's grain-cutter and cyrus h. mccormick's 'improved reaping-machine.' the question has been raised as to whether either of these united states inventions owed anything to the earlier production of patrick bell. it was, of course, the improved united states reaping machines that found their way into upper canada shortly after the organization of the provincial agricultural association. our interest in this matter is quickened by the fact that the rev. patrick bell, when a young man, was for some time a tutor in the family of a well-to-do farmer in the county of wellington, and there is a tradition that while there he carried on some experiments in the origination of his machine. the suggestion of a 'mysterious visitor' from the united states to the place where he was experimenting is probably mere conjecture. this period, 1846 to 1867, was one of rapid growth in population. the free-grant land policy of the government was a great attraction for tens of thousands of people in the british isles, who were impelled by social unrest, failure of crops, and general stagnation in the manufacturing industries to seek new homes across the sea. in the twenty years referred to the population more than doubled, and the improved lands of the province increased fourfold. the numbers of cattle and sheep about doubled, and the wheat production increased about threefold. towards the latter part of the period a new agricultural industry came into existence--the manufacture of cheese in factories. it was in new york state that the idea of co-operation in the manufacture of cheese was first attempted. there, as in canada west, it had been the practice to make at home from time to time a quantity of soft cheese, which, of course, would be of variable quality. to save labour, a proposition was made to collect the milk from several farms and have the cheese made at one central farm. the success of this method soon became known and small factories were established. in 1863 harvey farrington came from new york state to canada west and established a factory in the county of oxford, about the same time that a similar factory was established in the county of missisquoi, quebec. shortly afterwards factories were built in hastings county, and near brockville, in leeds county. thus began an industry that had a slow advance for some fifteen years, but from 1880 spread rapidly, until the manufacture of cheese in factories became one of the leading provincial industries. the system followed is a slight modification of the cheddar system, which takes its name from one of the most beautiful vales in the west of england. its rapid progress has been due to the following circumstances: ontario, with her rich grasses, clear skies, and clean springs and streams, is well adapted to dairying; large numbers of her farmers came from dairy districts in the mother country; the co-operative method of manufacture tends to produce a marketable article that can be shipped and that improves with proper storage; great britain has proved a fine market for such an article; and the industry has for over thirty years received the special help and careful supervision and direction of the provincial and dominion governments. during this period we note the voluntary organization of the ontario fruit-growers' association, a fact which alone would suggest that the production of fruit must have been making progress. the early french settlers along the detroit river had planted pear trees or grown them from seed, and a few of these sturdy, stalwart trees, over a century old, still stand and bear some fruit. mrs simcoe, in her _journal_, july 2, 1793, states: 'we have thirty large may duke cherry trees behind the house and three standard peach trees which supplied us last autumn for tarts and desserts during six weeks, besides the numbers the young men eat.' this was at niagara. the records of the agricultural exhibitions indicate that there was a gradual extension of fruit-growing. importations of new varieties were made, rochester, in new york state, apparently being the chief place from which nursery stock was obtained. here and there through the province gentlemen having some leisure and the skill to experiment were beginning to take an interest in their gardens and to produce new varieties. on january 19, 1859, a few persons met in the board-room of the mechanics' hall at hamilton and organized a fruit-growers' association for upper canada. judge campbell was elected president; dr hurlbert, first vice-president; george leslie, second vice-president; arthur harvey, secretary. the members of this association introduced new varieties and reported on their success. they were particularly active in producing such new varieties as were peculiarly suitable to the climate. for nine years they maintained their organization and carried on their work unaided and unrecognized officially. to this period belongs also the first attempts at special instruction in agriculture and the beginning of an agricultural press. both are intimately connected with the association, already referred to, that had been organized in 1846 by some of the most progressive citizens. for four years the provincial association carried on its work and established itself as a part of the agricultural life of canada west. in 1850 the government stepped in and established a board of agriculture as the executive of the association. its objects were set out by statute and funds were to be provided for its maintenance. the new lines of work allotted to it were to collect agricultural statistics, prepare crop reports, gather information of general value and to present the same to the legislature for publication, and to co-operate with the provincial university in the teaching of agriculture and the carrying on of an experimental or illustrative farm. professor george buckland was appointed to the chair of agriculture in the university in january 1851 and an experimental farm on a small scale was laid out on the university grounds. professor buckland acted also as secretary to the board until 1858, when he resigned and was succeeded by hugh c. thomson. he continued his work for some years at the university, and was an active participant in all agricultural matters up to the time of his death in 1885. provision having been made for agricultural instruction at the university, the board in 1859 decided to establish a course in veterinary science, and at once got into communication with professor dick of the veterinary college at edinburgh, scotland. in 1862 a school was opened in toronto under the direction of professor andrew smith, recently arrived from edinburgh. the _british american cultivator_ was established in 1841 by eastwood and co. and w. g. edmundson, with the latter as editor. it gave place in 1849 to the _canadian agriculturist_, a monthly journal edited and owned by george buckland and william mcdougall. this was the official organ of the board till the year 1864, when george brown began the publication of the _canada farmer_ with the rev. w. f. clark as editor-in-chief and d. w. beadle as horticultural editor. the board at once recognized it, accepted it as their representative, and the _canadian agriculturist_ ceased publication in december 1863. the half-century of british immigration, 1816 to 1867, had wrought a wonderful change. from a little over a hundred thousand the population had grown to a million and a half; towns and cities had sprung into existence; commercial enterprises had taken shape; the construction of railways had been undertaken; trade had developed along new lines; the standards of living had materially changed; and great questions, national and international, had stirred the people and aroused at times the bitterest political strife. the changed standards of living can best be illustrated by an extract from an address delivered in 1849 by sheriff ruttan. referring to the earlier period, he said: our food was coarse but wholesome. with the exception of three or four pounds of green tea a year for a family, which cost us three bushels of wheat per pound, we raised everything we ate. we manufactured our own clothes and purchased nothing except now and then a black silk handkerchief or some trifling article of foreign manufacture of the kind. we lived simply, yet comfortably--envied no one, for no one was better off than his neighbour. until within the last thirty years, one hundred bushels of wheat, at 2s. 6d. per bushel, was quite sufficient to give in exchange for all the articles of foreign manufacture consumed by a large family.... the old-fashioned home-made cloth has given way to the fine broadcloth coat; the linsey-woolsey dresses of females have disappeared and english and french silks been substituted; the nice clean-scoured floors of the farmers' houses have been covered by brussels carpets; the spinning wheel and loom have been superseded by the piano; and in short, a complete revolution in all our domestic habits and manners has taken place--the consequences of which are the accumulation of an enormous debt upon our shoulders and its natural concomitant, political strife. students of canadian history will at once recall the story of the rebellion of 1837, the struggle for constitutional government, the investigation by lord durham, the repeal of the preferential wheat duties in england, the agitation for canadian independence, and other great questions that so seriously disturbed the peace of the canadian people. they were the 'growing pains' of a progressive people. the crimean war, in 1854-56, gave an important though temporary boom to canadian farm products. reciprocity with the united states from 1855 to 1866 offered a profitable market that had been closed for many years. then came the close of the great civil war in the united states and the opening up of the cheap, fertile prairie lands of the middle west to the hundreds of thousands of farmers set free from military service. this westward movement was joined by many farmers from ontario; there was a disastrous competition in products, and an era of agricultural depression set in just before confederation. it was because of these difficulties that confederation became a possibility and a necessity. the new political era introduced a new agricultural period, which began under conditions that were perhaps as unfavourable and as unpromising as had been experienced for over half a century. the growth of scientific farming, 1867-88 the period that we shall now deal with begins with confederation in 1867 and extends to 1888, when a provincial minister of agriculture was appointed for the first time and an independent department organized. from 1792 to 1841 what is now ontario was known as upper canada; from 1841 to 1867 it was part of the united province of canada, being known as canada west to distinguish it from quebec or canada east. in 1867, however, it resumed its former status as a separate province, but with the new name of ontario. in the formation of the government of the province agriculture was placed under the care of a commissioner, who, however, held another portfolio in the cabinet. john carling was appointed commissioner of public works and also commissioner of agriculture. on taking office carling found the following agricultural organizations of the province ready to co-operate with the government: sixty-three district agricultural societies, each having one or more branch township societies under its care, and all receiving annual government grants of slightly over $50,000; a provincial board of agriculture, with its educational and exhibition work; and a fruit-growers' association, now for the first time taken under government direction and given financial assistance. one extract from the commissioner's first report will serve to show the condition of agriculture in ontario when the dominion was born. 'it is an encouraging fact that during the last year in particular mowers and reapers and labour-saving implements have not only increased in the older districts, but have found their way into new ones, and into places where they were before practically unknown. this beneficial result has, no doubt, mainly arisen from the difficulty, or rather in some cases impossibility, of getting labour at any price.' it would appear, therefore, that the question of shortage of farm labour, so much complained of in recent years, has been a live one for forty years and more. in the second report of the commissioner (1869) special attention was directed to the question of agricultural education, and the suggestion was made that the agricultural department of the university and the veterinary college might give some instruction to the teachers at the normal school. in the following year, however, an advanced step was taken. it was noted that dr ryerson was in sympathy with special agricultural teaching and had himself prepared and published a text-book on agriculture. the suggestion was made that the time had arrived for a school of practical science. at the same time ryerson had appointed the rev. w. f. clark, the editor of the _canada farmer_, to visit the agricultural department at washington and a few of the agricultural colleges of the united states, and to collect such practical information as would aid in commencing something of an analogous character in ontario. it will thus be seen that the two branches of technical training--the school of practical science and the agricultural college--were really twin institutions, originating, in the year 1870, in the dual department of public works and agriculture. these institutions were the outcome of the correlation of city and country industries, which were under the fostering care of the agriculture and arts association, as the old provincial organization was now known. the school of practical science, it may be noted, is now incorporated with the provincial university, and the agricultural college is affiliated with it. there were at that time two outstanding agricultural colleges in the united states, that of massachusetts and that of michigan. these were visited, and, based upon the work done at these institutions, a comprehensive and suggestive report was compiled. immediate action was taken upon the recommendations of this report, and a tract of land, six hundred acres in extent, was purchased at mimico, seven miles west of toronto. before work could be commenced, however, the life of the legislature closed and a new government came into office in 1871 with archibald mckellar as commissioner of agriculture and arts. new governments feel called upon to promote new measures. there were rumours and suggestions that the soil of the mimico farm was productive of thistles and better adapted to brick-making than to the raising of crops. also the location was so close to toronto that it was feared that the attractions of the city would tend to make the students discontented with country life. for various reasons a change of location was deemed desirable, and a committee of farmer members of the legislature was appointed. professor miles, of the michigan agricultural college, was engaged to give expert advice; other locations were examined, and finally moreton lodge farm, near guelph, was purchased. after some preliminary difficulties, involving the assistance of a sheriff or bailiff, possession was obtained, and the first class for instruction in agricultural science and practice, consisting of thirty-one pupils in all, was opened on june 1, 1874, with william johnston as rector or principal. thus was established the ontario school of agriculture, now known as the ontario agricultural college. its annual enrolment has grown to over fifteen hundred, and it is now recognized as the best-equipped and most successful institution of its kind in the british empire. its development along practical lines and its recognition as a potent factor in provincial growth were largely due to dr james mills, who was appointed president of the college in 1879, and filled that position until january 1904, when he was appointed to the dominion board of railway commissioners. under his direction farmers' institutes were established in ontario in 1884. dr mills was succeeded by dr g. c. creelman as president. the next important step in agricultural advancement was the appointment in 1880 of the ontario agricultural commission 'to inquire into the agricultural resources of the province of ontario, the progress and condition of agriculture therein and matters connected therewith.' the commission consisted of s. c. wood, then commissioner of agriculture (chairman), alfred h. dymond (secretary), and sixteen other persons representative of the various agricultural interests, including the president and ex-president of the agricultural and arts association, professor william brown of the agricultural college, the master of the dominion grange, the president of the entomological society, and two members of the legislature, thomas ballantyne and john dryden. in 1913 there were but two survivors of this important commission, j. b. aylesworth of newburgh, ont., and dr william saunders, who, after over twenty years' service as director of the dominion experimental farms, had resigned office in 1911. all parts of the province were visited and information was gathered from the leading farmers along the lines laid down in the royal commission. in 1881 the report was issued in five volumes. it was without doubt the most valuable commission report ever issued in ontario, if not in all canada. part of it was reissued a second and a third time, and for years it formed the ontario farmer's library. even to this day it is a valuable work of reference, containing as it does a vast amount of practical information and forming an invaluable source of agricultural history. the first outcome of this report was the establishment, in 1882, by the government of the ontario bureau of industries, an organization for the collection and publication of statistics in connection with agriculture and allied industries. archibald blue, who now occupies the position of chief officer of the census and statistics branch of the dominion service, was appointed the first secretary of the bureau. agriculture continued to expand, and associations for the protection and encouragement of special lines increased in number and in importance. thus there were no fewer than three vigorous associations interested in dairying: the dairymen's association of eastern ontario, and the dairymen's association of western ontario, which were particularly interested in the cheese industry, and the ontario creameries association, which was interested in butter manufacture. there were poultry associations, a beekeepers' association, and several live stock associations. from time to time the suggestion was made that the work of these associations, and that of the agriculture and arts association and of the bureau of industries, should be co-ordinated, and a strong department of agriculture organized under a minister of agriculture holding a distinct portfolio in the ontario cabinet. provision for this was made by the legislature in 1888, and in that year charles drury was appointed the first minister of agriculture. the bureau of industries was taken as the nucleus of the department, and archibald blue, the secretary, was appointed deputy minister. we have referred to the reaction that took place in ontario agriculture after the close of the american civil war and the abrogation of the reciprocity treaty. the high prices of the crimean war period had long since disappeared, the market to the south had been narrowed, and the western states were pouring into the east the cheap grain products of a rich virgin soil. agricultural depression hung over the province for years. gradually, however, through the early eighties the farmers began to recover their former prosperous condition, sending increasing shipments of barley, sheep, horses, eggs, and other commodities to the cities of the eastern states, so that at the close of the period to which we are referring agricultural conditions were of a favourable and prosperous nature. the modern period, 1888-1912 in 1888 a new period in ontario's agricultural history begins. the working forces of agriculture were being linked together in the new department of agriculture. charles drury, the first minister of agriculture, held office until 1890, being succeeded by john dryden, who continued in charge of the department until 1905, when a conservative government took the place of the liberal government that had been in power since 1871. two factors immediately began to play a most important part in the agricultural situation: the opening up of the north-western lands by the completion of the canadian pacific railway in 1886, and the enactment, on october 6, 1890, of the mckinley high tariff by the united states. the former attracted ontario's surplus population, and made it no longer profitable or desirable to grow wheat in the province for export; the latter closed the doors to the export of barley, live stock, butter, and eggs. the situation was desperate; agriculture was passing through a period of most trying experience. any other industry than that of agriculture would have been bankrupted. the only hope of the ontario farmer now was in the british market. the sales of one ontario product, factory cheese, had been steadily increasing in the great consuming districts of england and scotland, and there was reason to believe that other products might be sold to equal advantage. dairying was the one line of agricultural work that helped to tide over the situation in the early nineties. the methods that had succeeded in building up the cheese industry must be applied to other lines, and all the organized forces must be co-ordinated in carrying this out. this was work for a department of agriculture, and the minister of agriculture, john dryden, who guided and directed this co-operation of forces and made plans for the future growth and expansion of agricultural work, was an imperialist indeed who, in days of depression and difficulty, directed forces and devised plans that not only helped the agricultural classes to recover their prosperity, but also made for the strengthening of imperial ties and the working out of national greatness. the british market presented new conditions, new demands. the north-west could send her raw products in the shape of wheat; ontario must send finished products--beef, bacon, cheese, butter, fruit, eggs, and poultry--these and similar products could be marketed in large quantities if only they could be supplied of right quality. transportation of the right kind was a prime necessity. lumber, wheat, and other rough products could be handled without difficulty, but perishable goods demanded special accommodation. this was a matter belonging to the government of canada, and to it the dominion department of agriculture at once began to give attention. the production of the goods for shipment was a matter for provincial direction. gradually the farmers of the province adapted themselves to the new conditions and after a time recovered their lost ground. general prosperity came in sight again about 1895. for several years after this the output of beef, bacon, and cheese increased steadily, and the gains made in the british market more than offset the loss of the united states market. it was during the five years after 1890 that the farmers suffered so severely while adjusting their work to the new conditions. with these expanding lines of british trade products, the values of stock, implements, and buildings made steady advance, and in 1901 the total value of all farm property in the province crossed the billion dollar mark. since that year the annual increase in total farm values has been approximately forty million dollars. the following statement of total farm values in ontario, as compiled by the ontario bureau of industries, the statistical branch of the department of agriculture, is very suggestive: _total farm values_ 1885 $958,159,740 1886 989,497,911 1887 975,292,214 1888 981,368,094 1889 982,210,664 1890 970,927,035 1891 971,886,068 1892 979,977,244 1893 970,361,070 1894 954,395,507 1895 931,989,574 1896 910,291,623 1897 905,093,613 1898 923,022,420 1899 947,513,360 1900 974,814,931 1901 1,001,323,296 1902 1,044,894,332 1906 1,189,119,120 1909 1,241,019,109 from the above table it will be seen that the closing of the united states markets in 1890 was followed by a depreciation in general farm values which lasted until 1898, when the upward movement that has continued ever since set in. and now let us see how the population was changing, as to its distribution between rural and urban, during these years. first, we shall give the assessed population. rural urban 1884 1,117,880 636,187 1885 1,126,554 658,406 1890 1,117,533 800,041 1895 1,109,013 848,377 1900 1,094,246 919,614 1905 1,059,379 1,042,881 1909 1,049,240 1,240,198 the canadian pacific railway opened up the wheat lands of the west in 1886. at that time the rural population was nearly double the urban; in 1905 they were about equal; and six years later the urban population of ontario exceeded the rural. the dominion census figures are as follows: rural urban 1911 1,194,785 1,328,489 1901 1,246,969 935,978 -------- -------- increase .... 392,511 decrease 52,184 .... it will thus be seen that during the past twenty-five years there has been a steady increase in the consumers of food products in ontario and a slight decrease in the producers of the same. the surplus population of the farms has gone to the towns and cities of ontario and to the western provinces. now for a moment let us follow these people to the west. many of them have gone on the land to produce wheat. wheat for the european market has been their principal product, therefore they in turn have become consumers of large quantities of food that they do not themselves produce but must obtain from farmers elsewhere. but not all who have gone west have become farmers. the dominion census of 1911 gives the following statement of population for the provinces and districts west of lake superior: rural urban 1911 1,059,681 681,216 1901 446,050 199,467 -------- ------ increase 613,631 481,749 the western provinces are generally considered to be almost purely agricultural, and yet the percentage increase of urban population has been nearly double the percentage increase of rural population. and this rapidly growing urban population also has demanded food products. their own farmers grow wheat and oats and barley. british columbia produces fruit for her own people and some surplus for the prairie provinces. there is some stock-raising, but the rapid extension of wheat areas has interfered with the great stock ranches. from out of the great west, therefore, there has come an increasing demand for many food products. add to this the growing home market in ontario, and, keeping in mind that the west can grow wheat more cheaply than ontario, it will be understood why of recent years the ontario farmer has been compelled to give up the production of wheat for export. his line of successful and profitable work has been in producing to supply the demands of his own growing home market, and the demands of the rapidly increasing people of the west, both rural and urban, and also to share in the insatiable market of great britain. another element of more recent origin has been the small but very profitable market of northern ontario, where lumbering, mining, and railroad construction have been so active in the past five or six years. the result of all this has been a great increase in fruit production. old orchards have been revived and new orchards have been set out. the extension of the canning industry also is most noticeable, and has occasioned the production of fruits and vegetables in enormous quantities. special crops such as tobacco, beans, and sugar beets are being grown in counties where soil and climatic conditions are favourable. the production of poultry and eggs is also receiving more attention each succeeding year. the growth of cities is creating an increasing demand for milk, and the production of factory-made butter and cheese is also increasing, as the following figures for ontario from the dominion census prove: butter cheese 1900 7,559,542 lb. 131,967,612 lb. 1910 13,699,153 " 157,631,883 " for the past ten or twelve years the farmers of ontario have been slowly adjusting their work to the new situation, and the transition is continuing. while in some sections farms are being enlarged so as to permit the more extensive use of labour-saving machinery and the more economical handling of live stock, in other sections, particularly in counties adjacent to the great lakes, large farms are being cut up into smaller holdings and intensive production of fruits and vegetables is now the practice. this, of course, results in a steady increase in land values and is followed by an increase in rural population. the farmers of ontario are putting forth every effort to meet the demands for food products. the one great difficulty that they have encountered has been the scarcity of farm labour. men have come from europe by the tens of thousands, but they have been drawn largely to the growing towns and cities by the high wages offered in industrial lines; and the west, the 'golden west' as it is sometimes called, has proved an even stronger attraction. it seems rarely to occur to the new arrival that the average farm in ontario could produce more than a quarter section of prairie land. signs, however, point to an increase in rural population, through the spread of intensive agriculture. before referring to the methods of instruction and assistance provided for the developing of this new agriculture in ontario, reference should be made to one thing that is generally overlooked by those who periodically discover this rapid urban increase, and who moralize most gloomily upon a movement that is to be found in nearly every progressive country of the civilized world. in the days of early settlement the farmer and his family supplied nearly all their own wants. the farmer produced all his own food; he killed his own stock, salted his pork, and smoked his hams. his wife was expert in spinning and weaving, and plaited the straw hats for the family. the journeyman shoemaker dropped in and fitted out the family with boots. the great city industries were then unknown. the farmer's wife in those days was perhaps the most expert master of trades ever known. she could spin and weave, make a carpet or a rug, dye yarns and clothes, and make a straw hat or a birch broom. butter, cheese, and maple sugar were products of her skill, as well as bread, soap, canned fruits, and home-made wine. in those days the farm was a miniature factory or combination of factories. many, in fact most, of these industries have gradually moved out of the farm home and have been concentrated in great factories; and the pedlar with his pack has disappeared under a shower of catalogues from the departmental city store. in other words, a large portion of work once done upon the farm and at the country cross-roads has been transferred to the town and city, and this, in some part, explains the modern movement citywards-there has been a transference from country to city not only of people but also of industries. whether this has been in the interests of the people is another question, but the process is still going on, and what further changes may take place it is difficult to determine and unwise to forecast. and now let us see what agencies and organizations have been used in the development of the special lines of agriculture since the creation of the department in 1888. we have stated that the agriculture and arts association had been for many years the directing force in provincial agricultural organization. it held an annual provincial exhibition; it issued the diplomas to the graduates of the ontario veterinary college; and it controlled the various live stock associations that were interested in the registration of stock. shortly after 1888 legislation was enacted transferring the work to the department of agriculture. the place for holding the provincial exhibition was changed from year to year. in 1879 a charter was obtained by special act for the toronto industrial exhibition, the basis of which was the toronto electoral agricultural society. out of this came the annual toronto exhibition, now known as the canadian national exhibition, and the governmental exhibition was discontinued. the ontario veterinary college was a privately owned institution, though the diplomas were issued by the agriculture and arts association. the royal commission appointed in 1905 to investigate the university of toronto recommended the taking over of this association by the government, and as a result it passed under the control of the department of agriculture in 1908, and was affiliated with the university of toronto. since that time the diploma of veterinary surgeon (v.s.) has been issued by the minister of agriculture, and a supplementary degree of bachelor of veterinary science (b.v.sc.) has been granted by the university. the taking over of this institution by the government, the resuming by the province of its original prerogative, was accompanied by an enlargement of the course, an extension from two years to three years in the period of instruction, and a strengthening of the faculty. the herd-books or pedigree record books were, in most cases, canadian, and it was felt that they should be located at the capital of the dominion. these have therefore been transferred to ottawa and are now conducted under dominion regulations. the ontario bureau of industries was the basis of organization of the department. as other work was added the department grew in size and importance, and the various branches were instituted until there developed a well-organized department having the following subdivisions: the agricultural college, the veterinary college, the agricultural and horticultural societies branch, the live stock branch, the farmers' and women's institutes branch, the dairy branch, the fruit branch, the statistical branch, the immigration and colonization branch. each branch is in charge of a special officer. in addition to the above there is a lot of miscellaneous work, which as it develops will probably be organized into separate branches, such as farm forestry, district representatives, etc. john dryden was in 1905 succeeded as minister of agriculture by nelson monteith, who in 1908 was succeeded by j. s. duff. under their care the department has grown and expanded, and through their recommendations, year by year, increasing amounts of money have been obtained for the extension of agricultural instruction and the more thorough working out of plans inaugurated in the earlier years of departmental organization. the history of agricultural work in ontario in recent years may be put under two heads--expansion of the various organizations and extension of their operations, and the development of what may be called 'field work.' farmers' institutes and women's institutes have multiplied; agricultural societies now cover the entire province; local horse associations, poultry associations, and beekeepers' associations have been encouraged; winter fairs for live stock have been established at guelph and ottawa; dairy instructors have been increased in number and efficiency; short courses in live stock, seed improvement, fruit work, and dairying have been held; and farm drainage has received practical encouragement. perhaps the most important advance of late years has resulted through the appointment of what are known as district representatives. in co-operation with the department of education, graduates of the agricultural college have been permanently located in the various counties to study the agricultural conditions and to initiate and direct any movement that would assist in developing the agricultural work. these graduates organize short courses at various centres, conduct classes in high schools, assist the farmers in procuring the best seed, advise as to new lines of work, assist in drainage, supervise the care of orchards--in short, they carry the work of the agricultural college and of the various branches of the department right to the farmer, and give that impetus to better farming which can come only from personal contact. the growth of the district representative system has been remarkable: it was begun in seven counties in 1907, by 1910 fifteen counties had representatives, and in 1914 no fewer than thirty-eight counties were so equipped. at first the farmers distrusted and even somewhat opposed the movement, but the district representative soon proved himself so helpful that the government has found it difficult to comply with the numerous requests for these apostles of scientific farming. approximately $125,000 is spent each year on the work by the provincial government, in addition to the $500 granted annually by the county to each district office. the result of all this is that new and more profitable lines of farming are being undertaken, specializing in production is being encouraged, and ontario agriculture is advancing rapidly along the lines to which the soils, the climate, and the people are adapted. a study of the history of ontario agriculture shows many changes in the past hundred years, but at no time has there been so important and so interesting a development as that which took place in the opening decade of the twentieth century. [signature: c c james] [transcriber's note: the following correction was made: p. 572: newburg to newburgh spelling in quoted passages has not been changed. page numbering matches the original.] bulletin of the departments of history and political and economic science in queen's university, kingston, ontario, canada. no. 28, july, 1918 sir george arthur and his administration of upper canada. by walter sage _the jackson press, kingston_ sir george arthur and his administration of upper canada. the last lieutenant-governor of upper canada before the union of 1841 was sir george arthur. to most canadians of to-day he is little more than a name, but still he played an important part in the stirring events of our political life fourscore years ago. he lacked the picturesqueness of that extraordinary personage, his predecessor in office, sir francis bond head, and he was overshadowed completely by both lord durham to poulett thomson, better known as lord sydenham, who were in succession as governors-general placed in authority over him. none the less he lives in canadian history as the man who refused to reprieve lount and matthews, and who made common cause with the family compact against the reformers. although nominally he was lieutenant-governor of upper canada from his appointment in 1837 until the act of union went into force, his real term of office lasted only a little more than a year and a half, from march 23rd, 1838, until november 22nd, 1839. after that time he was directly subordinate to sydenham. during that brief period sir george arthur proved himself an energetic if not always merciful governor. it was unfortunate that arthur come to upper canada at a time when mackenzie's rebellion had just been crushed and when party feeling was still running very high. sir francis bond head left toronto on the very day that sir george arthur arrived and so the new lieutenant-governor was unable to obtain much information from his predecessor. there is reason to believe, none the less, that sir francis put in a good word for his old friends the family compact and that arthur from the beginning of his term of office favoured that party. in his first official despatch to lord glenelg dated march 29th, 1838, sir george makes mention of the "large preponderating party looking to the executive government to put down treason by energetic measures," as opposed to "the party styling themselves reformers" who were "hoping for the most lenient course."[1] these phrases, written when arthur had been only about a week in upper canada, stamp the new governor at once as an opponent of reform. if further proof is needed it can readily be found in arthur's reply to a congratulatory address from seven hundred and fifty citizens of toronto upon the occasion of his arrival in that city. in that address reference was made to the fact that "in the promotion of public order, and the adoption of measures for the pacification of the country" arthur would have "the prompt and energetic support of the loyal, patriotic and constitutional reformers of the province." in his reply sir george arthur regretted that "any portion of the inhabitants of this city should have felt it necessary at the moment to present themselves under the character of reformers, as a distinct class of the people of this province." such a statement was not likely to secure for sir george arthur the whole-hearted support of all the well-disposed citizens of toronto. the execution of lount and matthews further alienated the more moderate men in the province. when sir francis head arrived in toronto he was greeted by placards which designated him as "a tried reformer."[2] when sir george arthur was appointed to succeed him the london _atlas_, on march 3rd, 1838, enquired, "what will the inhabitants of upper canada think of the appointment of the governor of a penal colony to rule over a province of freemen?"[3] as a matter of fact, arthur was an improvement on head but he was never able to shake off his past traditions or to obtain as lord durham and lord sydenham did, a real insight into upper canadian conditions. durham, it is true, in his report is not nearly so successful when he deals with the upper province as when he portrays the miseries of lower canada, but he understood the situation there better than head or arthur ever did. sydenham's ideas as to the workings of responsible government did not harmonize with those of lord elgin, but he never would have argued against it, as arthur did, on the grounds that it was demanded by the reformers. from start to finish of his term of office in upper canada sir george arthur was unable to forget his experience in british honduras where he quelled a negro insurrection and in van diemen's land, now tasmania, where he was called upon to rule a convict settlement. above all he was a military officer, and as such was none too ready to season justice with mercy. he was the last of that series of lieutenant-governors of upper canada who were also military officers and he possessed the defects of his qualities. stern, unbending, narrow-minded, but entirely honest he was totally unable to see his opponent's point of view. by training sir george arthur was a soldier. before he ever embarked on his administrative career as governor of one colonial dependency after another he had served many years in the army. born in 1784, the youngest son of john arthur of norley house, plymouth, george arthur entered the army at the age of twenty. he saw service in italy, egypt--where he was wounded at rosetta in 1807--and also in sicily in 1808. he took part in the ill-fated walcheren expedition of 1809 and seems to have distinguished himself in it, since we read that he was thanked in general orders and also that he received the freedom of the city of london. after being military secretary to sir george don, the governor of the island of jersey; arthur, in 1812, became a major in the seventh west india regiment. we next find him in jamaica as assistant quartermaster-general of the forces on that island. in 1814 george arthur became lieutenant-governor of british honduras "with the rank of colonel on the staff."[4] this office, which was both civil and military, arthur held until 1822, during which time he suppressed a serious revolt of the slave population. his despatches on the subject of slavery we are told attracted the attention of the great abolitionist, william wilberforce. in 1822 colonel arthur returned to england on leave of absence in order to furnish the british government with additional information on the subject of the emancipation of slaves. it was during this stay in england that he was in 1824 appointed lieutenant-governor of van diemen's land and at the same time commander of the military forces in that penal colony. for twelve years george arthur grappled with the terrible conditions existing in that most unfortunate island. the transportation system, one of the worst blots in british colonial history, was then at its height and its evils were only too apparent. the select committee on transportation appointed by the british parliament in its report submitted in 1838, having outlined the unspeakable conditions existing at norfolk island, goes on to make the following statement regarding van diemen's land: "your committee will not lengthen this report by describing the penal settlements of van diemen's land, where the severity of the system is as great as, if not greater than, that at norfolk island, where culprits are as reckless, if not more reckless, commissing murder" (to use the words of sir george arthur) "in order to enjoy the excitement of being sent up to hobart town for trial, though aware that in the ordinary course they must be executed within a fortnight after arrival."[5] as lieutenant-governor of such a colony colonel arthur was called upon to act with firmness and often with severity. his biographer in the dictionary of national biography, sir alexander john arbuthnot, k.c.s.i., claims that the object of arthur's appointment was "the introduction of an improved system" of treatment for the convicts. arthur sought to adopt "a middle course between the extreme severity of the system which would make transportation simply deterrent and the over-indulgence of the system which aimed at reforming the convict by gentler treatment. he held that it was possible to make transportation a punishment much dreaded by criminals whilst offering every facility for reform to those who were not hardened in crime; but he entertained no quixotic expectations of frequent reformation."[6] it will be seen from this quotation that arthur believed in the transportation system in a modified and "improved" form. in this he ran counter to the wishes of the colonists who desired that an end be put to the abomination. arthur's biographer regrets that "the colonists and their friends in england were bent on putting an end to the transportation system and their views ultimately prevailed." this difference of opinion between arthur and the colonists furnished w. l. mackenzie with some of his choicest bits of invective against the new lieutenant-governor of upper canada. in his _gazette_, mackenzie prefaced a long series of excerpts from the newspapers of van diemen's land on the occasion of arthur's recall with the sarcasm: "such credentials cannot fail to increase the loyalty of the happy canadians. o, the blessings of colonial dependence!!!"[7] these excerpts clearly show that there was a considerable body of colonial opinion in van diemen's land opposed to the policies of governor arthur. the following from the hobart town _news_ may be taken as fairly typical. as a matter of fact it is quite moderate in tone in comparison with some of the other invectives against arthur. "it was with feelings of the most sincere satisfaction, we announced in our last number the arrival of the 'good ship' "elphinstone", from england, bringing the very gratifying intelligence of the recall of colonel george arthur after an administration of twelve years; during the whole of which long period the people have been rendered wretched, unhappy, discontented and miserable by the misrule of his government...."[8] of course, no one would look into the pages of mackenzie's _gazette_ to get a favourable impression of sir george arthur, but a perusal of these excerpts shows that the dissatisfaction against arthur was widespread. the launcetown _advertiser_ states that, "throughout the whole period of his government the military have been placed in too prominent a position. lieutenants and ensigns, fresh from the frolics of chatham, have been turned into justices of the peace and the whole administration of the colony has been pipe-clayed into a service of an amphibious, half-military, half-civil complexion."[9] the _colonial times_ quite frankly lays it down that "a worse british governor never ruled during the present century."[10] this is strong language, written in the heat of the moment, but when sufficient discount is made for hot temper the fact remains that sir george arthur made a number of enemies in van diemen's land. to a certain extent arthur was not to blame since he was the victim of circumstances. he was forced by the nature of his office to uphold the abominable system of transportation and his position as commander-in-chief of the military forces on the island made him a military as well as a civil governor of a penal colony. but on the other hand, he was by nature an aristocrat with but little democratic feeling. he mistrusted popular government and he had to keep down a discontented population of whom over one-third were convicts. sir william molesworth in his speech on transportation delivered in the british house of commons on may 5th, 1840,[11] gives the following statistics culled from sir george arthur's despatches from van diemen's land in 1834. "its population in 1834 did not exceed 40,000, of whom 16,000 were convicts, 1,000 soldiers, and 23,000 free inhabitants; what proportion of the latter had been convicts it is impossible to say. in this small community the summary convictions amounted to about 15,000 in the year in question, amongst which there were about 2,000 for felony, 1,200 for misdemeanour, 700 for assaults, and 3,000 for drunkenness. eleven thousand of these convictions were of convicts who are summarily punished for all offences to which the penalty of death is not attached." with such a turbulent population to control it is no wonder that sir george arthur had but little belief in popular government. but however great the opposition to governor arthur in van diemen's land may have been, the australian commonwealth to-day owes him one debt of gratitude. according to his biographer arbuthnot, arthur was the first person to suggest the advisability of a federation of all the australian colonies. in this he was years in advance of his time. still it is to be doubted whether any scheme of federation brought forward in arthur's time could have been so complete and satisfactory as that consummated in 1901. after his return to england in march, 1837, colonel arthur received the hanoverian order of knighthood. at the close of the same year he was appointed lieutenant-governor of upper canada and at the same time given "the military rank and command of a major-general on the staff." sir george arthur was now nearly sixty years of age and had been for over twenty-two years a colonial governor. during that period he had wielded almost despotic power. it was not at all likely that he would be inclined to look with favour upon the demands of the upper canadian reformers for "responsible government." on his arrival in upper canada sir george arthur was faced by a situation of the utmost delicacy. the rashness and wrong-headedness of sir francis bond head and of william lyon mackenzie had brought on the upper canadian rebellion. the skirmish at montgomery's tavern occurred on thursday, december 7th, 1837, and at the close of the day w. l. mackenzie was a fugitive with a price on his head. the affair of the "caroline" took place on december 29th. the destruction of this american steamboat resulted in considerable excitement in the united states and relations between the british and american governments became somewhat strained. the arrest and trial of alexander mcleod on the charge of murdering amos durfee, an american citizen, who was killed during the raid on the "caroline", further complicated the situation. it was not until 1842 that the incident was finally closed by a letter of apology addressed by sir robert peel to daniel webster. shortly after the destruction of the "caroline" by the canadians, mackenzie's sympathizers, who had seized navy island in the niagara river near the falls, were forced to abandon their post, and the centre of disturbance shifted westward to the detroit river. on this frontier an attack was planned by american sympathizers and disaffected canadians against fort madden which was situated sixteen miles from windsor, ontario. the attempt proved disastrous and resulted in the capture of "general" theller and other american sympathizers, who were sent to toronto for trial. on the 3rd of march, 1838, pelee island in lake erie was captured by another band of invaders who were driven off by a canadian loyalist force under colonel maitland. this was the last serious attempt made from the united states before the arrival in upper canada of sir george arthur. the new lieutenant-governor then found himself involved in a peculiar international situation. were these american sympathizers foreigners who were levying open war against the province committed to his charge, or were they merely marauders to be classed as pirates? this problem complicated another question of the utmost and pressing importance which was, in what way were the leaders of the late rebellion to be treated? the family compact men and the tories generally thirsted for their blood. two of the leaders of mackenzie's rebellion, lount and matthews, were already in prison and were shortly to be put on trial for their lives. the problem which sir george arthur had to settle was whether or not the extreme penalty of the law should be exacted. it was not to be expected that the ex-governor of a penal colony would show much mercy towards these men who had taken up arms against constituted authority. nor did he. lount and matthews pleaded guilty and were on march 29th sentenced to death. the execution was to take place on april 12th. sir george arthur had, of course, no part in sentencing them to death. that was done by chief justice john beverley robinson, who, kingsford tells us, pronounced sentence "with that felicity of language ever at his command, but its tone was merciless."[12] sir john beverley robinson's son and biographer, major-general c. w. robinson, quotes from the _law journal_ of upper canada for march, 1863, to show that "of the three individuals concerned, the chief justice was most certainly the most painfully affected." but whatever his private feelings may have been the chief justice was unbending in his determination that no mercy be shown. he refused to advise the lieutenant-governor that lount and matthews be either pardoned or respited.[13] in this opinion of the chief justice the attorney-general, hagerman, concurred, and although there was great excitement in the province and "petitions signed by not less than 8,000 persons"[14] were presented, a reprieve was not granted and the two rebel leaders were executed on the day set. two days later, on april 14th, arthur penned a long dispatch on the subject to lord glenelg. this document shows clearly how completely the new lieutenant-governor was in sympathy with the family compact and how entirely he failed to understand the point of view of the reformers. the despatch professes to deal with the cases of samuel lount and peter matthews, "with a general view of the course to be taken with respect to persons committed for high treason." arthur begins by combatting a statement made by lord glenelg in a despatch dated january 6th, 1835, addressed to sir john colborne and marked "separate," to the effect that, "her majesty's government could not fail to notice the wide difference which exists between the circumstances which have taken place in lower canada, and the recent events in upper canada. so far as can be collected from the information now before me, the chief motive which influenced the instigation of the disturbance in upper canada appears to have been the view of plunder, and the offences which they perpetrated, seem to bear comparatively little of a political character." lord glenelg's grasp of the situation in upper canada may be inferred from the above passage and sir george arthur proceeds to enlighten him. several sentences from his despatch deserve quoting in full, since they show how readily sir george arthur had embraced the tory point of view. "in upper canada, the same pretensions to patriotism--the same assertions of republican principles--the same accusations against the government of tyranny and corruption--were put forth as the ground and justification of the rebellion as in the lower province. in lower canada, the right was insisted on, of the popular branch of the legislature sullenly to refuse acting as a legislative body, and to bring to a complete stop all beneficial operations of government, and to assert a supremacy inconsistent with the relations of a colony with the parent state. "in upper canada arms were taken up with the avowed purpose of assisting the lower canadians, and of asserting the same principles as applicable to this colony. in upper canada the majority of the assembly were attached to british institutions; but this majority was asserted to have been brought about by unconstitutional means on the part of government, and the use which the revolutionary party had made of a majority in parliament when they had it, was precisely the same here as in lower canada: namely, to coerce the government by a refusal to grant the necessary supplies. the revolutionists in neither province hoped by themselves to overthrow the government. they alike solicited foreign aid, and by its means expected to accomplish those designs...." it may easily be seen from the above quotation that sir george arthur misunderstood the political situation in both upper and lower canada. he failed entirely to appreciate the aims of the reformers and considered them a grave menace to the security of british rule in canada. so imbued was he with the point of view of what he terms the "constitutional party" that he believed the rebel leaders, including lount and matthews, had proved "not only that they were determined, with their own hands, to execute the foulest deeds in furtherance of their project of subverting the government; but they had encouraged a class of dissolute and vagrant foreigners to join in their enterprise, who, they well knew, would not hesitate to inflict upon the inhabitants of this province, if they could have subjugated them, the most barbarous atrocities."[15] under such circumstances, if the british connexion was to be preserved and law and order firmly re-established, it was necessary, arthur considered, that several public examples should be made. lount and matthews had pleaded guilty of the heinous crime of rebellion against authority and were convicted of high treason. the penalty was death and it made no difference to sir george arthur whether eight thousand or thirty thousand[16] persons signed petitions for their reprieve. he could not understand that lount and matthews were in the eyes of a very large section of the province merely political prisoners who had been unfortunate enough to appeal to arms and be defeated by their opponents of the tory party. the fact that the lieutenant-governor and the executive council were adherents of this tory party did not, in itself, mean that lount and matthews were traitors. high treason is a very serious thing and so is armed rebellion, but the skirmish at montgomery's tavern could hardly be called a battle and there had been great provocation. in refusing to reprieve lount and matthews or even to postpone their execution until he had had an opportunity to confer with the colonial office, sir george arthur made the chief blunder of his career as lieutenant-governor of upper canada. to be sure he acted in complete harmony with his executive council, whose advice he took in the matter, but he did not understand the real feeling of the province. it is doubtful whether any but the most rabid tories favoured the exaction of the death penalty. the ends of justice could have been secured either by transportation or banishment. nor did the colonial office entirely favour the executions of these men. on may 22nd lord glenelg wrote to arthur as follows: "i have received your despatch of the 29th march, no. 1, reporting your proceedings up to that date, and the measures which you proposed to adopt with reference to the militia and volunteers, and stating that two of the most active of the persons engaged in the late revolt, having been brought to trial, had pleaded guilty and been sentenced to death, and assuring me that the most merciful consideration would be shown towards the prisoners generally. "i have laid your despatch before the queen, and have to convey to you her majesty's approbation of the proceedings which you have reported. since the receipt, indeed, of your despatch, intelligence has appeared in the public papers of the execution at toronto of messrs. lount and matthews, the individuals, as i presume, alluded to in your despatch. "i have every confidence that before consenting to such a means, you devoted to the cases of these persons a calm and dispassionate consideration, but as i have hitherto received from you no report of these executions or of the grounds on which you decided to let the law take its course, i abstain for the present from any further comment on them. "i am happy to learn, through the same channel of information, that no further executions were likely to take place."[17] eight days later, on may 30th, 1838, after receiving sir george arthur's despatch of the 14th of april, lord glenelg again alluded to the execution and this time one feels that, in his own mild way, the colonial secretary is seeking to restrain arthur: "i have received your despatch of the 14th april last (no. 4), reporting the executions, on the 12th of that month, of lount and matthews, who had been convicted, on their own confession, of 'high treason,' and explaining, at considerable length, the views adopted by yourself and the executive council with regard to these prisoners, and the considerations which appeared to you imperatively to demand that the law in the case should be allowed to take its course. "her majesty's government regret extremely that a paramount necessity should have arisen for these examples of severity. they are, however, fully convinced that you did not consent to the execution of these individuals without having given the most ample consideration to all the circumstances of the case, and they have no reason to doubt the necessity of the course which, with the entire concurrence of the executive council, you felt it your duty to adopt."[18] the colonial secretary did not censure arthur for his conduct in the matter of the execution of lount and matthews but he added a significant paragraph regarding the treatment of other political prisoners. "with respect to the disposal of the other prisoners, her majesty's government cannot give you any specific instructions, until they shall have received the report which you lead me to expect. but i cannot defer expressing our earnest hope that, with respect to these persons, your opinion that no further capital punishments will be necessary, may be acted on. nothing would cause her majesty's government more sincere regret than an unnecessary recourse to the punishment of death, and i am persuaded that the same feeling will influence not only yourself, but the executive council. the examples which have been made in the case of the most guilty will be sufficient to warn others of the consequences to which they render themselves liable by such crimes, and this object having been accomplished, no further advantage could be gained by indict the extreme penalty of the law on any of their associates."[19] the death of lount and matthews seems to have satisfied the desire for revenge on the part of the extremists and a milder course of policy was then pursued by the lieutenant-governor and executive council. several other leaders including "generals" sutherland and theller, both of whom were american citizens, were sentenced to transportation. theller had been sentenced to death and, according to his own account, was only saved from the gallows by the energetic agitation in his favour of the irish section of the population. he has left a voluminous account of his captivity, including his sensational escape from the citadel of quebec, in his book, _canada in 1837-8_, to which the reader is referred if he wishes to obtain a very highly-coloured bit of autobiography.[20] theller's case brought up a very interesting question of international law. he had been born in ireland and had become naturalized as an american citizen. when put on trial for his life on a charge of high treason theller pleaded that his american naturalization had rendered him no longer a british subject. against him a precedent of 1747 was quoted to support the doctrine of "perpetual allegiance," i.e. "once a british subject, always a british subject." the jury brought in the curious verdict that "if the prisoner was a british subject he was guilty of treason." chief justice robinson, acting in accordance with his belief in the doctrine of 'perpetual allegiance' ruled that theller was still a british subject and thereupon sentenced him to death. under the circumstances to carry out the death sentence would have been very inadvisable. pressure was brought to bear upon the lieutenant-governor and the executive council, and as a result a respite was granted "until her majesty's pleasure should be known."[21] theller was soon after removed from toronto to quebec and detained there in the citadel, from which he escaped. sutherland was tried by court martial, imprisoned in toronto and quebec, and finally returned to american soil. these american prisoners were very embarrassing to the upper canadian authorities. there was still considerable excitement along the american frontier and the danger of invasion was by no means over. lount and matthews were considered martyrs by many on the american side of the border. highly coloured accounts of the execution appeared in the american press. even the new york sun took up the matter and recounted how mrs. lount on the day previous to her husband's execution "pleaded with governor arthur for hours for his life, and when she pointed to _thirty thousand names_ who petitioned with her for the exercise of the royal prerogative, he coldly replied 'that he had not believed that mr. lount had so many friends in the province, and that there was the more necessity that he should be made an example to the rest.'"[22] under these circumstances the execution of theller would have added oil to the flame. the congress of the united states passed a "neutrality bill" which cleared up the situation a great deal by denying official sanction to any schemes of invasion and enjoining neutrality on all american citizens. the state authorities along the frontier also tried to prevent any movement of armed forces against canada. theller records how he successfully dodged the american authorities in making his attack on fort madden and how governor mason of michigan was coming down the river with a strong force when theller and his friends approached the island of bois blanc which lies in canadian waters. no doubt there often was a certain amount of laxity on the part of the american authorities, and sir george arthur finds occasion to condemn it at times, but the united states government seems on the whole to have acted very wisely. the burning of the "caroline," which it should be remembered was an american vessel attacked by a canadian force in american waters, might easily have led to very serious consequences. if president van buren and his cabinet had wanted war it would have been quite possible to claim the destruction of the ill-fated "caroline" as an overt act of hostility. fortunately milder counsels prevailed and war was avoided. but this incident profoundly affected and prolonged the agitation on the american side of the border. on april 23rd, 1838, an "authorized agent" of the united states government, mr. aaron vail, who had recently been chargã© d'affaires in the american embassy in london, arrived at toronto. mr. vail, according to the official despatch of the british ambassador at washington, mr. h. s. fox, was charged with the task "of inquiring into, and reporting upon, the actual condition of various individuals, who are now in confinement in canada." mr. fox considered mr. vail a very fitting envoy and that his mission would be beneficial "by dissipating false rumours which tend to keep alive feelings of ill-will between the british and american inhabitants on the canadian frontier." aaron vail's mission seems to have fulfilled expectations, for on april 25th arthur wrote to fox that it was quite impossible that a more proper person than mr. vail could have been selected by the president, and that he trusted all the benefit would result from his mission as fox had anticipated. vail does not seem to have formed a very high opinion of the american prisoners, whom he described as "the 'scum' of the population."[23] theller has left us an amusing account of how the toronto gaol was carefully scrubbed in honour of vail's visit and how the prison authorities hinted that "the americans had better clean and dress up, as they might expect to see some visitors, and probably hear some good news."[24] the prisoners poured out their tale of woe to vail who "took notes and assured us that the government of the united states would strictly inquire into the matter."[25] nothing much, however, seems to have resulted from the inquiry, since it was evident that vail's mission was to smooth over affairs rather than to stir up further strife by issuing an inflammatory report on canadian conditions. soon after the departure of mr. vail occurred the trial and conviction of charles durand. durand's case was peculiar, and noteworthy as illustrating the methods employed by arthur and his executive council to stamp out disaffection. durand was put on trial for high treason, the chief evidence against him being a letter which was found in his house among his papers addressed to w. l. mackenzie, and which contained within it charges against the executive council and family compact generally. this letter was never sent and mackenzie in his _gazette_ denies ever having seen it. it was, therefore, a high handed proceeding to sentence a man to death on the evidence of a private paper which was never published. durand was afterwards respited and banished to the united states, but his trial and conviction on the 7th of may did not tend to increase the popularity of the lieutenant-governor and his executive council. durand's letter certainly was written in no mild tone and it still breathes forth the spirit of disaffection. but it was never published and as such should not have been used to convict its author. the following-sentences will serve as a sample of the whole: "the principles of the reformers are those of truth, are those that tend to promote the happiness of the many--instead of the few. although in common with thousands of the old farmers in canada, with thousands of the sons of u. e. loyalists, i was willing to petition the mother country for the redress of our political wrongs, and even to petition them again and again, yet when i see insult upon insult heaped upon the reformers of this province: our governors allowed with impunity to slander and laugh at the people and their house of assembly--when i see governors who have held up with both hands the gracious despatches of the deceitful and tyrannical colonial office--conspiring against the liberties of this colony by establishing a 'dominant church' and 'english church rectories' amongst us against our will and desire, _raised, promoted_ and _applauded_ for deceiving the people here, when i see judges suspended and dismissed from their offices for voting for liberal men and the _elective franchise_, the only spark of liberty we can boast of, trampled down by office holders, and done away with by the governor issuing thousands of patent deeds to his favorites and officials, i begin to ask myself, shall i, shall we, who have made the country what it is, be used thus with impunity? shall we, the native canadians, the sons of u. e. loyalists, be called aliens in the land of our birth, and by the fluttering officials that hang on the smiles of a governor's brow--i say nay. i feel that we are too tame--that we have forgotten that we are free--that we are in america,"[26] etc. etc. there is no need to quote more of this verbiage. the above is sufficient to show that durand was able to "tear a passion to tatters, to very rags," and if he had ever had this letter published it would have doubtless "split the ears of the groundlings." the curious thing it that a man should be condemned to death for writing such a letter. truly arthur and his executive council lacked a sense of humour! about this time a new movement against canada was on foot in the united states. "hunters' lodges" were formed with the object "never to rest, till all tyrants of britain cease to have any dominion or footing whatever in north america."[27] this new organization seems to have originated in may, 1838, and to have spread rapidly, especially through the states bordering on upper canada. lindsay tells us that at a convention of the hunters' lodges of ohio and michigan held at cleveland from september 16th to 22nd[28] of that year, seventy delegates were present. at this meeting a republican government was appointed for upper canada, including a president and complete cabinet. a "republican bank of upper canada" was projected which was to issue a paper currency adorned with the heads of lount, matthews and moreau who took part in the short hills affair in june, 1838, to which reference will shortly be made. but the members of the "hunters' lodges" though full of enthusiasm were short of funds, so the bank did not prosper. before this grandiloquent meeting at cleveland there had been several disturbances along the border. the first of these was the destruction on may 30th, of the canadian passenger steamer "sir robert peel" at wells' island by american sympathizers. wells' island, one of the thousand islands, is situated in american waters and so the authorities of new york state were to a certain extent negligent in allowing the incident to occur. the destruction of the "sir robert peel" seems to have been regarded by the "patriots" who boarded her as an act of revenge for the burning of the "caroline." but whatever the motives of those concerned the incident caused bad feeling along the border. an american steamer, the "telegraph," was fired upon on june 2nd by the canadian sentries at brockville, the excuse given that the "telegraph" had not answered when hailed by the sentries. an investigation was held at which the authorities of st. lawrence county, n.y., were present, and it was ascertained that the sentries had acted without orders. a few days after these incidents a body of "patriots" under the leadership of james moreau crossed the niagara frontier in order to free upper canada. moreau, who is called morrow in the canadian records, issued a proclamation which called upon the canadians to come to his assistance and proclaimed that this was the hour of their redemption. the answer of the "oppressed canadians" was the engagement fought at the short hills on june 21st when the "patriots" were defeated by the canadian militia. moreau fled with a price on his head but was captured, tried and condemned to death. the executive council on july 26th refused to reprieve him since he was considered a proper case for capital punishment under an act of the parliament of upper canada passed the previous session in order "to protect the inhabitants of this province against lawless aggressions from subjects of foreign countries at peace with her majesty." moreau was accordingly executed at niagara on july 30th. if sir george arthur had had his way there would have been more executions, but lord durham intervened. the next serious outbreak on the frontier was the attack of von schoultz near prescott on november 11th. the invaders seized a point of land on which a stone windmill had been built and fortified the place. an engagement ensued and the invaders were driven back to shelter within the windmill. on the 14th of november british reinforcements, including artillery, arrived, and two days later an attack was made at the distance of only 400 yards. the garrison of the windmill then surrendered and nearly 160 prisoners were taken.[29] von schoultz and nine others were executed in kingston. von schoultz was defended by sir john a. macdonald, then a young barrister just beginning his profession, but there was little that could be said in his defence. the last movement against upper canada took place on december 4th, when an attack was made on windsor. this affair is thus described in the district general orders of december 10th, dated at toronto:[30] "a large body of pirates and brigands, belonging to the hostile combination in the neighbouring country which has of late so much disturbed the peace of this province, after assembling in the neighbourhood of detroit, and showing themselves at different points in the vicinity, at length had the hardihood to effect a landing near windsor, about three miles from sandwich, on the morning of the 4th instant, where they commenced their work of destruction by burning a steam-boat called the "thames," and a house used as a barrack, making prisoners a small but gallant party of militia quartered therein, who, in defending themselves against the attacking banditti shot their leader and eventually effected their escape." at sandwich, colonel prince gathered a force of local militia, made "a spirited attack" and put the invaders to flight. four prisoners who had been taken were shot by orders of colonel prince, whose action was afterward severely censured by lord brougham and others. after the action at sandwich the rest of the invaders either recrossed to american territory or else took to the woods, where many perished from the cold. so ended the last attempt at invasion of upper canada. seven of those captured at windsor were executed at london, including daniel davis bedford and albert clark. the cases of these two men were discussed at two separate meetings of the executive council and it was decided that each of them should suffer the death penalty. in these decisions sir george arthur entirely concurred. the ex-governor of the penal colony was still exacting vengeance. in his defence it should be stated that the loyal section of the province, including the executive council, considered these men filibusters and murderers. the treatment meted out by the executive council to those british subjects, american citizens and others who were taken in arms against the government of upper canada has been discussed at some length. this has been done for two reasons, first that it bulks so large in sir george arthur's official despatches, and second because it shows what complete harmony existed between sir george and his executive council. not even sir francis head was more devoted to the family compact party. sir george arthur was by temperament and training entirely on the side of established authority and opposed to disaffection in all its forms. a strong conservative, he mistrusted the rule of the people and, therefore, opposed as stubbornly as possible the popular demand for responsible government. in this, as in other respects, arthur found himself completely at variance with the governor-general, the earl of durham. it was unfortunate for arthur that he was in upper canada during a period of unrest and transition. it was even more unfortunate for him that he was brought into contact with lord durham. durham was a man of vision who sketched out a mighty scheme which took years to put into actual practice. arthur was a man of routine who could not appreciate either durham or his visions. above all he mistrusted that pet project of lord durham, responsible government, and did not hesitate to say so. the appointment of the earl of durham as governor-general of the british north american provinces was deeply resented by sir george arthur. by virtue of his commission durham was empowered to assume the government of the province in which he might be and to retain it during his residence in that province. during that period the functions of the lieutenant-governor were to be altogether suspended.[31] due notice of this fact was sent each of the lieutenant-governors of the british north american provinces including, of course, sir george arthur. after receiving this notice sir george wrote on june 5th, 1838, to lord glenelg, complaining of this arrangement. he based his case against it on his experience in van diemen's land, which was during his tenure of office there a dependency of new south wales, and called to lord glenelg remembrance a conversation he had had with him on the subject. in fact, as arthur reminds glenelg, the terms on which he consented to become lieutenant-governor of upper canada were that no change of that sort would be made. three days after writing thus to lord glenelg sir george arthur received a circular letter from lord durham requesting him "to enter into the most free and confidential communication ... on all subjects affecting the province of upper canada, both as regards its internal condition and the state of affairs on the frontiers."[32] lord durham included in this letter the following paragraphs in order to allay the suspicion that might exist in arthur's mind that he wished to diminish the lieutenant-governor's authority, "your excellency will of course understand that this request does not contemplate any interference with your administration of the government, but refers to the necessity which exists that i, as governor-general of all the north american provinces, should be immediately informed of all matters of general interest affecting the high and important mission which has been conferred upon me. "it will be my duty as well as my inclination to uphold your authority, not only from the respect which i must entertain for you personally, but from a due regard to the efficiency of the public service." this circular must have mollified arthur somewhat, or else he was too well trained a public servant to show his innermost feelings. at any rate he writes to durham on june 9th as follows, "i sincerely thank your lordship for your very kind declaration of confidence in me and for the determination which your lordship has expressed of upholding my authority. "it is peculiarly gratifying to me to receive these assurances from your lordship, for i ought in candour to say that from the time i received lord glenelg's 'circular,' i have been very apprehensive of the embarrassment which might arise out of the new relative position in which i found myself most unexpectedly placed. the immeasurable distinction between your lordship's station and my own must satisfy your lordship that this has proceeded from no vain jealousy, on personal grounds, of the control of a superior. with diminished influence i feared the ability of being useful to her majesty's government and to this province would be taken away; for i have to co-operate with a legislature which must have a reasonable degree of confidence of my powers to act in union with them, and to fulfil my professions.[33]" to this rather naã¯ve letter durham on june 18th replied stating even more clearly that no act of his would diminish arthur's influence and authority in upper canada. he goes on to put his case as follows, "i repeat to you, that i have no wish to interfere with the local administration of the affairs of any of the provinces included in my general government. "those functions will be vested, as before, in the lieutenant-governors; but it is essential to the success of my mission and to the due execution of my duties, more especially in the present disturbed state of our relations with the frontier population of the united states, that i should be promptly and directly made acquainted with all events bearing on those important questions." arthur seems to have followed out durham's instructions as regards frontier troubles to the letter, since we find the following postscript added to his despatch of june 22nd, 1838 (no. 4): "_p.s._ i make now no communications myself to the american government, and have troubled your lordship with all these particulars, as a representation will of course come with far greater force from your lordship."[34] in july, 1838, lord durham made a flying visit to upper canada. his object seems to have been to ascertain for himself existing conditions in this province and to form his own opinion as to what policy it would be best to pursue. he writes thus to lord glenelg from montreal on july 6th: "lower canada is perfectly free from internal troubles, and her frontier is not menaced by the americans; but upper canada, by the last accounts from sir george arthur, is in a very unsatisfactory state, both as to domestic dissensions and border incursions. i am anxious, therefore, to proceed there as soon as possible."[35] lord durham left montreal on july 10th, arrived in kingston late on the night of the 11th, and then proceeded to niagara. at niagara sir george arthur met him. from niagara lord durham journeyed to toronto where sir george was also present to receive him formally, along with the mayor and corporation and the citizens of the provincial capital. on the 19th of july durham returned to kingston and thence down the st. lawrence to montreal where he arrived on july 24th. his visit to upper canada had been short but he had covered a great deal of territory and seems to have been pleased with what he saw. if one of lord durham's objects in making his hurried trip to upper canada was to obtain a better understanding with sir george arthur he must have been disappointed since shortly after his return to lower canada their relations became somewhat strained. the reason for this was the action of sir george arthur and his executive council in sentencing to death samuel chandler and benjamin waite for their part in the short hills affair. the families of these men had appealed to durham "for an extension of the royal mercy" and "for the grant to them of her majesty's pardon."[36] durham asked arthur for particulars, reminding him that lord glenelg had written on the 3rd of april asking that "the utmost lenity, compatible with public safety, should be exercised towards the insurgents." to this sir george arthur replied on august 20th, complaining that durham's action was "depriving the officer administering the government of upper canada of the powers expressly vested in him by the royal commission."[37] arthur also claimed that durham "had misapprehended the intention of the instruction of the secretary of state" and lord glenelg had in a despatch of july 12th referred him "to the power of pardoning for treason vested in the officers administering this government under your lordship's commission as governor-in-chief." durham in his turn maintained that all he wished was to exercise the superintending authority he possessed as governor-general. he admitted that arthur had the power of pardoning for treason delegated to him, but would argue that that power was exempt from "the general subordination to instructions from the governor-general."[38] durham then proceeds to give his opinion of sir george arthur's policy in the following terms. "your excellency's explanation of the policy which you had determined on adopting with regard to the prisoners convicted at niagara does not immediately strike me as indicating a course so obviously correct that i can dispense with the information which i required in my despatch of the 16th instant. i cannot quite admit the propriety of selecting some one subject of her majesty to share the fate of morreau, the leader of the expedition, who happened to be a citizen of the united states. the fate of her majesty's subjects should be determined on a view of their own conduct, and of the circumstances which have led the juries to accompany their verdict of guilty, in every case, with a recommendation to mercy." a further despatch of lord durham to arthur on september 18th went into the case of jacob beamer in some detail. beamer had been singled out by the executive council as the scape goat and was alone to suffer the death penalty. to this durham would not agree but requested that the case be referred to lord glenelg. this despatch is interesting since it shows that the executive council of upper canada was at this time none too friendly towards lord durham and was quite willing to stir up strife between the governor-general and the lieutenant-governor. in the meantime the correspondence between arthur and durham had continued at some length and not always with the best of feeling. but no actual breach seems to have occurred and at length the vexed problem of the political prisoners seemed likely of solution. a general amnesty was to be proclaimed for all except a certain few who were to be named in the proclamation. but by this time lord durham was preparing to return to england. among the despatches sent by sir george arthur to the earl of durham is one dated july 9th, 1838, which deals with the political condition of upper canada. this letter establishes without a doubt the close adherence of sir george arthur to the family compact party, all the more so because sir george tries to claim his independence of all party affiliations. it also shows that the lieutenant-governor had received instructions from the home government "to pursue the policy and measures of sir francis head." this arthur apparently had attempted to do in so far as his support of the dominant party in the province was concerned. he had fallen in completely with their way of thinking and had failed to distinguish between reformers and rebels. he even warned lord sydenham that dr. egerton ryerson was "a dangerous man" chiefly because ryerson supported mr. bidwell, who had been speaker of the legislative assembly and had been forced to leave the province on account of persecution by sir francis head and his executive council after mackenzie's rebellion. in this letter of july 9th sir george arthur attempts to combat the opinions of mr. isaac buchanan, a reformer, who had been presenting his views on the upper canadian political situation to lord durham. according to arthur, mr. buchanan was endeavouring to prejudice durham's mind "against some of the most respectable and most highly esteemed men in the province," and the lieutenant-governor hastened to defend his friends. one or two sentences from this despatch deserve quotation as showing arthur's attitude towards the self-constituted aristocracy of upper canada. "in this colony, as in other countries, respectable station, united with superior talents and good conduct, gives a certain degree of influence which is natural and salutary, and it would be of all things ungracious and discouraging, as well as impolitic, if the government were to manifest a jealousy of an influence so honorably acquired. it is, so far as i have been able to judge, most unobtrusively exercised and i am satisfied, from what i have experienced, that so far as he can conscientiously do so, your lordship will have the most cordial co-operation of the chief justice and of all the family compact, in all its ramifications throughout the province."[39] in this same despatch arthur informs durham that he had "amicably discussed with the leaders of each denomination, the long contested clergy reserves question," and had the intention of "bringing in a bill to reinvest those lands in the crown" if better means could not be found of providing a settlement. he also thought that he would be able to carry any measure he desired successfully through the provincial parliament. it should be remembered that the ultra-tory assembly of 1836, at whose elections sir francis head so distinguished himself, was still in existence and that sir george arthur thought that it would pass any measure brought forward by the government. already on a previous occasion sir george had written to the governor-general on the same subject of the clergy reserves and had expressed a hope that asperities had been already softened and that at the next meeting of the legislature he would be able to see this long-pending contest terminated upon nearly the same principle as it had been settled in van diemen's land during his administration there. but in this pious hope arthur reckoned without the opposition of the reformers. the aim of sir george arthur and the executive council was "to secure the removal of the clergy reserves question from the hostile arena of the upper canada legislature to the friendly atmosphere of the english house of commons, and the still more friendly tribunal of the house of lords--where the bench of bishops would be sure to defend the claims of the church to their royal patrimony."[40] this project the reformers and opponents of the clergy reserves were determined to resist to the uttermost. a long controversy raged during 1838 and 1839. in december, 1837, a bill had been brought forward to reinvest the reserves in the crown, but a despatch from the home government which arrived soon after showed that the british parliamentary authorities had no desire to interfere in the settlement of this vexed question. during 1838 sir george arthur still hoped that the scheme for reinvesting the clergy reserves in the crown would carry as the references in his despatches, cited above, show. such a bill would have suited the members of the executive council and family compact generally. it would have meant that the church of england would have still profited at the expense of the other denominations. as it was, in 1837 out of a total of â£10,852 11s 8d the church of england received â£7,291 5s od, the church of scotland â£1,425, the united synod of upper canada â£636 6s 8d, and the roman catholic clergy â£1,000.[41] the wesleyan methodists and other denominations did not receive one penny from the "one-seventh of all crown lands set aside for the support of a protestant clergy." upon the reassembling of the upper canadian legislature in february, 1839, sir george arthur stated that "the settlement of this vitally important question ought not to be longer delayed" and hoped that the contending parties could be amicably adjusted, but added meaningly that if all their efforts failed it would only remain to reinvest the reserves in the hands of the crown. various bills on the subject were introduced and finally the legislative council amended one sent to it by the assembly in such a way as to put complete control of the clergy reserves in the hands of the imperial parliament. this bill as amended was passed in the assembly in a thin house by a majority of one. sir george arthur and his party had triumphed by a narrow margin. but the royal assent was never given to the bill owing to an objection raised in england that the upper canadian legislature, being a subordinate authority, could not make such a delegation to the imperial parliament. a compromise bill which was devised to meet the approval of the majority of people in upper canada was submitted to the house of assembly in january, 1840, but it was the work not of sir george arthur, but of lord durham's successor, mr. poulett thomson (lord sydenham). it provided that the remainder of the land should be sold and that the annual proceeds of the fund, when realized, be distributed one half to the church of england and the presbyterians and one half to the other denominations who wished to share it. this bill was passed in upper canada and sent to england where it met its death blow in the house of lords. the vexatious clergy reserves problem still remained unsettled. in the matter of the clergy reserves, sir george arthur had shown himself the uncompromising ally of the family compact. he was to show it once more in his attitude towards the reunion of the provinces and the introduction of responsible government. the reunion of the provinces was urged by lord durham in his report and was favoured by a large majority of the inhabitants of upper canada. it was opposed by the family compact, supported as usual by sir george arthur. but the feeling for union was so strong that on march 23rd, 1839, three resolutions in favour of the reunion of the provinces were carried by the upper canadian legislature. four days later, on march 27th, fourteen qualifying resolutions were passed by the assembly. these resolutions, if embodied in the act of union, would have placed the balance of power in the hands of the british population of the united province. a committee of the legislative council was appointed at the same time to inquire into lord durham's report and to put forward their side of the case. this was very ably done in a document dated may 11th, 1839, and approved by the legislative council. in this report on the report lord durham's "great panacea for all political disorders 'responsible government'"[42] was attacked and certain inaccurate statements were challenged. the blame for the recent troubles in upper canada was cast entirely upon the reformers and the question propounded: "is it because reformers, or a portion of them, can command the sympathies of the united states, and of lower canadian rebels, that the internal affairs of a british colony must be conducted so as to please them?" with these sentiments sir george arthur heartily concurred. he was entirely opposed to "responsible government" and still feared disaffection in the provinces. during the early months of 1839 the trials of the political prisoners had continued and had attracted much attention on both sides of the border. there was still considerable excitement in the province and riots occurred in some places. in one of these which took place at stone's tavern, percy township, northumberland county, on june 5th, 1839, the reformers carried "a red flag on which were written or printed the words, 'lord durham and reform.'"[43] incidents such as this increased sir george arthur's mistrust of lord durham's schemes for the better government of canada, and on july 2nd we find him writing to the marquis of normanby, lord glenelg's successor, as follows: "i have all along informed her majesty's government that it is absurd to think of upper canada as containing a whole community of loyalists. there is a considerable section of persons who are disloyal to the core; reform is on their lips, but separation is in their hearts. these men having, for the last two or three years, made a 'responsible government' their watchword, are now extravagantly elated because the earl of durham has recommended that measure. "they regard it as an unerring means to get rid of all british connexion, while the earl of durham, on the contrary, has recommended it as a measure for cementing the existing bond of union with the mother country." these few sentences throw great light on sir george arthur's attitude on the question of 'responsible government.' as usual, the reformers are annexationists. it was the usual tactics of the dominant party to call them so and to include as disloyal all those who favoured the cause of reform. of course sir george arthur, from the nature of his position, was supposed to be moderate in his political views, but he does yeoman service for the family compact in trying to impress upon the authorities in england that the reformers were disloyal. it is impossible to state what percentage of the reformers were actually disloyal, but it must be remembered, as egerton ryerson has told us, the great body of the reformers took no part in mackenzie's rebellion except to suppress it. the bulk of moderate opinion in the province sided neither with the annexationists nor with the family compact, but readily embraced the suggestions set forth in lord durham's report. with these moderate reformers sir george arthur was soon at variance. in the month of august, 1839, sir george received a series of resolutions supporting lord durham's report and responsible government passed at a meeting of freeholders and inhabitants of the gore district held on july 27th. this meeting resolved that the house of assembly did not represent the wishes or sentiments of the province "particularly in its late report of its committee, purporting to be the report of the house of assembly in answer to lord durham's report on the state of the province." it also resolved "that the report of the earl of durham, in all its material points, has been received by an overwhelming majority of the people of upper canada with the most abundant gratification" and "that this meeting is of opinion that a responsible government, as recommended in lord durham's report, is the only means of restoring confidence, allaying discontent, or perpetuating the connexion between great britain and this colony."[44] all this was wormwood and gall to sir george arthur, who hastened to reply to this address. in his answer he attacks responsible government and states "that the proposed plan would lead to a state of things inconsistent with the relations of this colony, as a dependency of the british crown." this was a bold statement for the lieutenant-governor to make and it was soon to land him into difficulties since the british authorities were prepared to carry out lord durham's schemes. mr. poulett thomson was selected as governor-general and under him sir george arthur was once more to act as a subordinate lieutenant-governor.[45] it was a curious arrangement, since arthur was known to be opposed to the very scheme of government which poulett thomson was being sent out to initiate. but sir george arthur was not unwilling to co-operate with the new governor-general. he met poulett thomson at montreal on october 25th and conferred with him on the subject of upper canada. it was decided that the legislature of that province should be summoned for december 3rd and that poulett thomson would visit upper canada about the 18th of november. the governor-general was determined to open the session of the legislature in person. this determination on his part was largely the outcome of his conversations with sir george arthur, who strongly urged upon him the desirability of so doing. as a result of this meeting between the governor-general and lieutenant-governor, poulett thomson was present to open the legislature on december 3rd. after that date sir george arthur's power in upper canada became entirely secondary to that of poulett thomson. he still acted as lieutenant-governor in the absence of the governor-general but his term of real authority in upper canada ended on november 22nd, 1839, when the new governor-general assumed the government of the upper province. sir george arthur remained in upper canada until 1841, when the act of union came into force and the two provinces surrendered their separate existence. he then returned to england where his services in canada were recognized by the bestowal upon him of a baronetcy. in june, 1842, he was appointed governor of the bombay presidency in india, which office he held until his retirement in 1846. had his health warranted the acceptance of so difficult a post he might then have become governor-general of india. after returning to england sir george arthur was made a privy councillor and was honoured by the university of oxford with the honorary degree of doctor of civil law. he died on september 19th, 1854. sir george arthur was a true type of the old colonial governor. he was unfortunate in that he was unable to realize that the days of colonial dependency were numbered, and that the future belonged to the advocates of self-government. his long experience as a colonial governor under the old regime, probably told against arthur in his administration of upper canada just as it was of value to him as governor of bombay. his support of the family compact was as natural and sincere as his mistrust of responsible government. of his uprightness and integrity there could be no doubt. although his treatment of the political prisoners shows him to have been merciless, on occasion he was known as a gentle and kind man. he tried to do what he considered right but he lacked vision. throughout his administration in upper canada he was attempting to bolster up a dying cause. his one fatal defect was that he could not see that the political future of canada lay in the proper interpretation and elaboration of the principles laid down in lord durham's report. walter sage. [1] arthur to glenelg, 29 march, 1838. [2] head's narrative, p. 32. [3] canadian archives. q 406, pt. i, p. 175. [4] d. n. b., vol. i, p. 604. [5] report of transportation committee, 1838. quoted in molesworth's _speeches_, appendix, p. 465. [6] d. n. b., article on sir george arthur. [7] canadian archives, q 406, pt. i, p. 226. [8] ibid. [9] ibid., p. 232. [10] ibid., p. 227. [11] molesworth: _speeches_, p. 112. [12] kingsford: _history of canada_, vol. x, p. 472. [13] cf. arthur to glenelg, april 14th, 1838, canadian archives g, 494. [14] ibid. [15] arthur to glenelg: april 14th, 1838. [16] both numbers are given--the higher number, 30,000, by mackenzie. [17] glenelg to arthur, no. 70, 22 may, 1838; brit. parl. paper, 2, 1839, p. 279. [18] glenelg to arthur, no. 82, 30th may, 1838; op. cit. pp. 279-80. [19] ibid. [20] e. a. theller, canada in 1837-8, 2 vols., philadelphia, 1841. [21] theller, canada in 1837-8, vol. i, p. 261. [22] canadian archives, q 406, pt. i, pp. 177-8. [23] arthur to glenelg, 24 april, 1838, no. 8. [24] theller, canada in 1837-8, vol. 2, p. 9. [25] ibid., p. 10. [26] can. archives, q. 406, pt. i, pp. 166-7. [27] quoted: kingsford, x, p. 457. [28] lindsay: _life of w. l. mackenzie_ (makers of canada series), p. 440, gives the month as september; kingsford gives december. [29] arthur to glenelg, 24th november, 1838, no. 92. [30] parl. paper, 2, 1839, p. 370. [31] cf. glenelg to durham, april 3rd, 1838, no. 8, parl. paper 2, p. 12. [32] durham to arthur, 1 june, 1838; no. 1. parl. paper, 2, p. 109. [33] arthur to durham, june 9th, no. 1, parl. paper 2, p. 116. [34] p.p. 2, p. 125. [35] durham to glenelg, no. 24, p. p. 2, p. 139. [36] durham to arthur, 16 may, 1838, pp. 2, p. 103. [37] ibid., arthur to durham, 20th aug., 1838. [38] durham to arthur, aug. 24th, 1838; ibid., p. 164. [39] arthur to durham, july 9th, 1838, can. archives, g. 494, p. 507. [40] ryerson: story of my life, p. 225. [41] these figures are taken from a return to be found in the canadian archives, q. 407, pt. i, pp. 108-13. [42] egerton and grant: canadian constitutional development, p. 176. [43] parl. papers (canada), 1840, pt. ii, p. 142. [44] parl. paper (canada), 1840, pt. ii, p. 181. [45] for a full account of the relations between poulett thomson and sir george arthur the reader is referred to shortt, _sydenham_, pp. 153-162. bulletin of the departments of history and political and economic science in queen's university, kingston, ontario, canada. no. 1. the colonial policy of chatham, by w. l. grant. no. 2. canada and the most favored nation treaties, by o. d. skelton. no. 3. the status of women in new england and new france, by james douglas. no. 4. sir charles bagot: an incident in canadian parliamentary history, by j. l. morison. no. 5. canadian bank inspection, by w. w. swanson. no. 6. should canadian cities adopt commission government, by william bennett munro. no. 7. an early canadian impeachment, by d. a. mcarthur. no. 8. a puritan at the court of louis xiv, by w. l. grant. no. 9. british supremacy and canadian autonomy: an examination of early victorian opinion concerning canadian self-government, by j. l. morison. no. 10. the problem of agricultural credit in canada, by h. michell. no. 11. st. alban in history and legend: a critical examination; the king and his councillors: prolegomena to a history of the house of lords, by l. f. rushbrook williams. no. 12. life of the settler in western canada before the war of 1812, by adam shortt. no. 13. the grange in canada, by h. michell. no. 14. the financial power of the empire, by w. w. swanson. no. 15. modern british foreign policy, by j. l. morison. no. 16. federal finance, by o. d. skelton. no. 17. craft-gilds of the thirteenth century in paris, by f. b. millett. no. 18. the co-operative store in canada, by h. michell. no. 19, the chronicles of thomas sprott, by walter sage. no. 20. the country elevator in the canadian west, by w. c. clark. no. 21. the ontario grammar schools, by w. e. macpherson. no. 22. the royal disallowance in massachusetts, by a. g. borland. no. 23. the language issue in canada; notes on the language issue abroad, by o. d. skelton. no. 24. the neutralization of states, by f. w. baumgartner. no. 25. the neutralization of states, by f. w. baumgartner. no. 26. profit-sharing and producers' co-operation in canada, by h. michell. no. 27. should maximum prices prevail? by w. c. clark. no. 28. sir george arthur and his administration of upper canada, by walter sage. [transcriber's note: the duplicate entries for 24 and 25 above are as printed.] this file was produced from images generously made available by the canadian institute for historical microreproductions. a treatise on the six-nation indians by j. b. mackenzie -------------------- (_page 28--lines 7-9_.) it has seemed to me that it was not quite ingenuous in myself to attribute to the indian writer in question (rev. peter jones), the reflection on his countrymen, obviously conveyed in my expression, "discovering in him such in-dwelling monsters as revenge, mercilessness, implacability." that writer's position, more fairly apprehended, is this: that, while confessing these to be blots on the indian nature, in the abstract, he yet seeks to fasten them on _many_ whites as well. -------------------- a treatise on the six-nation indians by j. b. mackenzie preface. the little production presented in these pages was designed for, and has been used as, a lecture; and i have wished to preserve, without emendation, the form and character of the lecture, as it was delivered. j. b. m. a treatise on the six nation indians introductory as knowledge of the traditions, manners, and national traits of the indians, composing, originally, the six distinct and independent tribes of the mohawks, tuscaroras, onondagas, senecas, oneidas, and cayugas; tribes now merged in, and known as, the six nations, possibly, does not extend beyond the immediate district in which they have effected a lodgment, i have laid upon myself the task of tracing their history from the date of their settlement in the county of brant, entering, at the same time, upon such accessory treatment as would seem to be naturally suggested or embraced by the plan i have set before me. as the essay, therefore, proposes to deal, mainly, with the contemporary history of the indian, little will be said of his accepted beliefs, at an earlier epoch, or of the then current practices built upon, and enjoined by, his traditionary faith. frequent visits to the indian's reservation, on the south bank of the grand river, have put me in the way of acquiring oral data, which shall subserve my intention; and i shall prosecute my attempt with the greater hope of reaping a fair measure of success, since i have fortified my position with gleanings (bearing, however, solely on minor matters of fact) from some few published records, which have to do with the history of the indian, generally, and have been the fruitful labour of authors of repute and standing, native as well as white. should the issue of failure attend upon my effort, i shall be disposed to ascribe it to some not obscure reason connected with literary style and execution, rather than to the fact of there not having been adequate material at hand for the purpose. the indian's conditions of settlement. the conditions which govern the indian's occupation of his reserve are, probably, so well known, that any extended reference under this head will be needless. he ceded the whole of his land to the government, this comprising, originally, a tract which pursued the entire length of the grand river, and, accepting it as the radiating point, extended up from either side of the river for a distance of six miles, to embrace an area of that extent. the government required the proprietary right to the land, in the event of their either desiring to maintain public highways through it themselves, or that they might be in a position to sanction, or acquiesce in, its use or expropriation by railway corporations, for the running of their roads; or for other national or general purposes. the surrender on the part of the indian was not, however, an absolute one, there having been a reservation that he should have a reservation, of adequate extent, and the fruit of the tilling of which he should enjoy as an inviolable privilege. as regards the money-consideration for this land, the government stand to the indian in the relation of trustees, accounting for, and apportioning to, him, through the agency of their officer and appointee, the indian superintendent, at so much _per capita_ of the population, the interest arising out of the investment of such money. _sales_ of lands among themselves are permissible; but these, for the most part, narrow themselves down to cases where an indian, with the possession of a good lot, of fair extent, and with a reasonable clearing, vested in him, leaves it, to pursue some calling, or follow some trade, amongst the whites; and treats, perhaps, with some younger indian, who, disliking the pioneer work involved in taking up some uncultured place for himself, and preferring to make settlement on the comparatively well cultivated lot, buys it. the government, also, allow the indian, though as a matter of sufferance, or, in other words, without bringing the law to bear upon him for putting in practice what is, strictly speaking, illegal, to _rent_ to a white the lot or lots on which he may be located, and to receive the rent, without sacrifice or alienation of his interest-money. continued non-residence entails upon the non-resident the forfeiture of his interest. the indian is, of course, a minor in the eye of the law, a feature of his estate, with the disabilities it involves, i shall dwell upon more fully at a later stage. should the indian intermarry with a white woman, the receipt of his interest-allowance is not affected or disturbed thereby, the wife coming in, as well, for the benefits of its bestowal; but should, on the other hand, an indian woman intermarry with a white man, such act compels, as to herself, acceptance, in a capitalized sum, of her annuities for a term of ten years, with their cessation thereafter; and entails upon the possible issue of the union _absolute_ forfeiture of interest-money. in any connection of the kind, however, that may be entered into, the indian woman is usually sage and provident enough to marry one, whose hold upon worldly substance will secure her the domestic ease and comforts, of which the non-receipt of her interest would tend to deprive her. should the eventuality arise of the indian woman dying before her husband, the latter must quit the place, which was hers only conditionally, though the indian council will entertain a reasonable claim from him, to be recouped for any possible outlay he may have made for improvements. the government confer upon the indian the privilege of a resident medical officer, who is paid by them, and whose duty it is to attend, without expectation of fee or compensation of any kind, upon the sick. his relation, however, to the government is not so defined as to preclude his acceptance of fees from whites resident on the reserve, provided the advice be sought at his office. the government, probably, being well aware of the stress of work under which their medical appointee chronically labours, and appreciating the consequent unlikelihood of this privilege being exercised to the prejudice of the indian, have not, as yet, shorn him of it. another privilege that the indian enjoys, and which was granted to him by enactment subsequent to that which assured to him his reserve, is that of transit at half-fare grates on the different railroads. this is a right which he neither despises, nor, in any way, affects to despise, since it meets, and is suited to, his common condition of slender and straitened means. the moderate charge permits him to avail frequently of the privilege at seasons (which comprehend, in truth, the greater portion of the year) when the roads are almost unfit for travel, the indian, as a rule, going in for economy in locomotive exercise (so my judgment decrees, though it has been claimed for him that, at an earlier period of his history, walking was congenial to him) hailing and adopting gladly the medium which obviates recourse to it. his meetings of council. the indian council has a province more important than that which our municipal councils exercise. its decisions as to disputes growing out of real estate transactions, unless clearly wrong, have in them the force of law. the ordinary council is a somewhat informal gathering as regards a presiding officer or officers, and, also, in respect of that essential feature of a quorum, for which similar bodies among ourselves hold out so exactingly. the chiefs of the tribes, who, alone, are privileged to participate in discussions, can scarcely be looked upon in the light of presidents of the meeting; nor can there be discovered in the privileges or duties of any one of them the functions of a presiding officer. the chiefs of the mohawks and senecas, who sit on the left of the house, initiate discussion on all questions. the debating is then transferred to the opposite side of the house, where are seated the chiefs of the tuscaroras, oneidas, and cayugas, and is carried on by these chiefs. the chiefs of the onondagas, who are called "fire-keepers" (of the origin of the name "fire-keeper," i will treat further, anon) then speak to the motion, or upon the measure, and, finally, decide everything; and they are, in view of this power of finality of decision with all questions, regarded as the most important chiefs among the confederated tribes. the decision of the "fire-keepers" does not, by any means, always show concurrence in what may have been the _consensus_ of opinion expressed by previous speakers, very frequently, indeed, embodying sentiments directly opposite to the weight of the judgment with those speakers. as illustrating, more pointedly, the arbitrary powers committed to these chiefs, they may import into the debate a fresh and hitherto unbroached line of discussion, and, following it, may argue from a quite novel standpoint, and formulate a decision based upon some utterly capricious leaning of their own. i have not been able to learn whether the decision of these chiefs, to be valid, requires to be established by their unanimous voice, or simply by a majority of the body. the reason or cogency of the system of debate followed in the indian council has not seemed to me clearly demonstrable; nor is the cause for the honour attaching to the chiefs of the mohawks and senecas, and of the onondagas, respectively, of commencing and closing discussion, very explicable. i believe, however, that the principle of kinship subsisting between the tribes, the chiefs of which are thus singled out for these duties, governs, in some way, the practice adopted; and am led, also, to imagine that exceptional functions, in other matters as well, vest in these chiefs; and that they enjoy, in general, precedence over the chiefs of the other tribes. the chiefs in council take cognizance of the internal concerns, and control and administer, generally, the internal affairs, of the community. there are often special and extraordinary deliberations of the body, which involve discussion upon points that transcend the operation of the indian acts, and require the government to be represented; and, in these cases, the indian superintendent, whose presence is necessary to confer validity on any measure passed, is the presiding officer. as mention is made here of the superintendent, or, as his title runs in full, the visiting superintendent and commissioner, it will be opportune now to define his powers, so far as i understand them. it may be said, in general, that he exercises supervisory power over everything that concerns the well-being and interests of the indian. by the representations made by him to the government in his reports (and by those, of course, who hold the like office in other indian districts) has been initiated nearly every law, or amendment to a law, which the pages of the indian acts disclose. he will often watch (though in his commission no obligation, i believe, rests upon him to do this) the trial of an indian, where some one of the graver crimes is involved, that he may, perchance, arrive at the impelling cause for its perpetration. this may have had its origin, perhaps, in the criminal's having over-indulged in drink, or in his having resigned himself to some immoral bent; or it may have been connected, generally, with some deluging of the community with immorality. if, haply, the origin of the crime be traced, the superintendent embodies in his report a reccommendation looking to a change in the law, which shall tend to suppress and control the evil. if there be indication that a particular order of crime prevails, or that, unhappily, some new departure in its melancholy category is being practised, it will, again, be his place to represent the situation to the government, to the end that a healthier state of things may be brought about. he is authorized, in certain cases, to make advances on an individual indian's account, and, also, on the general account, where some emergency affecting the entire tribe arises, such as a failure of the crops, confronting the indian with the serious, and, but for this governmental provision, insuperable, difficulty of finding the outlay for seeding for the next season's operations. it is customary for the superintendent to attend important examinations of the indian schools, that he may have light upon the pupils' progress, and may report accordingly. where an occurrence of unusual moment in the history of any of the churches takes place; the projecting, perhaps, of some fresh spiritual campaign amongst the indians; or one, marking some specially auspicious event, he will often lend his presence, with the view to enlightenment as to the spiritual state of his charges. i have already said, that through the agency of the superintendent, the indian receives his interest-money, and it may, perhaps, be interesting to detail the manner in which this is usually drawn. the tribes are told off for this purpose, and, i believe, certain other purposes, into a number of bands; and a given day is set (or, perhaps, three or four days are assigned) whereon the members of a particular band shall be privileged to draw. if the drawing of the money be not marked by that expedition which the plan is designed to secure, but rather suggests that there are a number of stragglers yet to come forward to exercise their right, the turn of another band comes, and so on, the straggling ones of each band being treated with last. it is usual for the head of each family to draw for himself and his domestic circle. the present incumbent of the superintendent's office is a gentleman of fine parts, and one who has striven, during a term of nearly twenty years, with tact and ability, to conserve the interests of the indian. speaking of tact, the indian character exacts a large display of it from one whose relation to him is such as that which the superintendent occupies, his overseer and, to a large extent, his mentor. there have been outcries against his course in some matters, though these have been indulged in only a small section; but the indian chafes under direction, and is, for the most part, a chronic grumbler; and his discontent frequently finds expression in delegations to the government, which, though they _may_ be planned with the view of ventilating some grievance, are more generally conceived of by him in the light of happy expedients for giving play to his oratory, or for setting about to establish his pretensions to eminence in that regard, in a somewhat exacting quarter; or, mayhap, for conveying to the powers that be, by palpable demonstration, the fact of his continued existence, and more, of his continued _dissatisfied_ existence. but to return to the council. where complaint of irregular dealing is preferred by either party to a transfer or sale of real estate, it comes within the scope of the chief's powers to decree an equitable basis upon which such transfer or sale shall henceforward be viewed, and carried out. the jurisdiction of the chiefs also ranges over such matters as the considering of applications from members of the various tribes for licensing the sale to whites of timber, stone, or other valuable deposit, with which the property of such applicants may be enriched; and they likewise treat with applications for relief from members of the tribes, whom physical incapacity debars from earning living, or who have been reduced to an abject state of poverty and indigence; and have authority to supplement the interest-annuities of such, should they see fit, with suitable amounts. the silent adjudging of a question is something abhorrent to the genius of the indian, and is in reality unknown. dishonouring thus the custom, he can grandly repudiate the contemptuous epithet of "voting machine;" so unsparingly directed against, and pitilessly fastening upon, certain ignoble legislators among ourselves. the manner of proceeding that obtained with the ojibways was somewhat different from the practice i have detailed, and i allude to it now, because the tribe of the delawares, who are now treated as an off-shoot of the oneidas, and are merged with their kin in the six nations, belonged originally to the ojibways. with them the decision was come to according to the opinions expressed by the majority of the speakers--a plan resolving itself into the system of a show of hands (or a show of _tongues_, which shall it be?) it having been customary for all who proposed to pass upon a measure to speak as well. the issue upheld by the greater number of hands shown, naturally, as with us, succeeded. where a measure, in the progress of discussion, proved unpopular, it was dropped, an arrangment which should convey a wise hint to certain bodies i wot of. it will be readily gathered from what has been said, that the method of voting, in order to establish what is the judgment of the greater number, does not prevail with the indian councils. his oratory. as it is at his meetings of council, and during the discussions that are there provoked, that the indian's powers of oratory come, for the most part, into play, and secure their freest indulgence, that will appropriately constitute my next head. we are permitted to adjudge the manner and style of the indian's oratory, whether they be easy or strained; graceful or stiff; natural or affected; and we may, likewise, discover, if his speech be flowing or hesitating; but it is denied to us, of course, to appreciate in any degree, or to appraise his utterances. i should say the indian fulfils the largest expectations of the most exacting critic, and the highest standard of excellence the critic may prescribe, in all the branches of oratory that may (with his province necessarily fettered) fitly engage his attention, or be exposed to his hostile shafts. the indian has a marvellous control over facial expression, and this, undeniably, has a powerful bearing upon true, effective, heart-moving oratory. though his _spoken_ language is to us as a sealed book, his is a mobility of countenance that will translate into, and expound by, a language shared by universal humanity, diverse mental emotions; and assure, to the grasp of universal human ken, the import of those emotions; that will express, in turn, fervor, pathos, humor; that, to find its completest purpose of unerringly revealing each passion, alternately, and for the nonce, swaying the human breast, will traverse, as it were, and compass, and range over the entire gamut of human emotion. the indian's grace and aptness of gesture, also, in a measure, bespeak and proclaim commanding oratory. the power, moreover, which with the indian resides in mere gesture, as a medium for disclosing and laying bare the thoughts of his mind, is truly remarkable. observe the indian interpreter in court, while in the exercise of that branch of his duty which requires that the evidence of an english-speaking witness or, at all events, that portion of it which would seem to inculpate the prisoner at the bar, or bear upon his crime, shall be given to him in his own tongue; and, having been intent upon getting at the drift of the testimony, mark how dexterously the interpreter brings gesture and action into play, wherever the narration involves unusual incident or startling episode, provoking their use! what a reality and vividness does he not throw, in this way, into the whole thing! it records, truly, a triumph of mimetic skill. again, the opportune gesture used by the indian in enforcing his speaking must seem so patent, in the light of the after-revelation by the interpreter, that we can scarcely err in confiding in it as a valuable aid in adjudging his qualities of oratory. we are, often, indeed, put in possession of the facts, in anticipation of the province of the interpreter, who merely steps in, with his more perfect key, to confirm our preconceived interpretation. it may be contended by some gainsayer, that the indian vocabulary, being so much less full and rich than our own, gesture and action serve but to cover up dearth of words, and are, in truth, well-nigh the sum of the indian's oratory; a judgment which, while, perhaps, conceding to the indian honour as a pantomimist, denies him eminence as a true orator. this may or may not be an aptly taken objection, yet i have no hesitation in assigning the indian high artistic rank in these regards, and would fain, indeed, accept him as a prime educator in this important branch of oratory. the attention of his hearers, which an indian speaker of recognized merit arrests and sustains, also lends its weight to substantiate his claim, to good oratory; unless, indeed, the discriminating faculties of the hearers be greatly at fault, which would caution us not to esteem this the guide to correct judgment in the matter that it usually forms. the indian enlivens his speaking with frequent humorisms, and has, i should say, a finely-developed humorous side to his character; and, if the zest his hearers extract from allusions of this nature be not inordinate or extravagant, or do not favor a false or too indulgent estimate, i would pronounce him an excessively entertaining, as well as a vigorous, speaker. there are in the indian tongue no very complex, rules of grammar. this being so, the indian, pursuing the study of oratory, needs not to undertake the mastery of unelastic and difficult rules, like those which our own language comprehends; or to acquire correct models of grammatical construction for his guidance; and, being fairly secure against his accuracy in these regards being impeached by carping critics, even among his own brethren, can better and more readily uphold a claim to good oratory than one of ourselves, whose government in speaking, by strict rules of grammar is essential, and whom ignorance or contempt of those rules would betray into solecisms in its use, which would attract unsparing criticism, and, indeed, be fatal to his pretensions in this direction. his physical mien and characteristics. it will be interesting, perhaps, to notice the particulars, as to physical conformation, in which the indian differs from his white brother. he maintains a higher average as to height, to fix which at five feet ten would, i think, be a just estimate. it is rare, however, to find him attain the exceptional stature, quite commonly observed with the white, though, where he yields to the latter in this respect, there is compensation for it in the way of greater breadth and compactness. there are, of course, isolated cases, in which he is distinguished by as great height as has ever been reached by ordinary man, and, in these instances, i have never failed to notice that his form discloses almost faultless proportions, the indian being never ungainly or gaunt. i think, on the whole, that i do no injustice to the white man, when i credit the indian with a better-knit frame than himself. i am disposed to ascribe, in great measure, the evolving of the erect form that the indian, as a rule, possesses, to the custom in vogue of the mother carrying her child strapped across the back, as well as to the fact of her discouraging and interdicting any attempts at walking on the part of the child, until the muscles shall have been so developed as to justify such being made. to this practice, at least, i am safe in attributing the rarity, if not the positive absence, with the indian, of that unhappy condition of bow-leggedness, of not too slight prevalence with us, and which renders its victim often a butt for not very charitable or approving comment. the indian is built more, perhaps, for fleetness than strength; and his litheness and agility will come in, at another place, for their due illustration, when treating of certain of his pastimes. the indian has a large head, high cheek bones, in general, large lips and mouth; a contour of face inclining, on the whole, to undue breadth, and lacking that pleasantly-rounded appearance so characteristic of the white. he has usually a scant beard, his chin and cheeks seldom, if ever, asserting that sturdy and bountiful growth of whisker and moustache, in such esteem with adults among ourselves, and which they are so careful to stimulate and insure. indeed, it is said that the indian holds rather in contempt what we so complacently regard, and will often testify to his scorn by plucking out the hairs which protrude, and would fain lend themselves to his adornment. the indian, normally, has a stolid expression, redeemed slightly, perhaps, by its exchange often for a lugubrious one. i should feel disposed to predict for him the scoring of an immense success in the personation of such characters as those of the melancholy dane; or of antonio, in the merchant of venice, after the turn of the tide in his fortunes, when the vengeful figure of the remorseless shylock rests upon his life to blight and to afflict it. he is easily-moved to tears, though, perhaps, his facile transition from the condition presented in the foregoing allusion, into a positively lachrymose state, will be readily conceived of, without proclaiming specially, the fact. he will maintain a mien, which shall consist eminently with the atmosphere of the house of mourning; in truth, as an efficient mourner, the indian may be freely depended upon. it is contended that the complexion of the indian has had the tendency to grow darker and darker, from his having inhabited smoky, bark wigwams, and having held cleanliness in no very exceptional honor; and the contention is sought to be made good by the citing of a case of a young, fair-skinned boy, who, taking up with an indian tribe, and adopting in every particular their mode of life, developed by his seventieth year a complexion as swarthy, and of as distinctively indian a hue, as that of any pure specimen of the race. if we accept this as a sound view, which, however, carried to its logical sequence, should have evolved, one would imagine, the negro out of the indian long are this, why may we not, in the way of argument, fairly and legitimately provoked by the theory, look for and consider the converse picture (now that the indian lives in much the same manner as the ordinary poor husbandman, and now that we have certainly no warrant for imputing to him uncleanly habits) the gradual approach in his complexion to the anglo-saxon type? if we entertain this counter-proposition, it will then be a question between its operation, and his marriage with the white, as to which explains the fact of the decline now of the dark complexion with the indian. the custom of piercing the nose, and suspending nose-jewels therefrom, has fallen into disrepute, the indian, perhaps, having been brought to view these as contributing, in a questionable way, to his adornment. the indian woman has a finer development, as a rule, than the white woman. we may, in part, discover the cause for this in the prevalence of the custom, already alluded to, of the mother carrying her offspring on her back, which, with its not undue strain on the dorsal muscles, no doubt, promotes and conserves muscular strength. the indian woman being commonly a wife and mother before a really full maturity has been reached, or any absolute unyieldingness of form been contracted, the figure yet admits of such-like beneficent processes being exerted upon it. in making mention of this custom, and, in a certain way, paying it honor, let me not be taken as wishing to precipitate a revolution in the accepted modes, with refined-communities, of bringing up children. to a community, however, like that of which we are treating, such plan is not ill-suited, the indian mother being secure against any very critical observation of her acts, or of the fashion she adopts. let the custom, then, continue, as it can be shown, i think, to favour the production of a healthier and stronger frame both in the mother and in the child. a good figure is also insured to the indian woman, from her contemning, perhaps at the bid of necessity, arising from her poverty, though, i verily believe, from a well-grounded conception of their deforming tendencies, the absurdly irrational measures, which, adopted by many among ourselves to promote symmetry, only bring about distortion. the indian has very symmetrical hands, and the variation in size, in this respect, in the case of the two sexes, is often very slight, and, sometimes, scarce to be traced. the compliment, in the case of the man, has, and is meant to have, about it a quite appreciable tinge of condemnation, as suggesting his self-compassionate recoiling from manual exertion; and the explanation of the near approach in the formation of the hand of the woman to that of the man, may be found in the delegating to her, by the latter, in unstinted measure, and in merciless fashion, work that should be his. it is rare, also, to find a really awkwardly shaped foot in an indian. the near conformity to a uniform size in the case of the two sexes, which i have noticed as being peculiar with the hand, may also be observed with the foot. i would sum up my considerations here with the confident assertion that the examination of a number of specimens of the hand or foot in an indian, would demonstrate a range in size positively immaterial. the indian woman keeps up, to a large extent, the practice of wearing leggings and moccasins. i should be disposed to think that the blood coursing through the indian's frame is of a richer consistency, and has, altogether, greater vitalizing properties than that in ourselves, since on the severest day in winter he will frequently scorn any covering beyond his shirt, and the nether garments usually suggested by its mention, and, so apparelled, will not recoil from the keenest blast. his chiefs and their functions. the dignity of a chief comes to the holder through the principle of hereditary succession, confined to, and operating only with, certain families. in the cage of the death of one of these chiefs, the distinction and powers he enjoyed devolve upon his kinsman, though not necessarily upon the next of kin. the naming and appointing of a successor, and the adjudicating upon the point as to whether he fulfils the qualifications esteemed necessary to maintain the dignity of the chiefship, are confided to the oldest woman of the tribe, thus deprived by death of one of its heads. she has a certain latitude in choosing, and, so long as she respects in the selection of her appointee, the principle of kinship to the dead chief (whether this be proximate or remote is immaterial) her appointment is approved and confirmed. the chiefs are looked upon as the heads or fathers of the tribe, and they rely, to a large extent, for their influence over the tribe, upon their wisdom, and eminence generally in qualities that excite or compel admiration or regard. in an earlier period of the history of the indian communities, when their forests were astir with the demon of war, eligibility for the chiefship contemplated in the chief the conjoining of bravery with wisdom, and these were the keynote to his power over his people. he, by manifesting on occasion, these, desirable traits, had his followers' confidence confirmed in his selection; upheld those followers' and his own traditions; and often assured his tribe's pre-eminence. the chief, in addition, by bringing these qualities to bear in any contact or treaty with a hostile tribe, compelled in a sense the recognition by his enemies of the prestige and power of his entire following. hospitality was also considered a desirable trait in the chief, who, while habitually dispensing it himself, strove (having his endeavors distinctly seconded by the advocacy of the duty enforced in the kindly precepts of the old sages of the tribe) to dispose the minds of his followers to entertain a perception of the happy results which would flow to themselves by their being inured to its practice, the expanding of the heart, and the offering of a vent to the unselfish side of their nature. if the chief do not, in the main, conserve the qualities that are deemed befitting in the holder of the chiefship; or if he originate any measure which finds popular disfavour, his power with the people declines. a number of the chiefs have supplementary functions, conferred upon them by their brother dignitaries. there is, for example, one called the forest-ranger, whose place it is to interpose for the effectual prevention and checking of sales of timber to whites, by members of the different tribes; or removal by whites of timber from the reserve, where a license, which suffers either to be done, has not been granted. in cases where an indian meditates, in a spirit of lofty contempt for the license, any such illicit sale; or attempts to abet any such unlawful removal, this functionary has authority to frustrate both objects. the chief who, at present, fulfils these duties has not been permitted to hold barren or dormant powers. in putting into effect that interference which his office exacts of him, he has been more than once terribly assaulted by whites, foiled in their plans, and exasperated by the agency that had stepped in for the baffling of their ill-formed designs. on one occasion, his death was all but brought about by a cruelly concerted attack upon him. certain other chiefs are called fire-keepers, though their functions are not in any way suggested by their rather remarkable title. they are, however, very important persons, and i have already, in treating of the indian's meetings of council, touched upon their duty. i believe the name fire-keeper is retained from the circumstance that, in by-gone days, when the council was an open-air affair, the lighting of the fire was the initiatory step, and, taken in this way, therefore, the most important step, in the proceedings. another chief is called marshal, and it is incumbent upon him to co-operate with the officers of the law in effecting the capture of any suspected criminal or criminals, who may lie concealed, or be harbored, on the reserve. he is a duly qualified county constable, though his services are not often in request, as the chief of police in brantford, whose place it is to direct the way in which crimes (committed, of course, in the city) shall be ferreted out, or their authors tracked, usually confides in his own staff to promote these desirable purposes, from the fact of their accountability to him being well defined, whereas the county constable yields no obedience to him. his character, moral and general. it is often claimed for the indian that, before the white man put him in the way of a freer indulgence of his unhappy craving for drink, he was as moral a being as one unrenewed by divine grace could be expected to be. unfortunately, this statement involves no definition of what might be considered moral, under the circumstances. now, there will be disagreeing estimates of what a moral character, upon which there has been no descent of heavenly grace, or where grace has not supervened to essay its recreation, or its moulding anew, should be; and there will also, i think, be divergent views as to a code of morals to be practised which shall comport with the exhibition of a _reasonably_ seemly morality. i cannot, at least, concur in that definition of a moral character, upon which no operation of divine grace has been expended, for its raising or its beautifying, which accepts that of the pagan indian as its highest expression; and, distinctly, hesitate to affirm that a high moral instinct inheres in the indian, or that such is permitted to dominate his mind; and, when i find one of these very writers who claim for him a high inborn morality, discovering in him such indwelling monsters as revenge, mercilessness, implacability, the affirmation falters not the less upon my tongue. that very many of the graver crimes laid at the indian's door, and the revolting heinousness of which the records of our courts reveal; may be traced to his prescribing for himself, and practising, a lax standard of morals, is a statement which it would be idle to dispute. that the marriage tie exacts from him not the most onerous of interpretations, and that the scriptural basis for a sound morality, involved in the declaration, "and they twain shall be one flesh," not seldom escapes, in his case, its full and due honoring, are, likewise, affirmations not susceptible of being refuted. that, for instance, is not a high notion of marital constancy (marital is scarcely the term, for i am speaking now of the pagan, who rejects the idea of marriage, though often, i confess, living happily and uninterruptedly with the woman of his choice) which permits the summary disruption of the bond between man and woman; nor is paternal responsibility rigorously defined by one, who causes to cease, at will, his labor and care for, and support of, his children, leaving the reassuring of these to those children contingent upon the mother finding some one else to give them and herself a home. to follow a lighter vein for a moment. the police magistrate at brantford, before whom many of these little domesticities come for their due appreciation (for they disclose, often, elements of really baffling complexity) not less than their ventilation and unravelling, is an eminently peace-loving man, and quite an adept at patching up such-like conjugal trifles. he will dispense from his tribunal sage advice, and prescribe remedial measures, which shall have untold efficacy, in dispelling mutual mistrust, restoring mutual confidence, and bringing about a lasting re-union. he will interpose, like some potent magician, to transform a discordant, recriminating, utterly unlovely couple, into a pair of harmless, peaceable, love-consumed doves. there rises before my mind a case for illustration. a couple lived on the reserve, whose domestic life had become so completely embittered that every vestige of old-time happiness had fled. the agency of the police magistrate was sought to decree terms of separation, as there was an adamantine resolve on the part of each to no longer live with the other. thus, in a frame of mind altogether repelling the notion of conversion to gentler views, or the idea of laudable endeavor, on the part of another, to instil milder counsels, being availingly expended, they repaired to the police magistrate's office. he, by invoking old recollections on either side, and judiciously inviting them to a retrospection of their former mutual courtesies, and early undimmed pleasures, gradually brought the would-be sundered people to a wiser mind. i believe there have only been two or three outbursts of domestic infelicity since. certain notions, bound up with the indian's practice, in times now happily passed away, of polygamy, may be construed into an advocacy of the deceased wife's sister's bill, which engaged the attention of parliament last session, and bids fair to take up the time and thought of our legislators, in sessions yet to come. the indian usually sought to marry two sisters, holding that the children of the one would be loved and cared for more by the other than if the wives were not related. the concurrent existence of both mothers is, of course, presumed here. the question remains to be asked, would the children of the one sister, were their mother dead, be as well loved and cared for by the surviving sister, were she called upon to exercise the functions of a step-mother; and would the children of the dead sister love the children of the living sister, were they not viewed upon the same footing as those children? that the indian--the _christian_ indian--frequently contemns the means unsparingly used, and the attempts and arguments put forth, by his spiritual overseers, to restrain his immoral propensities, to bridle his immoral instinct, and to ameliorate and elevate, generally, his moral tone, i fear, will not be gainsaid. that very many, on the other hand, practice a high morality, and set before themselves an exalted conception of conjugal duty, and strive, with a full-hearted earnestness, to fulfil that conception, none would-be so blind or so unjust as to deny. there are some features in the indian character to which unstinted praise is due, and shall be rendered. he is very hospitable; and (herein nobly conserving his traditions) it is in no wise uncommon for him to resign the best of the rude comforts he has, in the way of accommodation, to some belated one, and content himself with the scantest of those scant comforts, impressing, at the same time, with his native delicacy, the notion, that he courts, rather than shrinks from, the almost penitential regime. though one would naturally think, that the scorn of material comforts, suggested here, and which many others of his acts evince, would scarcely breed indolence in the indian, yet this is with him an almost unconquerable weakness. it is, indeed, so ingrained within him, as to resist any attempt, on his own part, to excise it from his economy; and as to defy extirpating or uprooting process sought to be enforced by another. the indian is, in truth, a supremely indolent being, and testifying to an utter abandonment of himself to the power of indolence over him, has often been known, when recourse solely to the chase was permitted him for the filling of his larder, to delay his steps to the forest, until the gnawing pangs of hunger should drive him there, as offering him the only plan for their appeasing. when i have said that the indian is hospitable, i have said that he is kind and considerate, for these are involved with the other. he has much of native delicacy and politeness; and though, from deep-seated prepossession, he denies the woman equal footing with himself; and, though through misconception of woman's true purpose and mission in the world, or through failing to apprehend that higher, greater, more palpable helpfulness she brings to man (all these, because self-dictated, self-enforced) he commits to her much of the drudgery, and imposes upon her many of the heavy burdens, of life, the indian is not wholly devoid of chivalric instinct. he is usually reticent in his manner with strangers, (but this is readily explained by his imperfect command of english, and his reluctance to expose his deficiency) though voluble to the last degree when he falls in with his own people. the indian has been lauded and hymned by longfellow and others as the hunter _par excellence;_ but, to apply this to his present condition, and look there for its truth, would be idle. the incitements to indulge his taste for hunting are now so few, and of such slight potency, and the opportunities for giving it play so narrowed down, and so rare, that the pursuit of the chase has become well-nigh obsolete, and something to him redolent only, as it were, with the breath of the past. as the indian is at present circumstanced and environed, he can beat up little or no game, and his poverty frequently putting out of his reach the procuring of the needful sporting gear, where he _does_ follow hunting, it is pursued with much-weakened ardor, and often bootless issue. he is moved now to its pursuit, solely with the hope of realizing a paltry gain from the sale of the few prizes he may secure. though his reputation as a hunter has so mournfully declined, the indian is yet skilled in tracking rabbits, in the winter season, the youth, particularly, finding this a pleasant diversion. i trust i do not invoke the hasty ire of the sportsman if, in guilelessness of soul, i call this hunting. this very circumscribing of the occasions, and inefficacy of the motive powers, for engaging in hunting, will tend, it is hoped, to correct the indolent habits that the indian nurses, and the inveteracy of which i have just dwelt upon, and emphasized; for it will not, i think, be denied that his former full-hearted pursuit of the chase (in submission, largely though it was, to imperious calls of nature), is responsible, mainly, for the inherence of this unpleasing trait. though, of course, hunting in its very nature, enforces a certain activity, it is an activity, so far as any beneficent impressing of the character is concerned, void of wholesomeness, and barren of solid, lasting results; and, viewed in this way, an activity really akin to indolence. with the craving for hunting subdued, the indian may take up, with less distraction, and devote himself, to good advantage, to his farming, and to industrial callings. want of energy and of steadiness of purpose are with the indian conspicuous weaknesses, and their bearing upon his farming operations may be briefly noticed. he will not devote himself to his work in the fields with that full-intentioned mind to put in an honest day's toil, that the white man brings to his work, often being beguiled, by some outside pleasure or amusement, into permitting his day's work to sustain a break, which he laments afterwards in a melancholy refrain, of farming operations behind, and domestic matters unhinged, generally. though the white has endeavored (and i the more gladly bear my witness to these attempts at the redemption of the indian from some of his weaknesses, since the white has been so freely charged with ministering to his appetite for drink, and to the evil side of his nature generally) to infuse these qualities of energy and resolution into the indian, my observation has not yet discerned them in him. though irresolute himself, the indian will not tolerate, but is sufficiently warm in his disapprobation, of any unmanly surrender to weakness or vacillation on the part of whites set in authority over him. he imbibes freely (i fear the notion of a certain physiological process is embraced by some minds, and that these words will be taken as curtly enunciating the indian's besetting weakness; but pray be not too eager to dissever them from what is yet to come, as i protest that i am not now wishing to revert to this sad failing). he imbibes freely--the current fashions of the hour amongst whites. if raffling, for instance, be held in honour as a method for expediting the sale of personal effects, the indian will adapt the practice to the disposal of every conceivable chattel that he desires to get off his hands. his proneness to drink. the indian law, it is well known, puts a restraint, not only upon the purchase of liquor by the indian, but upon its sale to him by the liquor-seller, or its supply, indeed, in any way, by any one. it forbids, as well, the introducing or harboring of it, in any shape, under any plea, on the reserve. the law, in this respect, frequently proves a dead letter, since, where the indian has not the assurance and hardihood to boldly demand the liquor from the hotel-keeper, or where the latter, imbued with a wholesome fear of the penalty for contravening the law, refrains from giving it, the agency of degraded whites is readily secured by the indian, and, with their connivance, the unlawful object compassed. of course the white abettor in these cases risks trifling, if any, publicity in the matter, and is inspired with the less fear of detection. there are some few hotel-keepers who, though they more than suspect the purpose to which the liquor these whites are demanding is to be applied, permit rapacity to overpower righteous compunction or scruple, and lend themselves, likewise, though indirectly, to the law's infraction. happily, the penalty is now so heavy ($300) that the evil is, i think, being got under control. the effect of drink on the indian is: to dethrone his; reason; cloud, even narcotize, his reasoning faculties; annul his self-control; confine and fetter all the gentler, enkindle and set ablaze, all the baser, emotions; of his nature, inciting him to acts lustful and bestial; and, with direful transforming power, to make the man the fiend, to leave him, in short, the mere sport of demoniac passion. it may be thought that this is an overdrawn picture, and that, even if it were true, which i aver that it is, to have withheld a part of its terribleness would be the wiser course. i wish, however, in exposing all its frightful features, to secure the pointing of a moral to all who lend themselves to the draughting of such a picture, or, in any way, hold in favor the draughts which lead to its draughting. let not the indian, then, resent this picturing of him in such unpleasing and repugnant light, but let him rather apply and use the lesson it is sought to teach, that it may turn to his enduring advantage. let him overmaster the enslaving passion; let him foreswear the tempting indulgence; let him recoil from the envenomed cup, which savors of the hellish breath and the ensnaring craft of the evil one, ever seeking to draw chains of satanic forging about him. the indian will plead utter obliviousness of the _fracas_, following some drunken bout, and during the progress of which the death-stroke has been dealt to some unhappy brother. he will disavow all recollection of the apparently systematic doing to death, when drunk, under circumstances of the most revolting atrocity, of an unfortunate wife. though the proximate result of drink is with the indian more alarming than with the white, the ultimate evils and sorrows wrought by continued excess in drink are, of course, identical in both cases: moral sensibilities blunted; manhood degraded; mind wrecked; worldly substance dissipated; health shattered; strength sapped; every mendacious and tortuous bent of one's nature stimulated, and given free scope. his humor. in its very nature this essay will partake largely of the element of historical preciseness, and if it do not, i have so far failed to gain my end. i have wished to introduce matter of a kind calculated to relieve this, and to insure the escape of the essay from the charge of a well-sustained dryness. of the humorous instinct of the indian, as indulged toward his fellow-indian, i cannot speak with confidence; of the malign operation upon myself of the same instinct, i can speak with somewhat more exactness, and with somewhat saddening recollections. the cases, indeed, where i have been exposed to the play of his humor exhibit him in so superlatively complacent an aspect, and myself in so painfully inglorious a one, that i refrain, nay shrink, from rehearsing the discomposing circumstances. i should be pleased if i could call to mind any instance which would convey some notion of the indian's aptness in this line, and yet not involve myself, but i cannot. i would say, in a general way, that the indian is a plausible being, and one needs to be wary with him, and not too loth to suspect him of meditating some dire practical joke, which shall issue in the utter confusion and discomfiture of its victim, whilst its author shall appropriate the main comfort and jubilation. though the indian, perhaps, does not conceive these in the determinedly hostile spirit with which the mohometan who seeks to compass the christian's undoing is credited, there is yet such striking accord in the two cases, so far as exultant approval of the issue is concerned, that i am disposed to look upon his creed in this respect as a modified mahometanism. i could relate many instances, affecting myself, where trustfulness has incurred payment in this coin, but, having no desire to stimulate the indian's existing proneness to practical joking, i stay my hand at further mention of the peculiarity. his intellectual gifts. the indian has little hope of occupying a sphere, where the discipline and cultivation of the mind shall be essential to the proper balancing and developing of its powers, and shall render it equal to the collision with other keen intellects. it would, therefore, be equally idle and unprofitable to attempt to measure his mental capabilities, until we shall have experience of his intellectuality, with proper stimulating and inciting influences in play, or under circumstances, conducing, generally, to mental strength and vigor, to note; and which we may employ as a reliable basis for judgment; and it would be manifestly unfair to argue weak mental calibre, or to presage small mental capacity in the indian, from his present deplorable state of inertness, a condition which has been sadly impressed and confirmed by repressive legislation, and of which that legislation, by practically denying him occupation of improving fields of thought, and, indeed, scope for any enlarged mental activity, seeks to decree the melancholy perpetuity. in some of the few cases where supervenient aid has enabled him to qualify for, and embrace, a profession, i have perceived a tendency to subordinate its practice to the demands of some less exacting calling, which has rendered nugatory any efficient mastery of the profession. memory is, undoubtedly, the indian's strong point, and i can myself testify to exhibitions of it, truly phenomenal. the interpreter will placidly proceed to translate a long string of sentences, just fallen from a speaker's lips, to engraft which upon our memory would be a performance most trying and difficult; and to have their repetition. even with a proximate adherence to the sense and the expressions used, imposed upon us, in the peremptory fashion in which it is sprung upon the interpreter, would carry the wildest dismay to our mind. those understanding the indian tongue have frequently assured me that the indian, when interpreting, reproduces with minuteness, if he be granted, of course, a certain latitude for differences of idiom, the speaker's thought and expressions. it is said by one of his own writers that the indian is much more prone to follow the evil than the moral practices of the white; and there can be no doubt, i think, that, if habitually thrown with a corrupt community, or one where a low order of morality should obtain, the acquisition of higher knowledge would tend to make him better skilled in planning works of iniquity, than to give him higher and purer tastes. actual experience of the indian, in one or two cases, where there has been a more than common accession to his mental accomplishments, rather gives color to the notion of the misdirection of those accomplishments (even without the baneful white influence) that has been hinted at. i should think the indian would, probably, even with proper discipline to bear, lack powers of concentration, with the kindred faculty of being able to direct the mind to the achieving or subserving of some one grand purpose or aim, and would, likely, be deficient in other allied ways, by which a gifted and powerful mind will be asserted; and would imagine, on the whole, that there is slight ground for thinking him capable, under the most favourable circumstances, of imperilling the eminence of the white in respect of intellectual power and attainments. his pastimes. lacrosse, it is well-known, is the indian's national game. the agile form with which nature has gifted him, and which i have mentioned already as one of his physical characteristics, brings an essential pre-requisite for success or eminence to a game, where the laggard is at heavy discount. though a white team can often boast of two or three individual runners, whose fleetness will outstrip the capacity of an equal number on the side of the indians, i think, perhaps, that it will be allowed that the indian team, as a rule, will comprehend the greater number of fleet members. while the indian, then, can scarcely be said to yield to the white in this respect, he lacks obviously that mental quick-sightedness which, with the latter, defines, as it were, intuitively, the exact location on the field, of a friend, and, with unerring certitude, calculates the degree of force that shall be needed to propel the ball, and the precise direction its flight shall take, in order to insure its reposing on the net of that friend. in the frequently recurring _mãªlees_, begotten of the struggle amongst a number of contestants for the possession of the ball, the indian exhibits, perhaps, in more marked degree than the white, the qualities of stubborn doggedness, and utter disregard of personal injury. the worsting of the indian by the white in the majority of competitions of this kind is due to the latter submitting to be governed by system, and to his recognizing a directing power in the captain. the indian, on the other hand, will not bend to such controlling influence, but chafes under direction of any kind. he has good facilities for practice at this game, and, i believe, really tries to excel in it, often, indeed, the expense of duties, which imperatively call him elsewhere than to the lacrosse-field. the indian is a proficient canoeist, and will adventure himself with confidence in a canoe of the frailest construction, which he will guide in safety, and with surpassing skill. he will dispel the fears of his disquieted and faithless fellow-voyager (for the motion at times in canoeing is, unmistakably, perturbing and discomposing; indeed, in this unsettling experience, the body is a frequent, if not an inevitable, sharer) who, in view of his sublime disregard of danger, will quickly re-assert the courage that had waned. if, however, there be a second indian in the canoe, he usually strives to counteract the reassuring effect that the pilot's bearing has upon you. he stands up in the bottom, and sways, to and fro, and, with fell and malignant intent proceeds to evolve out of the canoe a more approved see-saw action than _a priori_ and inherently attaches to that order of craft. on that really "grand" river, which was his sometime heritage, the indian can well improve his skill in this modest branch of nautical science. his trading relations with whites. the consciousness of unsatisfied pecuniary obligation does not, as a rule, weigh heavily on the indian mind, nor does it usually awaken, or offer food for, burdensome reflection. the indian act, which decrees his minority, disables him from entering into a contract of any kind, though it scarcely needs any statement from me to assure my hearers that the law does not secure, nor does the majestic arm of that law exact, from him, the most rigid compliance. the indian will make and tender to a white creditor his promissory note with a gleeful complacency. there are usually two elements contributing, in perhaps equal degree, to produce in him this complacent frame of mind: the first, that, for removing from his immediate consideration a debt, he is adopting a temporizing expedient, which in no way vouches for, and in no sense bespeaks, the ultimate payment of the debt; the other, that his act records his sense of rebellion against a restrictive law, ever welling up in his breast, and seeking such-like opportune vent for its relief. in trading with a merchant, who, appreciating the wiliness of his customer, felt a natural concern about trading upon as safe a basis as might be secured, it was, until quite recently, customary with the indian to anticipate his interest-money, in paying for his goods. that the merchant might have a guarantee that previous instances of the setting on foot of this plan in the individual indian's case, had not effected the entire appropriation or exhaustion of his allowance, or that in the immediate transaction with him, the indian's allowance would not be exceeded, a chief of the particular tribe to which the indian belonged, who was assumed to keep track of the various amounts that at different times impaired the interest-fund, signed an order for him to tender to the merchant; and in order that the superintendent might properly award and pay the balance coming, these orders would go into his possession, before he should proceed with the season's payments. now, however, the place and times at which interest payments are made, are not allowed to be viewed by merchants and others as a collection depã´t, or as occasions on which their orders from indians may be confirmed, or debts from those indians made good. the merchant, foreseeing that a large proportion of the debts from indians that he books are not recoverable, will frequently--and i presume there is nothing savoring of dubious dealing in the matter--add, perhaps, thirty or forty per cent. to the usual retail price of the goods sold to them, that the collection of some of the debts may, as it were, offset the loss from those that are irrecoverable. it is not pleasant to impugn the character of the indian for uprightness and probity, but that there is no conspicuous prevalence of these qualities with him, i fear, can be sufficiently demonstrated. i am disposed to ascribe this state of things, to a large extent, to the operation of the indian law. if the indian who buys, and does not pay, and who never intends to pay, were not exempted from the salutary lesson which the distraint, at suit of a creditor, upon his goods, teaches, he would not seek to evade payment of his debts. if, again, the indian were not regarded as one "childlike," shall i say, "and bland" (no! i must dissever these words from the otherwise apt quotation, as, though this be to proclaim how immeasurably he has fallen, and to dissipate cherished popular beliefs about him, i conceive him to be bland, without being so decreed by the law) there would be a manifest accession to his fund of self-respect. the idea of holding him a minor, and as one who cannot be kept to his engagements is a mistake, and its effect is only to stimulate the dishonest bent of his nature, prompting him to take advantage of his white brother in every conceivable way, where the latter's business relations with him are concerned. his religion. the pagan, though not so alive to the serene beauties of the christian life, and not so attracted by the power, the promises, and the assurances of the christian religion, as to evince the one, and embrace the other, or to make trial of the moral safeguards that its armoury supplies, would yet so honour, one would think, the persuasive christian influences, operating around him and about him in so many benign and kindly ways, as to abandon many of the practices that savour of the superstition of a by-gone age. though there has been a decline, if not a positive discontinuance, of his traditionary worship of idols; though his adoration of the sun, of certain of the birds of the air, and of the animal creation, is not now blindly followed, and the invocation of these, for the supposed assuring of success to various enterprises, is rarely put in effect, there is yet preserved a relic of his old traditions, in the designs with which he embellishes certain specimens of the handiwork, with which he oft vexes the public eye. (i must really, though, pay my tribute of admiration for the skilled workmanship many of these specimens disclose.) it is common for him, when at work upon the elaborate carving in wood that he practises, to engrave some hideous human figure, intended, obviously, to represent an idol. does it not excite wonder with us that such refinements upon hideousness and repulsiveness could ever have provoked the worship or adoration of any one? one almost insuperable difficulty that the missionary experiences in his attempts to instil religious principles into the indian mind, is to get him to entertain the theory that the human race sprang originally from one pair. the pagan believes in the existence of a supreme being, though, his idea of that being's benignity and consideration relates solely to an earthly oversight of him, and a concern for his daily wants. his conception of future bliss is almost wholly sensual, and wrapped up with the notion of an unrestrained indulgence of animal appetite, and a whole-souled abandonment to feasting and dancing. his supreme view of happiness is that he shall be, assigned happy hunting-grounds, which shall be stocked with innumerable game, and where, equipped in perfection for the chase, he shall ever be incited to its ceaseless pursuit. of course, such impressions, clogged and clouded as they are with earthliness, have been dispelled in the cases of those, who have opened their minds to the more desirable promises of the gospel. the indian's expectation of attaining and enjoying a future state of bliss, which shall transcend his mundane experience, is often present to his mind. i remember once walking with rather measured gait along one of the roads of the reserve, bearing about me, it _may_ be, the idea of supreme reflection, when an indian stopped me, and asked (though, as my eyes sought the ground at the time, i cannot conceive how his attributing to me thoughts of celestial concernment could have been suggested) if i were thinking of heaven. i should have been pleased to own to my mind's being occupied at the time with heavenly meditations, a confession not only worthy, if true, to have been indulged in, but one having in it possibly force for him, as helping, perhaps, to confirm the course of his thoughts in the only true and high and ennobling channel, which his question would suggest as being their frequent, if not their habitual, direction. truth, however, compelled me to admit the subserviency of my mind, at the moment, to earthly thought. the pagan indian celebrates what he calls dances, which frequently, if liquor can only be had, degenerate into mere drunken orgies. here the war-whoop, with its direful music, greets the ear, carrying terror and dismay to the breasts of the uninitiated; and here the war-dance, with all the accessories of paint and feathers, gets free indulgence. his mode of life. a mode of life will be suggested by the individual's estate and surroundings, and will, naturally, be accommodated to the exactions merely of the society in which he moves. with the indian, poverty shapes his habits of life, and he bends to compulsion's decree in the matter. if we consider his hypothetical translation to a higher sphere, the indian might develop and maintain a course of living which should not, in those altered circumstances, discredit him. as our notions of early indian life are so associated with the wigwam, a description of the manner and stages of its construction may be interesting. poles, twelve or fourteen feet long, are placed in the ground, these meeting at the top, and leaving an opening through which the smoke may escape. over the poles are placed nets, made of flags, or birch bark, and, sometimes, the skins of animals. the indian, in defining comfort, evidently does not mean soft beds and generous covering. his couch, as often as not, is the bare floor, without mattrass, or, indeed, aught that might be conceded to a weak impulse; and his covering _nil_, as a rule, in summer, and a buffalo robe, or some kindred substitute, in winter. he adopts very frugal fare, doing high honour to maize, or indian corn. indeed, to the growth and cultivation of this order of grain he appropriates the greater part of his land. in walking, the man usually goes before the woman, as he thinks it undignified to walk alongside. nothing like social intercourse ever goes on between man and wife; and in their domestic experience they have no little pursuits in common, such as cheer and brighten life with us. the hut (for, in the majority of cases, it is really little better) that, with excess of boldness, commingles its cramped, unpleasing outlines with the forest's wealth of foliage; and has reared its unshapely structure on the site of the historic wigwam, obliterating, in its ruthless, intrusive, advent, that lingering relic of the picturesque aspect of indian life--a relic that, with its emblems and inner garniture of war, bids a scion of the race indulge a prideful retrospect of his sometime grandeur, and pristine might; that has power to invoke stirring recollections of a momentous and a thrilling past; to re-animate and summon before him the shadowy figures of his redoubtable sires, and re-enact their lofty deeds: in view of which, there is wafted to him a breath, laden with moving memories of that glorious age, when aught but pre-eminence was foreign to his soul; when, though a rude and savage, he was yet a lordly, being; when he owned the supremacy, brooked the dictation, of none; when his existence was a round of joysome light-heartedness, and he, a stranger to constraint--this habitation of the indian, to my mind, emphasizes his melancholy, and, perhaps, inevitable decadence, rather than symbolizes his partnership with the white in the more palpable pursuits of a practical, enlightened, and energetic age, or co-activity with him on a theatre of enlarged and more vigorous action. it is in some respects more comfortless than even was his experience under his primitive style of living, and is usually composed of one room, answering all the purposes of life--eating-room, bed-room, reception-room, principally, however, for the snow and mud, which have been persuaded here to relax their hold, after antecedent demonstration of their adhering qualities. his alleged commission of perjury. the indian very frequently has the crime of perjury alleged against him, though what is assumed to be perjury is usually demonstrated to have nothing whatever of that element in it. these imputations come about in this way: if the indian, about to give evidence, be declared to have a reasonable mastery of english, the court, sometimes rather hastily, i think, dispenses with the interpreter, in order to save time. a question is put to a witness, who, though not understanding it sufficiently to appreciate its full import and bearing, yet protesting, in a self-sufficient spirit, that he does (for the indian likes to have imputed to him extensive knowledge of english) returns an answer apart from the truth, and one which he really never intended to give, and becomes, through the interpreter, committed to it on the records. or, the allegation may arise after this fashion:--the interpreter, having to master several different languages, will almost insensibly, in the confusion of idioms, misinterpret what has been said. the outrageous prevalence of this supposed perjury would of itself point to an explanation of this kind, since, we cannot believe that the indian wishes to canonize untruthfulness. the indian as a musician. the indian's musical taste is conceded on all hands. he is a proficient in the use of brass instruments, the mohawk brass band always taking high rank at band competitions. he has usually fine vocal power, and is in great request as a chorister. he has a full repertory of plaintive airs, the singing of which he generally reserves for occasions, resembling much the "wakes" that obtain with roman catholics, where he watches over night the body of some departed member of the tribe. the indian as an artist. as an artist in wood-carving, the indian, i should say, stands almost without a rival. he will elaborate the most beautiful specimens in this kind of work; though he generally directs his skill to the embellishing of walking sticks and the like articles, which (their ornate appearance alone precluding their practical use) the white only buys with the view of preserving as ornaments. the indian, therefore, would do well to allow his skill in this line to take a wider range, since, by so doing, he would not only bring about larger sales to enrich his not over-filled money-chest, but he would also extend his fame as an artist. the pencil, in the hand of the indian, is often made to limn exquisite figures, and to trace delightful landscape-work. i am confident that he would, with appropriate training, cause his fame to be known in this line also. the indian woman is a marvellous adept at bead-work, though her specimens disclose, usually, finer execution, than they do a tasteful or faultless associating of colours. his schools. the new england company, an english corporation have established, and maintain, in addition to the mohawk institute, which is on unreserved lands, a large number of schools for the education of the indian youth. it is a question whether these schools really secure the patronage that the philanthropic spirit of their founders hoped for. the shyness of the girls is so marked (a trait i have observed even among the adult women) as to lead to a small attendance, of this element, at least, where the teacher is a white young man--in truth, a very ultra-manifestation of the peculiarity. the mohawk institute contemplates the receiving of pupils who have reached a certain standard of proficiency, their boarding, and their education. it is an institution the aim of which is truly a noble one, the throwing back upon the reserve of educated young men and women, who shall be qualified to go about life's work, fortified with knowledge, to pave the way to success in any walk of life that may be chosen. the mohawk institute has secured, in the person of its principal and directing power, one who is imbued with the desire so to use its powerful agency as to compass the maximum of good among the indians. his missionaries. the missionary demands notice as he, above all others, has left his impress on the life and character of the indian. the ven. archdeacon nelles may be regarded as the pioneer missionary to the indian. his work covers half a century, and, though, for some years, he has not been an active worker amongst the indians, a solicitude for their welfare still actuates him. his province has been rather that of general superintendence of the new england company's servants, than one involving much active mingling with the indians. the association of his name with that time-honoured and revered structure, the old mohawk church, is his, grandest testimonial to his fruitful labour on the reserve. the rev. adam eliot, whose widow still lives in the old missionary home, was a man of a singularly gentle and lovable disposition. in his contact with the indian, the influence, if haply any could be exerted, was certain to be on the side of the good. he was one who moved about the reserve with the savor of a quiet and godly life ever cleaving to him, a life, radiating forth, as it were, to circle and embrace others in the folds of its benign influence. he was tender, and unaffected in his piety. his life and work have left their abiding mark on the indian character. the rev. r. j. roberts was the first missionary who was really a constant resident on the reserve, and this circumstance, no doubt, assured in larger measure his usefulness. i believe him to have been filled strongly with the missionary spirit, and with ardent zeal for the furthering of his master's cause. his poor health always handicapped him, but i feel confident he leaves behind him, in the kind memories of many of his charges, a monument of his work not to be despised. the rev. james chance was one of the old english type of clergyman, cheery, genial, and whole-souled. had he planned nothing higher than the infusing of some of his own geniality into the indian nature; and, had his missionary work effected nothing greater than this, his would have been no unworthy part. as the spiritual husbandman, he strove so to break up the fallow ground, that the harvest of souls might be the more bountiful. i have not referred to the later or present occupants of the mission-field amongst the indians, as they were, or have been identified for so short a time with them. i would also say, that it is from no denial to them of the achieving of solid, lasting work, that i have not alluded to missionaries outside of the episcopal body. i have merely made such allusions here as personal contact with the missionaries has enabled me to record. it may be thought that any work which contemplates the chronicling of the indian's history, will be incomplete, which should fail to trace the career of thayandanagea, or chief joseph brant; or which should, at least, withhold reference to that mighty chieftain. lest my making no mention of brant here might be taken as denying to him the possession of those sublime qualities, which have formed the theme for so much of laudatory writing, i make a passing allusion to his life, passing, because his acts and career have engaged the ability and eloquence of so many writers of repute for their due commemoration, that i cannot hope to say anything that should cause further honour or glory to attach to his name. brant, above all others of his race, deserves an abiding place in the memories of his countrymen, and he is entitled to be held in enduring remembrance by us also. in the war waged by britain against the united states in 1812-15, he allied himself, it is well known, with the british. he bridled license and excess among his people, and strove to add lustre to the british arms, by dissuading them from giving rein to any of those practices, nay, by putting his stern interdict on all those practices, into which indian tribes are so prone to be betrayed, and to which they are frequently incited by merciless chiefs. he posed, indeed, during the war as the apostle of clemency, not as the upholder of the traditional cruelty of the indian. he always displayed conspicuous bravery, and was the exponent, in his own person, of that intense and unflinching loyalty, which i verily believe to be bound up with the life of every indian. his loyalty was untainted with the slightest suspicion of treachery, another vile characteristic from which he redeemed the indian nature. the position of brant and of sir walter scott, so far as each has left living descendant to uphold his name, is almost analogous, and marks a rather interesting coincidence. the male line in both families is extinct. sir walter's blood runs now only in the daughter of his grand-daughter: two daughters alone of a grand-daughter are living, who own the blood of brant. brant is buried in the graveyard of the old mohawk church, a building instinct with memories of the departed might and prowess of the indian. considerations upon his standing as a minor. is it a wise or a politic thing in the government to seek to brand the indian, in perpetuity, as a minor in the eye of the law? repressing in him anything like self-assertion, is not, to hold him such, fatal to his self-respect? does it not make him doubt his manhood entirely? does it really, save in the single respect of the restraining of his drinking, conserve his true interests? is that a judicious law, which, while decreeing the indian's disability for making a contract with a white man, yet visits upon him no penalty when he evades and contemns such law; which, guaranteeing to him immunity for violating or dishonouring his engagement, prompts him to cast about for some new and, haply, more admired expedient, whereby he may circumvent and defraud his creditor? is that an enviable position for one to be placed in, who, ignorant of the disability i have mentioned, and guileless enough to suppose, that an indian, who has fair worldly substance, when he gives a promissory note, means to pay it, and who, in that belief, surrenders to him valuable property, only to find afterwards that the debt is irrecoverable by legal process, and the chattels are likewise, by moral, or any other effectual, process? it will be said that the white should not be a party to a contract with an indian. well, man is often trustful, and he does not always foresee the disaster that his trustfulness shall incur. he frequently credits his white fellow with an honourable instinct: why may he not, sometimes, impute it to the indian? the law, so far as it involves the restraining of the indian's drinking, cannot be impeached: and in the application to the white of a similar law lies the only solution of the temperance problem. reflections as to the possible effect upon him of enfranchisement. we cannot estimate the transforming power that his enfranchisement might exert over the indian character. the indian youth, who is now either a listless wanderer over the confines of his reserve; or who finds his highest occupation in putting in, now and then, desultory work for some neighbouring farmer at harvest-time; who looks even upon elementary education as useless, and as something to be gone through, perforce, as a concession to his parents' wish, or at those parents' bid, would, if enfranchisement were assured to him, esteem it in its true light, as the first step to a higher training, which should qualify him for enjoying offices or taking up callings, from which he is now debarred, and in which, mayhap, he might achieve a degree of honour and success which should operate, in an incalculable way, as a stimulus to others of his race, to strive after and attain the like station and dignity. there can, i think, be no gainsaying of the view that the indian, if he were enfranchised, would avail much more generally than he does now, of the excellent educational facilities which surround him. the very consciousness, which would then be at work within him, of his eligibility for filling any office of honour in the country, which enfranchisement would confer, would minister to a worthy ambition, and would spur him on to develop his powers of mind, and, viewing education as the one grand mean for subserving this end, he would so use it and honour it, as that he should not discredit his office, if, haply, he should be chosen to fill one. concluding remarks. the present indian legislation, in my judgment, operates in every way to blight, to grind, and to oppress; blasts each roseate hope of an ameliorated, a less abject, estate: quenches each swelling aspiration after a higher and more tolerable destiny; withers each ennobling aim, cancels each creditable effort that would assure its eventuation; opposes each soul-stirring resolve to no longer rest under the galling, gangrenous imputation of a partial manhood. though not authorised to speak for the indian, i believe i express his views, when i say that he cherishes an ardent wish for enfranchisement, a right which should be conceded to him by the legislature, though it should be urged only by the silent, though not, therefore, the less weighty and potent, appeal, of the unswerving devotion of his forefathers to england's crown. he desires, nay, fervently longs, to break free from his condition of tutelage; to bring to the general government the aid of his counsels, feeble though such may seem, if we measure him by his present status; aid, which, erstwhile, was not despised, but was, rather, a mighty bulwark of the british crown; and pants for the occasion to assert, it may be on the honour-scroll of the nation's fame, his descent from a vaunted ancestry. addenda to section on enfranchisement. it will be said, perhaps, that to harbor the idea of the indian's elevation, following, in any way, upon his closer assimilation with the white; his divestiture of the badge of political serfdom, and deliverance from even the suggestion of thraldom--all of which his enfranchisement contemplates; or that these would assure, in greater degree, his national weal, would be to indulge a wild chimera, which could but superinduce the purest visionary picture of his condition under the operation of the gift. some might be found, as well, to discredit the notion that there would supervene, on the consigning to the limbo of inutile political systems of the disabling regime that now governs, an epoch, which would witness the shaking off, by the heavy, phlegmatic red man of the present, of his dull lethargy, with the casting behind him of former inaction and unproductiveness; and his being moved to assert a healthy, genuine, wholesome activity, to be directed to lofty or soulful purpose, or expressed in high and honourable endeavour. and it might be set down as a reasoning from the standpoint of an illusory optimism, to look for, through any change in the indian's political condition, the incoming of an age, which should be distinguished by a hopeful and helpful accession to his character of honesty, uprightness, and self-respect, or by their conservation; or which should be the natal time for the benign rule over him of contentment, charity, and sobriety, or for the dominance of a seemly morality. that, likewise, might be deemed idle expectancy, which would foresee, as a result of the changed order of things, now being prospectively considered, a season in the indian's experience, when should be illustrated the greater sacredness of the marriage relation, and the happy prevalence of full domestic inter-communion, harmony, and order; or should be honored a more gracious definition of the woman's province, with the license to her to embrace a kindlier lot than one decreeing for her mere slavish labour; or project a mission, to see its fruit in the softening and refining, and in the reviving of the slumbrous chivalry, of the man, or to leave, mayhap, some beauteous impress on the race. it may be maintained, indeed, that the withdrawal from the indian of the government's protecting arm, and the recognition of his position, as no longer that of a needy, grovelling annuitant, but as one of equal footing with the white before the law, would--far from bringing blessings in their train--promote, with other evils, a pernicious development, with calamitous reaction upon him, of the aggrandizing instinct of the white, who would lure and entrap him into every kind of disastrous negotiation--its outcome, in truth, a very maelstrom of artful intrigue and shameless rapacity, looking to the absorption of the indian's land, and of the few worldly possessions he now has. nay, many would foresee for the indian, through the consummation of his enfranchisement, naught but gloom and sorest plight. these would invest their picture with the sombrest hues; and, making this assume, under their pessimist delineation, blackest tartarean aspect, would crown it with the exhibition of the indian, as one sunken, at the instance of the white, in extremest depths of human sorrow; as plunged, engulphed, and detained in a horrible slough of degradation and misery. such would, in short, have an era opened up, which should mark, at once, the exaltation of the white to a revolting height of infamy, proclaiming the high carnival of unblushing trickery and chicane; and should signalize the whelming of the indian in the noxious flood of the high-handed, unrighteous, and unprincipled practice of the white, who would project for him, and through whose unholy machinations he would be consigned to, a state of existence which should be the hideous climax of physical and moral debasement. now i contend that the claim to ascendancy of the indian over the white, in respect of sagacity and cunning and craft, which this condition of things presupposes, is not satisfactorily made out. and i can readily conceive of the application of that astuteness, that distinguishes the indian in his present trading relations with the white, to the wider field for its display, which would arise from the extended intercourse and more frequent contact with the white, that would ensue upon the indian's enfranchisement; and of this astuteness operating as his efficient shield against evil hap or worsting by the white in any coping of the kind with him. i do not deny, however, that there might be realization, in part, of such painful spectacle, as has just been imagined, were enfranchisement, _pure and simple,_ conferred upon the indian; and i would distinctly demur to being taken as an advocate of enfranchisement for him without certain safeguards. yet i honor a somewhat wide use of the term, and discredit the system of individual election for the right (if i may so call it)--which, i believe, obtains--with its vexatious exactions as to mental and moral fitness, and the very objectionable feature, to my mind, of laying upon the band, as a collective organization, the obligation of assigning to the individual member seeking enfranchisement so much land, thus imposing upon it, in effect, the onus of conferring the land qualification. let its consummation be approached gradually, and with caution; and let a modified form of it, designed to meet the indian's peculiar situation, be recognized and enforced. let the enfranchisement be made a tentative thing; and let there be a provision for the divestiture of the indian of the right, in case disaster to him should supervene upon its application. i have spoken elsewhere of the _fact_ of the indian's enfranchisement prompting him, in view of the prospect of occupying various stations of dignity in the country, which, through the extension to him of the franchise, would be thrown open to him, to set a greater value upon education, as qualifying him for enjoying and filling with credit these stations. perhaps, it would be the stricter view, and more apropos, to regard the indian's more thorough education as that which would lead him to more readily perceive and better appreciate the full import and. significance of enfranchisement; which would bring home to his mind a clear apprehension of the duties and obligations it exacts, and enable him, as well, to exercise the rights thereto pertaining with a wiser foresight and greater intelligence. let a higher order of mental attainment than he now displays be insured, by all means, and if possible, to the indian; and, to this end, let the authorities concerned invite, through the inducement of something better than a mere bread-and-butter salary, the accession to the reserve of teachers, no one of whom it shall be possible for an indian youth of tender years to outstrip in knowledge; or shall be reduced to parrying, as best as he can, the questionings of a pupil on points bearing upon merely elementary education. i would mention a prospective result of the indian's enfranchisement, which would suggest, forcibly, the desirability of, and the need for his anticipatory instruction in the english language. he, unlike the german or frenchman, has never been able to maintain, indeed, has never had, a literature; and i can scarcely conceive of his _tongue_ even surviving the more general mingling with the white, which would be the certain concomitant of enfranchisement, which, indeed, with its other subverting tendencies, would seem to me to ordain its utter effacement. file was produced from images generously made available by the canadian institute for historical microreproductions (www.canadiana.org)) the country of the neutrals (as far as comprised in the county of elgin) from champlain to talbot by james h. coyne. st. thomas, ont. times print. 1895. [illustration: this is a copy of galinee's map of 1670, the first made from actual exploration in which lake erie appears. it was printed in faillon's "histoire de la colonie française," and in "the history of the early missions in western canada." the plate was very kindly placed at the service of the elgin historical and scientific institute, for use in this work by the very reverend dean harris, the author of the last mentioned book. the following explanations refer chiefly to the western portion of the map: title: "map of the country visited by messrs. dollier de casson and de galinee, missionaries of st. sulpice, drawn by the same m. de galinee. (see m. talon's letter 10th november, 1670)." l. huron: "michigan or fresh-water sea of the hurons." (these lakes were erroneously supposed to be but one). n. end: "bay of the pottawatamies." islands near mackinac: "i entered this bay only as far as these islands." w. of st. clair river: "great hunting ground." at detroit: "here was a stone, idol of the iroquois, which we broke up and threw into the water." essex peninsula: "large prairies." lake erie: "i mark only what i have seen." long point: "peninsula of lake erie." north shore opposite: "here we wintered." the bay opposite: "little lake erie." grand river: "rapid river on tina-toua." east side grand river: "excellent land." west side grand river: (up the river): "the neutral nation was formerly here." west of burlington bay: "good land." niagara river: "this current is so strong that it can hardly be ascended." at its mouth: "niagara falls said by the indians to be more than 200 feet high." lake ontario: "i passed on the south side, which i give pretty accurately." north shore: "mr. perot's encampment. here the missionaries of st. sulpice established themselves."] the country of the neutrals. by james r. coyne. in that part of the township of southwold included in the peninsula between talbot creek and the most westerly bend of kettle creek there were until a relatively recent date several indian earthworks, which were well-known to the pioneers of the talbot settlement. what the tooth of time had spared for more than two centuries yielded however to the settler's plough and harrow, and but one or two of these interesting reminders of an almost forgotten race remain to gratify the curiosity of the archæologist or of the historian. fortunately, the most important of all is still almost in its original condition. it is that, which has become known to readers of the transactions of the canadian institute as the southwold earthwork. it is situated on the farm of mr. chester henderson, lot number four north on talbot road east. mr. david boyle in the archæological reports printed in 1891 has given the results of his examinations of the mounds. a carefully prepared plan made from actual survey by mr. a. w. campbell, c.e., for the elgin historical and scientific institute of st. thomas, was presented by the latter to the canadian institute.[1] these will together form a valuable, and, it is hoped, a permanent record of this interesting memorial of the aboriginal inhabitants of south-western ontario. [1] mr. j. h. scott, of st. thomas, has made a number of photographs of the mounds at the instance of an american lady, who, it is understood, will reproduce them in a work about to be published by her. the writer of this paper has been acquainted with "the old fort," as it was called, since the year 1867. at that time it was in the midst of the forest. since then the woods have been cleared away, except within the fort and north of it. indeed, a considerable number of trees have been felled within the southern part of the enclosure. in the mounds themselves trees are abundant, and there are many in the moat or ditch between. the stumps of those which have been cut down are so many chronological facts, from which the age of the fort may be conjectured with some approach to accuracy. a maple within the enclosure exhibits 242 rings of annual growth. it was probably the oldest tree within the walls. a maple in the outer embankment shows 197 rings; between the inner and outer walls a beech stump shows 219 rings, and an elm 266. many of the trees were cut down a good many years ago. judging from these stumps, it would be safe to calculate the age of the forest at about two hundred years, with here and there a tree a little older. the area enclosed is level. in the field south there are numerous hummocks formed by the decayed stumps of fallen trees. the walls were manifestly thrown up from the outside. there is an exception on the south-east. here the ground outside was higher, and to get the requisite elevation the earth was thrown up on both walls from the intervening space, as well as on the exterior wall from the outside. each of the walls runs completely round the enclosure, except where the steep bank of the little stream was utilized to eke out the inner wall for five or six rods on the west side, as shewn on the plan. opposite the south end of this gap was the original entrance through the outer wall. the walls have been cut through in one or two other places, doubtless by settlers hauling timber across them. the writer accompanied mr. campbell on his visits in the spring and fall of 1891. the members of the elgin historical and scientific institute made a pretty thorough examination of a large ash-heap south-east of the fort. it had, however, been frequently dug into during the last score or two of years, with ample results, it is said, in the way of stone implements of various kinds. there still remained, however, arrow-heads and chippings of flint, stones partially disintegrated from the action of heat, fragments of pottery whose markings showed a very low stage of artistic development, fish scales, charred maize and bones of small animals, the remains of aboriginal banquets. within the enclosure, corn-cobs were found by digging down though the mould, and a good specimen of a bone needle, well smoothed, but without any decoration, was turned up in the bed of the stream where it passes through the fort. the original occupants were manifestly hunters, fishermen and agriculturists, as well as warriors. nothing appears to have been found in the neighborhood, pointing to any intercourse between them and any european race. it would seem that the earth-work was constructed in the midst of a large clearing, and that the forest grew up after the disappearance of the occupants. a few saplings, however, may have been permitted to spring up during their occupancy for the sake of the shelter they might afford. these are represented by the oldest stumps above mentioned. the question, who were the builders, is an interesting one. to answer it we need not go back to a remoter period than the middle of the seventeenth century, when the iroquois after destroying the huron settlements turned their attention to the southwest, and the neutral nation ceased to exist. the enclosure was, we may reasonably believe, a fortified village of the neutrals at the time of their evacuation of this province, nearly a quarter of a millennium ago. substantially all that is known of the neutrals is to be found in champlain's works, sagard's history, the relations and journal of the jesuits, and sanson's map of 1656. a digest of the information contained therein is given in the following pages. the writer has availed himself of one or two other works for some of the facts mentioned. mr. benjamin sulte's interesting and learned articles on "le pays des grands lacs au xviie siecle" in that excellent magazine, "le canada francais," have been most valuable in this connection. the first recorded visit to the neutrals was in the winter of 1626, by a recollet father, de laroche-daillon. his experiences are narrated by himself, and sagard, who includes the narrative in his history, supplements it with one or two additional facts. in company with the jesuit fathers brebeuf and de noue, daillon left quebec with the purpose of visiting and converting the hurons, who were settled in villages between the georgian bay and lake simcoe. after the usual hardships, journeying by canoe and portage, by way of the ottawa and french rivers, they arrived at their destination. the ill-fated brule told wonderful stories of a nation, whom the french called the neutrals, and father joseph le caron wrote daillon urging him to continue his journey as far as their country. he set out accordingly on the 18th october, 1626, with two other frenchmen, grenolle and la vallee. passing through the territory occupied by the tobacco nation, he met one of their chiefs, who not merely offered his services as guide, but furnished indian porters to carry their packs and their scanty provisions. they slept five nights in the woods, and on the sixth day arrived at the village of the neutrals. in this as well as in four other villages which they visited, they were hospitably entertained with presents of food, including venison, pumpkins, "neintahouy," and "the best they had." their dress excited the astonishment of their indian hosts, who were also surprised that the missionary asked nothing from them but that they should raise their eyes to heaven, and make the sign of the cross. what excited raptures of admiration, however, according to his narrative was to see him retire for prayer at certain hours of the day: for they had never seen any priests beyond passing glimpses when visiting amongst the neighboring hurons and tobacco indians. at the sixth village, ounontisaston, in which daillon had been advised to take up his abode, a council was held at his instance. he observes that the councils are called at the will of the chiefs, and held either in a wigwam or in the open air, the audience being seated on the ground; that silence is preserved whilst a chief is addressing the assembly, and that what they have once concluded and settled is inviolably observed and performed by them. daillon explained that he had come on the part of the french to make alliance and friendship with them and to invite them to come and trade, and begged them to permit him to stay in their country "to instruct them in the laws of our god, which is the only means of going to paradise." they agreed to all he proposed and in return for his gifts of knives and other trifles, they adopted him as "citizen and child of the country," and as a mark of great affection entrusted him to the care of souharissen, who became his father and host. the latter was, according to daillon, the chief of the greatest renown and authority that had ever been known in all the nations, being chief not only of his own village, but of all those of his nation, to the number of twenty-eight, besides several little hamlets of seven to eight cabins built in different places convenient for fishing, hunting, or cultivating the ground. souharissen had acquired his absolute and extraordinary authority by his courage and his success in war. he had been several times at war with the seventeen tribes, who were the enemies of his race, and from all he had brought back the heads of those he had slain, or prisoners taken alive, as tokens of his prowess. his authority was without example amongst other tribes. the neutrals are reported by daillon as being very warlike, armed only with war-club and bow, and dexterous in their use. his companions having gone back, the missionary remained alone, "the happiest man in the world," seeking to advance the glory of god and to find the mouth of the river of the iroquois, (probably the niagara,) in order to conduct the savages to the french trading posts. he visited them in their huts, found them very manageable and learned their customs. he remarked that there were no deformed people amongst them. the children, who were sprightly, naked and unkempt, were taught by him to make the sign of the holy cross. the natives were willing that at least four canoes should go to trade if he would conduct them, but nobody knew the way. yroquet, an indian known in the country, who had come hunting with twenty of his tribe and secured five hundred beaver skins, declined to give him any indication of the mouth of the river; but he agreed with several hurons in assuring daillon that a journey of ten days would take him to the trading post. the missionary, however, was afraid of taking one river for another and getting lost or perishing of hunger. for three months he was treated with kindness. then the hurons became jealous lest the trade should be diverted from them. they accordingly circulated rumors through every village, that daillon was a great magician, that he had poisoned the air in their country, and many had died in consequence, that if he was not killed soon, he would burn up their villages and kill their children, with other stories as extraordinary and alarming about the entire french nation. the neutrals were easily influenced by the reports. daillon's life was in danger on more than one occasion. the rumor reached brebeuf and de noue, that he had been killed. they at once despatched grenolle to ascertain the truth, with instructions to bring daillon back if alive. he acquiesced, and returned to the huron country. he speaks of a neutral village called ouaroronon, one day's journey from the iroquois, the people of which came to trade at ounontisaston. their village was the last of the neutral villages, and was probably east of the niagara river. daillon, like every other traveller, was charmed with the neutral country, which he pronounces incomparably greater, more beautiful and better than any other "of all these countries." he notes the incredible number of deer, the native mode of taking them by driving them into a gradually narrowing enclosure, their practice of killing every animal they find whether they needed it or not. the reason alleged was that if they did not kill all, the beasts that escaped would tell the others how they had been chased, so that afterwards when the indians needed game it would be impossible to get near it. he enumerates moose, beaver, wild-cats, squirrels larger than those of france, bustards, turkeys, cranes, etc., as abundant, and remaining in the country through the winter. the winter was shorter and milder than "in canada." no snow had fallen by the 22nd november. the deepest was not more than two and a half feet. thaw set in on the 26th of january. on the 8th march the snow was gone from the open places, but a little still lingered in the woods. the streams abounded in very good fish. the ground produced more corn than was needed, besides pumpkins, beans and other vegetables in abundance, and excellent oil. he expresses his surprise that the merchants' company had not sent some frenchman to winter in the country: for it would be very easy to get the neutrals to trade and the direct route would be much shorter than that by way of french river and the georgian bay. he describes the neutrals' country as being nearer than the huron to the french, and as being on one side of the lake of the iroquois (lake ontario) whilst the iroquois were on the other. the neutrals, however, did not understand the management of canoes, especially in the rapids, of which there were only two, but long and dangerous. their proper trade was hunting and war. they were very lazy and immoral. their manners and customs were very much the same as those of the hurons. their language was different, but the members of the two nations understood one another. they went entirely unclad. sagard adds that "according to the opinion of some," the neutrals' country was eighty leagues (about 200 miles) in extent, and that they raised very good tobacco which they traded with their neighbors. they were called neutrals on account of their neutrality between the hurons and the iroquois; but they were allies of the cheveux releves (the ottawas) against their mortal enemies of the nation of fire. sagard was dissuaded by some members of the french trading company from attempting to bring about a peace between the hurons and the iroquois. it was supposed that this would divert the trade of the hurons from quebec by sending it through the iroquois country to the dutch of the hudson river. at so early a date did the question of closer trade relations between the territories north and south of the lakes agitate the minds of statesmen and men of commerce. in the winter of 1640-1, the jesuit missionaries, brebeuf and chaumonot traversed the country of the neutrals. the former composed a dictionary showing the differences between the kindred dialects of the hurons and neutrals. chaumonot made a map of the country, which is not extant, but there is reason for believing that it was the authority for the delineation of the territory on sanson's map of 1656 and ducreux's latin map of 1660. from the facts hereinafter detailed it is highly probable that they reached the detroit river, and that they visited and named the neutral village of which the southwold earthwork is the memorial. the first printed map in which lake erie is shown was made by n. sanson d'abbeville, geographer in ordinary to the king, and printed in paris, with "privilege du roy" for twenty years, in the year 1656. it is a map of eastern north america. the sources of information are stated in general terms, which may be translated as follows: "the most northerly portion is drawn from the various relations of the english, danes, etc. towards the south the coasts of virginia, new sweden, new netherlands and new england are drawn from those of the english, dutch, etc. the great river of canada, or of st. lawrence and all the neighboring regions (_environs_) are according to the relations of the french." now, we know that father raymbault visited sault ste. marie in 1641 and mapped lake superior, and that father chaumonot in the same year rendered the same service for the neutral country. sanson's map is fairly accurate for the upper lakes, when compared with some maps published at much later periods when the lakes had become tolerably well known to traders and travellers. it shows an acquaintance with the general contour of lakes erie, st. clair and huron, with several of the streams emptying into lakes erie and huron on both the canadian and the american sides, with the names of tribes inhabiting both shores, and with the locations of five towns of the neutrals, besides some towns of the tobacco nation. the neutral towns are given as s. francois, (north-east of sarnia) s. michel, (a little east of sandwich), s. joseph, (apparently in the county of kent), alexis, (a few miles west of a stream, which flows into lake erie about midway between the detroit and niagara rivers, and where the shore bends farthest inland),[2] and n. d. des anges (on the west bank of a considerable river, probably the grand river, near where brantford now stands). the detroit and niagara rivers and four streams flowing into lake erie between them are shown but not named. the great cataract is called "ongiara sault." the name ongiara may, however, be that of the neutral village east of the falls. lake st. clair is called lac des eaux de mer, or sea-water lake, possibly from the mineral springs in the neighborhood. the country of the tobacco nation includes the bruce peninsula and extends from the huron country on the east to lake huron on the west, and burlington bay on the southeast. the neutral country (_neutre ou attiouandarons_) would embrace the whole of southwestern ontario south of a line drawn from the west end of lake ontario to a stream which flows into lake huron about midway between point edward and cape hurd, and which is probably the maitland river. the tribes to the south of the lakes are indicated from the niagara river to lake superior. the eries or "eriechronons, ou du chat," are south-east of lake erie; the "ontarraronon" are west of what is probably the cuyahoga river; at the southwest of the lake appear the "squenqioronon;" west of the detroit river are the "aictaeronon;" west of port huron the "couarronon;" huron county in michigan is occupied by the "ariaetoeronon;" at the head of saginaw bay and extending southward through michigan are the "assistaeronons ou du feu;" in the peninsula extending north to mackinac are the "oukouarararonons;" beyond them lake michigan appears as "lac de puans;" then come the northern peninsula and "lac superieur." manitoulin island is marked "cheveux releves;" the old french name for the ottawas. the tobacco nation called "n. du petun on sanhionontateheronons" includes villages of "s. simon et s. iude" in the bruce promontory, "s. pierre" near the south end of the county of bruce, and "s. pol," southwest of a lake which may be scugog. [2] alexis corresponds with the actual position of the southwold earthwork, and the stream with that of kettle creek. to return to the narratives, these agree in stating that the neutrals, like their kinsmen of the huron, tobacco and iroquois nations, were a numerous and sedentary race living in villages and cultivating their fields of maize, tobacco and pumpkins. they were on friendly terms with the eastern and northern tribes, but at enmity with those of the west, especially the nation of fire, against whom they were constantly sending out war parties. by the western tribes it would appear that those west of the detroit river and lake huron are invariably meant. champlain refers to the neutrals in 1616 as a powerful nation, holding a large extent of country, and numbering 4,000 warriors. already they were in alliance with the cheveux releves (the ottawas), whom he visited in the bruce peninsula, against the nation of fire. he states that the neutrals lived two days' journey southward of the cheveux releves, and the nation of fire ten days from the latter. the nation of fire occupied part of what is now michigan, probably as far east as the detroit and st. clair rivers. describing his visit to the cheveux releves, he adds:--"i had a great desire to go and see that nation (the neutrals), had not the tribes where we were dissuaded me from it, saying that the year before one of ours had killed one of them, being at war with the entouhoronons (the senecas), and that they were angry on account of it, representing to us that they are very subject to vengeance, not looking to those who dealt the blow, but the first whom they meet of the nation, or even their friends, they make them bear the penalty, when they can catch any of them unless beforehand peace had been made with them, and one had given them some gifts and presents for the relatives of the deceased; which prevented me for the time from going there, although some of that nation assured us that they would do us no harm for that. this decided us, and occasioned our returning by the same road as we had come, and continuing my journey, i found the nation of the pisierinij etc." note.--this is a literal translation, and shows the crudity of champlain's sailor style of composition. brebeuf, who reckoned the hurons at more than 30,000, describes the neutrals in 1634 as much more numerous than the former. the relation of 1641 gives them at least 12,000, but adds that notwithstanding the wars, famine and disease (small pox), which since three years had prevailed in an extraordinary degree, the country could still furnish 4,000 warriors, the exact number estimated by champlain a quarter of a century earlier. the name of the neutrals is variously given as attikadaron, atiouandaronk, attiouandaron, attiwandaronk, but the last is the more common. the name signified "people who spoke a slightly different dialect," and the hurons were known to the neutrals by the same name. the latter are mentioned in the relations as one of the twelve numerous and sedentary nations who spoke a common language with the hurons. the oueanohronons formed "one of the nations associated with the neutral nation." they are afterwards called in the same relation (1639) the wenrohronons, and are said to have lived on the borders of the iroquois, more than eighty leagues from the huron country. so long as they were on friendly terms with the neutrals they were safe from the dreaded iroquois; but a misunderstanding having arisen between them, they were obliged to flee in order to avoid extermination by the latter. they took refuge, more than 600 in all, with the hurons, and were received in the most friendly and hospitable manner. the relation of 1640 speaks of a huron map communicated by father paul ragueneau in which a large number of tribes, most of them acquainted with the huron language, are shown, including the iroquois, the neutrals, the eries, etc. the "mission of the apostles" was established among the tobacco nation by garnier and jogues in 1640. nine villages visited by them were endowed by the missionaries with the names of apostles, two of which are given in sanson's map of 1656.[3] in one "bourg" called s. thomas, they baptized a boy five years old belonging to the neutral nation, who died immediately afterwards. "he saw himself straightway out of banishment and happy in his own country." the famine had driven his parents to the village of the tobacco nation. the devoted missionaries add that this was the first fruits of the neutral nation. [3] the principal "bourg" was ehwae, surnamed s. pierre et s. paul. if s. pierre on sanson's map is the same place, this most have been near the southern end of the county of bruce. the other village or mission shown on the map is s. simon et s. iude. in the fall of the same year "the mission of the angels" was begun among the neutrals. the lot fell upon jean de brebeuf and joseph marie chaumonot. the former was the pioneer of the jesuit mission. he had spent three years among the hurons from 1626 to 1629, and, after the restoration of canada to the french by charles i., he had returned in 1634 to the scene of his earlier labors. his associate had only come from france the year before. brebeuf was distinguished for his mastery of the native tongues, and chaumonot had been recognized as an apt student of languages. the plan of the jesuits was to establish in the new mission a fixed and permanent residence, which should be the "retreat" of the missionaries of the surrounding country, as ste. marie was of those of the huron mission. lalemant from their report describes the neutral nation as exceedingly populous, including about forty villages ("bourgs ou bourgades.") the nearest villages were four or five days' journey or about forty leagues (100 miles) distant from the hurons, going due south. he estimates the difference in latitude between ste. marie and the nearest village of the neutrals to the south at about 1°55'. elsewhere the distance is spoken of as about thirty leagues. from the first "bourg," going on to the south or south-west (a mistake for south-east it would seem,) it was about four days' journey to the mouth of the niagara river. on this side of the river, and not beyond it, as "some map" lays it down, (champlain's, doubtless,) were most of the "bourgs" of the neutral nation. there were three or four on the other side towards the eries. lalemant claims, and there is no doubt as to the fact, that the french were the first europeans to become acquainted with the neutrals. the hurons and iroquois were sworn enemies to each other, but in a wigwam or even a camp of the neutrals until recently each had been safe from the other's vengeance. latterly however the unbridled fury of the hostile nations had not respected even the neutral ground of their mutual friends. friendly as they were to the hurons and iroquois, the neutrals engaged in cruel wars with other nations to the west, particularly the nation of fire, as has been stated above. the previous year a hundred prisoners had been taken from the latter tribe. this year, returning with 2,000 warriors, the neutrals had carried off more than 170. fiercer than the hurons, they burned their female prisoners. their clothing and mode of living differed but little from those of the hurons. they had indian corn, beans and pumpkins in equal abundance. fish were abundant, different species being met with in different places. the country was a famous hunting ground. elk, deer, wild cats, wolves, "black beasts" (squirrels), beaver and other animals valuable for their skins and flesh; were in abundance. it was a rare thing to see more than half a foot of snow. this year there was more than three feet. the deep snow had facilitated the hunting, and, in happy contrast with the famine which had prevailed, meat was plentiful. they had also multitudes of wild turkeys which went in flocks through the fields and woods. fruits were no more plentiful than amongst the hurons, except that chestnuts abounded, and wild apples were a little larger. their manners and customs, and family and political government, were very much like those of the other indian tribes, but they were distinguished from the hurons by their greater dissoluteness and indecency. on the other hand they were taller, stronger and better formed. their burial customs were peculiar, although similar customs are reported at this day amongst some african tribes. the bodies remained in their wigwams until decomposition rendered them insupportable, when they were put outside on a scaffold. soon afterward, the bones were removed and arranged within their houses on both sides in sight of the inmates, where they remained until the feast of the dead. having these mournful objects before their eyes, the women habitually indulged in cries and laments, in a kind of chant. the neutrals were distinguished for the multitude and quality of their madmen, who were a privileged class. hence it was common for bad indians to assume the character of maniacs in order to perpetrate crimes without fear of punishment. the jesuits suffered very much from their malice. some old men told them that the neutrals used to carry on war "towards" a certain western nation, who would seem to have lived on the gulf of mexico, where the "porcelain, which are the pearls of the country," was obtained from a kind of oysters. it is an undoubted fact that a traffic was carried on with tribes as far south as the gulf of mexico, from whom shells used for wampum were obtained by successive interchanges of commodities with intervening tribes. they had also some vague notion of alligators, which are apparently referred to by the description, "certain aquatic animals, larger and swifter than elk," against which these same people had "a kind of war," the details of which are somewhat amusing, as given by lalemant. the two jesuits left ste. marie the 2nd november, 1640, with two french servants (probably "donnes,") and an indian. they slept four nights in the woods. the fifth day they arrived at the first village ("bourg") of the neutral nation called kandoucho, but to which they gave the name of all saints. this is probably the same as n. d. des anges on sanson's map, and was not far perhaps from the site of brantford. owing to the unfavorable reports which had been spread through the country about the jesuits, the latter were anxious to explain their purposes to a council of the chiefs and old men. the head chief, "who managed the affairs of the public" was called tsohahissen (doubtless the same as daillon's souharissen). his "bourg" was "in the middle of the country;" to reach it, one had to pass through several other villages ("bourgs et bourgades.") in sanson's map, alexis is placed almost exactly "in the middle of the country" of the neutrals. no other village is marked on the map, to which the expression could be applied. its situation nearly midway between the detroit & niagara rivers, a few miles west of a stream which flows into lake erie just where the mouth of kettle creek would appear in a map of our own century, corresponds with that of the southwold earthwork. was the latter the neutrals' capital? we can only conjecture; but the evidence of the relations, the map and the forest growth, all points to an affirmative answer. there is a strong probability that it was here tsohahissen reigned (if the expression is allowable in reference to an indian potentate) as head chief of the forty neutral villages. through the western gate, doubtless, his warriors set out to wage their relentless warfare against the nation of fire. within these mounds, returning satiated with blood, they celebrated their savage triumph, adorned with the scalps of their enemies. brebeuf's huron surname "echon" had preceded him. he was regarded as "one of the most famous sorcerers and demons ever imagined." several frenchmen had travelled through the country before him, purchasing furs and other commodities. these had smoothed the way for the jesuits. under the pretext of being traders, brebeuf's party succeeded in making their way in spite of all obstacles interposed. they arrived at the head-chief's village, only to find that he had gone on a war party and would not return until spring. the missionaries sought to negotiate with those who administered affairs in his absence. they desired to publish the gospel throughout these lands, "and thereby to contract a particular alliance with them." in proof of their desire, they had brought a necklace of two thousand grains of "porcelain" or wampum which they wished to present to "the public." the inferior chiefs refused to bind themselves in any way by accepting the present, but gave the missionaries leave, if they would wait until the chief of the country returned, to travel freely and give such instruction as they pleased. nothing could have suited the fathers better. first however they decided to return in their steps and reconduct their domestics out of the country. then they would resume their journey for the second time, and "begin their function." as it had been the servants however, who had acted the part of traders, this pretext was now wanting to the jesuits. they suffered everywhere from the malicious reports which had been circulated as to their purposes in visiting the nation and the acts of sorcery with which they were charged. the hurons of the georgian bay alarmed for the monopoly they had hitherto enjoyed and jealous of the french traders, had sent emissaries amongst the neutrals to poison their minds against the adventurous travellers, by the most extraordinary calumnies. for these reports two huron indians aouenhokoui and oentara were especially responsible. they had visited several villages, presented hatchets in the name of the huron chiefs and old men, and denounced their white visitors as sorcerers who desired to destroy the neutrals by means of presents. these representations were so effectual that a council was at length held by the chiefs and the present formally refused, although permission to preach was granted. from village to village they passed, but everywhere the doors were barred to them. hostile looks greeted them wherever they went. no sooner did they approach a village than the cry resounded on all sides "here come the agwa." this was the name given by the natives to their greatest enemies. if the priests were admitted into their dwellings at all, it was more frequently from fear of the "sorcerers'" vengeance than for the hope of gain, "god making use of everything in order to nourish his servants." in the graphic language of lalemant: "the mere sight of the fathers, in figure and habit so different from their own, their gait, their gestures and their whole deportment seemed to them so many confirmations of what had been told them. the breviaries, ink-stands and writings were instruments of magic; if the frenchmen prayed to god, it was according to their idea simply an exercise of sorcerers. going to the stream to wash their dishes, it was said they were poisoning the water: it was charged that through all the cabins, wherever the priests passed, the children were seized with a cough and bloody flux, and the women became barren. in short, there was no calamity present or to come, of which they were not considered as the source. several of those with whom the fathers took up their abode did not sleep day or night for fear; they dared not touch what had been handled by them, they returned the strangers' presents, regarding everything as suspicious. the good old women already regarded themselves as lost, and only regretted the fate of their little children, who might otherwise have been able to repeople the earth." the neutrals intimidated the fathers with rumors of the senecas, who they were assured were not far off. they spoke of killing and eating the missionaries. yet in the four months of their sojourn brebeuf and chaumonot never lacked the necessaries of life, lodging and food, and amidst difficulties and inconveniences better imagined than described they retained their health. their food supply was bread baked under ashes after the fashion of the country, and which they kept for thirty and even forty days to use in case of need. "in their journey, the fathers passed through eighteen villages (_bourgs ou bourgades_), to all of which they gave a christian name, of which we shall make use hereafter on occasion. they stayed particularly in ten, to which they gave as much instruction as they could find hearers. they report about 500 fires and 3,000 persons, which these ten _bourgades_ may contain, to whom they set forth and published the gospel." (lalemant's relation.)[4] [4] in another place it is stated that there were 40 villages of the neutrals in all. disheartened, the fathers decided to return to kandoucho or all saints to await the spring. midway, however, at the village of teotongniaton, or s. guillaume, (perhaps in the vicinity of woodstock) the snow fell in such quantities that further progress was impossible. they lodged here in the cabin of a squaw, who entertained them hospitably and instructed them in the language, dictating narratives syllable by syllable as to a school boy. here they stayed twenty-five days, "adjusted the dictionary and rules of the huron language to that of these tribes (the neutrals), and accomplished a work which alone was worth a journey of several years in the country." hurons from the mission of la conception volunteered to go to the relief of the daring travellers. after eight days of travel and fatigue in the woods the priests and the relief party arrived at ste. marie on the very day of st. joseph, patron of the country, in time to say mass, which they had not been able to say since their departure. amongst the eighteen villages visited by them, only one, that of khioetoa, called by the fathers saint michel, gave them the audience their embassy merited. in this village, years before, driven by fear of their enemies, had taken refuge a certain foreign nation, "which lived beyond erie or the cat nation," named aouenrehronon. it was in this nation that the fathers performed the first baptism of adults. these were probably a portion of the kindred neutral tribe referred to above as having fled to the huron country from the iroquois. their original home was in the state of new york. sanson's map shows s. michel a little east of where sandwich now stands. owing to their scanty number and the calumnies circulated amongst the indians respecting the jesuits of the huron mission the latter resolved to concentrate their forces. the neutral mission was abandoned, but christian indians visited the neutrals in 1643 and spread the faith amongst them with a success which elicits lalemant's enthusiastic praises. towards the end of the following winter a band of about 500 neutrals visited the hurons. the fathers did not fail to avail themselves of their opportunity. the visitors were instructed in the faith and expressed their regret that their teachers could not return with them. a different reception from that experienced by brebeuf and chaumonot three years before was promised. lalemant relates that in the summer of 1643, 2,000 neutrals invaded the country of the nation of fire and attacked a village strongly fortified with a palisade, and defended stoutly by 900 warriors. after a ten days' siege, they carried it by storm, killed a large number on the spot, and carried off 800 captives, men, women and children, after burning 70 of the most warlike and blinding the eyes and "girdling the mouths" of the old men, whom they left to drag out a miserable existence. he reports the nation of fire as more populous than the neutrals, the hurons and the iroquois together. in a large number of these villages the algonkin language was spoken. farther away, it was the prevailing tongue. in remote algonkin tribes, even at that early day, there were christians who knelt, crossed their hands, turned their eyes heavenward, and prayed to god morning and evening, and before and after their meals; and the best mark of their faith was that they were no longer wicked nor dishonest as they were before. so it was reported to lalemant by trustworthy hurons who went every year to trade with algonkin nations scattered over the whole northern part of the continent. ragueneau in the relation of 1648 refers to lake erie as being almost 200 leagues in circuit, and precipitating itself by "a waterfall of a terrible height" into lake ontario, or lake saint louys. the aondironnons a tribe of the neutrals living nearest to the hurons were treacherously attacked in their village by 300 senecas, who after killing a number carried as many as possible away with them as prisoners. the neutrals showed no open resentment but quietly prepared to revenge themselves. a christian huron, a girl of fifteen, taken prisoner by the senecas, escaped from them and made her way to the neutral country, where she met four men, two of whom were neutrals and the others enemies. the latter wished to take her back to captivity; but the neutrals, claiming that within their country she was no longer in the power of her enemies, rescued her and she returned in safety to ste. marie on the georgian bay. these incidents were the prelude to the storm which shortly afterward burst. in 1650 the principal part of the iroquois forces was directed against the neutrals. they carried two frontier villages, in one of which were more than 1600 men, the first at the end of autumn, the second early in the spring of 1651. the old men and children who might encumber them on their homeward journey were massacred. the number of captives was excessive, especially of young women, who were carried off to the iroquois towns. the other more distant villages were seized with terror. the neutrals abandoned their houses, their property and their country. famine pursued them. the survivors became scattered amongst far-off woods and along unknown lakes and rivers. in wretchedness and want and in constant apprehension of their relentless enemy, they eked out a miserable existence. the journal (april 22, 1651) adds that after the destruction of the neutral village in the previous autumn, the neutral warriors under the lead of the tahontaenrat (a huron tribe) had followed the assailants and killed or taken 200 of them; and 1,200 iroquois warriors had returned in the spring to avenge this disaster. in august a huron reported at montreal the capture of teot'ondiaton (probably the village in which brebeuf composed his dictionary, and which is referred to in the relation as having been taken in the spring). the condition of the neutrals was desolate and desperate. in april, 1652, news reached quebec that they had leagued with the andastes against the iroquois, that the senecas had been defeated in a foray against the neutrals, so that the seneca women had been constrained to quit their village and retreat to the oneida country; also that the mohawks had gone on the war path against the andastes during the winter, and the issue of the war was unknown. the last of july, 1653, seven indians from the huron country arrived at quebec and reported a great gathering near mackinac of all the algonkin nations with the remains of the tobacco and neutral nations at a'otonatendie three days above the sault ste. marie (skia'e) towards the south. the tobacco indians had wintered at tea'onto'rai; the neutrals to the number of 800 at sken'chio'e towards teo'chanontian. these were to rendezvous the next fall with the algonkins, who were already on the spot to the number of 1,000. this is probably the last we hear of the neutrals under their own name. some of the survivors united with the remnant of the hurons at mackinac and on lake superior; and under the name of the hurons and wyandots they appear from time to time on the page of history. their removal to detroit on the establishment of the latter trading post by cadaillac, is perpetuated by the name of wyandotte, to the south of the city of the straits. parkman mentions the circumstance that an old chief named kenjockety, who claimed descent from an adopted prisoner of the neutral nation, was recently living among the senecas of western new york. it is stated in the "history of the county of middlesex" that over 60 years ago, "edouard petit, of black river, discovered the ruins of an ancient building on the riviere aux sables, about 40 miles from sarnia. pacing the size, he found it to have been 40×24 feet on the ground. on the middle of the south or gable end, was a chimney eighteen feet high, in excellent preservation, built of stone, with an open fire place. the fire place had sunk below the surface. this ruin had a garden surrounding it, ten or twelve rods wide by twenty rods in length, marked by ditches and alleys. inside the walls of the house a splendid oak had grown to be three feet in diameter, with a stem sixty feet high to the first branch. it seemed to be of second growth, and must have been 150 years reaching its proportions as seen in 1828-9." this must have been the mission of s. francois shown on sanson's map. the iroquois' hunting ground. after the expulsion of the neutrals, the north shore of lake erie remained an unpeopled wilderness until the close of the last century. the unbroken forest teemed with deer, racoons, foxes, wolves, bears, squirrels and wild turkeys. millions of pigeons darkened the sky in their seasons of migration. for generations after the disappearance of the neutrals, the iroquois resorted to the region in pursuit of game. the country was described in maps as "_chasse de castor des iroquois_," the iroquois' beaver ground. numerous dams constructed by these industrious little animals still remain to justify the description. the french built forts at detroit, niagara and toronto to intercept the beaver traffic, which otherwise might be shared by the english on the hudson and mohawk rivers; but for nearly a hundred and fifty years no settlement was attempted on the north shore. references to the region are few and scanty. travellers did not penetrate into the country. coasting along the shore in canoes on their way to detroit, they landed as rarely as possible for shelter or repose. there were forest paths well known to the indians, by which they portaged their canoes and goods from one water stretch to another. one of these led from the site of dundas to a point on the grand river near cainsville; another from the latter stream to the thames river near woodstock; and a third from the upper waters of the thames to lake huron. besides these, there was a trail from the huntly farm in southwold on the river thames (lot 11, con. 1,) to the mouth of kettle creek; and a fifth from the rondeau to m'gregor's creek near chatham. these were thoroughfares of travel and of such rude commerce as was carried on by the savages with their french and english neighbors. the french exploration. joliet was the first frenchman to descend lake erie from detroit. he had been sent by talon to investigate the copper mines of lake superior. he returned to quebec in the autumn of 1669 by way of the lower lakes, instead of taking the usual route by the french river and the ottawa. at the mouth of kettle creek he hid his canoe. thence he portaged, doubtless by the well-known trails to the thames and grand rivers, until he reached burlington bay.[5] [5] this is the most probable inference from the facts stated by galinee. at the seneca village of tinaouatoua, midway between the bay and the grand river, he met la salle and the sulpician priests, dollier de casson and galinee on their way to lake erie and the ohio river. the result of the meeting and of the information given by joliet was that the priests altered their purpose and decided to proceed to sault ste. marie and then to the pottamatamies, where they would establish their mission: whilst la salle, who evidently was dissatisfied with his companions, went back with joliet and, it is now pretty generally believed, discovered the ohio by journeying overland from the seneca villages south of lake ontario during the winter or the following spring. joliet gave the missionaries a description of his route, from which galinee was able to make a map which was of great assistance in the further progress of their expedition.[6] the priests descended the grand river to lake erie, and wintered at the forks of patterson's creek, where port dover now stands. after a sojourn of five months and eleven days, during which they were visited in their cabin by iroquois beaver hunters, they proceeded westward along the north shore of the lake. losing one of their canoes in a storm, they were obliged to divide their party. four men with the luggage proceeded in the two remaining canoes. five of the party, including apparently the two priests, made the wearisome journey on foot from long point all the way to the mouth of kettle creek, where on the tenth of april, 1670, they found joliet's canoe, and the party was reunited for the rest of the long journey to the sault. upon leaving their winter abode however the whole party had first proceeded to the lake shore, and there on the 23rd march 1670, being passion sunday, planted a cross, as a memorial of their long sojourn, and offered a prayer. the official record is as follows: "we the undersigned certify that we have seen affixed on the lands of the lake called erie the arms of the king of france with this inscription: the year of salvation 1669, clement ix. being seated in st. peter's chair, louis xiv. reigning in france, m. de courcelle being governor of new france, and m. talon being intendant therein for the king, there arrived in this place two missionaries from montreal accompanied by seven other frenchmen, who, the first of all european peoples, have wintered on this lake, of which, as of a territory not occupied, they have taken possession in the name of their king by the apposition of his arms, which they have attached to the foot of this cross. in witness whereof we have signed the present certificate." "francois dollier, priest of the diocese of nantes in brittany. de galinee, deacon of the diocese of rennes in brittany." [6] galinee's map is reproduced in faillon's histoire de la colonie francaise. galinee grows enthusiastic over the abundance of game and wild fruits opposite long point. the grapes were as large and as sweet as the finest in france. the wine made from them was as good as _vin de grave_. he admires the profusion of walnuts, chestnuts, wild apples and plums. bears were fatter and better to the palate than the most "savory" pigs in france. deer wandered in herds of 50 to 100. sometimes even 200 would be seen feeding together. in his enthusiasm the good priest calls this region "the terrestrial paradise of canada." fortunately for the explorers, the winter was as mild at port dover as it was severe at montreal. patterson's creek was however still frozen over on the 26th march, when, having portaged their goods and canoes to the lake, they embarked to resume their westward journey. they had to pass two streams before they arrived at the sand beach which connected long point with the mainland. to effect the first crossing they walked four leagues inland before they found a satisfactory spot. to cross big creek, they were obliged to spend a whole day constructing a raft. they were further delayed by a prolonged snow storm and a strong north wind. on the west bank was a meadow more than 200 paces wide, in passing over which they were immersed to their girdles in mud and slash. arriving at the sandy ridge which then connected long point with the mainland, they found the lake on the other side full of floating ice, and concluded that their companions had not ventured to proceed in their frail barques. they encamped near the sandbar and waited for the canoes, which had doubtless been delayed by the weather. the missionaries put themselves on short rations in order to permit the hunters to keep up their strength for the chase, and were rewarded with a stag as the result. as it was holy week the whole party decided not to leave the spot until they had kept their easter together. on the tuesday following, which was the eighth day of april, they heard mass and, although the lake had still a border of ice, they launched their canoe, and continued their journey as before, five of the party going by land. when they arrived at "the place of the canoe," on the 10th great was their disappointment to find that the iroquois had anticipated them and carried it away. later in the day however it was found, hidden between two large trees on the other side of a stream. the discoverers came upon it unexpectedly whilst looking for dry wood to make a fire, and bore it in triumph to the lake. the hunters were out the whole day without seeing any game. for five or six days the party subsisted on boiled maize, no meat being obtainable. being provided now with three canoes, the party paddled up the lake in one day to a place where game was abundant. the hunters saw more than 200 deer in a single herd, but missed their aim. in their craving for flesh-meat, they shot and skinned a poor wolf and had it ready for the kettle, when one of their men perceived twenty or thirty deer "on the other side of a small lake on the shore of which we were."[7] the deer were surrounded and forced into the water, where 10 were killed, the rest being permitted to escape. well supplied with fresh and smoked meat they went on nearly twenty leagues (about fifty miles) in one day, "as far as a long point which you will find marked in the map of lake erie. we arrived there on a beautiful sand-beach on the east side of this point."[8] here disaster overtook them. they had drawn up their canoes beyond high water mark, but left their goods on the sand near the water, whilst they camped for the night. a terrific gale came up from the north-east, and the water of the lake rose until it swept with violence over the beach. one of the party was awakened by the roaring of the waves and wind and aroused the rest, who attempted to save their supplies. groping with torches along the shore, they succeeded in securing the cargo of galinee's canoe, and of one of dollier's. the other canoe load was lost, including provisions, goods for bartering, ammunition, and, most important of all, the altar service, with which they intended establishing their mission among the pottawatamies. the question was debated whether they should take up their mission with some other tribe, or go back to montreal for a new altar service and supplies, and, returning at a later period, establish themselves wherever they should then determine. deciding in favor of the latter view, they concluded that the return journey would be as short by way of the sault and the french river as by the route which they had followed from the east. in favor of this decision was the further consideration that not only would they see a new country but they would have the escort of the ottawas who were assembling at the sault for their annual trading visit to montreal and quebec. galinee continues: "we pursued our journey accordingly towards the west, and after having made about 100 leagues on lake erie arrived at the place where the _lake of the hurons_, otherwise called the _fresh-water sea of the hurons_, or the michigan, discharges itself into that lake. this outlet is perhaps half a league wide and turns sharply to the north-east, so that we were in a measure retracing our steps; at the end of six leagues we found a place that was very remarkable and held in great veneration by all the savages of these regions, because of a stone idol of natural formation, to which they say they owe the success of their navigation on lake erie when they have crossed it without accident, and which they appease by sacrifices, presents of skins, provisions, etc., when they wish to embark on it." [7] evidently the rondeau. [8] this was point pelee. "this place was full of huts of those who had come to pay homage to this idol, which had no other resemblance to a human figure than that which the imagination chose to give it. however it was painted all over, and a kind of face had been formed for it with vermillion. i leave you to imagine whether we avenged upon this idol, which the iroquois had strongly recommended us to honor, the loss of our chapel." "we attributed to it even the scarcity of food from which we had suffered up to that time. in fine there was nobody whose hatred it had not incurred. i consecrated one of my hatchets to break this god of stone, and then having locked canoes we carried the largest piece to the middle of the river, and immediately cast the remainder into the water, that it might never be heard of again." "god rewarded us forthwith for this good act: for we killed a deer that same day, and four leagues farther we entered a little lake about ten leagues long and almost as wide, called by mr. sanson the _lake of the salted waters_, but we saw no sign of salt. from this lake we entered the outlet of lake michigan, which is not a quarter of a league in width." "at last ten or twelve leagues farther on, we entered the largest lake in all america, called here "the fresh-water sea of the hurons," or in algonkin, _michigan_. it is 600 to 700 leagues in circuit. we made on this lake 200 leagues and were afraid of falling short of provisions, the shores of the lake being apparently very barren. god, however, did not wish that we should lack for food in his service." "for we were never more than one day without food. it is true that several times we had nothing left, and had to pass an evening and morning without having anything to put into the kettle, but i did not see that any one was discouraged or put to prayers (_sic_) on that account. for we were so accustomed to see that god succored us mightily in emergencies, that we awaited with tranquility the effects of his goodness, thinking that he who nourished so many barbarians in these woods would not abandon his servants." "we passed this lake without any peril and entered the _lake of the hurons_, which communicates with it by four mouths, each nearly two leagues in width." "at last we arrived on the 25th may, the day of pentecost, at ste. marie of the sault, where the jesuit fathers have made their principal establishment for the missions to the ottawas and neighboring tribes." here they found fathers d'ablon and marquette in charge of the mission, with a fort consisting of a square of cedar posts, enclosing a chapel and residence. they had cleared and seeded a large piece of ground. the sulpicians remained only three days and then hired an experienced guide to take them to montreal, where they arrived on the 18th june after a fatiguing journey of twenty-two days. they had been absent since the 6th july 1669, and were welcomed as if they had come to life again after being dead. it was their intention to return in the following spring and renew their search for the ohio river, where they purposed establishing a mission; but this intention was never carried into effect. "this famous voyage," says dean harris in his interesting 'history of the early missions in western canada,' "stimulated to an extraordinary degree enthusiasm for discovery, and in the following year talon sent out expeditions to the hudson bay, the southern sea, and into the algonquin country to the north." marquette, tonty, hennepin, du lhut, la salle and perrot explored the mississippi valley, and the head waters of the st. lawrence system, and almost the entire continent was claimed by the french as belonging to new france. as far as appears, there were no indians having settled abodes on the north shore of lake erie for more than a century after the expulsion of the neutrals. nor does any attempt appear to have been made by the whites to explore south-western ontario until the close of the last century. the iroquois continued for a long period to range its forests for beaver in the winter. the rivalry between the french and the english for the control of the vast western fur trade led to the erection of outposts by the english at oswego and by the french at cataraqui, niagara, detroit and michilimakinac, during the latter part of the 17th century. english traders sailed or paddled up the lakes to get their share of the traffic, and were from time to time summarily arrested and expelled by their rivals. both parties tried to ingratiate themselves with the natives. the french were as eager to maintain a state of warfare between the iroquois and the indians of the upper lakes--the hurons, ottawas, pottawatamies, ojibways etc.--as to induce the former to keep the peace with the white inhabitants of canada. there were two great trade routes to montreal, viz: by mackinac, the georgian bay and the french and ottawa river and by detroit, lake erie and niagara; the lake simcoe portage routes by the trent river system, and the holland river and toronto were also used. trading or military parties, under the leadership of la salle, tonty, perrot, du lhut, cadaillac, passed along the coast of l. erie in canoes; but little record if any remained of their visits to the shores. kettle creek was long called the tonty river. it is so named in one of bellin's maps of 1755, and by the canadian land board at detroit as lately as 1793. the only northern tributaries of lake erie to which names are given on the map of 1755 are the grand river, river d'ollier (patterson's creek), which in some maps is called the river of the wintering--a manifest reference to galinee and dollier de casson's sojourn in 1669-70--the river a la barbue (catfish creek), the river tonty (kettle creek) a little east of p'te au fort (plum point or else port talbot) and the river aux cedres (m'gregor's creek in essex). the thames is described as a "river unknown to all geographers, and which you go up eighty leagues without finding any rapids (_saults_)." the chenail ecarte is indicated as the only outlet of the sydenham river the map-makers assuming that walpole island was part of the mainland. the mouths of four or five streams are shown between long point and "the little lake" (rondeau), and the shore is marked "the high cliffs." "the low cliffs" were between the rondeau and point pelee. in one of bellin's maps of 1755 in the present writer's possession long point is shown as a peninsula, and the streams now in the county of elgin are marked "unknown rivers," but the map firstly mentioned and published in the same year, is more complete, represents long point as an island, and names the barbue and tonty rivers and fort point, (_p'te au fort_) which are not named in the other. the tonty, moreover, is represented as an inlet by way of distinction from the other streams (including the barbue) which appear as of equal insignificance. the naming of kettle creek after the great explorer and devoted lieutenant of la salle indicates its consequence. its harbor was of paramount importance to the navigation of these early days, but no doubt the portage route extending from its mouth to the thames, exalted the little river in the eyes of the explorers who honored it with tonty's name.[9] [9] general john s. clarke, of auburn, n.y., in correspondence with the present writer, dwells upon the importance of the kettle creek portage route in the seventeenth century. he is a recognized authority upon the subject of indian trade routes. the indian title. on july 19th, 1701, the iroquois ceded to the british the entire country between the lakes, "including the country where beavers and all sorts of wild game keep, and the place called de tret,"[10] but this appears to have been a mere formality as no possession was taken by the purchasers. [10] history of middlesex county, p. 17. the ojibways have a tradition that they defeated the iroquois (called by them the nottawas or nahdoways) in a succession of skirmishes, ending in a complete victory at the outlet of burlington bay, and the final expulsion of the six nations from that part of ontario between the great lakes. the ojibways then spread east and west over the country. "a treaty of peace and friendship was then made with the nahdoways residing on the south side of lake ontario, and both nations solemnly covenanted, by going through the usual forms of burying the tomahawk, smoking the pipe of peace, and locking their hands and arms together, agreeing in future to call each other _brothers_. thus ended their war with the nahdoways."[11] [11] "peter jones and the ojebway indians," p. 113. whatever may be the truth of the details, there is no doubt of the fact that the ojibways or their kindred the mississagas were the sole occupants of western ontario at the time of the conquest in 1759, except near the detroit river where the remnant of the hurons or wyandots had settled. it was with the mississagas that the british negotiated in 1784 for the cession of the country from the "head of the lake ontario or the creek waghguata to the river la tranche, then down the river until a south course will strike the mouth of cat fish creek on lake erie." on the 21st may, 1790, alexander m'kee announced to the land-board at detroit the cession to the crown by the indians of that part of upper canada west of the former grant. the surrender of the indian title opened the way in each division of the lake shore district for settlement.[12] note.--the explanatory notes referring to the extract are by the late leonidas burwell, m.p.p., and are given by him in a letter to his honor, judge hughes, which has been kindly presented by the recipient to the elgin historical and scientific institute. [12] the north shore of lake erie appears to have been so little known to the officials, that kettle creek and cat fish creek were continually confused and taken as being one or different streams as chance would have it. the land-board considered that a surrender of the lands west of kettle creek gave the crown all the territory not previously ceded. the indians at detroit who made the cession were the ojibways, hurons, ottawas and pottawatamies. charlevoix's description. in the year 1721 the distinguished traveller, charlevoix, passed through lake erie on his way up the lakes and thence down the mississippi to new orleans. the north shore of lake erie, and chiefly that part now embraced within the limits of the county of elgin, is singled out by him as the most beautiful country he met with in his passage. many travellers since charlevoix have admired the charming scenery at the mouths of otter, catfish, kettle and talbot creeks, but few if any have described it so well. as colonel talbot was influenced mainly by charlevoix's description of the country to establish his settlement at the outlet of talbot creek in 1803, the present writer makes no apology for reproducing the following extended passage from the celebrated and gifted traveller: "the 28th may, 1721, i went eighteen leagues and found myself over against the _great river_ which comes from the east in forty-two degrees fifteen minutes. nevertheless the great trees were not yet green. this country appeared to me to be very fine. we made very little way the 29th and none at all the 30th. we embarked the next day about sun rise, and went forward apace. the first of june being whitsunday, after going up a pretty river almost an hour which comes a great way, and runs between two fine meadows, we made a portage about sixty paces to escape going round a point which advances fifteen leagues into the lake: they call it the _long point_. it is very sandy and produces naturally many vines."[13] [13] this river is what is now known as "big creek" and, answers this description at the present day. it enters the lake a little above fort rowan. "the following days i saw nothing remarkable, but i coasted a charming country that was hid from time to time by some disagreeable skreens, but of little depth. in every place where i landed i was enchanted with the beauty and variety of landscape bounded by the finest forest in the world; besides this water fowl swarmed everywhere. i cannot say there is such plenty of game in the woods: but i know that on the south side there are vast herds of wild cattle."[14] [14] this charming country is evidently, the greater part of it, the county of elgin, as the portage is not more than thirteen miles from the boundary line of bayham. in passing up the lake one would meet with a great variety of landscape as the sand-hills in houghton and the mouths of the otter, catfish and other creeks would be passed. the lofty pines and chestnuts and oaks along this coast, in their original state no doubt appeared like the "finest forest in the world." "if one always travelled as i did then, with a clear sky and charming climate on water as bright as the finest fountain, and were to meet everywhere with safe and pleasant encampings, where one might find all manner of game at little cost, breathing at one's ease a pure air, and enjoying the sight of the finest countries, one would be tempted to travel all one's life." "it put me in mind of those ancient patriarchs who had no fixed abode, dwelt under tents, were in some manner master of all the countries they travelled over, and peaceably enjoyed all their productions without having the trouble which is inavoidable in the possession of a real domain. how many oaks represented to me that of _mamre_? how many fountains made me remember that of jacob? every day a situation of my own choosing, a neat and convenient house set up and furnished with necessaries in a quarter of an hour, spread with flowers always fresh, on a fine green carpet, and on every side plain and natural beauties which art had not altered and which it can not imitate. if the pleasures suffer some interruption either by bad weather or some unforseen accident, they are the more relished when they reappear." "if i had a mind to moralize, i should add, these alternations of pleasure and disappointment which i have so often experienced since i have been travelling, are very proper to make us sensible that there is no kind of life more capable of representing to us continually that we are only on the earth like pilgrims, and that we can only use, as in passing, the goods of this world; that a man wants but a few things; and that we ought to take with patience the misfortunes that happen in our journey, since they pass away equally, and with the same celerity. in short how many things in travelling make us sensible of the dependence in which we live upon divine providence, which does not make use of, for this mixture of good and evil, men's passions, but the vicissitudes of the seasons which we may foresee, and of the caprice of the elements, which we may expect of course. of consequence, how easy is it, and how many opportunities have we to merit by our dependence on and resignation to the will of god?" "they say commonly that long voyages do not make people religious, but nothing one would think should be more capable of making them so, than the scenes they go through." the british occupation. the conquest of canada in 1759 was followed by the occupation of detroit and the upper forts by a british force under the famous major robert rogers. he followed the south shore of lake erie, and near the site of cleveland was met by the celebrated ottawa chief, pontiac, who challenged his right to pass through the country without the formal permission of its savage sovereign. the operations of the conspiracy of pontiac (1763-5) are described in parkman's glowing pages. the success of the american revolution was followed by the settlement not only of the u.e. loyalists but also of many of the disbanded british troops in the most fertile districts north of the lakes. to locate these advantageously a land-board was established at detroit by the canadian government and it continued to perform its functions until the surrender of that post to the united states under the provisions of the jay treaty of 1794. mcniff's exploration. the indian title to the whole north shore region having been surrendered to the crown, no time was lost in opening the territory for settlement. patrick mcniff, an assistant surveyor attached to the ordinance department, was ordered by patrick murray, commandant at detroit, to explore the north shore from long point westward and investigate the quality and situation of the land. his report is dated 16th june 1790. the following extract is interesting: "from pointe aux pins to the portage at long point, no possibility of making any settlement to front on the lake, being all the way a yellow and white sand bank from 50 to 100 feet high, top covered with chestnut and scrubby oak and no harbours where even light boats may enter except river tonty and river a la barbue.[15] a load boat may enter the latter having four and a half feet water on the bar; on each side of river a la barbue are flats of excellent lands, but not above fifteen or twenty chains wide, before very high land commences, which in many places does not appear to be accessible for any carriage. on the tops of these very high hills, good land, timber, some very large chestnut, hickory and bass. these hills are separated by dry ravines almost impassable from their great depth--on the back of long point very good land, not so hilly as what i have passed. timber bass, black walnut and hard maple, but marshy in front for twenty or thirty chains." [15] kettle and catfish creeks. in consequence of this unfavorable report, townships were directed to be laid out on the river thames, instead of the lake shore. lieutenant-governor simcoe. in the year 1791 the quebec act was passed, dividing quebec into two provinces, and colonel john graves simcoe became the first lieutenant-governor of upper canada. before the bill was introduced into parliament, it was understood that simcoe had been selected by pitt to govern the new province, direct its settlement and establish constitutional government after the model of the british system. as early as january, 1791, he had written a letter to sir joseph banks, president of the royal society,[16] in which after mentioning his appointment, he explained his own plans as to the administration, and stated his desire to profit by the ideas of his correspondent whom he would wait upon for that purpose. [16] record book of the land board at detroit, now in the crown lands department at toronto. "for the purpose of commerce, union and power, i propose that the site of the colony should be in that great peninsula between the lakes huron, erie and ontario, a spot destined by nature, sooner or later, to govern the interior world." "i mean to establish a capital in the very heart of the country, upon the river la tranche, which is navigable for batteauxs for 150 miles--and near to where the grand river, which falls into erie, and others that communicate with huron and ontario almost interlock. the capital i mean to call georgina--and aim to settle in its vicinity loyalists, who are now in connecticut, provided that the government approve of the system." as a member of the house of commons, simcoe spoke in support of a provision in the bill for the establishment of an hereditary nobility, which fox had moved to strike out. the report states that colonel simcoe "having pronounced a panegyric on the british constitution, wished it to be adopted in the present instance, as far as circumstances would admit." the provision was in the bill as finally passed. having proceeded to quebec to enter upon the performance of his duties, he appears to have utilized every opportunity for informing himself of his new domain. he writes to hon. henry dundas from montreal, december 7, 1791, in a letter marked "secret and confidential," as follows:- "i am happy to have found in the surveyor's office an actual survey of the river la tranche. it answers my most sanguine expectations, and i have but little doubt that its communications with the ontario and erie will be found to be very practicable, the whole forming a route which, in all respects, may annihilate the political consequences of niagara and lake erie. * * * my ideas at present are to assemble the new corps, artificers, etc., at cataraqui (kingston), and to take its present garrison and visit toronto and the heads of la tranche, to pass down that river to detroit, and early in the spring to occupy such a central position as shall be previously chosen for the capital." on the 16th july, 1792, the name of the river la tranche was changed to the thames by proclamation of the governor, issued at kingston. in the spring, he had written that "toronto appears to be the natural arsenal of lake ontario and to afford an easy access overland to lake huron." he adds: "the river la tranche, near the navigable head of which i propose to establish the capital, by what i can gather from the few people who have visited it, will afford a safe, more certain, and i am inclined to think, by taking due advantage of the season, a less expensive route to detroit than that of niagara." at quebec simcoe had met the hon. thomas talbot, who had joined the 24th regiment as lieutenant in the previous year. talbot was then a young man of twenty, whilst simcoe was in his fortieth year. a strong attachment sprang up between these two remarkable men, and talbot accompanied the lieutenant-governor to niagara, in the capacity of private and confidential secretary. after meeting the first legislature elected in upper canada during the fall of 1792 simcoe decided to make a journey overland to detroit. he left navy hall on the 4th february, 1793, and returned on the 10th march. his travelling companions were capt. fitzgerald, lieutenant smith (previously secretary to the detroit land board, subsequently the first surveyor general of upper canada, an m.p.p., speaker of the house, etc., and afterward created a baronet), lieutenants talbot, gray, givens and major littlehales. all of these were prominent afterward in the history of the province. talbot became the founder of the talbot settlement. gray was appointed solicitor general; he perished in the schooner 'speedy' on lake ontario in 1804 with judge cochrane, sheriff macdonell and others. givens was afterward the well-known colonel givens, superintendant of indian affairs at york. littlehales was afterward sir e. b. littlehales, secretary of war for ireland, during the lord-lieutenancy of the marquis of cornwallis; he married in 1805 the lady elizabeth fitzgerald, daughter of the duke of leinster and sister of the unfortunate lord edward fitzgerald.[17] [17] dr. scadding's notes to his reprint of littlehales' journal. the journey was made partly in sleighs, but chiefly on foot. littlehales kept a diary of the occurrences on the way. the route was by ten-mile creek, nelles' house at the grand river, the mohawk indian village (a little below brantford), the portage route to the forks of the thames (london), and then down or along the river to detroit. joseph brant with about a dozen of his indians accompanied the party from the mohawk village to delaware, doubtless to furnish them with game and guide them over the long portage. the indians excited admiration by their skill in constructing wigwams of elm bark to lodge the company. after leaving the grand river the trail passed a mississaga encampment, a trader's house, fine open deer plains, several beaver dams, "an encampment said to have been lord fitzgerald's when on his march to detroit, michilimackinac and the mississippi," a cedar grove; crossed a small branch of the la tranche, and the main branch soon afterwards; "went between an irregular fence of stakes made by the indians to intimidate and impede the deer, and facilitate their hunting;" again they crossed the main branch of the thames,[18] and "halted to observe a beautiful situation, formed by a bend of the river--a grove of hemlock and pine, and a large creek. we passed some deep ravines and made our wigwam by a stream on the brow of a hill, near a spot where indians were interred. the burying ground was of earth raised, nearly covered with leaves; and wickered over--adjoining it was a large pole, with painted hieroglyphics on it denoting the nation, tribes and achievements of the deceased, either as chiefs, warriors, or hunters." this was on the 13th february. the food of the party consisted of soup and dried venison, to which squirrel and racoon meat added variety. littlehales remarks about the latter: "the three racoons when roasted made us an excellent supper. some parts were rancid, but in general the flesh was exceedingly tender and good." on the 14th they encamped a few miles above the delaware village. during the day the diarist had "observed many trees blazed, and various figures of indians (returning from battle with scalps) and animals drawn upon them, descriptive of the nations, tribes and number that had passed. many of them were well drawn, especially a bison." [18] this was no doubt where london now is. "this day we walked over very uneven ground, and passed two lakes of about four miles in circumference, between which were many fine larch trees." next morning they walked on the ice of the river five or six miles to the delaware village, where the chiefs received them cordially and regaled them with eggs and venison. "captain brant being obliged to return to a council of the six nations, we stayed the whole day. the delaware castle is pleasantly situated upon the banks of the thames; the meadows at the bottom are cleared to some extent, and in summer planted with indian corn. after walking twelve or fourteen miles this day, part of the way through plains of white oak and ash, and passing several chippawa indians upon their hunting parties, and in their encampments, we arrived at a canadian trader's; and a little beyond, in proceeding down the river the indians discovered a spring of an oily nature, which upon examination proved to be a kind of petroleum. we passed another wigwam of chippawas, making maple sugar, the mildness of the winter having compelled them in a great measure to abandon their annual hunting. we soon arrived at an old hut where we passed the night." on the 17th, after a journey of four or five miles, they passed the moravian village which had been begun in may, 1792. the delaware indians were "under the control, and in many particulars, under the command of four missionaries, messrs. zeisberger, senseman, edwards and young." they were making progress towards civilization, and already had corn fields and were being instructed in different branches of agriculture. "at this place every respect was paid to the governor, and we procured a seasonable refreshment of eggs, milk and butter. pursuing our journey eight or nine miles, we stopped for the night at the extremity of a new road, cut by the indians and close to a creek." "18th--crossing the thames and leaving behind us a new log house, belonging to a sailor named carpenter, we passed a thick, swampy wood of black walnut, where his excellency's servant was lost for three or four hours. we then came to a bend of the la tranche (thames)[19] and were agreeably surprised to meet twelve or fourteen carioles coming to meet and conduct the governor, who, with his suite, got into them, and at about four o'clock arrived at dolsen's, having previously reconnoitred a fork of the river, and examined a mill of curious construction erecting upon it. the settlement where dolsen resides is very promising, the land is well adapted for farmers, and there are some respectable inhabitants on both sides of the river: behind it to the south is a range of spacious meadows--elk are continually seen upon them--and the pools and ponds are full of cray fish." [19] afterwards referred to by the diarist as the high bank. "from dolsen's we went to the mouth of the thames in carioles, about twelve miles, and saw the remains of a considerable town of the chippawas, where, it is reported, a desperate battle was fought between them and the senecas, and upon which occasion the latter, being totally vanquished, abandoned their dominions to the conquerors. certain it is, that human bones are scattered in abundance in the vicinity of the ground, and the indiana have a variety of traditions relative to this transaction."[20] [20] note peter jones' statement as quoted on page 28. we pass over briefly the governor's reception at detroit. the canadian militia on the east bank fired a _feu de joie_. he crossed the river in boats amidst floating ice. the garrison of detroit was under arms to receive his majesty's representative. a royal salute was fired. the farms, the apple orchards, windmills and houses close together on the river bank gave an appearance of population and respectability. talbot's regiment, the 24th, was stationed at detroit. fort lenoult and the rest of the works were inspected. the party visited at the river rouge a sloop almost ready to be launched. they went to see the bloody bridge, memorable for the slaughter of british troops by pontiac 30 years before. on the 23rd, the governor left detroit on his homeward journey. col. mckee, mr. baby and others escorting his excellency as far as the high bank where the carioles had met the party on the 18th. "here we separated; and each taking his pack or knapsack on his back, we walked that night to the moravian village." on the 27th the chiefs at the village entertained the party with venison, and dancing, "a ceremony they never dispense with when any of the king's officers of rank visit their villages." "28th.--at six we stopped at an old misissaga hut, upon the south side of the thames. after taking some refreshment of salt pork and venison, well cooked by lieutenant smith, who superintended that department, we, as usual, sang god save the king, and went to rest." "march 1st.--we set out along the banks of the river; hen, ascending a high hill, quitted our former path, and directed our course to the northward. a good deal of snow having fallen, and lying still on the ground, we saw tracks of otters, deer, wolves and bears and other animals many of which being quite fresh induced the mohawks to pursue them, but without success. we walked 14 or 15 miles and twice crossed the river, and a few creeks, upon the ice; once we came close to a chippawa hunting camp, opposite to a fine terrace, on the banks of which we encamped, near a bay. * * * 2nd.--we struck the thames at one end of a low flat island enveloped with shrubs and trees; the rapidity and strength of the current were such as to have forced a channel through the main land, being a peninsula, and to have formed the island. we walked over a rich meadow, and at its extremity came to the forks of the river.[21] the governor wished to examine this situation and its environs: and we therefore remained here all the day. he judged it to be a situation eminently calculated for the metropolis of canada. among many other essentials, it possesses the following advantages: command of territory,--internal situation,--central position,--facility of water communication up and down the thames into lakes st. clair, erie, huron and superior,--navigable for boats to near its source, and for small crafts probably to the moravian settlement--to the northward by a small portage to the waters flowing into lake huron--to the south-east by a carrying place into lake ontario and the river st. lawrence; the soil luxuriantly fertile,--the land rich, and capable of being easily cleared, and soon put into a state of agriculture,--a pinery upon an adjacent high knoll, and other timber on the heights, well calculated for the erection of public buildings,--a climate not inferior to any part of canada." [21] now the city of london. "to these natural advantages an object of great consideration is to be added, that the enormous expenses of the indian department would be greatly diminished, if not abolished; the indians would, in all probability, be induced to become the carriers of their own peltries, and they would find a ready, contiguous, commodious, and equitable mart, honorably advantageous to government, and the community in general, without their becoming a prey to the monopolizing and unprincipled trader." "the young indians, who had chased a herd of deer in company with lieutenant givens, returned unsuccessful, but brought with them a large porcupine; which was very seasonable, as our provisions were nearly expended. this animal afforded us a very good repast, and tasted like a pig. the newfoundland dog attempted to bite the porcupine, but soon got his mouth filled with the barbed quills, which gave him exquisite pain. an indian undertook to extract them, and with much perseverance plucked them out, one by one, and carefully applied a root or decoction, which speedily healed the wound." "various figures were delineated on trees at the forks of the river thames, done with charcoal and vermillion; the most remarkable were the imitations of men with deer's heads." "we saw a fine eagle on the wing, and two or three large birds, perhaps vultures." "3rd.--we were glad to leave our wigwam early this morning, it having rained incessantly the whole night; besides, the hemlock branches on which we slept were wet before they were gathered for our use.--we first ascended the height at least 120 feet into a continuation of the pinery already mentioned; quitting that, we came to a beautiful plain with detached clumps of white oak, and open woods; then crossing a creek running into the south branch of the thames, we entered a thick swampy wood, where we were at a loss to discover any track; but in a few minutes we were released from this dilemma by the indians, who making a cast, soon descried our old path to detroit. descending a hill and crossing a brook, we came at noon to the encampment we left on the 14th of february, and were agreeably surprised by meeting captain brant and a numerous retinue; among them were four of the indians we had despatched to him when we first altered our course for the forks of the river thames." on the 4th, after crossing brooks and rivulets, much swollen by a thunder-storm, and passing the hut occupied by them on the 12th february they noticed "very fine beech trees." next day:--"we again crossed one of the branches of the south-east fork of the thames, and halted in a cypress or cedar grove, where we were much amused by seeing brant and the indians chase a lynx with their dogs and rifle guns, but they did not catch it. several porcupines were seen." on the 6th they reached the mohawk village, crossing the river at a different place and by a nearer route than before. the indians had met the governor with horses at "the end of the plain, near the salt lick creek." the party finally arrived at navy hall on the 10th day of march. at this period the overland route from detroit to niagara was apparently well known. there was an annual "winter-express" each way, which simcoe met on his westward journey on the 12th february and on his homeward route on the 5th march. littlehales mentions a mr. clarke as being with it on each occasion. on their first meeting, the express was accompanied by a wyandot and a chippawa indian. the second time, mr. augustus jones, the surveyor, was either with or following it. he surveyed the north-west part of southwold in the following year. on the up trip, the governor's party met one man, who afterward proved to be a runaway thief from detroit. they were also overtaken by a traveller, who, as they were subsequently informed, had got himself supplied with provisions and horses to the grand rivet, and a guide from thence to detroit, by the false representation that he had despatches for the governor. "he quitted us under the plausible pretence of looking for land to establish a settlement." it appears that immediately after the capture of niagara by johnston in 1759, merchants from new england and virginia had rushed in to participate in the fur-trade, which until that time had been largely monopolized by the french. as might be expected, many lawless acts were committed by these adventurers, and various proceedings were adopted by the government to check and control them. after the american revolution land-hunters came into the peninsula and undertook to purchase lands directly from the indians. these purchases were ignored by the land boards, who always repudiated the idea that the indians were proprietors of the land. no steps were taken however to locate settlers until the indian title by occupancy was surrendered to the crown. even then, simcoe's first step was to procure surveys for the purpose of establishing military roads, fortified posts, dockyards, etc., in order that when the settlers came they might be easily defended against hostile attacks, whether from the indians, the united states troops, or the french or spanish, who it was believed might invade the province by way of the mississippi, the ohio and the upper lakes. patrick mcniff's survey of the river thames, as far as the upper delaware village, was finished in 1793. his map is dated at detroit on the 25th june of this year. in it he mentions that "from the entrance to the 12th lot of the 3rd township was surveyed two years since, from the 12th lot * * * to the upper village was surveyed in april and may 1793." the map gives the "road leading from the delawares to the moravian village," "corn-fields" along the east bank of the river, an indian village in the southwold bend, and opposite on the southerly bank the "road leading to the entrance of kettle creek[22] on lake erie. five hours' journey." it also shows the road leading to the mohawk village on the grand river. [22] this disposes of the story told by colonel talbot to mrs. jamieson in 1837. he informed her that the name originated from his men having lost a kettle in the creek. but the creek was called riviere a la chaudiere or kettle river by the french, and that is one of the names given to it in d. w. smith's gazetteer, of upper canada published in 1799. the moravian village is near the site of the battle field, and it is marked "commenced in may, 1792." the present location of dundas street and the longwoods road would appear to correspond with the roads east and west of delaware as laid down.[23] simcoe in forwarding mcniff's survey to mr. dundas on 20th september, 1793, thus refers to the lake erie region: [23] the writer has not been able to see mr. mcniff's report upon this survey. "the tract of country which lies between the river (or rather navigable canal as its indian name and french translation import) and lake erie, is one of the finest for all agricultural purposes in north america, and far exceeds the soil or climate of the atlantic states. there are few or no interjacent swamps, and a variety of useful streams empty themselves into the lake or the river." the governor makes frequent reference in his correspondence and state papers to his plans for establishing the capital of upper canada at the upper forks of the thames, to be called georgina, london or new london. down to the very time of his departure in 1796, and after the seat of government had been transferred to york (now toronto), he regarded the latter as but a temporary capital, the real metropolis having yet to be built at london in accordance with his original design. talbot remained in the service of the lieutenant governor until june 1794, when as major of the 5th regiment he departed for england under orders for flanders, carrying with him special letters of recommendation from simcoe to dundas and to mr. king, the under secretary of state. he had been employed in various confidential missions. in 1793 he had been sent to philadelphia to await news from europe, when war with france was believed to be imminent. on the 22nd august, 1793, we find talbot in "the most confidential intercourse with the several indian tribes," as simcoe expresses it, at the miamis rapids, where he had met the united states commissioners and the confederated indians to consider the boundary question. in april, 1794; simcoe was himself at the falls of the miami, and he repeated the visit during the following september, going by way of fort erie. this visit was a prolonged one; for we find that in october he met an indian council at brown's town in the miami country. it is probable talbot accompanied him in his capacity as military secretary. the construction by simcoe of the fort at the foot of the rapids of the miami in the spring of that year was an audacious step, which might easily have produced a new war between the united states and england, although simcoe believed it had had the opposite result, and prevented war. all disputes between the two nations were however concluded by the treaty of 1794, usually called the jay treaty. provision was made for the abandonment of the frontier posts hitherto occupied by english garrisons. forts niagara, detroit, miami and michilimackinac received american garrisons in 1796 or shortly thereafter; english troops were stationed in new forts at st. joseph's island, malden, turkey point, fort erie, toronto, etc. the english flag floated no longer south of the great lakes. during the year 1796, simcoe went to england on leave of absence, and he never returned to canada. colonel talbot. the honorable thomas talbot received his company and his majority in the same year, 1793. he was colonel of the fifth regiment in 1795, at the early age of twenty-five. after eight years of military service on the continent, partly in flanders and partly at gibraltar, he was still in 1803 a young man with every prospect that is usually considered alluring to ambition. suddenly, to the amazement of his friends and the public, he abandoned the brilliant career upon which he had entered under so favorable auspices, cut himself loose from civilization itself, and buried himself in the recesses of the canadian forest. he determined to settle on the north shore of lake erie, where he had previously selected a location on one of his journeyings with governor simcoe. talbot had formed plans for diverting the stream of immigration from the united states, or rather for continuing its current as far as upper canada. he would attract settlers from new york, pennsylvania and new england, who were dissatisfied with republican institutions or allured by the fertility of the lake erie region, and would build up a loyal british community, under the laws and institutions of the mother land. it was a memorable event in the history of the county of elgin, when on the 21st day of may, 1803, landing at port talbot, he took an axe and chopped down the first tree, thus inaugurating what has since been known as the talbot settlement. henceforward, colonel talbot, port talbot, the talbot road, and the talbot settlement, are names inseparably connected with the history of the making of upper canada. at that time the nearest settlement on lake erie was near turkey point, 60 miles away. in 1802 there was but one settled minister west of niagara, father marchand, of sandwich, a roman catholic priest. there were but seven clergymen settled in the whole province. the record[24] states, however, that "besides, there are several missionaries of the methodistical order, whose residence is not fixed." even at that early day the circuit-rider threaded the maze of forest between the long point clearings and those near the mouth of the thames, and made his way down the detroit river to the essex shore of lake erie, where there was a fringe of settlement. but, generally speaking, the country north of lake erie to the borders of lake huron and the georgian bay was still a wilderness of continuous unbroken forest. [24] tiffany's upper canada almanac, niagara, 1802. [illustration: cover art] [frontispiece: "the great branch torn from a neighbouring maple told all the tale."--_p._ 20] dick's desertion a boy's adventures in canadian forests a tale of the early settlement of ontario by marjorie l. c. pickthall with seven illustrations toronto: the musson book company, limited. 1905 contents. chap. i. in the heart of the woods ii. the fall of the tree iii. friends indeed iv. a day in the woods v. a backwoods christmas vi. the call of the forest vii. a message from the wanderer viii. a wood's adventure ix. on the prairie x. in the grip of the storm xi. back to stephanie xii. to a goodly heritage illustrations "the great branch torn from a neighbouring maple told all the tale." . . . . . . . . . _frontispiece_ "'if i had fifty rivers and fifty canoes, i could not leave stephanie.'" "they began to sing the old carols their mother had taught them long before." "he flung out his arm, circled with savage ornaments--flung it out with a wild gesture, and began to speak." "he held out a tiny package, wrapped in birch-bark, with an inquiring glance towards her." "'for pity's sake, let me alone!' dick pleaded. 'go on and leave me.'" "'dick! dick! where are you?'" dick's desertion: a boy's adventures in canadian forests. chapter i. in the heart of the woods. it was early fall, and all the world was golden. golden seemed the hazy warmth of the sky; golden were the willow leaves and the delicate foliage of the birches; even the grass, pale from the long heat of the summer, had taken on a tinge of the all-pervading colour. far as the eye could reach, the woods and uplands were bright with gold, relieved only by the deep sombre green of pines and hemlocks. save for these, it seemed a country that some gracious midas had touched, turning everything to ethereal, elfin gold. the midas-touch had even included the little log-cabin and its untidy clearing, for broad-disced sunflowers were scattered over the neglected garden, and between them bloomed late goldenrod, which had crept in from the wilds outside; and a small patch of ground was covered with shocks of indian corn, roughly bound together, yellowing also beneath the influence of sun and frost. the land was beautiful to look upon--ontario scenery, marred little by the works of man in that autumn of 1820, when his most gracious majesty george iv. was king. and the log-cabin and its clearing were picturesque enough to the eye of an artist, though speaking of all lack of skill and thrift and industry to the eye of a farmer. even the garden in front of the cabin was being slowly and surely swallowed up into the wilderness again. the sunflowers flourished and bloomed and seeded, forming food-stores for multitudes of birds; and the squirrels would flicker down the tree-trunks and feast upon the seeds which the birds dropped, spitting the hard shells deftly to right and left through their whiskers. but the wild asters and the long convolvulus vines were choking the blossomless pinks and the sweet-williams and the few shy english flowers that were left. there were only very few of these fading alien plants for the healthy native growth to smother and kill, most of them having been taken away to set upon the grave of the woman who had cherished them. in the centre of this neglected garden grew a clump of sumach trees, heavy with their clumsy crimson cones; and beneath these, in a little hollow lined with all the dead drift of the october woods, a boy was lying. he was about sixteen, burnt brown as any young savage of the forests, but with sun-bleached fair hair and blue eyes to proclaim his english birth. his clothes were of very coarse homespun, and he wore a pair of old moccasins and a deerskin belt, brightened with gaudy indian-work of beads and dyed grasses. the whole clearing was crying out for some skilled hand to tend and reclaim it once more from the encroaching wilderness; but this sturdy lad lay there with all the busy idleness of a savage, very deftly making a tiny canoe of birch-bark. he seemed a fit occupant for the tangled garden and the half-cultivated fields. five years before, a certain captain underwood, flying from financial disaster in england, had come to canada with his wife and his two children, dick and stephanie. there was roving blood in the underwoods, so perhaps it was not surprising that the unfortunate captain should have ranged farther afield in ontario than others had then done; for he left the settlements and the surveyed townships behind him, and struck farther north, wishing to get as far away as possible from the world that had brought him ruin. in the friendly forests, a little beyond the region where the white settlers had penetrated, but not entirely out of touch with them, he found a natural clearing, and here he had built his tiny cabin and roughly marked out his small fields. here, perhaps, the poor man, knowing nothing of the country, had thought to live a sort of idyllic hermit existence. but he found it very different. it was a terrible life to which he had brought his wife and children; and when mrs. underwood died, three years after leaving england, he blamed himself for her death. most of his heart he buried with her in that lonely grave under the mighty maples on the hill; and afterwards he turned to the wild life around him as to his only help and comfort. but he had no longer the courage to fight the farmer's fight, the primitive conflict between man's skill and nature's strength. soon the garden that his wife had loved became overgrown with native flowers and weeds. soon the bushes and the grass crept inwards over his fields. soon his son and daughter shot up from childhood to youth, perfectly healthy in their hard life. stephanie was fifteen years old, and being as strong as a young lynx, she did all the work of the log-cabin. she made a rough sort of corn cake which served for bread, she prepared the endless pea-soup and pork, she washed and mended and even made the clothes. dick helped his father, or idled away on little hunting expeditions of his own, from which he returned happy and rarely empty-handed. it was a strange life for a boy and girl, carefully and lovingly brought up amid english comforts and ease, to lead. their nearest neighbours, the collinsons, with whom captain underwood did most of his little trading, were twenty miles distant. kindly mrs. collinson had offered stephanie a home when mrs. underwood died, but the girl had chosen to stay with her father and dick, and be the one influence which restrained that little household in the woods from lapsing into the happy-go-lucky sort of savagery to which even the most cultivated are liable in a new land. i do not think that we of this generation can quite realise the life which was led in upper canada eighty years ago, when forest and swamp and bush foretold nothing of the great farms and cities and thriving towns which now replace them to such a great extent. those first settlers did not foresee the heights of prosperity and hope to which the land would rise in the time of their children. they looked upon it rather as some unfriendly place from which they might wrest a living, than as a goodly country given them that they and their children and their children's children might labour in it and love it and enjoy it--and fight and die for it if need were. all their love and remembrance they gave to those little isles across the sea; but, willy-nilly, they were obliged to give their wit and muscle to canada. they fought against hardships and privations that were almost incredible, chiefly in the hope that they might win enough from the new world to take them back in comfort to the old. they thought chiefly of making provision for present needs, not foreseeing that their toil went to the making of a nation, the building of an empire. they wrought indeed better than they knew. no prophetic vision of the mighty future came to dick underwood as he lay beneath the sumachs that golden october day, nearly ninety years ago. he gave all the sentiment of which his boyish heart was capable to his fading memories of his english home, even as his father did--laying these recollections aside, as it were, in a sacred place. but here the likeness to his father ceased; for he looked forward in vast, ignorant, splendid dreams to the possibilities of the land of his adoption--not the possibilities of trade and agriculture, which seldom attract youth--but to the more alluring chances of those great unknown lands, to the wonder and mystery of the indian-haunted north. he did not put this feeling into words. indeed, he did not know how to describe it, or what it was. but it is written in the history books that in talon's time the welfare of the french colony was endangered by the number of young men who took to the woods, obeying the "call of the wild." it was this that moved dick underwood. it moved him then as he lay lazily in the sweet, new-fallen leaves, so deftly shaping that little canoe of birch bark; and he wished, with a half smile at himself, that it might turn out to be a fairy canoe, suddenly growing to full size, and bearing him away on some new risen fairy river, into the land of his dreams. "but if i had fifty rivers and fifty canoes," he said to himself with a sigh, "i could not leave stephanie." [illustration: "'if i had fifty rivers and fifty canoes, i could not leave stephanie.'"] it was the old struggle, though he did not know it--the voice of the wilderness striving against the voice of the home ties. this time the voice of the home ties sang in triumph at thought of stephanie; but there comes a time occasionally in a man's life when his mother the woman may mean less to him for a space than his mother the earth. but with dick the crisis had not yet come; and he scrambled to his feet very contentedly, and proceeded to a little marsh close at hand, where all sorts of fair swamp plants grew--feathery green things, and jewelled touch-me-not, and jacks-in-the-pulpit, and long-stemmed violets in season. for the tiny canoe was to be filled with little ferns and soft mosses as a gift for stephanie, and that thought of the fairy river was forgotten. this important business attended to, he turned slowly and reluctantly towards home. but the woods were full of sights and sounds that appealed to every half-awakened instinct in the boy's soul. a small, brown, hawk-faced owl lay stupidly at the mouth of a sort of tunnel it had made for itself in the long, bleached grasses. so perfectly did it resemble a piece of decayed and mottled wood that even dick's keen eye almost passed it over, until it sprang up from this cosy day-time retreat, and blundered away among the trees. dragon-flies, unlike their brethren of the earlier year, in that they were clad in crimson and russet plush, and not in green and pink and sapphire mail, took their flashing flights among the faded undergrowth. the air was warm and golden still, but a keen nose might detect in it a threatening of frost; and the fallen leaves yielded a delicate fragrance as of damp earth and new mown hay. a chipmunk ran down a tree trunk and scolded him viciously, and then fled before him to another tree, where it awaited him angrily, evidently under the impression that he was following it with evil designs upon its winter stores. in this way it preceded him to the edge of the corn-field, and finally vanished into a hole in a half-dead pine that stood near the clearing, putting out its head once more with a last outpouring of abuse. "oh! little fellow," said dick, "i am afraid your nuts will be wasted, for to-morrow we chop the tree down. but i 've promised stephanie that first i 'll climb up and poke you out with a stick--and get bitten for my pains, i suppose, you little spitfire. so you need not be afraid you 'll be killed." he ran a hand over the smooth bark, blue-black, mottled with fragile green lichens, with no thought of its beauty. "half rotten," he said to himself, "and it ought to go down as easily as a bulrush." and he turned away, his mind full of the fascinating way in which the bright blades of the axes would bite deep through that beautiful dark bark into the sweet-smelling white wood beneath; of how the chips would scatter and fly, and lie like creamy shreds of ivory underfoot; of the tremor that would seem to shake the neighbouring woods at the sound of the falling of the tree. chapter ii. the fall of the tree. next morning the year had grown perceptibly older; or so it seemed to stephanie, as she stood in the doorway of the log-cabin, looking across the misty clearing to the golden forests that encircled it. the fallen leaves looked browner, each furred at the edge with a delicate fringe of hoar-frost; and the newly risen sun strove as yet in vain to send some heat through the faint, cold haze. it was more penetratingly chill than if it had been the drier winter time. stephanie snuggled into her little gray shawl with a keen appreciation of its rough warmth, and watched her breath floating as tiny silver clouds in the almost motionless air. she was a tall, strong girl, with an unexpectedly plaintive face--a quaint, dark-eyed face which suited well with her quaint foreign name. already she looked older than dick, for her eyes were grave, and her mouth had taken a firm, responsible curve; it was a look which comes sometimes to motherless girls who have men-folk to manage and care for. the room behind her was neat and clean, but almost bare of even such comforts as might have been found in pioneer homes. here and there some little stool or shelf showed that her brother's deft fingers had been at work; but in this as in most things he lacked the steadiness of application which would have served to better their lot. and captain underwood was a broken man, plunged in a lethargy of remorse and disappointment which threatened never to lighten. since her mother's death, life would have been almost unendurable to stephanie had it not been for two things: these were the passionate affection existing between herself and dick, and her intense love for and kinship with nature. all her scanty hours of idleness she spent roaming about the clearing or the edge of the forest--she knew the haunts of every weed and flower for a mile around. in the winter, flocks of little hungry birds were her pensioners, and it is likely that she would have seriously diminished their own stores in feeding them, had not dick collected berries and wild rice and seeds in the fall as a provision for emergencies. on this keen autumn morning there were very few birds about; the robins had flown, and the owls were going to bed; far away some noisy crows wheeled and cawed above the trees, but no longer could stephanie hear the innumerable small twitterings and tentative songs of a morning in the summer. the forest was very silent. indeed, the only sound that broke the half-awakened quietness was the distant thud and throb of axes biting deep into the trunk of a tree. it was a curiously insistent sound, that seemed to claim more notice than it was worth. very clearly on the clear air was borne the noise of every blow, and occasionally a faint crack as of a blade being wrenched away. it forced itself on stephanie's attention, growing louder and fainter as slight breaths of wind moved the hazy air, but never ceasing in its continual, irregular thud--thud; thud--thud. her father and dick were chopping down the half-dead pine; she could distinguish the difference between the weight of their respective strokes. half unconsciously she listened. there was no cessation in the dull noise; and to her it seemed full of threat and menace. she fancied that the other trees must be shaking all their remaining leaves in fear that a like fate might befall them, and she hoped that dick had remembered to chase the chipmunk out of his hole. the chipmunk had been a friend of hers, and she used to drop acorns at the foot of the tree where he might find them. vaguely she wondered whether she would recognise the little fellow again if she saw him in some other tree, and concluded that it was scarcely possible. while all the time the thud--thud of the axes seemed to weave itself into a sort of irregular accompaniment to her wandering thoughts. and then suddenly she was aware that it had stopped, and that a brief silence had once more fallen over the golden woods and the hazy field of corn. the silence was broken by a sharp crack. then a series of small tearing, rushing, rending sounds ended in a mighty crash. stephanie knew that the tree was down, and an odd little feeling of regret came over her; once more there was a moment of utter silence. then, sharp and keen and terribly distinct, she heard a wild cry from dick. she had run down the garden almost before that cry ceased to ring in the air, and now she fled over the rough ground outside with as swift and sure a step as a young deer might use. her face was grey and drawn with the sense of coming disaster, but neither her feet nor her breath failed her as she breasted the low rise of ground, slippery with pine needles, which lay between her and the place from which that cry had come. as she gained the crest of the hill, she staggered back a step and almost fell, but recovered and ran on, though for a minute she was blind and deaf and scarcely conscious. the pine, shorn of its few branches, lay upon the ground, and near the stump lay her father, with dick kneeling beside him. when her sight came back to her, she found that she also was kneeling there, staring stupidly at her brother's agonised face, and at the great branch torn from a neighbouring maple, which told all the terrible tale. somewhere in the silent woods a chipmunk chattered shrilly, and she wondered when it would stop, for the noise hurt her head. someone seemed to be saying drearily over and over again, "what are we to do? what are we to do?" and she felt angry with the momentous question. surely silence was the only fitting thing. then her senses seemed suddenly to wake into painful life again, and she stood up and looked about in dry-eyed desperation. that her father was seriously injured she knew, for the branch had struck him at the base of the head. but he appeared to be still living; and what were they to do for the best? a feeling of their utter loneliness swept over her, bringing back that other irremediable loss of two years ago. once more she knelt in the rustling leaves, sobbing her heart out. "oh, mother!" she cried, "oh, mother, mother, mother!" the words held the most passionate prayer she had ever prayed in her life. and presently she rose to her feet again, with dimmed eyes and trembling lips, but strong to do and to endure. she seemed almost to have grown a woman in that moment, and unconsciously she took the lead, though she was the younger of the two. "dick," she said steadily, "go and harness murphy. we must take father to the collinsons." dick stumbled off blindly to do her bidding. murphy was the one lean ox who had done all their carting and ploughing; and before long the boy came back again, driving the slow brute in the clumsy, creaking ox-cart. between them they managed to draw their father up two inclined boards until his inert body rested safely in the cart; and then fleet-footed stephanie ran back to the cabin for all the coverings and pillows in their poor store. before half-an-hour had passed, the clumsy conveyance was creaking down the rough old indian trail which led by many windings to the collinson homestead, bearing the unconscious captain, while dick and stephanie walked beside, urging murphy to his best pace. their hearts were sick with dread; motherless they had been for two years--were they now to be fatherless also? it had all been so terribly sudden they had scarcely time to think, but it was the best thing they could do. at the collinson homestead their father would be certain to receive the tenderest care, and perhaps medical attendance if things turned out fortunately. but would they ever get him alive over those long, jolting miles? the same fear was in the eyes of each as they looked at one another. they were never to reach their journey's end. before long the captain began slowly to regain consciousness, and his first question was a faintly-uttered "what's this? where are you taking me?" they told him, with white, anxious faces bending over the rough sides of the cart, while murphy tried to reach a tempting bit of green grass under the trees. but the injured man shook his head. "it is no use, my dears," he said feebly, "another two miles would kill me at once. and i must die where she died, for i cannot recover. stephanie"--it was curious how he turned from the elder child to his younger--"stephanie, take me back! promise to take me back!" who could have withstood the pitiful appeal in his eyes? with aching hearts they promised, and once more he relapsed into unconsciousness, muttering fragments of old orders which he had given as captain of the great merchantman theseus, in the long ago days. they looked at each other in miserable helplessness. dick broke the wretched silence. "stephanie," he said, "you must take him home again, and i must go on to the collinsons--for if he will not be taken to help, help must be brought to him. i shall be able to take two or three short cuts, and they will ride or drive back with me, so it won't be so very long. but oh, my dear, i do hate to leave you!" stephanie shook her head. "we are thinking of him now," she said quietly, and without another word turned murphy round. with a last hurried look, dick plunged rapidly into the bushes at the side of the trail, and she could hear the rustling of his footsteps growing fainter in the distance. then began the weary journey home again. they had only travelled a short distance from the little clearing, but to stephanie it seemed hours before the log-cabin and the field of corn came into view. and having reached home, she had to face a new difficulty. she could not, unaided, lift her father from the cart. so she backed it into a sheltered place among the trees, and brought the rough chairs and barrels from the log-cabin to support the shafts. then she unharnessed murphy, and led him to his shed, moving as if she were in some terrible dream. returning to the cabin, which already looked deserted and strange, she ransacked every corner until she found a little of some coarse, crude spirit in an old bottle. mixing it with water, she strove to force some into her father's mouth, but he did not seem able to swallow. so she began her long helpless vigil beside the cart, knowing that there was nothing she could do. if only dick were there! the shadows grew long and longer, and still the captain lay motionless in the cart beneath the great trees; and still stephanie kept her patient watch beside him. only once did her father speak in all those terrible hours. she had been bending over him adjusting his coverings, when she found him looking up at her with a brighter, more gentle look than she had seen upon his face for years. "i thought you were your mother, little girl," he said faintly, "your hands move as hers did." "they are not as soft as hers, father," said stephanie in a broken voice. "no," answered the captain, "they are not as soft, poor brave little hands. but their touch is as tender, my dear, their touch is as tender." after that the silence fell again--a greater, deeper, more divine silence, though stephanie did not know it. and still she sat beside the cart in the gathering shadows, waiting for the help that was to come. chapter iii. friends indeed. mr. collinson pulled the red handkerchief from his grey head and broad weather-beaten face, and crossing the room, threw a handful of pine splinters on the fire. it was a fire such as one seldom or never sees nowadays. first came the great back log, some four feet long and twenty inches thick; then upon the "dogs" were laid sticks of the same length, but only about six inches in diameter; and lastly, upon these, a mighty pile of pieces of pine and various chips of wood. in those days, fire-building was an art. the flames leapt up, and caught the handful of pine chips into a blaze of heat and brightness, which showed every corner of the room. it was a large and cheerful room, with two windows which now were covered with red cotton blinds. the walls were of smooth match-boarding, and a few gay water-colour sketches and old portraits in little oval brass frames were tacked upon them. the furniture was rough and home-made, but comfortable; and in a corner, partly hidden with a red cotton curtain, three cot-bedsteads, covered with red quilts, were trying hard to pretend they were sofas. it was a cheerful room; and most of the people in it were cheerful too. mr. collinson was cheerful certainly; and mrs. collinson, small and round, with cheeks as pink as roses, seemed made for tender words and smiling. two tall lads of eighteen, twins, stood before the blazing fire, and their faces were as broad and merry as anyone could desire. perhaps the only faces in the room that bore shadows in them were those of dick and stephanie. stephanie sat near one of the windows, patiently stitching at a shirt, which from its dimensions seemed intended for mr. collinson. she was dressed in black, and the gown was of very different material and cut from that she had last worn. there were dark shadows under her dark eyes, and her face was thin; but beyond these signs of a recent and terrible grief, she seemed brighter and better for the cheerful companionship of the collinson homestead. dick was as patiently sitting before little mrs. collinson, holding the yarn that she was winding. he had discarded his wild indian finery, and was dressed as were the two older boys on the rug before the hearth. he and stephanie might have been another son and daughter of the house, as far as treatment went; but they had that shadow of sorrow in their eyes which the rest had not. but now all faces, grave and gay, were turned to mr. collinson; for when the good man woke himself thus emphatically from his evening nap, and brightened up the blazing fire, it generally meant that he had something important to say. so no one was surprised when he cleared his throat and put himself into an attitude for speaking. only the larger and merrier of the twins looked anxious, and edged imperceptibly nearer to stephanie. "mrs. c," he began, with a bow to his wife, "and young people--stephanie, dick, roger and william charles--i have something to say which concerns us all, because it concerns stephanie and dick here especially. i would not speak of it at all, but it seems to me, and also to the wife, that things need to be discussed a bit." stephanie glanced up quickly, with an expression that was both anxious and relieved, anxious because the future seemed so dark, and relieved in that the subject had at last been mentioned. dick looked dejected, he hated discussions. "you know, my dears," said mr. collinson, smiling at his two guests, "that i would not for the world bring up, unnecessarily, any subject such as this, which is bound to give you pain. but things had better be talked over, for good and all, to-night." he gazed thoughtfully into the glowing heart of the fire for a moment, and then continued. "six or seven weeks ago, stephanie, my dear," he went on, "you came here, and welcome indeed you both were. since then i have been looking after matters a little, and as far as i can tell, things are like this: your poor father was more a hermit in the wilderness than a proper settler; he just put up his lodge in the woods as an indian might have done. he did not put in his claim for any land in the townships as he ought to have done, but must needs wander off by himself. he found this clearing--the worst land in the region, by the same token--and here he managed to keep body and soul together on what he grew, and the little money he had left. but he was not really a settler, and he had no right there. though it's not likely anyone would have interfered with him until the country came to be surveyed, which may never happen. but the land, i fancy, was no more his than mine, as he was there but four years--though i may be wrong in thinking so, knowing little of the law. but at any rate, what i want to say is this, the land is worthless--the poorest in that part, from what i saw of it; so my advice is this--let it go, and when dick is of age he can have his pick of a dozen fine claims--a hundred, maybe, if the country opens up fast. meanwhile, i 'll take over anything of value up there--murphy, and the corn, and the plough, and such, at a fair price, and put the money to the credit of both of you equally. think of it, and if you agree, the future is arranged. so, now for the present." he looked at his wife meaningly, and then back at the fire again. after a moment he went on slowly and deliberately. "the beauty of it is," he said, "that the very day before you came to stay with us, i said to the wife that we had too much room in the house." there was a faint sound, which might have been either assent or amazement, from mrs. collinson; and roger, the largest twin, gazed at his father in open admiration; while the cots, squeezed into the corner behind the red curtain, took on a reproachful expression. "and i also said," continued the serene voice, "that my wife wanted someone to be company in the house and help a little with things, and that i could do well with another handy youngster for outside work; i have often," he continued softly, "longed for a daughter, and i don't mind another son. so, dick and stephanie, what do you say? will you stay here until you get a place of your own to go to? i shall not be a loser in the bargain." stephanie was crying quietly into the sleeve of the shirt, and dick went over to mr. collinson. "sir," he said, choking, "you 're a good man, and i hope you will never have to regret what you 've done for me. you know what steenie is, and need have no fear for her." he spoke steadily and seriously, unlike himself, while mrs. collinson went over to stephanie and patted her hand softly. and so, after some further discussion, it was settled. what else could dick and stephanie do? even if mr. collinson had been one from whom they would not have received such kindness without a painful sense of obligation, there was no other opening for them. as it was, they accepted his offer warmly and gratefully, all the more so for knowing that they would and could be of use to him and his wife. and his plain, sensible, hopeful words had touched the dark future with a glow of rose-colour, which, even before their sorrow, it had lacked. already stephanie saw herself keeping house for dick in the midst of peace and plenty. and dick himself? at present all other feelings were swallowed up in the warmth of gratitude. but that night, as he stood in the dark enclosure in front of the log-house which in summer was ablaze with flowers, he was aware of a little cool spot in the midst of his gratitude. he was ashamed of it, but there it was. for he knew that the hard, steady labour he had to look forward to would be very dull after the idle, gipsy-like life and the freedom to which he had been accustomed. ever since that terrible day of their father's death, the collinson homestead had been home to himself and stephanie also, and apparently it would be so for some years to come. all this he told himself, as he stood and watched the pale moon of early winter rising behind the trees; but it did not do away with that little cool thought. and he quickly decided that he would take all the pleasures in the shape of sport or travel that came in his way. it was a cold night; but for some reason, after deciding this, dick did not feel like facing the kind bright faces in the bright room. he did not know that it had been another step in the lifelong fight between duty and inclination--between the love of wandering that was rampant in his blood and the clear call of quiet, unromantic, unceasing work that lay before him--and that, in the one little lazy, selfish thought, he had lost. he was roused from his reverie by a fearful clamour that broke out among the farm buildings. all the geese hissed and screamed as if they had another rome to save, and the hens fluttered and clucked, and squawked after the manner of their foolish kind. roger hurried out with a shot-gun, and he and dick ran towards the scene of the tragedy. but they were too late. the fox had already gone, and with him had departed a venerable gander. "we have got to get you, my friend," growled roger, "or we shan't have a bird left. and i repaired the fencing myself. oh, you villain!" "let me go to-morrow," said dick promptly. the older boy looked at him and laughed, with one of the flashes of insight which sometimes comes to slow people. "i can see you would rather be a mighty hunter before the lord than a humble tiller of the soil," he said, "and if my father says yes, you might as well catch the thief if you can. but you had better take peter many-names with you." "who is he?" asked dick. "well," answered roger slowly, "he is--himself. an indian boy about my own age, and the cleverest fellow with a gun or a snare or a paddle that i ever saw. but beyond that--well, he's an indian, so i don't know anything more about him. he's been round here lately, selling fish. he wraps them in wet leaves and brings them over from the river--the otonabee, you know. there are a lot of settlers over there now, i 've heard, and i wish we were nearer the river ourselves. peter has promised to bring mother some fish to-morrow, and if he turns up you ask him to go fox-hunting with you, and you will have good sport after a fashion. his methods are funny, but they 're interesting, and a day in the woods with him is always jolly." so it was arranged that next day, if the indian arrived, he and dick were to go and catch the marauding fox. they returned to the house, dick in great glee. all his dreams that night were of the delight and freedom of the forests. and miles away in the woods, an indian lad slept beside his fire, with a basket of fish hung up on a branch in the shadow overhead. next day these two were to meet. what would be the outcome of the meeting? chapter iv. a day in the woods. the following morning dick was up and out before even the early rising collinsons were stirring. it was one of those mornings in late november which seem to be a faint, sad recollection of spring. the sun had not yet appeared above the far-off edge where the misty forest lands faded into mistier skies, but the promise of his approach thrilled the leafless, songless world to deeper quiet. everything was hushed and dark; but in the east a clear bar of amber broadened and brightened slowly. yet it would be some time, dick knew, before it became really light. he wandered through the frosty garden, the noise of his footsteps in the dried leaves sounding harsh and clamorous; but save for this, and for the lanterns which moved about the farm buildings as some of the hands attended to the stock, the world seemed wholly given up to shade and silence. the air was damp and very chill, and the ghostly half-light was full of unexpected gleams and shadows. but dick wandered on restlessly, until he came to the boundary of the enclosure. here the land dipped sharply, and the cultivated ground ended in a low stump fence. beyond this fence there was a small and rocky ravine, which ran up in a constantly narrowing cleft into the very midst of the fertile fields. on the crest of the dip dick paused, and peered attentively over and down into the little valley, which here was scarcely fifty feet across--a mere sword-cut of beautiful worthlessness in the rich acres around--for his nose had been greeted by a small, savoury odour of cooking. his eyes were as keen as his nose, and presently he made out a very tiny spiral of blue smoke rising from among the bushes. no sooner had he seen it than he scrambled silently, but with difficulty, over the barricade of the stump fence, and crept cautiously round the trees to get a clearer view. as he half expected, an indian lad crouched beside the tiny fire, busy with the preparation of his wild breakfast. dick had thought to steal upon him unheard, but he was disappointed, for the lad's eyes sought him out immediately and unerringly. it had grown much lighter now, and each was able to see and take stock of the other. dick saw a boy of about his own age, smaller and slighter, but hardened so by the ways of his life that he appeared older; his every movement had the silence and precision of an animal's; and he was made up of a shock of black hair, a smooth brown skin, sharp white teeth, and a compact mass of light bones and untirable muscles. he was dressed in what had originally been a respectable suit of homespun, probably presented to him by good mrs. collinson, but it was patched and pieced out with all manner of skins and rags. a scarlet blanket served to keep out the frost. but his eyes were what attracted at once the attention of an observer; they were not black, nor even dark, but a very light, bright, greenish grey; this, and their utter lack of expression, rendered them unpleasantly impressive. no one might say whether such eyes portended good or evil, but most people would have inclined to the latter. peter many-names glanced at dick with a grave sort of indifference, which was annoying and yet amusing. he saw a good-looking youngster, strongly built and fresh coloured, who bore himself as if life owed him something very easy and pleasant. peter also saw that the english boy would not go more than one mile to his own two on the trail; that while he was probably a good shot, he lacked patience; and that he moved with excessive noise; so peter valued him accordingly, though his eyes gave no sign. dick nodded cheerfully, and peter returned the nod with ceremonial gravity; then he bent once more over the little fire, and left to the other the task of opening the conversation. dick felt somewhat at a loss; roger had told him that the indian understood english perfectly well, though speaking it according to his own taste, but he felt that his questions were too trivial to break the massive silence with which the young savage surrounded himself. it was the first time he had come into contact with that dignity which is not the outcome of education, but which is a characteristic of some races. indians he had seen, but not such an indian as this. "you 're peter, i suppose," he began at last, and then waited for some confirmation of his words. but the other was raking among the wood ashes with a little stick, and merely nodded again in answer, seeming to think it a matter of entire indifference whatever dick chose to suppose. "when you 've been up to the house," continued dick, "i want to know if you 'll come with me after a brute of a fox that is taking our poultry." it appeared better to put the matter briefly. peter many-names regarded him gravely still. he knew enough of the mannerless ways of white folks not to be shocked at this abrupt introduction of business. so after a few minutes' meditation, he grunted agreement. "all right, i come," he said. then he turned his back calmly, and went on with his culinary operations. there was no mistaking the hint, so dick walked back to the homestead again. shortly after appeared peter, with some fine fish, and a somewhat less taciturn manner; and before an hour had passed, the two lads, some provisions, guns, and an excited dog, were all on the trail of the fox. the indian strode on ahead with the dog straining in the leash, and left to dick their weapons and the food, which vexed him mightily. nor was his temper improved when he noticed that peter carefully moderated his pace from time to time as if out of consideration for his companion's weaknesses. it is not pleasant to know that your comrade can run twice as fast as you can, and to know that he knows it also. he had always prided himself on his strength and fleetness, and to find himself relegated to the position of follower and burden-bearer by the first indian into whose company he was thrown was a salutary lesson. in this manner they proceeded for some two or three miles. every now and then dick made valiant efforts to gain upon his companion, but peter, as if maliciously aware of it, always kept the same distance ahead. once, restraining the dog with difficulty, he pointed to a little piece of grey down caught on a thorn--pathetic reminder of the perished gander. then once more they went on, following unerringly the fresh scent, until, all at once, the character of the country changed, and a small, low, sandy hillock, almost bare of trees and underwood, thrust itself upwards amidst the encircling forests. in a confident manner, which dick found vaguely annoying, peter announced it to be the end of their journey. dick looked back. they had not come far, as distance was counted in those days, but the land was entirely strange to him. however, to the indian and the dog it appeared to be familiar enough; for peter many-names, after a few minutes' search, unearthed two broad discs of thick wood from beneath the accumulation of leaf and vine which had safely concealed them. dick looked at him inquiringly, but he did not seem disposed to give explanations. "me here bin before," he remarked, "catch fox. these hidy then." not thus had the english boy dreamed of the hunt. rather had he thought of a progress through the woods in lordly wise, killing or sparing at his pleasure, with the indian as an appreciative audience. he resented the way in which peter took the whole affair into his own hands, competent and cunning though the said hands were. but now the indian's proceedings arrested his attention. after much cautious scrambling and struggling, the dog led them to the mouth of a burrow, where, peter declared, the thief must now be securely and gorgedly sleeping. at the same time, he gave dick clearly to understand that he, and he alone, would compass the fox's destruction. "you sit see watch," he commanded. were anyone else concerned in this matter, dick would have disputed this order with heat. but already he had fallen under the spell of that savage nature, so much wilder, so much stronger, than his own. there seemed to be something in the keen, dark face, with its strange eyes, which required obedience, and he yielded it without a word. in the wilds, the soul and will of the savage at once became dominant, not to be disregarded. so dick meekly conveyed himself to a little distance, and sat down on a little mound from whence he could "see watch" the whole affair, which promised to be interesting, and even peculiar. he wondered why the indian had brought only one dog. "i suppose he's going to smoke it out," he murmured doubtfully to himself. but that was not it. for first peter cut small branches into slender poles about three or four feet long, until he had quite a bundle of them. these he pushed into the burrow until it was completely though loosely filled for some four feet from its mouth. next he took one of the flat discs of wood, and fitted it carefully into the opening, using earth to wedge it firmly, and finally blocking it with a big stone. this process, which mystified dick entirely, he repeated at a second hole that he said was the other exit from the burrow. then he rested from his labours with a satisfied air. "and what about the fox?" demanded dick. whereupon peter many-names unbent sufficiently to enter into a long and curiously worded explanation, the gist of which was as follows:-when the fox found the narrow entrance of his burrow blocked with the little poles, he would at once set cleverly to work to pull and kick and scratch them away, which he could easily do. but in so doing he built a barrier in the burrow behind him as he worked, and by the time he had pushed them all back, he faced the immovable plug of wood, and was penned into a section of the tunnel of little more than his own length. he could neither move backwards nor forwards, and so fell an easy victim when the plug was removed. as peter pointed out, his industry was his own undoing. dick scarcely knew whether to admire or laugh at the quaint stratagem. but the fact remained that their work for that day was done, and done without his help or advice. he supposed there was nothing to do but go back to the homestead, and his face showed how little he relished the idea. the indian watched him with keen eyes, seeming to read his thoughts. at last he spoke, quietly and indifferently, as was his wont. "why you not stay with me this to-day?" he said, not even looking at dick. a sparkle sprang into the boy's eyes. to have one more day of lazy freedom! one more day of the wood-running in which his soul delighted! one more day with no will but his own to follow, with no cares, no work, no restraint! one more day of the deep silent undergrowth and the stately uplands, of the clear chill skies and the keen cold wind! one more day of the wilderness that was dearer and fairer to him than the farm and the fruitful fields! to wander for one more day, with no master but his own pleasure, no one calling to sterner labour; and only the silent crafty savage, himself the very incarnation of the wilds, his comrade! his face grew bright and dreamy at the thought. it was the look which all restless folk wear at times, reflecting the love of god's "unmanstifled places" which glorifies their profitless wandering. profitless only in the worldly sense of material gain, yet often the stronger soul is shown in resisting the call to freedom and to nature. but dick had not yet learnt his lesson; and once more he chose the way that pleased him best. "yes, i will stay," he said. peter many-names nodded, his usual mode of assent; to him dick's evident struggle between inclination and duty had been amusing, and there was a rare gleam of merriment in his dark face. he had a far keener appreciation of the situation than had dick, and it gave him a boy's feeling of pride to think of all the wonders of the woods he might show to his white comrade if he chose. "come, then," he said, with a flash of his white teeth, "and i show you bear, sleeping much for winter. come quiet." the forests were bright with that soft recollection of spring which the early morning had promised. the bare twigs seemed as full of life and colour as if the sap had been rising instead of falling, and the recent frosts but made the going better. very silently, peter many-names turned into the undergrowth, dick following closely in his track, and the well-trained dog following dick as closely. he was troubled in his mind, this dog, remembering an unguarded bone near the woodpile, and longing to end such foolish, aimless rambling as his two-legged companions indulged in. many were the wistful glances he cast back. but dick's face was set to the forests of his dreams, and duty called him to the homestead in vain. chapter v. a backwoods christmas. that was the last time for some months that dick yielded to his inborn love of wandering. he had spent a night and the best part of two eventful days in the woods with peter many-names. and on the second day he returned to the homestead by devious ways, very much ashamed of himself. he became more than ever ashamed when no notice was taken of his desertion. roger greeted him somewhat resentfully at first, owing to the fact that he had had to do all dick's work as well as his own, during the younger boy's absence, and stephanie looked anxious and grieved. but beyond this, nothing was said or done to remind him of his fault. no better course could have been taken to bring dick to a state of almost excessive penitence, and remorse speedily overtook him. his moods were always intense while they lasted; and now he settled down to his hard daily tasks with a fury of sorrowful determination which mr. collinson regarded doubtfully, considering it too good to continue. but if dick grew weary of his resolute toil, he gave no sign. outwardly, he was again contented with his lot, and seemed to desire no other. so well did he work, so cheerful and patient he was, that the anxious look gradually cleared from stephanie's face. but mr. collinson, shrewd man that he was, still regarded the boy with a certain grave and wholly affectionate distrust. the days passed and november gave place to december. the wheat lay warm beneath a foot of snow, and christmas was at hand. the collinsons always kept christmas as nearly as possible in good old english fashion. dick and stephanie, used to all sorts of privation, thought that the preparations for the coming feast were positively luxurious. everyone at the homestead worked early and late. mrs. collinson was intent upon bread-making; so dick and roger ground grain at the hand-mill, turn and turn about, until they nearly fell asleep over the handle; and very bad and black would their flour appear to us. the silent william charles, who was always called by his full name, seemed to chop wood incessantly. mr. collinson, who always worked so hard that it was scarcely possible that he could work any harder, found time to interfere jovially with everything, to the utter confusion of his wife, who, with stephanie, was perpetually preparing extra delicacies for her thriving and hungry household. stephanie was so busy she had no time for mournful memories; and dick did nothing but work, and sleep, and eat enormously. it was rough fare they had in those far-off days. but with pork and mutton, pumpkins for "sass," and pies, maple syrup and sugar, potatoes, and plenty of barley, rice, eggs, milk and tea, mrs. collinson and stephanie accomplished wonders. so vast were the preparations that even the dogs seemed infected with the stir of excitement; and everyone looked forward to sumptuous faring. to stephanie, real tea, with milk and sugar, represented in itself comfort and prosperity; she had been used to making an unattractive substitute for it with young hemlock shoots. that christmas dinner was a great success. everyone was in good spirits, and even mrs. collinson was astonished at the way in which the eatables disappeared. the silent william charles especially distinguished himself, and was accused of demolishing a full pint of hazel-nuts in twenty minutes. afterwards, with the red blinds drawn, and the great logs blazing on the hearth, faces were more serious, though not less cheerful, while mrs. collinson read aloud the story of bethlehem. stephanie, leaning back in her chair, could see a great star, cold and silver-pure, around the edge of the curtain; and it seemed to her, as she listened to the familiar words, that it must be that star which the wise men saw, shining upon her with its promise of peace. then followed song after song, to which roger contributed an uncertain tenor, and mr. collinson a thunderous bass. in the midst of warmth and comfort and merriment, stephanie felt her own griefs and troubles slipping further and further away. she lost herself in happy dreams for the future, which had never appeared so full of hope and cheer. all her dreams were centred round dick, and the home he would make for her when he was twenty-one. songs led to stories, and dick developed unexpected talents, thrilling them all with legends of lower canada, which he had learned no one knew how. then mr. collinson began a long account of an incident in the war of 1812, and when he was fairly in the middle of it, dick signed to stephanie, and they both slipped from the room. knowing how the collinsons delighted in the old customs and traditions of an english christmas, they had resolved to act the waits, and so give a finishing touch to that tender illusion built up in the woods of the new world from the lore and fancy of the old. dick dived into his blanket-coat, and stephanie wrapped a big shawl about her, and then they both hurried out at the kitchen door, and so round to the front of the house again. it was intensely cold and still, so cold that the motionless air seemed to be heavy and painful to breathe, and stepping from the warm house was like entering icy water. the stars shone like steady silver lamps, and the woods were hushed and dark, bound to silence and desolation beneath the weight of frost. a faint white mist showed in the northern sky, and presently it spread and broadened, and the pale green ice-blink began playing and slanting and fading along its edge. with their young faces held up to the solemn stars, the brother and sister began to sing the quaint old carols their mother had taught them long before. they had good voices, and their hearts were in the words, so the old, old tunes went sweetly enough under that vast arch of sky. roger softly set the door ajar, and the quietness within showed how the singing was appreciated. [illustration: "they began to sing the old carols their mother had taught them long before."] as they sang, stephanie felt that it was almost irreverent to break the solemn silence of the wintry world; it was so still that their voices sounded far-off and yet clear. she glanced nervously at the black ring of forest encircling the homestead, and feared it for the first time, not for what it might contain, but for its gloom and emptiness. the cold was too intense for them to stay out there long, and as the last notes of the last carol died away, stephanie was glad that the great silence would be no longer disturbed. it seemed more fitting to leave that lonely night to quiet--the utter quiet of snow and windless air--of life held in suspension. but before they reached the door, another sound, distant, distinct, horrible, cut suddenly through that quiet. dick involuntarily clasped his sister's hand in his, for, however often one may hear that sound, it never fails to move the nerves. it rose, and sank, and almost died away, and was answered by a dozen throats, all taking up the wild, shrill, menacing notes--the howl of the wolf-pack in full cry. it was a terrible sound. and though they had heard it a hundred times before, it seemed even more impressive than usual, coming after the warmth and good cheer, the laughter and singing. it was as if the surrounding wilderness had chosen to remind them of its presence by that sad, cruel, awe-inspiring howl--as if their hearts were to be rendered more in tune with the great woods by the knowledge that death was abroad, even at the edges of the fields; dick and stephanie were glad to return to the light and cosiness of the house. that cry of the wolves had disturbed dick. he had heard it last when his father was alive, and when they lived in that dreary little log-cabin twenty miles away. it recalled to his memory all those days of cold and hardship, all the roughness, the poverty, the privation of their lives in the dreaded winter-time. but it recalled also his past freedom, his wood-running, his neglected skill in shot and snare. the very note of the howl suggested the idea of untiring, relentless speed; and he suddenly remembered all the old delight of those long snow-shoe runs he had been wont to take whenever it so pleased him--over the crackling snow, beneath the black pine branches and the dazzling winter stars. he laughed at himself for being so readily moved from his contentment, and then he wondered--had he really been contented? or had the old unrest always been there, however much he might strive to hide it even from himself? leaning back in his shadowy corner, he let his thoughts drift to his old life, and to that little deserted cabin which had been home to him for so many years. he imagined just how the roof would fall into disrepair, and how the feathery snow would drift between the chinks of the logs. he supposed that the little bold beasts of the woods would inhabit it, and the grey squirrels store their nuts in the corners, and the birds build under the eaves and on the window ledges. soon the woods would creep nearer and nearer, reclaiming the worthless fields which had been wrested from them, and even filling up the natural clearing with small bushes and thimble-berry vines. at last there would remain nothing but a pile of mossy logs and a few struggling, widely-dispersed sunflowers, to show where that poor home had been. remembering the pain and sorrow those walls had often held, he felt it was the best end for them; yet he had an unreasonable tenderness towards anything connected with the care-free, idle, roving life he had loved, and for which he longed. "a penny for your thoughts!" cried cheery mrs. collinson suddenly. and when he shyly told her, in part, what they had been, she patted his hand tenderly, and her eyes glistened. "the lad's fretting for his father," she found opportunity of whispering to her husband, a little later. but mr. collinson was still doubtful. "i don't know, mrs. c., i don't know," and they were silent, as once more the howl of the wolf-pack came faintly to their ears. meanwhile, dick had retired again to a brown study in his corner. on this peaceful christmas night there was a tumult in his easy-going mind which confused him sadly. now he had time to think about it, he knew that during the past few weeks he had not really been contented--he had only been avoiding the consideration of his own perplexities. but that avoidance was not always possible, and he knew that, at any time, his love of roaming might descend upon him, as it were, in irresistible force. since that day of the fox-hunt, he had become more fully alive to his own wild hopes and longings; and now his sincere fit of penitence and industry was beginning to wear off a bit, the old, idle, roving mood was all ready to return to him again. he feared his own thoughts, and he dreaded the crisis--dreaded the event which must settle his decision one way or the other. as he sat there, gazing at the roaring, glowing logs upon the hearth, he reflected half-resentfully that duty and inclination had been utterly at war in his life of late, and that the worst of the trouble dated from his arrival at the collinson homestead, which was perfectly true. before then, inclination had reigned supreme. he did not put his own thoughts very clearly to himself. he only felt that, if he yielded to his love of a wild life, that life would soon grow necessary to his happiness. he thought how cruel it would be if he left stephanie and all other ties behind him, and struck out into the vast space and freedom of the north. he shunned the very idea, and was ashamed of it, yet there was an attraction in it which made him dwell upon it again and again. the great plains and the free life of them, the great woods and the mighty rivers, the beautiful lakes, and mountains, pine-clad and snow-crested, untracked, unknown--he had heard of it all dimly, from one and another. all these things he loved and longed to know, and against them stephanie. "of course, i wouldn't do it," he assured himself. yet his eyes took on their bright gipsy-look as he gazed into the heart of the blaze. for the rest of the evening he was in a dream-world, far from the homestead; and later, he put on his blanket-coat again, and wandered out into the garden, that he might indulge in his dreams more easily. just near the door he nearly fell over a shadowy figure crouched against the wall. the figure rose to its feet, and just then roger pulled aside the curtain. in the sudden gleam of light dick saw a keen, dark face, in which were unexpectedly set two hard, green-grey eyes. he heard the sound of some ceremonial greeting in a strange speech. but it was so much like a part of his dreams he felt bewildered. it was peter many-names, who presently descended to his english, and pointing to a frozen haunch of venison, gravely gave dick to understand that he would dispose of it to the highest bidder. chapter vi. the call of the forest. from that time onwards throughout the winter, peter many-names was never more than a few miles away from the homestead. he did a flourishing business with the collinsons in the way of small game and so forth, and appeared to think he had come upon a land of plenty, so many were the meals with which kindly mrs. collinson supplied him. soon the farmer began employing him in small jobs about the fences and farm buildings, which, for some dark reason of his own, peter condescended to do, and to do well. he was too proud to be dishonest, and he was never there when he was not wanted; so that after a few weeks the inmates of the homestead looked for his silent presence as a matter of course. mr. collinson was interested in him--in his quaint english, his stately ways, his swiftness, and his untiring activity--and said that he belonged to none of the tribes which occasionally visited that neighbourhood, but that he was probably an outcast from some northern tribe, who, separated from his people for some reason, and caring little to take up with others, fended for himself, and lived his own proud, lonely life. and the shrewd farmer was probably as nearly right as might be. after a time it seemed to dick that he never left the house to go to his work about the farm without seeing the dark face and the cold grey eyes which had grown so familiar to him. and by degrees peter's tongue became loosened, and he told tales in his odd, sing-song english which sent dick about his tasks with wide, dreamy eyes and ears that heard not. dick feared the indian as he might have feared all his temptations embodied in a human form; but he went about with him, and listened hungrily to his stories, feeling fascinated and attracted in spite of this wise fear. he did not realise what a great influence that strong savage nature was gaining over his own. thus the winter went on, peacefully and happily to all outward seeming; but as the year drew closer to the spring it was noticed by watchful mr. collinson that dick sought peter's companionship more and more frequently, and that the indian's uncanny eyes often rested upon the english boy with a half-amused, half-malicious expression of power that was hard to read. the cold weather held until the end of march, with scarcely a break. but at the beginning of the month the monotony was broken by an important annual event in the lives of all settlers. this was no less than sugar-making. curiously enough, the collinsons had few sugar-maples on their farm, so they used to go to their nearest neighbour's, where a certain number of trees were yearly set aside for them. this neighbour was more than ten miles distant as the bird flies, and the journey there, the sugar-making among fresh surroundings and with fresh companionship, and the triumphant return through the woods that were just beginning to awaken, were all looked forward to throughout the winter. this year it was arranged that one of the twins, dick, stephanie, and two of the farm-hands, should go; william charles was chosen at first, but he yielded to roger's evident disappointment, and said he would stay at home. "though i 'm sure," he said to himself placidly, "that i should take just as much care of stephanie as he could. however, if he wants to go, i would just as soon stay at home, for it is hard work they will get and plenty of it." and stay he did, with complete satisfaction. the others started on their journey one chill morning in early march, before day had dawned. in the first sleigh were stephanie, dick, roger, and one of the farm-hands driving the pair of horses. the other and more roughly built sleigh followed them, loaded with all the appliances necessary for the sugar-making--three great cast-iron kettles, a couple of heavy troughs cut out of pine-logs, and so forth--in charge of the second man. stephanie never in her life forgot that drive through the great woods; there had been heavy snow, which filled up all the hollows between stumps and natural roughnesses that generally made the rude trail a path of torment; the snow had been followed by sharp, incessant frost, so the going was good. at first so impressive was the hush of the cold, dim world into which they drove, that only the jingle of harness and the squeal and bump of the clumsy runners broke the silence. but as the pale march day dawned in a flood of blue and primrose-yellow, crystal-clear and chill behind the trees, subdued talking and laughter startled the solitudes as the sleighs passed. the skies, as the sun rose higher, were of a deep translucent blue, and the breeze had an edge as of steel. nothing seemed at first sight to give promise of spring. but an observant eye would have seen that the smaller branches and twigs of the trees had lost their winter hue of dull grey-brown, and shone as the sunlight struck them, in all hues from bright yellow-green to warm deep reddish-brown. the bud-cases, too, were very dark and sticky, and some little birds were feasting on the close-curled green within, while once, far away, a robin called huskily, not yet triumphant in his shrill bubbling whistle. stephanie never forgot that journey. trees, trees, nothing but trees before them behind them, on either side--except where the trail wound onwards, and even that, the low branches and the long-armed bushes were striving to reclaim. and between these trees the carpet of white lay as yet unbroken, though somewhat shrunken here and there. winter seemed to be still present; but as the day advanced, stephanie noticed that the woods were disturbed by an occasional whirr and flutter of birds, while in the sunnier spots could be heard the soft insistent music of melting snow. the spring melody had not yet begun, but the forests were crooning snatches of it in their sleep. that journey was never forgotten, and not forgotten easily was the welcome extended to the chilly travellers by the warm-hearted irish family they counted their nearest neighbours. stephanie was to sleep at the house, and all the evening she discussed matters with the eldest daughter, bright-faced, soft-tongued nonie o'brien--matters dear to the hearts of girls; and nonie exhibited with speechless pride the never-worn dress of rose-pink tabinet, less pink than her own cheeks, which her father had brought her from distant cobourg on her last birthday. meanwhile, the men and boys had taken the kettles to the sugar-bush, stabled the horses afterwards, then returned to the bush and built the rough shelter of boughs they were to inhabit for the nine or ten days of their stay. this finished, they rolled themselves in their blankets, and were almost instantly asleep, too tired even to snore. the next morning the sugar-making began. notches were cut in the trees, and below these the cedar spiles were driven in, down which the sap trickled into little troughs set for the purpose. several times during the day the sap was all gathered in buckets, carried at the end of a yoke which was placed across the shoulders, and taken to the great store-troughs. the iron kettles slung over the fires had to be kept full and constantly watched, until the sap should turn to syrup; and then came the "sugaring-off." everyone was kept busy almost every hour of the twenty-four, for the sugar-making went on day and night. and on one particular night, about a week after his arrival, dick was chosen to sit up and keep watch until two o'clock in the morning, filling the kettles and replenishing the fires when necessary. he was quite willing to do so. and after the others had had their evening meal at the homestead, and had returned to the shelter and to peaceful but noisy slumbers, he cheerfully began his vigil. there was no comfortable log at hand, he decided, so he scratched a hole in the snow, lined it with small twigs and pieces of bark, placed a folded blanket over all, and then settled himself in his nest with complete satisfaction. he had the happy faculty of adapting himself to his surroundings, and so was seldom uncomfortable, whatever other people might be. the woods were dark, a vast and shadowy background of gloom to the wavering circle of firelight. the calm stars looked down between the dark twigs of the upper branches, and the snow showed red and full of uncertain gleams in the flicker of the flames. it was all empty and still, and the silence at first seemed unbroken; but, owing perhaps to the breeze and the recent thaw, on carefully listening the forest was full of very slight sounds--sounds as if living things were moving about in it with infinite caution and stealth. it was a disturbing idea, and dick was glad of the heavy breathing of his comrades in the shelter for company. the time passed on, and the nest in the snow was very comfortable indeed. the woods were still full of those ghostly rustlings, but after a while dick ceased to notice them, and it is probable that he was asleep. but whether he was asleep or not, about midnight he roused quickly enough, with the instinct that someone was near him. owing to his wild training, he had enough of the savage in him to lie perfectly still and listen for several minutes before moving. the noise that must have awakened him was not repeated, but there seemed to be an increase in those faint, ghostly rustlings and whisperings and half-heard stealthy footfalls, so at last he climbed reluctantly out of his cosy nest and built up all the fires. having done this, he settled himself once more in the blanket-lined hollow. the fires were now beds of leaping flame beneath the bubbling kettles of sap, and the shifting light made it difficult to distinguish objects at a little distance. but dick had sharp eyes; and soon he had gained the knowledge that someone, he knew not who, was crouching on the opposite side of the fire nearest his nest in the snow! it was disturbing knowledge, for he knew it was not one of his comrades; but no one could have accused dick of physical cowardice, and immediately he tiptoed round the fire to investigate, with a heart that beat a little faster than usual. the crouching figure glanced up at him with eyes that shone like a wild animal's in the glow of the fire, and dick, thrilling suddenly, recognised peter many-names. the indian did not give him the usual greeting, but remained crouched as he was, staring across the fire into the black mystery of the forest. his dark face was shaken with some strange excitement, and his eyes gleamed green like a wolfs behind their grey. he seemed to be in one of those states of wild exaltation to which his race is liable; and as he crouched there, he rocked himself backwards and forwards in a sort of ecstasy. "i-i-o-i-o-o, i-i-o, i-o-o, i-e-e!" he crooned over and over again, and at each repetition his eyes shone more wildly. he seemed unconscious of dick's presence after the first glance, and gave himself up to his own mad mood and the odd charm of his wild chant. dick's nerves tingled. there seemed to be some curious rhythmic infection in the whole unexpected performance. the rocking, the swaying, the subdued, incessant crooning were fascinating him, just as they might fascinate and excite a young brave at his antelope dances. after a few minutes he fancied he felt his own senses urging him to join in the monotonous, mesmeric swaying, the soft barbaric chant. the suggestion fairly frightened him, and he dropped his hand heavily on the indian's shoulder. peter sprang to his feet, his eyes still glittering with that strange excitement. for a moment he was silent. then he flung out his arm, lean, brown, circled with savage ornaments--flung it out with a wild gesture to the north, and began to speak. [illustration: "he flung out his arm, circled with savage ornaments--flung it out with a wild gesture, and began to speak."] he spoke in his own tongue, deep-noted, musical almost as greek, and though the english boy, standing white-faced and motionless in the glow of the fire, did not understand one word in twenty, there was no need to ask the meaning. many have borne witness to the marvellous charm of indian oratory, and the meaning was plainly to be read in the wonderful play of expression in peter's dark face and flashing, grey-green eyes, in the faultless artistic skill of his every gesture, wherewith he painted what he had in his mind almost without need of words. it was a barbaric song of freedom--a song of the rush and roar of the buffalo hunt, a song of the evening fires before the lodges; of the call of birds at the dawn, and the evening star hanging silver above the pines; of the limitless northward world, and the homeless wind of the prairies; of the flowers whiter than snow, redder than blood; of the pipe of willow-flutes in the dusk, and the triumph-cry of the raiders as they thunder home to the music of a hundred stolen hoofs--all these things dick thought of as he listened, only understanding a word here and there, yet charmed to the bottom of his restless soul by the art of peter many-names. it was a chant of the spring, of roving feet and tents that are never in one place for long; a gipsy song of the north. and as such dick's very soul responded to it. he stared at the indian with fascinated eyes even after that wild speech was ended. peter came close to him, with those hard glittering grey eyes of his gazing into the english boy's softer ones. and suddenly he spoke again, in english. "you come with me?" he whispered. and dick answered, against his own will, in a voice which did not appear to be his. "yes, i will come!" he said. there was no need of explanation. chapter vii. a message from the wanderer. a few weeks had passed, and sugar-making time had gone for that year--gone in a sudden burst of life-giving warmth and moisture, in a tumult of tentative bird songs, in a broidery of earliest green things which heralded the swift, brief, infinitely caressing spring of the north. gone also was peace and happiness from stephanie's heart, and the kindly collinsons grieved with her. for no sooner was the sugar-making over than dick disappeared, leaving no word or trace behind. and with him disappeared peter many-names. they had looked daily for his return. but as the sweet keen weather grew more golden to the spring, as the shiny bud-cases burst, and the leaves showed in delicate wrinkled greens and reds, as the birds came back in coveys and battalions, fluttering and piping through the sunny wonderland of the woods, and still neither dick nor his dark-faced tempter reappeared, stephanie lost hope, and even cheery mr. collinson could give her little comfort in this strait. "he's sure to come back, my dear," he said to her often, "stout and wiry and very penitent; some day soon when we least expect it. he's got tired of civilisation and has gone off picnicking in the forest with peter for a while, the young rascal. don't you worry, lassie, he 'll come back." stephanie would try to smile in answer to show how little she was troubled; but her eyes would stray to the great woods, and her grave, pale young face would quiver tearfully now and then. whereupon roger would always retreat, and rage in a fury of work and a fever of wrath among the farm buildings, to the silent distress of william charles, and the great anxiety of his mother. the farmer had carefully schooled himself to view the matter in its best light--and indeed there were many and great excuses for dick--but sometimes even he meditated upon the probable consequences of finding himself confronting the runaways with a stout cane or sapling in his hand. yet, in spite of all, he was as fond of dick as ever, ungrateful though the lad had shown himself to be; and he would no more have thought of casting him off as a result of his folly than he would have thought of casting off one of his own boys in punishment for some thoughtless error. he felt that dick's dreamy nature and inherited tastes had scarcely given him a fair chance in fighting that temptation which peter many-names had personified. but he was very angry and even more disappointed. and stephanie? stephanie felt that she could have borne her grief and anxiety, as she had already borne much sorrow. but there was a more bitter sting in her trouble than this. she was utterly humiliated. she had relied on dick's affection for herself, but above all upon his gratitude and sense of honour. and to find that he could thus requite the man who had been such a friend to them was a bitter blow. perhaps she underrated the influences which had been brought to bear upon dick's resolution, understanding little the gipsy strain that moved him, and knowing nothing of the ways of peter many-names. be that as it may, poor stephanie felt for a long time that, while she had love and forgiveness for her brother in plenty, she could have little trust or pride in him. "i don't think i should mind anything," she said once to mrs. collinson, "if only i could see dick well and safe and contented, working round the farm once more. it seems impossible that he has really gone. if only i could know he was safe!" whereupon warm-hearted little mrs. collinson kissed her vehemently, as an outlet for her indignation. "don't you fret about his safety, child," she said; "he's safe as can be. safe, indeed! why, that little brown indian wretch knows the country as few do, and they're both used to wood-wandering, the naughty boys. oh, he 's safe enough, if that were all you have to worry about." but perhaps at the bottom of their hearts neither she nor her husband were quite so confident as they gave stephanie to believe. they felt sure that the fugitives had gone north to unknown wildernesses. and what dangers might those unsettled countries hold? "i don't doubt dick's wanting to come back here before the year's out," remarked mr. collinson privately to his wife; "but they 're only a pair of boys, and in my opinion, mrs. c., it's a risky thing. practically, young underwood has put his life into the indian's hands, and i doubt whether that clever little brown villain values the said life enough to take very good care of it. however, there's no telling. only when i see steenie's face, i should like to have the thrashing of both the rascals, brown and white. what business had dick to go off and leave his only sister in this fashion?" "others would be glad to take care of her better," remarked mrs. collinson oracularly. and her husband screwed up his face as in preparation for whistling, and afterwards regarded roger thoughtfully but with approval. the last of the grey drifts of snow disappeared from the cool hollows. roger always found time to visit the sheltered nooks along the edge of the little ravine that cut through the fields, returning to the homestead with great store of frail, exquisite arbutus, and the starry hepaticas, blue, pink, and white, nested in silvery down; the promise of leaf and blossom was fulfilled on every branch; the first sky-bird calls were brought to perfect song; and still dick remained away. through all its beautiful subtle changes, the spring passed on to summer. the young leaves of oak and maple lost their tinge of scarlet, and the wild fruit trees lost their snow of blossom. sturdier, less shadowy flowers replaced the bloodroot and hepatica. the birds were busier. all about the homestead was a world of warm delicate air, and skies shadowed with promise of rain, passing gradually to brighter sun and deeper blue. yet still dick did not come. stephanie knew that, once having run wild as it were, he would not return until he had drunk his fill of freedom. that he would return eventually, she firmly believed, drawn back by his affection for her. and as the weeks went on, she set herself to wait as patiently as she might. but it was very weary work, and at times mrs. collinson's tender heart ached for her. "you are worrying needlessly, my dearie," the good woman would often say, with a great show of cheerfulness, when stephanie had been quieter or sadder than usual. "dick will be back before very long. we are sure of it." "if i could know that," the girl would answer, "i should not mind so much. but sometimes i can't help thinking, suppose he should never come? suppose i wait for years, and still he does not come? i know i 'm silly, but you don't know--you can't know what he was to me. i hate to think so, but--but perhaps he may be too much ashamed ever to return. how shall i bear to wait, knowing he may never return after all?" then the rosy, motherly, little woman would soothe and comfort her. "dick loves you too well to stay away for good, and you know it at the bottom of your heart, child. there 's no weariness like the weariness of waiting, i know. but many lives seem to be made up of waiting and prayings of which we don't see the end--more hopeless waiting and praying than yours. for, after all, such things are in higher hands than ours. and if we watch and pray patiently and trustfully, we are maybe doing more than we think, stephanie." whereat the farmer would nod in solemn admiration of his wife, and stephanie would face the recurring days with hope renewed. at the bottom of her heart she had always dreaded and expected something of the sort to happen. dick's character was easy to read, and no one was surprised that he should have thus yielded to his love of the wilds. that did not make the pain of disappointment and anxiety any the less. but as time went on, the sincere and simple faith of the collinson homestead taught stephanie an abiding lesson. she learned to leave her brother's welfare in the hands of god, and to be more content with her task of waiting and praying, sure that a greater love even than her own was watching over dick. that fair spring passed, and its flowers gave place to the more gorgeous blossoms of early summer. wild roses opened their red petals, and wild strawberries were nearly ripe. and still no word of dick or peter many-names. the day after the sugar-making was finished they had gone off together, with a gun and a blanket each, and very little besides, and the great wilderness had taken them to itself. after some time had passed, stephanie grew in a measure accustomed to dick's absence. she was so surrounded by affection, and so much occupied by work, that she had no opportunity for brooding and melancholy thoughts. she always watched for him, always waited for him. "i know he will come back to me," she said to mrs. collinson, "but how long, how long will it be? it seems to me that i have waited a long time already." but she was not to be left entirely without knowledge of him throughout the summer. it was one morning in june that she had word of dick. she had just finished milking two of the cows, and, having a few spare moments afterwards, she had hurried down to the edge of that ravine which ran up through the fields to the very farm buildings themselves. it had been her wont of late to haunt the edge of the clearing, to roam whenever she could into the outskirts of the woods, and there wait and listen for a space, feeling the silence and beauty of the wilds to be, in some vague sense, a link between herself and dick. it was a very fair morning. the distant trees were softened by a faint haze that gave promise of heat, and the dew was still damp and chilly in the shadows. there is no more lovely time of the year than june, when things are ripened to full beauty, and yet young, when each tree has still its own individual shade of green, not yet merged into the heavier, denser, universal tint of the later season. and stephanie found both peace and promise in the still radiance of the early day. she paused at the brink of the ravine, watching the tree-creepers with wide, unconscious eyes. she remembered that morning, now many weeks ago, when the knowledge, hard, inevitable, had first come to her that dick had run away with the indian; and when for a time she could feel nothing, think nothing, but that he had left her, his only sister. those feelings were softened now; softened with the sure though gradual growth of her trust and faith in that love deeper than her own, which could guard and care for her brother through all things. but she longed for a sight, a word of him, more than for anything else in the world. just at that moment the longing was almost unbearable, and the little, long-beaked birds scuttled away in fright as stephanie leant over the stump fence. "dick! dick! dick!" she cried very softly, and the words held a prayer. it was a prayer which was to be immediately answered, for, without any preliminary rustle of leaves or noise of footsteps, a man walked softly out of the thick-leaved undergrowth, and stood before her. her heart leapt wildly, and then grew quiet again, for the man was a stranger to her. he was tall, and his dark, bright face showed his mixed french and indian descent; he was almost fantastically dressed in fringed deerskins and quaint finery, and the cap which he raised was decorated with feathers. but stephanie had seen such trappers before in the old days, and did not fear his long gun or his savage silence. and, indeed, in his flourishing bow, french courtesy was apparent. but he was slow of speech, as are all dwellers in the woods; and now he merely held out a tiny package, wrapped in birch-bark, with an inquiring glance towards her. [illustration: "he held out a tiny package, wrapped in birch-bark, with an inquiring glance towards her."] she saw her name scrawled upon the outside, and took it eagerly. there was a mist before her eyes for a moment, and she could do nothing but clasp the precious package close, and murmur little phrases of gratitude and comfort and endearing words--she scarcely knew what. when she came to herself a little, the trapper had gone, as he had come, in utter silence. she tore off the outer wrapping of the smooth bark, with its fringe of fragile green lichen, and read the few lines scrawled within. the note was from dick, as she had expected, and it had been written weeks before. "dear, dear steenie," it ran, "i am almost too much ashamed to write to you, but i think of you always. i could not go on with the farm work any longer. you don't know how i hated it. i know what you must all think of me; but i only wish you were with me now! i never thought the world could be so beautiful, and i feel as if i were living now for the first time. i 'm sorry and miserable, of course; but i wish you were here to see the trees and the skies and the rivers that i am growing to love. it is all splendid. never forget me, as i never forget you." that was all; but, besides the not very deep shame and penitence, these lines held a great joy, a great happiness--the happiness that comes from fulfilment of longing. she refolded the paper in its wrapping with trembling fingers, and then stood, gazing with wide, unseeing eyes at the rustling trees. for the first time she realised what dick's struggle must have been, realised also what was his passionate love of freedom. she felt the tears wet on her cheeks--tender, forgiving tears--and her heart was full of thankfulness to think she was not forgotten. but he had said nothing of coming back, though in her great relief she scarcely noticed it. she pictured his probable surroundings when that letter was written; until she almost fancied she could see him sitting beside a little fire, apart from peter many-names, scrawling those hurried words of affection and penitence and boyish delight; and then wrapping them in birch-bark and consigning them to the care of the half-savage trapper, who had thus, after many days, given them into her hands. it was a very boyish note, and she smiled half sadly to think that he who had written it was actually a little older than herself. he seemed to realise so little the deeper meaning of his action, and evidently regarded it as a child might regard a delightful but naughty escape from school. for a time, she saw freedom and the forests held his heart. "but he loves me, and he will come back, for we have no one but each other." she showed the letter to the good farmer and his wife, her joy shining in her dark eyes. "it came to me from the woods," she cried almost merrily; "a trapper came out of the woods and handed it to me like a messenger in a fairy-story. dick is safe and well, you see, and he does not forget. i can think of nothing but that now!" the farmer raised his eyes from the fragrant screed of birch-bark. "no, lassie," he said tenderly, "he does not forget." then he fell silent, reading and re-reading the boyish scrawl, while mrs. collinson watched him with secret uneasiness. he was almost especially gentle to the girl that evening; but as soon as possible he drew his wife aside, and spoke to her in his gruff whisper. "we must keep up steenie's heart," he said, "but it's my opinion, mrs. c., that the boy won't be back for many a long day." "we must not let stephanie think that," echoed his wife sadly. but they need not have troubled. stephanie was confident. dick did not forget her, and she could trust his welfare to a greater love than her own. so thereafter she watched and waited with a new and confident patience, comforted and strengthened, not to be shaken in her hope and trust. and thus for a time we will leave her. for, meanwhile, how had dick fared? chapter viii. a wood's adventure. from the night of peter many-names' arrival at the sugar-camp, dick had yielded himself utterly to his dreams. home, duty, stephanie, all this had become as a shadow before the wonder and delight which the thought of freedom held. and when the time came, he had shaken off all ties of affection, all thoughts of right and gratitude, and had turned north to the country of his longings. at last, at last, the skies were blue for him, the airs were fresh for him, the world was wide for him, he could follow where he would and none should call him back. of probable consequences he did not think. the struggle was over, and, though he knew he had chosen ill instead of good, the knowledge troubled him little. was it not enough that the humdrum round of toil lay far behind him, and that all before and on every side of the land was fair with spring? at the time he found it enough--enough to fairly intoxicate him with delight. in this spirit he began his wanderings, and the days passed in golden dreams of beauty and of freedom. he followed in utter content wherever peter many-names chose to lead, caring nothing so that he might eat and sleep and dream and wander on again, guided by any stream that ran, any wind that blew. after a while he lost count of time, lost count of distance, and was still content. left to himself, he would have gone on thus indefinitely; but he was held by a keener, harder intellect than his own. peter allowed matters to go on thus for some days. he was contemptuously fond of dick, willing to indulge him to a certain extent. so for nearly two weeks they idled northwards through the awakening woods, killing for food as they required it, with the indian to do all the hard work and bear most of the burdens. they travelled in irregular zig-zags, choosing the drier ground, and having a good deal of difficulty owing to streams swollen with melting snow to angry little rivers. but dick only saw the choke-cherry's white tassels trailing in the water, the white drifts clearing from the hollows and showing all the tender tangled green beneath, the delicate green mist that showed upon the birch-boughs, and the young leaves that reddened the twigs of oak and maple. he only heard the robins whistling from dawn to dusk, the rush and patter of the sudden sparkling showers, the rustlings and murmurs that showed the woods were full of life about them. he ate what was offered him and slept where peter wished, dazed and enraptured. for two golden weeks the dream endured. and then quite suddenly peter many-names buckled down to the trail. the dream was roughly broken. thereafter dick had no leisure for the beauties of the wilderness. after the day's march, he had only strength enough left to roll himself in his blankets and groan. he lived from dawn till dark in a stupor, not of delight, but of weariness. his softer muscles were racked and tortured with manifold aches, strained and swollen with the effort of the pace. and when he moaned and lamented, peter scowled at him horribly, and called him rude discourteous names in the indian tongue. "where are we going?" dick would groan impatiently, at the end of a trying day. "what's the need of all this hurry?" and peter's contemptuous little dark face would flame with that excitement which dick had seen in it that night in the sugar-camp, and his voice would rise again to that wild mesmeric chant. "we are going north, north, north!" he would sometimes answer; "north to the land of clean winds and strong men, to the land of uncounted bison and wild fowl in plenty for the hunter! north to the land loved of its children, to my country! but what do you know of it? is it not enough for you if i lead you there in ease and safety?" "ease!" poor wearied dick would reply, "do you call this ease?" and then would roll himself in his blanket and fall into the sleep of exhaustion. day after day this incident was repeated. for peter many-names was merciless, and his tongue played round dick's very excusable weaknesses with the stinging unexpectedness of a whip-lash. but after a while dick's muscles hardened. the day's march was no longer torment to him. he grew almost as lean and wiry as his comrade, though he would never attain to the indian's powers of endurance of fatigue. and then the daring young pair proceeded amicably enough. the dream had faded to a more real world, though the beauty of it still remained. dick's faculties and feelings awoke, though his conscience was sleepy enough. his skill in woodcraft, his hunter's lore, all came again in play, and he and the indian regarded each other as pleasant company, though the silence of the wilderness was rendering dick as chary of speech as was peter, and sometimes they scarcely exchanged a dozen words in as many hours. he never forgot stephanie. when the first delight and excitement were over, the thought of her troubled him daily, though as yet the charm of wood-running held him a willing captive. now and then came ugly little pricks of conscience concerning his duty to his only sister, and to those who had been such friends to him and his in the hour of need; but no glimmer had as yet come to him of a higher duty to one far higher even than these. and on the whole he was perfectly happy. yet he welcomed the opportunity that a chance meeting with a southward bound trapper offered him of sending her a word of affection and penitence; which, as we know, she received safely. after that he saw and spoke with no one, peter seeming to avoid all other wanderers in the wilderness. "no need to run away from man," he was wont to explain, "but no need run after 'im. what you want with 'im? nothin'. what he want with you? nothin'. so all right. you come on, quick an' quiet." sometimes they came upon the cold ashes of a hunter's fire, now and then upon a deserted indian camping-place. but the stars and the clear skies and the calling winds, the trees and the bushes and the unseen stealthy life within their shadows, held undisturbed possession of all things. this same stealthy life was not always unseen. sometimes dick and peter would come upon a battle royal beneath the calm spring dawn. sometimes they were aware of quiet presences around their evening fires. sometimes they caught glimpses of great moving shapes, indistinct in the foliage, and knew that some forest lord was watching them. they had as yet contented themselves with whatever small game came most readily to hand, for dick lacked the love of slaughter, and peter many-names was apparently in a hurry, and turned aside as little as possible. once that noiseless spirit of death, that was ever abroad in the forest, touched them more nearly. they had made their camp for the night rather earlier than usual, owing to a slight mishap that had befallen dick--a strained ankle, which, while not serious, made it imperative for him to have a long night's rest they watched dusk fall over the banks and glades all ablaze with the tall, purple wind-flower of the north, they had seen the stars show softly, one by one, beyond the branches of the trees, they had heard the even trickle of a tiny spring nearby interrupted by faint, faint sounds, as little wild creatures, bold in their obscurity, came there to drink. as night darkened down, and the flame of the camp-fire grew more bright and ruddy in consequence, the woods became more stealthily hushed. for a moment, watching the gloom surrounding them--black, silent, yet giving the listener an impression of teeming, hungry multitudes within it--dick's heart sank with a sense of isolation. on every side, for leagues, these forests lay. he felt a benumbing realisation of his own loneliness, and of the smallness of man's aims and hopes when confronted with the impassive greatness of nature. what part had he in this solemn wilderness, full of the things of the woods seeking their meat from god? a sound like a heavy, dragging footfall broke the silence, and shook dick's somewhat troubled nerves, so that he nearly jumped out of his blanket, in sudden, unconcealed fright. "what was that?" he cried involuntarily. and peter responded with the nearest approach to a scornful giggle of which his dignity was capable. for it was only a porcupine taking a nocturnal walk, and not caring how much noise he made, secure in his terrible quills. the thump--thump of his leisurely progress died away, and then the quiet was disturbed only by the cries of night-birds and those continuous, faint rustlings and murmurs which seemed but a part of silence. after dreamily listening and watching for a while longer, dick dozed off to sleep. but his slumbers were not as peaceful as usual, owing, perhaps, to the slight pain in his ankle. and presently he was roused again--roused, not by any noise, but by a sudden and complete cessation of all the tiny sounds of the woods about them. he had thought that the silence before had been deep; but now the intense quiet oppressed him like some palpable weight. he glanced drowsily at the fire, which was low, and then across it to peter's crouching figure, indistinct in the shadows. some thought of rousing the indian was in his mind. "but no, i won't do that," he said to himself. "i 've been laughed at quite enough for one night, and it's only my fancy." the hush was so great that he could hear the sound of the little breeze among the leaves--so great that it seemed as if all life were held in breathless suspension for a space--and it endured for some moments, broken at last by the frightened flutter of a bird roused from its sleep. then, as if this little frightened flutter of wings had been a signal, a dark, snarling shape launched itself from a low branch, and leapt, with a harsh cry, straight upon the indian! there was a yell from peter; and then followed a second's fearful rolling, snarling, grunting, worrying confusion in the shadows. but in that second dick had unsheathed his knife, cleared the fire at a bound, and leapt to the rescue. no need to ask what was the assailant. only one beast, "the devil of the woods," was capable of such an attack. and dick's heart throbbed as he stood beside that frantic turmoil, lighted only by the uncertain flicker of the fire, and waited for a chance of getting in a thrust, fearing also, lest in striking the lynx, he should wound peter many-names. but on the instant of thinking this, the chance came. peter's unyielding hands were grasping the beast's throat, and as they rolled over and over, its gaunt side was fully exposed for a moment, and dick drove in the knife up to the handle. so strong and true was the blow, that it ended the struggle, and the indian was safe, though terribly scratched and torn. indeed, if the savage brute had not leapt short in the first instance, dick's ready aid might have come too late, and there would have been an end of peter many-names. dick laughed a little uncertainly when it was all over. "that was a narrow escape," he said, turning to assist peter to his feet again. but the indian had already shaken himself free from the dead lynx, and now took the english boy's hand in his own, regardless of the pain of his wounds, as befitted a brave. he always spoke in his own tongue in those rare moments when he gave way to emotion. and now he began a long and dignified speech, the meaning of which was not difficult to gather. "that's all right," dick interrupted nervously, "you are not to say any more about it," though, as a matter of fact, he had not understood more than a few words of the rapid, musical oration. peter relapsed into his english. "you my brother now," he said briefly; "come danger, come death, come anything, my life yours. my life yours, my home yours, my horses yours, my people yours." he waved a lordly arm to the four points of the compass, and dick suppressed a laugh. peter's worldly wealth so evidently existed for purposes of ceremonial gratitude only. but the indian felt that he had returned thanks with proper dignity, and submitted in a sort of contented, stoic indifference while dick roughly bound up the worst of his cuts and scratches. gratitude is a feeling somewhat difficult to awaken in the heart of the red man; but when once it is aroused, it is deep and binding. the adventure with the "lucifee" was a fresh tie between the two lads, and they proceeded on their way in greater good-fellowship than ever. through all the splendour of wild forest and deep ravine, peter led the way, straight north-west, stopping for nothing. and so great was his ascendancy over dick, that the english boy never questioned his leadership, or even asked definitely where they were going. in the wilds the indian was supreme, and his speed, endurance, and skill were dominant. dick relied upon him almost blindly, and was content to follow where he led. the life at the homestead seemed a thing of the past, part of some other state of existence, so intense a hold had the wilderness upon dick's mind. but the thought of stephanie was real and living, the only point of pain in his present lot; and this pain he put aside as much as possible, together with all worry as to the future. "i made my choice," he said to himself, "and there's an end of it. i know it was pretty hard on steenie, but here i am, and what's the use of worrying?" minds of his type are convinced of error only by stern measures, and dick showed a great deal of argumentative skill in assuring himself that he had been perfectly justified in escaping from the bonds of humdrum toil which had grown so unendurable. he knew that he had proved himself weak and lacking in gratitude, nevertheless; but the knowledge had not yet touched his heart to any keener sense of wrong-doing. straight northwestward they went, through gradually changing country, and all the subtle passage of the weeks was heralded to them by new flowers, new streams, new lands of wonder. the wild strawberries ripened, and the last violets died. the raspberry canes were heavy with fruit, and the spots where they grew best were much favoured by brown bears, big and little. white lilies shone upon the pools and the still reaches of the small rivers. and still, through all the shifting moods of the year, they hurried on, never resting, never turning aside, but always keeping up the same unvarying rate of speed. where was peter many-names going? dick did not know, and did not care. he had chosen his way of life, and now gave himself up to its delight. he only knew that the wilds he loved were very fair, that the weather was almost unbroken in its warm sunniness, that food was easily come by, and that all things, great and small, made for happiness. he seemed to be one with the clear blue canadian skies, with the silver stars, with the free, beautiful things of stream and forest, with the very blades of grass beneath his moccasined feet. the little owls, the great wood-peckers, the tiny songsters of the reeds and bushes, he looked upon as his brethren. he felt no return of the desolate ache at his heart he had experienced on the night of peter's struggle with the lynx. his was that joyous fellowship with nature that knows no weariness, and he troubled himself as little as possible about stephanie. not yet had his awakening come. straight northwest they went, through all the brief splendour of the northern summer; and the weeks passed in golden dreams of freedom and of beauty. and thus the year drew slowly, inevitably, to its close. chapter ix. on the prairie. in after life dick never forgot those weeks of wandering. the freedom and beauty of all that summer world was indelibly impressed upon his memory. his was a nature readily moved to admiration, and had powers of observation unusual in a lad of his age. but there were two small scenes, each perfect in pictorial beauty, which he afterwards recollected with special clearness. they were tramping steadily along the bottom of a small ravine, one late july afternoon, through a luxuriance of fern and vine almost tropical. dick, watching the dark woods ahead, saw a sudden little flame of colour leap to life against the black stems of the pines--a flame so intense in its ruddy gold that it seemed to throb and pulsate like a tongue of fire. a sunbeam, slanting through the branches, had been caught and held in the cup of an open red lily--that was all. but the effect was one which no artist on earth could have reproduced. another time, they were paddling up a small stream in a little canoe of peter's building--a little canoe he had hurriedly made, with dick's help, while they camped for the purpose--a flimsy, crank craft, but serviceable, and sufficient for their needs. they were gliding slowly along in the shadow of the bank, when they came upon a tall brown crane standing quietly on one yellow leg in the calm shallows. he did not offer to move as they slipped past, but stood there peacefully, in water which reflected the sunset skies and small opalescent clouds floating above. backed by the green rushes, surrounded by the mirrored glow of sunset, he stood and watched them out of sight with wild, sad eyes--untamed, fearless, and alone. and thus he remained always in dick's remembrance. after a time, they hid the canoe in a tiny creek, and took to land-travelling again. peter's haste increased, and dick was sometimes hard put to it to keep up with him. his caution increased also as they advanced into more open country--country which gradually grew to foreshadow the prairies. but peter kept to the trees as much as possible, speeding swiftly and stealthily northwestward. "one would think we were thieves," murmured dick, with an uneasy english dislike of stealthiness. it was the first time he had in any way rebelled against peter's leadership. "all right," the indian responded, "go on your way, see how far you get. what you know? what you see? what you hear? nothin'. you blind, deaf, sleepy all times. i see, hear, know. you come with me, or you go alone. but if come with me, you come quiet. i lead you," he concluded, thrusting his little dark face with its strange eyes close to dick's. thus the incipient mutiny was crushed. in all those weeks they had seen and spoken with no one but the solitary trapper to whom dick had consigned the letter, and the absolute loneliness had become as natural to dick as the splendid clearness of air was natural. so when one morning in september he came upon the ashes of a fire that were still warm, it gave him a curious feeling of wistful excitement. "look, peter," he said, "feel here. the ground is not cold yet under the ashes. someone was here only a little while ago!" peter snarled something inarticulate, and peered about the fire with a frowning face. "white man," he grunted uneasily at last. "how do you know?" asked dick; and then, not waiting for an answer, "i should have liked to have spoken to him. i wish we had met him." "company's man," grunted peter, still restless and uneasy. "they bad people. not like us here." but dick was full of his own thoughts, and scarcely heeded. there was some reason for peter's uneasiness, for they were then almost within the vast territories ruled over by the hudson bay company. and at no time did the great company prove friendly to strangers. the indian had probably, at some crisis in his chequered career, come in contact with the authority of the said company, which thereafter he regarded with superstitious awe and veneration. as they went stealthily on their way, and the miles dropped behind with the vanishing summer, peter many-names became strangely eager and excited. dick did not understand the cause of this excitement or of the haste that accompanied it. but had he possessed the key to that savage nature, he would have guessed that it was the nearness of the prairies which so moved the impassive indian. as the sea to a coast-bred man, as the mountains to a hillman, so were the prairies to peter many-names. they had called him north with a voice that, to his wild fancy, was almost articulate--insistent, not to be mistaken. he had been born and bred upon the plains, and now he was returning to them as a tired child runs to its mother, asking only the presence of that which he loved. and by the time that the woods about the distant homestead were lighted with the purple of the tall wild asters, dick had had his first sight of the open prairie. in after days he never found words to describe that sight. once having reached the goal of his desire, peter's hurry seemed in great measure to evaporate. he was content to see the vast arch of the pale autumn skies above his head, to feel the keen air in his face, to travel over those limitless earthen billows, interrupted only by some bluff of aspens or other soft-wood trees, or by the forest-growth which fringed the courses of the larger rivers. to him, life offered nothing better. two days after they had definitely left the last of the wooded country behind them, dick camped in the shelter of a poplar bluff, while peter many-names went off a day's journey to the east with the intention of procuring a couple of ponies. "saw fire-smoke dark when sun rose," he declared, "and when fires, there wigwams; where wigwams, there indians; where indians, there ponies. you keep close, and i come back soon." "but you can't buy ponies, for we 've nothing to give in exchange for them," dick protested. however, peter took no notice of him, and presently departed, leaving dick to loneliness, and wonder unsatisfied. he had leisure to wonder as much as he liked. peter departed stealthily, leaving him in charge of all their little stores, with only the slim poplars and his blanket to shield him from the winds that had now begun to blow very coldly. he had, as has already been written, leisure to spare, for it was four days before peter appeared from the southwest, riding one pony and leading another. they were sturdy little brown beasts, very shy of dick, and practically wild. there was nothing remarkable about them in any way except that they were very muddy. it was not for some time that dick discovered that this dried mud concealed some very conspicuous white spots. thereupon he wondered more and more, noticing that there was nothing lacking in the equipment or among the possessions of the triumphant but always taciturn peter. "how did you get them?" he asked. "did you find friends, or what? however did you manage to get them?" but peter only grinned, as he occasionally condescended to do when much amused, and dick got no further answer. there the ponies were, and there peter evidently intended they should stay. to dick, the beginning of their wanderings across the prairie was as the beginning of a new world. the sense of vast space was almost terrifying. vision was obstructed by nothing, and the great skies rounded down to the utmost edge of the great undulating plain. they were now travelling quite slowly, but after a few days--nay, a few hours--the prairies seemed to close in upon them, to swallow them up in vastness and silence. dick, dreamy and impressionable, felt a little lonely and bewildered, troubled by the mighty width and apparently limitless expanse surrounding him. but to peter many-names the prairies were as home-like and familiar as a meadow. here, where dick would see the far skyline broken by the irregular black mass of a herd of bison, the wheat waves now, mile after mile, about the countless farms and homesteads. these fertile lands, known then to few but the indian and the hunter, have been claimed by civilisation, and their produce goes to the feeding of the nations. agriculture has taken the prairies, and their nomad life is surely slipping into the past. to the indian, these prairies were dear above all things. but they impressed dick more with awe than admiration, and he grew to long for the friendly trees left behind them, and to regard the limitless plain and the skies arching from the horizon almost as hostile things, with something menacing in their very splendour. now also for the first time he began troubling about the future, and once he put his feelings into words. "where are you going to spend the winter, peter?" he asked. "with some tribe of my people," peter replied carelessly. of course, it was the only thing to be done, and in peter's mind no alternative was to be considered at all. but dick felt a doubt as to his own endurance and toughness compared with the indian's. he was no weakling; but he dearly loved his flesh-pots, and, with the prospect becoming one of hardship and discomfort, he began to think a little regretfully of the cosy collinson homestead, now so far away. and stephanie! "i wonder what stephanie's doing, and whether she misses me much," he thought. "i should like to see her again." the last of the yellow leaves fell from the poplar bushes, and the silver foliage of the aspens fluttered to the ground. at night the stars shone large and frosty, but so intensely dry and bracing was the air, that dick did not feel the cold, and peter many-names was of course inured to any changes of climate. game became more scarce, and sometimes they wandered far afield in search of their supplies, occasionally falling back upon their reserve store of dried meat. but it was still very enjoyable, and perhaps peter, who had been an exile from his native plains for several years, strayed somewhat farther away from the river-courses and the sheltered lands than he had formerly intended. but to him the prairies were home; and who would not feel justified in relaxing caution a little when in his native haunts? so, for some little time, they wandered about, meeting with few adventures. once they passed too close to a cluster of tepees, and three young braves chased them for miles. the mud had by now scaled off their ponies, and the curiously shaped white spots were as remarkable as the speed of the little animals who were distinguished by these marks. peter seemed to think that this incident effectually put a stop to the quest for hospitality in that region, but the difficulty could be easily overcome. "we will muddly ponies again, go farther north," he said. and a little farther north they went, following the trail of a band of indians. "many people go along here two, three days ago," peter remarked, "we follow them. if enemies, bad. if friends, good. come on quick." the second day after they had struck this trail, the first snow fell. it was only a couple of inches of delicate, powdery white crystals; and in an hour or so the clouds had cleared off, and the sky was dazzlingly fair and blue. but it gave dick a curious shock to think that the winter was close upon them. his thoughts turned to the homestead where he and stephanie had been received as welcome guests in the time of sorrow and almost destitution, to that christmas day when he had, as he thought, fought and conquered his roving inclinations. how different had been his intentions! even in the hour of his greatest delight, when freedom and the forests had filled his life, he had not been able to stifle thoughts of stephanie entirely. and now, when he was a little tired of wandering, a little lonely, a little anxious, these returned upon him with double force. some of the glamour had perhaps passed from a wild life. and it was a fact, that, however he might love the wilderness, he could never become an unthinking, unquestioning part of it, as was peter many-names. this knowledge brought with it his first feeling of intense shame and repentance. but he fought against these feelings more stubbornly than he had ever struggled against his longings for the gipsy-life of the trapper and the indian. indeed, the very awakening of his conscience and his almost dormant affection for stephanie made him cling more obstinately to the wilds. he angrily assured himself that he would not go back. he had chosen his present deliberately, and the future must take care of itself. with determination worthy of a better cause, he faced the prairies and the cold sky, and nothing, he told himself impatiently, should drive him to forsake that life which was dearer to him than all. but, now the first dazed rapture and delight were over, was it dearer than all? that was the point. the difficulty was increased by the fact that the fall of snow had been sufficient to cover the slight trail they were following. and now peter's caution began to re-appear. a bitter wind had suddenly arisen, blowing with increasing force, and peter as suddenly and emphatically expressed a wish to return by the way they had come. dick, for the first time in all their daring journey, flatly refused to follow the wishes of the indian. he felt that to turn southward now would seem like a concession to those softer, better feelings which filled his heart, and of which he was so anxious to rid himself. if they turned south now, they might never turn north again. and that one homestead which held stephanie represented to him the whole of the country they had left behind them. he felt that he could never face the collinsons, could never endure the humiliation of a return to civilised life, could never endure the thought that his dreams had led him astray. "i will go on by myself if you are afraid," he said in a fury of suddenly aroused stubbornness. "i don't care what happens. i may freeze or starve or anything, but turn back i will not." peter many-names shrugged his shoulders uneasily. "so," he said, "you go on if you will, i come with you. you my brother now, and i cannot leave you. but it is for true we go into death." and the ponies hung their heads and shivered restlessly before that steady, unceasing wind as they proceeded. but dick kept his face turned obstinately northward, resolved that he would never yield. it is written that "the stars in their courses fought against sisera." and now the spirit of the wide prairies was to fight against dick. that night they found no game. and, by the morning, fine particles of icy snow gave an edge of steel to that steady, unceasing wind. by midday the sky was overcast, the wind increased, and the snow became thicker and thicker. chapter x. in the grip of the storm. a world of small, whirling, white flakes, rushing, eddying, drifting before a wind that continually shifted from one quarter to another; a cold, grey light filtering through this haze of stinging snow; a continuous, angry murmur, as the icy particles struck the tall, stiff, prairie grasses, sometimes deepening to a roar as the wind momentarily increased; and, in the midst of this unresting, resistless tumult, two dark figures staggering uncertainly northward, leading between them an almost exhausted pony, laden with the last remnants of their food. for three days, the snow, and the wind, and the great cold had scourged the prairies, and the storm was almost an early blizzard in its wild fury, in the confusion of air-currents and always-falling, never-resting white flakes, tipped with ice, and stinging like fire. and for these three days dick and peter many-names had gone blindly on their painful way, trusting to the indian's sense of direction, yet not knowing where they were going. an indian's bump of locality is a marvellously developed organ; but it is of little use in a blizzard. and now the two lads were staggering forward, with no hope that they were keeping to the right path--one in stoic resignation, the other in a passion of regret and despair. they were almost exhausted, and only kept moving through fear of that snow-sleep from which there is no awakening. even this fear had now become dulled through cold and weariness. when the blizzard first struck them, dick's obstinacy had changed to a very lively realisation of danger. "we will turn back now, if you like," he had said somewhat shamefacedly. but peter had given one of his rare, bitter laughs. "all too late," he had said grimly. "death behind as well as in front--everywhere. p'raps so we go on we find band of indians that we followed. p'raps we do. all too late go back now, too late." and, with those words in their ears, they had faced the unsheltered prairie and the strength of the storm. for the first day hope had been left to them, for they could judge their direction from the steady, cutting wind. but, after that, the wind began to shift constantly, and thus their only guide failed them. a prairie is not as bare of all landmarks as a lawn, but one buffalo-wallow is much like another, one poplar-bluff is not distinguishable from the next, and most sloughs have a family likeness to each other, especially when one's circle of vision is limited to a couple of yards' radius, and everything beyond is blotted out with pitiless, hurrying, scurrying clouds of white flakes. dick was utterly lost. "where are we? where are we?" he kept saying. "is the whole world turning to snow?" and sometimes, angrily, "i know you are going the wrong way, peter. i know you are." whereupon he would stumble off by himself, and the indian would follow and drag him back again. "no right, no wrong, no anything," peter exclaimed angrily in answer; "but you must not go round, round, round in circles. that what you doing, an' if you do so, you die pretty quick. you come on with me." and actually they had kept a straighter course than they knew, or than they would have dared to hope, thanks to the indian's sense of direction. the first night they passed in the shelter of a large bluff of aspens, and were not very much the worse for it. it was then that they somehow lost one of their ponies through inexcusable carelessness in securing it, and it was after that also that they began to lose hope. their food as well as their strength was failing them, and on this third day they were in a very bad case. dick had, of course, suffered more than the indian, and plodded forward in a sort of stupor, which threatened to end in fatal unconsciousness at any moment. but even peter's keen senses were dulled by the cold, and his movements, though little less agile, were more mechanical. his face was grey and pinched, and his hard, grey eyes were very weary also. he seemed leaner and more shrunken than ever. but his mouth was set in grim determination to meet whatever fate might be in store for him with fitting dignity. at first, dick's remorse had been passionate. "it's my wretched obstinacy has led us into this, peter," he said repeatedly; "but sorrow can't do any good now. nothing can do any good. oh, what a fool, what a silly, self-willed fool i was! and all my regret is useless! everything's useless! there's nothing to help us." "except great spirit," the indian replied austerely, though dick, in his despairing mood, scarcely noticed the words, and went on with his vain regrets and repentance. but now the stealthy hand of the frost was lulling all his hopes and fears and regrets to sleep. as he plodded on beside the staggering pony, he thought only of his previous life, and that without any pain or grief. he vaguely remembered one may morning long ago, before his mother had died, when stephanie had crowned herself with all the first frail blossoms of the year, and had then danced over the miserable log-hut, brightening it with the spirit of grace and childhood, and sweetening it with the shy fragrance of spring flowers. he had forgotten the little incident entirely, but now he remembered it clearly enough, and idly wondered over it. he suddenly seemed to remember so many things, pleasant little happenings of past years. and his mind dwelt upon them more and more dreamily. more and more slowly he walked, half-forgetting the benumbing ache of cold, the rush and whirl of the surrounding snow. he was roughly roused from his dangerous dreams. the restless, dancing drifts and eddies of snow seemed to vanish from beneath his feet, and he fell head foremost down a steep bank, some three feet deep, into a little depression of the soil between two high ridges. in spring this was doubtless a slough, haunted by wild-fowl, but now it was dry, and covered with grass, thin and poor, but much relished by the trembling, famished pony. it was sheltered on all sides by the three-foot banks, crested with little straggling bushes, against which the snow had drifted. so cosy did this desolate little valley seem after the roaring tempest without, that dick grew quite comfortable and drowsy, and would have gone to sleep where he fell. but this peter would by no means allow. "you wake up," he commanded; "even little child know better than go sleep in snow an' cold. you wake up." "for pity's sake, let me alone!" dick pleaded. "go on if you like and leave me here. i 'm so comfortable." [illustration: "'for pity's sake, let me alone!' dick pleaded. 'go on and leave me.'"] "ugh! yes, you very comfortable, so you stay there that your bones scare the birds away in the spring. that how comfortable you are." and, roused by this grisly picture, dick fought off the weariness that was overwhelming him. they huddled in their blankets silently, and ate some pieces of dried and icy deer's meat--ate with despair in their hearts, for this food was their last. the slight refreshment following the food and rest was almost unwelcome to dick, bringing with it a keener realisation of the consequences of his wilfulness, and of the desperate strait they were in. when they started again on their hopeless tramp, his thoughts turned to the probable fate that awaited them. once more he seemed to hear himself say, "nothing, nothing to help us!" and once more he seemed to hear peter's solemn answer, at the time unheeded, "nothing, except great spirit." with his whole soul he felt that it was true. he was facing death more nearly than ever in his life before, and he knew it. with the knowledge came the old, instinctive cry, the readiest of all prayers, "god help us!" but had he deserved such help? he knew that he had not. he was too much confused with bitter cold and exhaustion to feel these things other than vaguely and uncertainly. but as he stumbled on through the swirling haze of white, he gave full sway to those softened thoughts which he had hitherto rejected, seeing his past conduct in a clearer light-the light of repentance. "before i ask for help," thought poor dick, "i have need to say, 'god forgive me!' but if we get through this, i 'll do my best to be less selfish, and to think less of my own wishes. oh, steenie, steenie! indeed, i have need to ask for forgiveness." resolves made under such circumstances are not generally worth much. but though that hour might pass, dick would never again be quite what he was before. some of his careless selfishness would be wanting, and in its stead would appear a far more manly humility. for the first time he had dimly realised that no human being can live to himself alone--realised that, even if a man is responsible to no earthly duties of kinship and labour, he is responsible to his maker. and such realisation could not fail to bear fruit in deeds. but presently the insidious hand of the frost fell heavily upon them again. peter's long, savage step became shorter and less sure, and he fell to crooning little snatches of some wild chant under his breath--a brave's death-song, if dick had known. the pony lagged more and more, and dick noticed nothing, felt nothing any longer. he was benumbed, mind and body, with the cold. peter's song blew past his ears on the irregular gusts of wind, but he did not hear. he was back again in those long ago days, and his mother was standing at the door of the cabin, calling, "stephanie, stephanie!" the name was on his blue lips as strength failed, and he fell full length in the snow, while the whirling haze of white, the pony, and peter many-names, slid away to nothingness, and only that voice remained--"stephanie, stephanie!" peter, partly roused from the lethargy which was creeping over him, tried to lift dick from the drifts, but was too weak. so he quietly pulled off his own blanket, laid it over the english boy, and then crouched down with his back to the worst of the wind, and waited stoically--waited for death, which was all he looked for. he thought of it quite calmly; but then through all his stormy life the gates of the happy hunting-grounds had never been far away. there was something very pathetic in that little crouching brown figure waiting so gravely and patiently for the end. the wind blew the snow into little ridges on his long black hair, and then blew it off again. the pony came close to him with drooping head, as if for company; but by then the indian was too far gone to heed anything, though still he crooned little snatches of his desolate song, as was right and fitting. presently he too fell softly sideways into the snow as a tired child falls. his last distinct thought was of the great broad woods through which they had passed, and of the warm summer sun upon the fair, green world. just then the pony lifted its lean head, fringed over with the long ragged mane, and pointing its nose to the blast, neighed shrilly, piercingly, as only an indian pony can neigh. but neither dick nor peter many-names heard it. that neigh was answered by a dozen or more. but so strongly blew the irregular winds that only faint echoes of the shrill clamour were to be heard. it proceeded from the very heart of an unusually large bluff of willows upon the bank of a river. there was an open space in the middle of this thick growth of stunted trees, which was occupied by several horses and a cluster of tepees. a band of indians were very comfortably weathering the unexpected storm in this manner, little more than a few yards distant from the spot where dick and peter many-names had been overcome. when the pony neighed, no echo of the sound reached the ears of the people in the tepees; but the loud whinnyings of their own horses at last aroused man-afraid-of-a-bear, who had been sleeping the sleep of the just after a full meal, and he therefore went cautiously forth to investigate. he noticed with satisfaction that the blizzard showed signs of abating, and he also noticed that another pony had been added to their little herd; so he carefully followed that pony's track for a few yards, and came upon dick and peter many-names. he had looked for something of the kind, being accustomed to the chances of the plains. the red man is hospitable, but suspicious. however, there was nothing about the half-frozen and unconscious pair that might have led man-afraid-of-a-bear to suppose that they were enemies. besides, their advent had added a very fine pony to the wealth of the tribe; so, without much more ado, he dragged them one after the other to the tepees. his haste was probably their salvation. heroic and weird remedies were applied to ward off frost-bite, and after a time peter many-names recovered sufficiently to eat a hearty meal. but it was days before the grip of the frost loosened from dick's brain. an old woman had taken a queer fancy to the white boy, and she nursed him patiently and fed him well long after the great storm had passed, and long after peter had begun to do his share of the hunting and other tasks which fell to the men. day after day passed, and still dick lay helpless on the pile of skins in the dusky tepee, waited on by the grim, silent old squaw, and knowing nothing of his surroundings. he fancied the indian woman was stephanie, and kept calling out to her and begging her to forgive him. "for indeed, steenie, i 'm sorry," he would cry; "and after this i will be different, dear, and try and make it up to you. i was selfish and did not think, but i loved you all the time. i never forgot you. forgive me, stephanie! stephanie, stephanie!" and so it went on, until, exhaustion brought quiet. no one noticed him much or was much interested in him. but peter many-names, after a few weeks, was counted a valuable addition to the tribe; and the pony was the swiftest of the herd. the days passed, and the prairies lay a vast field of white beneath the radiant blue of the skies. then the snow blew off the higher mounds and ridges, and only the hollows and sloughs were white. so the season advanced, through all its changes of cold, through all its shifting winds, and brilliant sun and sudden tempest. and still the old squaw tended dick, filling him with fearful herb-drinks, feeding him nobly, wrapping him close in soft skins. it was a fancy of hers that death should not have the white boy; and once having become possessed with the idea, she nursed dick as if he had been her own son, to the wonder of the tribe. and at last her care was rewarded, and the clouds cleared from his brain, though he had little hold on life for a time. but the days of weakness passed, and with them passed the last shadow of hesitation in dick's mind. he had had long hours in which to repent and think as he lay in the corner of the smoky tepee--long hours in which to realise the fulness of that mercy which had shielded him in danger and saved him from death. and he went out into the sunshine again, resolved that as soon as he was strong enough to travel he would go back to that life in which his lot had been cast. he would go south, back to the settlements, to work, and to stephanie. and the wilds should thereafter call him in vain. chapter xi. back to stephanie. that long winter spent among the indians was a bitterly hard one to dick, and taught him patience and humility in no very gentle fashion. he was anxious to put his good resolves to the test of action; but it would be some time before his strength became sufficient for the long journey back to the settlements. and accustomed as he was to the possession of perfect health, he fretted under the knowledge, and chafed against the sense of helplessness which was so new to him. "but what's the use of fidgeting over it?" he told himself over and over again. "what's the use of thinking of it even, when i 'm fit for nothing but to sit at the entrance of the tepee when the sun's warm, or to lie on the pile of skins when the weather 's bad, and eat between times? oh, but that old woman can cook things!" and indeed the old squaw, who was a person of position and influence, took care that he had plenty of food and warmth, and saw to it that no one molested him, regarding even peter with suspicion. but the rest of the tribe looked upon him merely as an appanage of peter many-names, and not a particularly creditable one at that. peter was enjoying himself thoroughly. the lean and haughty young braves, who looked down upon the white boy, were glad of his silent company; and the elders considered him a promising youth. while poor dick lay weak and restive in the old squaw's wigwam, peter was ruffling about the camp with a dozen arrogant young rascals at his tail. he was pre-eminently skilful as a hunter, and he added many ponies to the wealth of his host--ponies which were certainly never taken in trade for other articles, excepting probably an occasional bullet, or no less deadly arrows. in the genial warmth of admiration peter expanded visibly in more respects than one. while poor dick chafed under the knowledge that he was neither needed nor respected. but in time a better frame of mind came to him. "how can i win respect, even the respect of untaught indians," he thought, "when i don't deserve it? even by their standards, i 'm not of much account. why, i don't even respect myself." for a time he was downcast and discouraged, but as strength of body increased under the old squaw's care, strength of soul increased also. and he resolved that in future he would think less of his pleasure and more of his duty, in whatever way of life his lot should be cast. some of this passive resignation passed off with his weakness; and he foresaw more clearly that his whole life might be passed in struggling against just such temptations as this one to which he had yielded. but by then the keen, clean prairie had begun to do its work, and he faced his future resolutely. with surprising wisdom he did not make many far-reaching and likely-to-be-broken resolves. "i will go back to stephanie as soon as i can," he thought; "and after that i will settle down to any work i find, as near to her as possible. at present, this is enough to think of." so, with unusual patience, he set himself to wait for the return of strength and spring; while the old squaw grunted in undisguised admiration of his appetite, which bordered on the voracious. the weary weeks of cold passed slowly. at the end of march the change came, and the prairies suddenly leapt into life. the skies were softer, and full of great white clouds which sailed grandly before the wind. the long, low earthen billows were covered with grass and all the radiant flowers of spring. every depression of the soil was a slough full of green water, covered with battalions of mallards and other wild-fowl. the poplars put forth shiny leaves which glittered restlessly in the sunshine, and the meadow-larks filled the whole world with music. then dick spoke to peter many-names. "to-morrow," he said, "we will begin to get ready, and next week we will start south again. i have had enough of your plains." but peter many-names was quite comfortable, and found many and plausible objections to the idea. "very well," said dick quietly, "you stay here, and i will go alone. only you must get back my gun for me." peter stared. there was a change in his comrade--a change which he could not fathom. but the day on which dick was to start found peter ready to start with him. "you my brother," he grunted in explanation, "an' i go with you. you not quite strong yet, an' so you go alone, you get lost or starve or drown or somethin'," which was likely, though peter might have expressed it in a less uncomplimentary fashion. "i can go by myself," said dick, a little indignant, though much relieved that the indian had elected to go with him. but peter only grunted again. "i goin'," he repeated, "come back here in spring--next spring. you come along quick." many and ceremonious were the farewells between peter and his stately savage host. but the old squaw was the only one who grieved for the loss of dick; she gave him three pairs of delicately embroidered moccasins, and then stood and watched him out of sight with dull tearless sorrow. she had seen so many lads ride away in the distance; and few had ever returned. dick waved his hand to her several times, but she did not respond; only stood and looked after him with sad, dim old eyes. the two travellers were accompanied by a crony of peter's, who was to go with them to the end of the prairie-lands, and then return to the tribe with the three ponies they rode. they proceeded swiftly, and for the most part in silence; for the two indians were sparing of words, according to their wont. they rode together ahead of dick; but sometimes peter fell back and opened a brief conversation. "to-morrow we begin to see woods again," he said once, "prairie soon break up, end. then come trees, rivers, lakes. now we see whole sky; then only little bits above leaves. now we see who comes, miles an' miles away, then we see only grass, leaves, shadows, an' know less." but dick welcomed the thought that the prairies would soon end. his dreams had led him astray. he fully realised that now. but it was not in him to think of the long woodland journey that lay before them with anything but keen and somewhat wistful pleasure. the prairies were not attractive to him. they were too vast, too monotonous, too remote from the little hopes and cares of human life. but the forests were different, and he was full of longing to behold them once more in all the beauty of the early year. yet other longings were now stronger; and every night he counted that he was so much nearer to stephanie. at last the prairies were behind them, and he and peter were alone and on foot once more. it had been autumn when they passed through this country on their northward way, and now, looking back, dick could scarcely believe that in a few months such changes could have taken place in all his hopes and aims and feelings. there were changes also in his appearance. severe illness and long-continued hardship had made him taller and thinner and older. he bore himself with less light-hearted confidence, and seemed to expect less consideration. instead of being a careless boy to be guided and excused, he now gave greater promise of becoming a good man to be relied upon and trusted. the trials of that winter had been excellent moral medicine for his selfishness, and the nearness of danger and death had led him to realise something, however dimly, of his unavoidable duty to his friends, his sister, and above all, to his god. through all the splendour of the northern spring they went steadily southward. not this time was dick lost in a lazy dream of delight, though he loved the great woods more intensely than ever. the free skies were as fair to him, the winds still sang their little gipsy-songs to his heart, the green solitudes were as welcome to him as ever, but he held to his purpose firmly. and the days passed from clear dawns to tender twilight, and every day left him so much nearer to stephanie. steadily they journeyed southward, into lands of warmer sun and fuller blossom. flower gave place to promise of fruit on all the wild bushes; the birds lost their spring songs with which the woods had rung, and flitted about busily and silently. never had fairer season visited those forests, and dick was alive to every subtle shade and gradation in all the beauty about him. he noted every point that made for loveliness in the glades and ravines and waterways, he felt akin to the very bees and butterflies in their enjoyment of sun and summer. yet never did he turn from his purpose, even in thought. and neither did he rely so utterly upon the indian; who, feeling that his influence had somehow lessened, watched closely and wondered more. dick was no longer as pliable as of yore, but his moral fibre seemed to be tougher and less yielding. as the weeks passed and they proceeded farther and farther south, dick grew restless and anxious. all sorts of vague fears began to torment him, and he imagined that some disaster might have befallen stephanie. she might be ill. she might be needing him in a hundred ways, and probably had been, throughout all those long months. the thought of her in illness or trouble became as a spur to goad him on, and peter marvelled at the pace. dick was still dick, and his penitence was always deep in proportion to its tardiness. so the year went on. the wild asters showed their buds, and presently opened into golden-hearted stars, filling the forest glades with a mist of delicate purple. farther and farther south they went, while the wild sunflowers bloomed and faded, and the fair green growth became lifeless and sere with the sinking of the sap. and every day's journey brought dick so many miles nearer to stephanie. until at last, almost at the end of the autumn, they camped for the night only a few miles away from the collinson homestead. that same night, as they sat beside their little fire, peter many-names glanced at dick curiously. "you go on alone to-morrow," he said, as one stating a long-decided fact. dick looked up, almost startled that the indian should show so perfect a knowledge of his feelings. "yes, i go on alone," he answered quietly, "i go on alone--to see my sister." the indian leant forward, his eyes shining greenly in the flicker of the firelight. "yes, you go on alone, my brother," he replied in his own speech, "you go on alone, to the life of the white man. in dark houses shall you live, in hard labour shall you grow old. the white stars, the great stars of the north, the clear winds that are the breath of the great spirit, the noise of the buffalo-herd, the shrill cry of the eagle, the note of the twanging bowstring--all these shall be to you as a forgotten tongue. in the plains and the forests man sees the foot-marks of the great spirit, hears his speech in the heart, and beholds his presence in all things. and you shall know them no more." dick nodded. "i shall know them no more," he answered, a little sadly, "but i think the great spirit can be heard and known as well in my life as in yours, peter." the next day dick went on alone. he had no very distinct plan in his mind, but he was too much ashamed of himself to go directly to the homestead, and face the grave, displeased looks which he felt sure would be his portion, and deservedly so. instead, he skirted round the edges of the familiar fields, and struck upwards through that little rocky ravine which cut through the fertile acres. as he walked cautiously amongst the dead fern and bracken, stooping beneath the swinging, leafless branches, sinking knee-deep in the drifted, dead leaves, he wondered what chance he would get of speaking to stephanie. every familiar tree and fence, every detail of the ground, everything which he had known before and now saw again, gave him a feeling of half-painful pleasure which astonished him, for he had not realised that anything about the farm had grown dear to him. and the dearest thing of all--what of stephanie? he almost ran along the bottom of the narrowing ravine, brushing through the bushes, leaping the fallen and rotting trees, yet his instinct of caution kept his progress quiet. the ravine ended in a steep bank, and dick climbed up it swiftly in the deep, dead leaves, breathless, and looked, and looked again. beyond the stump fence, on the gradually rising ground, stood stephanie. her eyes and mouth had a wistful look, but she did not seem unhappy. she was standing a little turned away from the ravine, watching the distant forests beyond the farm-buildings--watching them dreamily, and a little sadly. she had neither heard nor seen dick. and he knelt in the deep leaves, and looked at her, and looked. all his shame and repentance surged upon him overwhelmingly, and kept him dumb and helpless, unable to move. everything was very quiet--quiet as only the woods can be in the late fall. once, while dick knelt there, two big, brown woodpeckers flew heavily across the fields; once some little shrill-voiced bird called suddenly from the bushes, with a distant flutter of wings, and he could hear roger's deep tones from the far, far distance, shouting directions to the farm-hands. still stephanie did not move. at last he made some involuntary sound, and she turned swiftly and saw him. he saw the light of wonder and joy flash into her clear, pale face, and sprang to his feet, calling her eagerly by name. somehow, he could never tell in what manner he cleared the barrier of the stump fence, and was beside her in an instant. "dick! dick! dick!" and then for the first time in her life stephanie fainted. chapter xii. to a goodly heritage. three years have passed, shifting from bud to blossom, from sun to snow, from promise to fulfilment, bringing with them all their store of light, and shadows only deep enough to make the brightness clearer. three times the snow has cleared from the good brown soil, three times the tender green of wheat has gladdened the eye, three times the fruitful fields have grown golden to the harvest, since dick came home. and how have these changing seasons affected dick and stephanie, and all the people at the collinson homestead? on the third of these golden autumns there were great festivities at the homestead, the occasion being no less than a barn-raising. it took place on a clear, cool, golden october day, when the woods were yellowed with softly-falling leaves, and late sunflowers and goldenrod carried on the scheme of colour, with the brave purple asters to add a last royal touch to the loveliness of nature looking forward to her winter rest. the wide fields and the forest-bordered clearing had rung all day with shouts and merriment, and the cheerful noise of willing labour, for all the o'brien family had lent their aid, and there were nine of them. and now, when the early evening had darkened down in clear grey twilight, they were all gathered in the great, low-ceilinged living-room of the homestead, brightened only by the warm flicker of flames from the logs upon the hearth. four juvenile o'briens were seated before this hearth, roasting apples, and also their own rosy faces. there was also mr. collinson, a little more grey in his hair, and, if possible, a little more genial ruddiness in his broad face than when we saw him last. mrs. collinson sat near him, plump and smiling as ever, and mrs. o'brien talked to her exhaustively. in the pauses of the general murmur of talk that filled the room, her words sounded clearly, with the full power of an incisive soprano. "and so i took the sleeves out, and turned the skirt, and now it's as good as ever for ordinary wear. and sure, my nasturtium-coloured tabinet is only for the best occasions, and so i told o'brien. but there! what sense has a man in these matters, my dear?" "and did you put the frills on again," inquired mrs. collinson, with smiling interest. and then the hum of talk arose, drowning even that penetrating soprano for a while. but soon it rose again above the other voices. "and a fine lass she is," it said, "and it's happy your roger ought to be, me dear. but dick's a fine fellow, too, by all accounts. though, as for me, william charles was always the one for my money. he 's a head on his shoulders, has that boy." whereupon a general laugh ensued. the "boy" in question, now a tall young man, was joking solemnly with the three o'brien boys. and there was stephanie, tall, and grave, and quiet, with roger beaming at her from the other side of the room, all unconscious that his face was an open book to whoever chose to read it. there was nonie o'brien, with her pink cheeks and her bright eyes, and her sweet, soft irish speech. and there also was dick. he was sitting in the shadow, grave and somewhat silent, except when nonie teased him, which she did frequently. her treatment of him was a standing joke with the two families, as was also his meekness and patience in putting up with it. he was almost less changed in the three years than were any of the other young people; still one might have seen in him a certain dreaminess and tendency to choose the easier path, which were as much characteristic of him as his deeply sunburned face and short, fair hair were characteristic of his outward appearance. yet there were many changes in him, after all. since his return from the wilds, dick had never swerved from his purpose. his shame and boyish pride yielded to stephanie's entreaties, and he accepted the work on the homestead which good mr. collinson freely offered. here he had been ever since, facing cheerfully the humdrum round of toil, turning a deaf ear and unseeing eye to the beauties and delights of the wilds, and bent upon "making it up to steenie." it had been a hard struggle at times, harder than anyone had guessed, but he had come through it well. and now he was thinking of taking up land for himself when a good opportunity should come. but the reward he had hoped for was not to be his. throughout the first year of labour he had held firmly to his purpose of somehow, at some not too distant date, making a home for stephanie. after that, he had no longer been able to shut his eyes to the little romance that she and roger were unconsciously acting. and, with an ache at his heart, he had put aside his own hopes of happiness, and merged them into hers. so mrs. collinson was to have a real daughter after all. but as she told every one, "i 've always regarded steenie as a daughter, ever since she's been here with us. so it won't make any difference in that way." and, perhaps, on this particularly merry evening, it is not to be wondered at that dick should feel a little sad; though nonie o'brien did her best to keep him in good spirits, acting on the principle that whoever is annoyed and irritated has no time to be melancholy as well. but he was gradually learning the most difficult lesson of cheerful self-effacement, and did not allow his own thoughts and feelings to spoil the cheeriness of the others. he wove wonderful indian romances for the benefit of the children; he helped mrs. collinson in a score of ways; he sang old english songs; he played games. yet he could not help being a little sad that so soon his life and stephanie's would be divided. they were as dear to each other as ever--dearer, perhaps, in view of the coming change. but now their hopes, and fears, and joys were to be no longer in unison. dick's character had deepened and strengthened much in those three years; and his affections, and the slight sorrows which came through them, had deepened and strengthened proportionately. but there was one source of help and comfort ever open to his heart--his love of nature, which should grow with his growth and strengthen with his strength as long as his life endured, and his growing faith and trust in nature's god. whenever he was in trouble or perplexity, he managed to steal a quiet hour in the forests, and always returned to his work with fresh energy and fresh confidence. so now, when the fun and noise were at their highest, he slipped from the room, and out into the quiet night. stephanie's dark eyes followed him very tenderly and proudly as he went, for still she seemed the elder of the two. "dear dick," she thought, "i know how he feels. it will be hard on him." the wilderness surrounding the farm was no longer a source of temptation to dick; it was a refuge where he might find comfort and peace. he had mastered his roving inclinations, and peter many-names' free faring no longer filled him with envy. but his struggles for victory had almost imperceptibly saddened his irresponsible, sunny nature. he was still the old dick, but with a difference--a difference that made for trustworthiness, patience, and power. the night, as he stepped from the door into the dusk quiet of the garden, was hushed and dark. very soft misty clouds were drifting across the sky, with a suggestion of ghostly trailing draperies in their movement; here and there they opened to let a star look through, but the general aspect of the slumbering world was of an infinite variety of shadow, rather than of darkness relieved by any light. in an instant, the tumult and merriment of that fire-lit room had become remote, and the great silence of the night had enclosed him as with a palpable substance. yet, as he walked down the straggling garden, with its vegetables on one side and its late flowers on the other, he was aware that the night was not as quiet as he had thought at first. from far, quiet heights of air incessant soft calls and uneasy, melancholy pipings came down to him; and he knew that the dark above him was alive with great flocks of migrating birds, calling ceaselessly to one another, travelling ceaselessly on their way. peter many-names could have told him what birds they were, from the soft, sad echoes of their notes which floated down to earth. but peter was away in unknown wildernesses, exploring on his own account; and the people at the homestead were rather glad that it should be so. dick sighed a little as he leant over the gate at the foot of the garden, watching the dim belt of grey forest before him. the memory of his time of wandering was over with him, and he had spent many such nights as this encamped with peter many-names as his only comrade. his sense of loneliness increased as he watched a far-off pallid line advancing slowly across the sky, a line which marked the edge of the field of ghostly cloud which was passing over. beyond this edge the sky was clear and dark, lighted by a few large stars. when the clouds had faded to a low, pale bank of receding vapour behind the forest, the aspect of the night changed. it grew more distinctly dark, less unreal and shadowy, while the stars seemed to shine more brilliantly in consequence. but the faint bird-calls, the elfin pipings, still floated down from the hushed heights of air. the quiet, the calm, the slow stately ascension of the stars were already soothing dick. a meteor fell with a curious, leisurely slide, from the midst of the heavens to the outermost darkness upon the horizon. he remembered how, when he and stephanie had been children, they used to watch for the falling stars, so that they might wish their dearest wish upon seeing them. "after all," he said to himself with a sudden rush of tenderness, "my greatest wish is to see her as happy as she deserves to be. roger's a good fellow, and i should be a selfish brute if i let my moping ways sadden her, god bless her!" even this little thought showed how great a change had taken place in dick's character. his thoughts turned to the limitless prairies of richest soil, to the untouched forests, to the wide beauty of lake and river, to all those fair pictures of the wilderness graven upon his heart. he thought of the clear skies, of the stinging cold, of the splendour of summer, of the fulfilment of the fall. he thought, with new insight, of the meaning hidden beneath the round of farmer's toil which now held him, of the results of that labour which he had at first given so grudgingly, of the great purpose, the divine symbolism, which may make agriculture the highest of all occupations, the most far-reaching of all labours. and then as he leant over the little gate, with eyes as dreamy as of old, some vision of a possible future did come to him. dimly, as dreams must go, he saw towns arising beside those rivers, and chimneys sending the smoke of peaceful hearts across those radiant skies. not much he saw; but it was enough to make him say in his soul with the man of ancient days: "the lot is fallen unto me in a fairground; yea, i have a goodly heritage." a goodly heritage indeed, o dick, as we of later generation know. though you knew it not, the unloved toil you faced so well went to the building of a nation. in a fair ground the lot had fallen unto you, and, standing there in the darkness, you realised the possibilities of that lot for the first time. you realised that the beauty of the wilderness must give way, and rightfully, before the wants of man; that the splendour of freedom is less than the splendour of toil; and that it lay in your hands to do your part towards the building of a future for that fair country, which hitherto you had loved ignorantly. yet, standing there beneath the still, bright stars, dick did no more than say to himself, "it 's a fine land! a fine land! and i 'm glad i 'm in a new country, and not in an old one." behind him, the door of the homestead banged open. "dick! dick!" called mrs. collinson, "where are you?" [illustration: "'dick! dick! where are you?'"] "dick!" echoed stephanie, lovingly and a little anxiously. "coming, dear lady," he answered, "coming, steenie." yet he lingered a little, while they waited for him. but it was nonie o'brien of the soft speech and the shining eyes who ran down the long path and caught him laughingly by the hand, and drew him away from his dreams into the light and cheer again. lorimer and chalmers, printers, edinburgh. beth woodburn. by maud petitt. toronto: william briggs, 29-33 richmond street west. montreal: c.w. coates. halifax: s.f. huestis. 1897. entered according to act of the parliament of canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven, by william briggs, at the department of agriculture. to my mother this my first book is lovingly dedicated. contents. chapter i. page beth at eighteen 9 chapter ii. a dream of life 21 chapter iii. whither, beth? 30 chapter iv. marie 42 chapter v. "for i love you, beth" 47 chapter vi. 'varsity 55 chapter vii. ended 64 chapter viii. the heavenly canaan 78 chapter ix. 'varsity again 95 chapter x. death 113 chapter xi. love 124 chapter xii. farewell 137 beth woodburn. chapter i. _beth at eighteen._ in the good old county of norfolk, close to the shore of lake erie, lies the pretty village of briarsfield. a village i call it, though in truth it has now advanced almost to the size and dignity of a town. here, on the brow of the hill to the north of the village (rather a retired spot, one would say, for so busy a man), at the time of which my story treats, stood the residence of dr. woodburn. it was a long, old-fashioned rough-cast house facing the east, with great wide windows on each side of the door and a veranda all the way across the front. the big lawn was quite uneven, and broken here and there by birch trees, spruces, and crazy clumps of rose-bushes, all in bloom. altogether it was a sweet, home-like old place. the view to the south showed, over the village roofs on the hill-side, the blue of lake erie outlined against the sky, while to the north stretched the open, undulating country, so often seen in western ontario. one warm june afternoon beth, the doctor's only daughter, was lounging in an attitude more careless than graceful under a birch tree. she, her father and mrs. margin, the housekeeper--familiarly known as aunt prudence--formed the whole household. beth was a little above the average height, a girlish figure, with a trifle of that awkwardness one sometimes meets in an immature girl of eighteen; a face, not what most people would call pretty, but still having a fair share of beauty. her features were, perhaps, a little too strongly outlined, but the brow was fair as a lily, and from it the great mass of dark hair was drawn back in a pleasing way. but her eyes--those earnest, grey eyes--were the most impressive of all in her unusually impressive face. they were such searching eyes, as though she had stood on the brink scanning the very infinite, and yet with a certain baffled look in them as of one who had gazed far out, but failed to pierce the gloom--a beaten, longing look. but a careless observer might have dwelt longer on the affectionate expression about her lips--a half-childish, half-womanly tenderness. beth was in one of her dreamy moods that afternoon. she was gazing away towards the north, her favorite view. she sometimes said it was prettier than the lake view. the hill on which their house stood sloped abruptly down, and a meadow, pink with clover, stretched far away to rise again in a smaller hill skirted with a bluish line of pines. there was a single cottage on the opposite side of the meadow, with white blinds and a row of sun-flowers along the wall; but beth was not absorbed in the view, and gave no heed to the book beside her. she was dreaming. she had just been reading the life of george eliot, her favorite author, and the book lay open at her picture. she had begun to love george eliot like a personal friend; she was her ideal, her model, for beth had some repute as a literary character in briarsfield. not a teacher in the village school but had marked her strong literary powers, and she was not at all slow to believe all the hopeful compliments paid her. from a child her stories had filled columns in the briarsfield _echo_, and now she was eighteen she told herself she was ready to reach out into the great literary world--a nestling longing to soar. yes, she would be famous--beth woodburn, of briarsfield. she was sure of it. she would write novels; oh, such grand novels! she would drink from the very depths of nature and human life. the stars, the daisies, sunsets, rippling waters, love and sorrow, and all the infinite chords that vibrate in the human soul--she would weave them all with warp of gold. oh, the world would see what was in her soul! she would be the bright particular star of canadian literature; and then wealth would flow in, too, and she would fix up the old home. dear old "daddy" should retire and have everything he wanted: and aunt prudence, on sweeping days, wouldn't mind moving "the trash," as she called her manuscripts. daddy wouldn't make her go to bed at ten o'clock then; she would write all night if she choose; she would have a little room on purpose, and visitors at briarsfield would pass by the old rough-cast house and point it out as beth woodburn's home, and--well, this is enough for a sample of beth's daydreams. they were very exaggerated, perhaps, and a little selfish, too; but she was not a fully-developed woman yet, and the years were to bring sweeter fruit. she had, undoubtedly, the soul of genius, but genius takes years to unfold itself. then a soft expression crossed the face of the dreamer. she leaned back, her eyes closed and a light smile played about her lips. she was thinking of one who had encouraged her so earnestly--a tall, slender youth, with light curly hair, blue eyes and a fair, almost girlish, face--too fair and delicate for the ideal of most girls: but beth admired its paleness and delicate features, and clarence mayfair had come to be often in her thoughts. she remembered quite well when the mayfairs had moved into the neighborhood and taken possession of the fine old manor beside the lake, and she had become friends with the only daughter, edith, at school, and then with clarence. clarence wrote such pretty little poems, too. this had been the foundation of their friendship, and, since their tastes and ambitions were so much alike, what if-her eyes grew brighter, and she almost fancied he was looking down into her face. oh, those eyes--hush, maiden heart, be still. she smiled at the white cloud drifting westward--a little boat-shaped cloud, with two white figures in it, sailing in the summer blue. the breeze ruffled her dark hair. there fell a long shadow on the grass beside her. "clarence--mr. mayfair! i didn't see you coming. when did you get home?" "last night. i stayed in toronto till the report of our 'exams' came out." "i see you have been successful," she replied. "allow me to congratulate you." "thank you. i hear you are coming to 'varsity this fall, miss woodburn. don't you think it quite an undertaking? i'm sure i wish you joy of the hard work." "why, i hope you are not wearying of your course in the middle of it, mr. mayfair. it is only two years till you will have your b.a." "two years' hard work, though; and, to tell the truth, a b.a. has lost its charms for me. i long to devote my life more fully to literature. that is my first ambition, you know, and i seem to be wasting so much time." "you can hardly call time spent that way wasted," she answered. "you will write all the better for it by and by." then they plunged into one of their old-time literary talks of authors and books and ambitions. beth loved these talks. there was no one else in briarsfield she could discuss these matters with like clarence. she was noticing meanwhile how much paler he looked than when she saw him last, but she admired him all the more. there are some women who love a man all the more for being delicate. it gives them better opportunities to display their womanly tenderness. beth was one of these. "by the way, i mustn't forget my errand," clarence exclaimed after a long chat. he handed her a dainty little note, an invitation to tea from his sister edith. beth accepted with pleasure. she blushed as he pressed her hand in farewell, and their eyes met. that look and touch of his went very deep--deeper than they should have gone, perhaps; but the years will tell their tale. she watched him going down the hill-side in the afternoon sunshine, then fell to dreaming again. what if, after all, she should not always stay alone with daddy? if someone else should come--and she began to picture another study where she should not have to write alone, but there should be two desks by the broad windows looking out on the lake, and somebody should-"beth! beth! come and set the tea-table. my hands is full with them cherries." beth's dream was a little rudely broken by mrs. martin's voice, but she complacently rose and went into the house. mrs. martin was a small grey-haired woman, very old-fashioned; a prim, good old soul, a little sharp-tongued, a relic of bygone days of canadian life. she had been dr. woodburn's housekeeper ever since beth could remember, and they had always called her "aunt prudence." "what did that gander-shanks of a mayfair want?" asked the old lady with a funny smile, as beth was bustling about. "oh, just come to bring an invitation to tea from edith." dr. woodburn entered as soon as tea was ready. he was the ideal father one meets in books, and if there was one thing on earth beth was proud of it was "dear daddy." he was a fine, broad-browed man, strikingly like beth, but with hair silvery long before its time. his eyes were like hers, too, though beth's face had a little shadow of gloom that did not belong to the doctor's genial countenance. it was a pleasant little tea-table to which they sat down. mrs martin always took tea with them, and as she talked over briarsfield gossip to the doctor, beth, as was her custom, looked silently out of the window upon the green sloping lawn. "well, beth, dear," said dr. woodburn, "has mrs. martin told you that young arthur grafton is coming to spend his holidays with us?" "arthur grafton! why, no!" said beth with pleased surprise. "he is coming. he may drop in any day. he graduated this spring, you know. he's a fine young man, i'm told." "oh! beth ain't got time to think about anything but that slim young mayfair, now-a-days," put in mrs. martin. "he's been out there with her most of the afternoon, and me with all them cherries to tend to." beth saw a faint shadow cross her father's face, but put it aside as fancy only and began to think of arthur. he was an old play-fellow of hers. an orphan at an early age, he had spent his childhood on his uncle's farm, just beyond the pine wood to the north of her home. her father had always taken a deep interest in him, and when the death of his uncle and aunt left him alone in the world, dr. woodburn had taken him into his home for a couple of years until he had gone away to school. arthur had written once or twice, but beth was staying with her aunt margaret, near welland, that summer, and she had seen fit, for unexplained reasons, to stop the correspondence: so the friendship had ended there. it was five years now since she had seen her old play-fellow, and she found herself wondering if he would be greatly changed. after tea beth took out her books, as usual, for an hour or two; then, about eight o'clock, with her tin-pail on her arm, started up the road for the milk. this was one of her childhood's tasks that she still took pleasure in performing. she sauntered along in the sweet june twilight past the fragrant clover meadow and through the pine wood, with the fire-flies darting beneath the boughs. some girls would have been frightened, but beth was not timid. she loved the still sweet solitude of her evening walk. the old picket gate clicked behind her at the birch farm, and she went up the path with its borders of four-o'clocks. it was arthur's old home, where he had passed his childhood at his uncle's--a great cheery old farm-house, with morning-glory vines clinging to the windows, and sun-flowers thrusting their great yellow faces over the kitchen wall. the door was open, but the kitchen empty, and she surmised that mrs. birch had not finished milking; so beth sat down on the rough bench beneath the crab-apple tree and began to dream of the olden days. there was the old chain swing where arthur used to swing her, and the cherry-trees where he filled her apron. she was seven and he was ten--but such a man in her eyes, that sun-browned, dark-eyed boy. and what a hero he was to her when she fell over the bridge, and he rescued her! he used to get angry though sometimes. dear, how he thrashed sammie jones for calling her a "little snip." arthur was good, though, very good. he used to sit in that very bench where she was sitting, and explain the sunday-school lesson to her, and say such good things. her father had told her two or three years ago of arthur's decision to be a missionary. he was going away off to palestine. "i wonder how he can do it," she thought. "he has his b.a. now, too, and he was always so clever. he must be a hero. i'm not good like that; i--i don't think i want to be so good. clarence isn't as good as that. but clarence must be good. his poetry shows it. i wonder if arthur will like clarence?" mrs. birch, with a pail of fresh milk on each arm, interrupted her reverie. beth enjoyed her walk home that night. the moon had just risen, and the pale stars peeped through the patches of white cloud that to her fancy looked like the foot-prints of angels here and there on the path of the infinite. as she neared home a sound of music thrilled her. it was only an old familiar tune, but she stopped as if in a trance. the touch seemed to fill her very soul. it was so brave and yet so tender. the music ceased; some sheep were bleating in the distance, the stars were growing brighter, and she went on toward home. she was surprised as she crossed the yard to see a tall dark-haired stranger talking to her father in the parlor. she was just passing the parlor door when he came toward her. "well, beth, my old play-mate!" "arthur!" they would have made a subject for an artist as they stood with clasped hands, the handsome dark-eyed man, the girl, in her white dress, her milk-pail on her arm, and her wondering grey eyes upturned to his. "why, beth, you look at me as if i were a spectre." "but, arthur, you're so changed! why, you're a man, now!" at which he laughed a merry laugh that echoed clear to the kitchen. beth joined her father and arthur in the parlor, and they talked the old days over again before they retired to rest. beth took out her pale blue dress again before she went to sleep. yes, she would wear that to the mayfair's next day, and there were white moss roses at the dining-room window that would just match. so thinking she laid it carefully away and slept her girl's sleep that night. chapter ii. _a dream of life._ it was late the next afternoon when beth stood before the mirror fastening the moss roses in her belt. arthur had gone away with her father to see a friend, and would not return till well on in the evening. aunt prudence gave her the customary warning about not staying late and beth went off with a lighter heart than usual. it was a delightful day. the homes all looked so cheery, and the children were playing at the gates as she went down the street. there was one her eye dwelt on more than the rest. the pigeons were strutting on the sloping roof, the cat dozed in the window-sill, and the little fair-haired girls were swinging under the cherry-tree. yes, marriage and home must be sweet after all. beth had always said she never would marry. she wanted to write stories and not have other cares. but school girls change their views sometimes. it was only a few minutes' walk to the mayfair residence beside the lake. beth was familiar with the place and scarcely noticed the great old lawn, the trees almost concealing the house: that pretty fountain yonder, the tennis ground to the south, and the great blue erie stretching far away. edith mayfair came down the walk to meet her, a light-haired, winsome creature, several years older than beth. but she looked even younger. hers was such a child-like face! it was pretty to see the way she twined her arm about beth. they had loved each other ever since the mayfairs had come to briarsfield three years ago. mr. and mrs. mayfair were sitting on the veranda. beth had always loved mrs. mayfair; she was such a bright girlish woman, in spite of her dignity and soft grey hair. mr. mayfair, too, had a calm, pleasing manner. to beth's literary mind there was something about the mayfair home that reminded her of a novel. they were wealthy people, at least supposed to be so, who had settled in briarsfield to live their lives in rural contentment. it was a pretty room of edith's that she took beth into--a pleasing confusion of curtains, books, music, and flowers, with a guitar lying on the coach. there was a photo on the little table that caught beth's attention. it was mr. ashley, the classical master in briarsfield high school, for briarsfield could boast a high school. he and edith had become very friendly, and village gossip was already linking their names. beth looked up and saw edith watching her with a smiling, blushing face. the next minute she threw both arms about beth. "can't you guess what i was going to tell you, beth, dear?" "why, edith, are you and mr. ashley--" "yes, dear. i thought you would guess." beth only hugged her by way of congratulation, and edith laughed a little hysterically. beth was used to these emotional fits of edith's. then she began to question-"when is it to be?" "september. and you will be my bridesmaid, won't you, dear?" beth promised. "oh, beth, i think marriage is the grandest institution god ever made." beth had a strange dream-like look in her eyes, and the tea-bell broke their reverie. mr. ashley had dropped in for tea, and clarence sat beside beth, with edith and her betrothed opposite. it was so pleasant and home-like, with the pink cluster of roses smiling in at the window. after tea, edith and mr. ashley seemed prepared for a _tãªte-ã -tãªte_, in which mrs. mayfair was also interested; and clarence took beth around to the conservatory to see a night-blooming cirius. it was not out yet, and so they went for a promenade through the long grounds toward the lake. beth never forgot that walk in all her life to come. somehow she did not seem herself. all her ambition and struggle seemed at rest. she was a child, a careless child, and the flowers bloomed around her, and clarence was at her side. the lake was very calm when they reached it; the stars were shining faintly, and they could see long point island like a long dark line in the distant water. "arthur is going to take me over to the island this week," said beth. they had just reached a little cliff jutting out over the water. it was, perhaps, one of the most picturesque scenes on the shores of lake erie. "wouldn't it be grand to be on this cliff and watch a thunderstorm coming up over the lake?" said beth. "you are very daring beth--miss woodburn. edith would rather hide her head under the blankets." "do you know, i really love thunderstorms," continued beth. "it is such a nice safe feeling to lie quiet and sheltered in bed and hear the thunder crash and the storm beat outside. somehow, i always feel more deeply that god is great and powerful, and that the world has a live ruler." she stopped rather suddenly. clarence never touched on religious subjects in conversation-"dear, what a ducking arthur and i got in a thunderstorm one time. we were out hazel-nutting and--" "do you always call mr. grafton arthur?" interrupted clarence, a little impatiently. "oh, yes! why, how funny it would seem to call arthur mr. grafton!" "beth"--he grew paler and his voice almost trembled,--"beth, do you love arthur grafton?" "love arthur! why, dear, no! i never thought of it. he's just like my brother. besides," she continued after a pause, "arthur is going away off somewhere to be a missionary, and i don't think i could be happy if i married a man who wasn't a writer." that was very naive of beth. she forgot clarence's literary pretensions. "then can you love me, beth? don't you see that i love you?" there was a moment's silence. their eyes met in a long, earnest look. an impulse of tenderness came over her, and she threw both arms about his neck as he clasped her to his breast. the stars were shining above and the water breaking at their feet. they understood each other without words. "oh, clarence, i am so happy, so very happy!" the night air wafted the fragrance of roses about them like incense. they walked on along the shore, happy lovers, weaving their life-dreams under the soft sky of that summer night. "i wonder if anyone else is as happy as we are, beth!" "oh, clarence, how good we ought to be! i mean to always be kinder and to try and make other people happy, too." "you are good, beth. may god bless our lives." she had never seen clarence so earnest and manly before. yes, she was very much in love, she told herself. they talked much on the way back to the house. he told her that his father was not so wealthy as many people supposed; that it would be several years before he himself could marry. but beth's brow was not clouded. she wanted her college course, and somehow clarence seemed so much more manly with a few difficulties to face. a faint sound of music greeted them as they reached the house. edith was playing her guitar. mrs. mayfair met them on the veranda. "why, clarence, how late you've kept the child out," said mrs. mayfair with a motherly air. "i'm afraid you will catch cold, miss woodburn; there is such a heavy dew!" clarence went up to his mother and said something in a low tone. a pleased look lighted her face. "i am so glad, dear beth, my daughter. i shall have another daughter in place of the one i am giving away." she drew the girl to her breast with tender affection. beth had been motherless all her life, and the caress was sweet and soothing to her. edith fastened her cape and kissed her fondly when she was going home. clarence went with her, and somehow everything was so dream-like and unreal that even the old rough-cast home looked strange and shadowy in the moon-light. it was perhaps a relief that her father had not yet returned. she was smiling and happy, but even her own little room seemed strangely unnatural that night. she stopped just inside the door and looked at it, the moonlight streaming through the open window upon her bed. was she really the same beth woodburn that had rested there last night and thought about the roses. she took them out of her belt now. a sweetly solemn feeling stole over her, and she crossed over and knelt at the window, the withered roses in her hand, her face upturned to heaven. sacred thoughts filled her mind. she had longed for love, someone to love, someone who loved her; but was she worthy, she asked herself, pure enough, good enough? she felt to-night that she was kneeling at an unseen shrine, a bride, to be decked by the holy angels in robes whiter than mortal ever saw. waves of sweet music aroused her. she started up as from a dream, recognizing at once the touch of the same hand that she had heard in the distance the night before, and it was coming from their own parlor window, right beneath hers! she held her breath almost as she stole out and leaned over the balustrade to peer into the parlor. why, it was arthur! was it possible he could play like that? she made a striking picture as she stood there on the stairs, her great grey eyes drinking in the music: but she was relieved somehow when it ceased. it was bright, quick, inspiring; but it seemed to make her forget her new-born joy while it lasted. chapter iii. _whither, beth?_ beth was lying in the hammock, watching the white clouds chase each other over the sky. her face was quite unclouded, though the morning had not passed just as she had hoped. it was the next afternoon after she had taken tea at the mayfair's, and clarence had come to see her father that morning. they had had a long talk in the study, and beth had sat in her room anxiously pulling to pieces the roses that grew at her window. after a little while she was called down. clarence was gone, and she thought her father did not look quite satisfied, though he smiled as she sat down beside him. "beth, i am sorry you are engaged so young," he said gently. "are you sure you love him, beth?" "oh, yes, papa, dear. you don't understand," and she put both arms about his neck. "i am in love, truly. believe me, i shall be happy." "clarence is delicate, too," said her father with a grave look. they were both silent for a few minutes. "but, after all, he cannot marry for three or four years to come, and you must take your college course, beth." they were silent again for a moment. "well, god bless you, beth, my darling child." there were tears in his eyes, and his voice was very gentle. he kissed her and went out to his office. what a dear old father he was! only beth wished he had looked more hopeful and enthusiastic over the change in her life. aunt prudence had been told before dinner, and she had taken it in a provokingly quiet fashion that perplexed beth. what was the matter with them all? did they think clarence the pale-faced boy that he looked? they were quite mistaken. clarence was a man. so miss beth reasoned, and the cloud passed off her brow, for, after all, matters were about as they were before. the morning had been rather pleasant, too. arthur had played some of his sweet old pieces, and then asked as a return favor to see some of her writing. she had given him several copies of the briarsfield _echo_, and he was still reading. in spite of her thoughts of clarence, she wondered now and again what arthur would think of her. would he be proud of his old play-mate? he came across the lawn at last and drew one of the chairs up beside the hammock. "i have read them all, beth, and i suppose i should be proud of you. you are talented--indeed, you are more than talented: you are a genius, i believe. but do you know, beth, i do not like your writings?" he looked at her as if it pained him to utter these words. "they are too gloomy. there is a sentimental gloom about everything you write. i don't know what the years since we parted have brought you, beth, but your writings don't seem to come from a full heart, overflowing with happiness. it seems to me that with your command of language and flowing style you might bring before your reader such sweet little homes and bright faces and sunny hearts, and that is the sweetest mission a writer has, i believe." beth watched him silently. she had not expected this from arthur. she thought he would overwhelm her with praise; and, instead, he sat there like a judge laying all her faults before her. stern critic! somehow he didn't seem just like the old arthur. "i don't like him any more," she thought. "he isn't like his old self." but somehow she could not help respecting him as she looked at him sitting there with that great wave of dark hair brushed back from his brow, and his soulful eyes fixed on something in space. he looked a little sad, too. "still, he isn't a writer like clarence," she thought, "and he doesn't know how to praise like clarence does." "but arthur," she said, finally speaking her thoughts aloud; "you speak as though i could change my way of writing merely by resolving to. i can write only as nature allows." "that's too sentimental, beth; just like your writing. you are a little bit visionary." "but there are gloomy and visionary writers as well as cheerful ones. both have their place." "i do not believe, beth, that gloom has a place in this bright earth of ours. sadness and sorrow will come, but there is sweetness in the cup as well. the clouds drift by with the hours, beth, but the blue sky stands firm throughout all time." she caught sight of clarence coming as he was speaking, and scarcely heeded his last words, but nevertheless they fastened themselves in her mind, and in after years she recalled them. clarence and arthur had never met before face to face, and somehow there was something striking about the two as they did so. arthur was only a few years older, but he looked so manly and mature beside clarence. they smiled kindly when beth introduced them, and she felt sure that they approved of each other. arthur withdrew soon, and beth wondered if he had any suspicion of the truth. once alone with her, clarence drew her to his heart in true lover-like fashion. "oh, clarence, don't! people will see you." "suppose they do. you are mine." "but you mustn't tell it, clarence. you won't, will you?" he yielded to her in a pleasant teasing fashion. "have you had a talk with your father, beth?" "yes," she answered seriously, "and i rather hoped he would take it differently." "i had hoped so, too; but, still, he doesn't oppose us, and he will become more reconciled after a while, you know, when he sees what it is to have a son. of course, he thinks us very young; but still i think we are more mature than many young people of our age." beth's face looked changed in the last twenty-four hours. she had a more satisfied, womanly look. perhaps that love-craving heart of hers had been too empty. "i have been looking at the upstair rooms at home," said clarence. "there will have to be some alterations before our marriage." "why, clarence!" she exclaimed, laughing; "you talk as though we were going off to gretna green to be married next week." "sure enough, the time is a long way off, but it's well to be looking ahead. there are two nice sunny rooms on the south side. one of them would be so nice for study and writing. it has a window looking south toward the lake, and another west. you were always fond of watching the sun set, beth. but you must come and look at them. let's see, to-day's saturday. come early next week; i shall be away over sunday, you know." "yes, you told me so last night." "did i tell you of our expected guest?" he asked, after a pause. "miss marie de vere, the daughter of an old friend of my mother's. her father was a frenchman, an aristocrat, quite wealthy, and marie is the only child, an orphan. my mother has asked her here for a few weeks." "isn't it a striking name?" said beth, "marie de vere, pretty, too. i wonder what she will be like." "i hope you will like her, beth. she makes her home in toronto, and it would be nice if you became friends. you will be a stranger in toronto, you know, next winter. how nice it will be to have you there while i am there, beth. i can see you quite often then. only i hate to have you study so hard." "oh, but then it won't hurt my brain, you know. thoughts of you will interrupt my studies so often" she said, with a coquettish smile. clarence told her some amusing anecdotes of 'varsity life, then went away early, as he was going to leave the village for a day or two. beth hurried off to the kitchen to help aunt prudence. it was unusual for her to give any attention to housework, but a new interest in domestic affairs seemed to have aroused within her to-day. the next day was sunday, and somehow it seemed unusually sacred to beth. the woodburn household was at church quite early, and beth sat gazing out of the window at the parsonage across the road. it was so home-like--a great square old brick, with a group of hollyhocks beside the study window. the services that day seemed unusually sweet, particularly the sunday-school hour. beth's attention wandered from the lesson once or twice, and she noticed arthur in the opposite corner teaching a class of little girls--little tots in white dresses. he looked so pleased and self-forgetful. beth had never seen him look like that before; and the children were open-eyed. she saw him again at the close of the sunday-school, a little light-haired creature in his arms. "why, arthur, i didn't think you were so fond of children." "oh, yes, i'm quite a grandfather, only minus the grey hair." it was beautiful walking home that afternoon in the light june breeze. she wondered what clarence was doing just then. home looked so sweet and pleasant, too, as she opened the gate, and she thought how sorry she should be to leave it to go to college in the fall. beth stayed in her room a little while, and then came down stairs. arthur was alone in the parlor, sitting by the north window, and beth sat down near. the wind had ceased, the sun was slowly sinking in the west, a flock of sheep were resting in the shadow of the elms on the distant hill-slope, and the white clouds paused in the blue as if moored by unseen hands. who has not been moved by the peace and beauty of the closing hours of a summer sabbath? arthur and beth were slow to begin conversation, for silence seemed more pleasing. "arthur, when are you going out as a missionary?" asked beth, at last. "not for three or four years yet." "where are you going, do you know?" "to the jews, at jerusalem." "are you sure you will be sent just where you want to go?" "yes, for i am going to pay my own expenses. a bachelor uncle of mine died, leaving me an annuity." "don't you dread going, though?" "dread it! no, i rejoice in it!" he said, with a radiant smile. "one has so many opportunities of doing good in a work like that." "do you always think of what you can do for others?" "that is the best way to live," he answered, a sweet smile in the depths of his dark eyes. "but don't you dread the loneliness?" "i will never leave thee nor forsake thee." "oh, arthur!"--she buried her face for a moment in the cushions, and then looked up at him with those searching grey eyes of hers--"you are brave; you are good; i wish i were, too." he looked down upon her tenderly for a moment. "but, beth, isn't your life a consecrated one--one of service?" "it is all consecrated but one thing, and i can't consecrate that." "you will never be happy till you do. beth, i am afraid you are not perfectly happy," he said, after a pause. "you do not look to be." "oh, yes, i am quite happy, very happy, and i shall be happier still by and by," she said, thinking of clarence. "but, arthur, there is one thing i can't consecrate. i am a christian, and i do mean to be good, only i can't consecrate my literary hopes and work." "oh, why not, beth? that is the very thing you should consecrate. that's the widest field you have for work. but why not surrender that, too, beth?" "oh, i don't know. i couldn't write like 'pansy' does, it isn't natural to me." "you don't need to write like 'pansy.' she has done splendid work, though, and i don't believe there is a good home where she isn't loved. but it may not be your place to be just like 'pansy.'" "no; i want to be like george eliot." a graver look crossed his face. "that is right to a certain extent. george eliot certainly had a grand intellect, but if she had only been a consecrated christian woman how infinitely greater she might have been. with such talent as hers undoubtedly was, she could have touched earth with the very tints of heaven. beth, don't you see what grand possibilities are yours, with your natural gifts and the education and culture that you will have?" "ah, yes. arthur, but then--i am drifting somehow. life is bearing me another way. i feel it within me. by-and-by i hope to be famous, and perhaps wealthy, too, but i am drifting with the years." "but it is not the part of noble men and women to drift like that, beth. you will be leaving home this fall, and life is opening up to you. do you not see there are two paths before you? which will you choose, beth? 'for self?' or 'for jesus?' the one will bring you fame and wealth, perhaps, but though you smile among the adoring crowds you will not be satisfied. the other--oh, it would make you so much happier! your books would be read at every fire-side, and beth woodburn would be a name to be loved. you are drifting--but whither, beth?" his voice was so gentle as he spoke, his smile so tender, and there was something about him so unlike any other man, she could not forget those last words. the moon-beams falling on her pillow that night mingled with her dreams, and she and clarence were alone together in a lovely island garden. it was so very beautiful--a grand temple of nature, its aisles carpeted with dewy grass, a star-gemmed heaven for its dome, a star-strewn sea all round! no mortal artist could have planned that mysteriously beautiful profusion of flowers--lily and violet, rose and oleander, palm-tree and passion-vine, and the olive branches and orange blossoms interlacing in the moon-light above them. arthur was watering the tall white lilies by the water-side and all was still with a hallowed silence they dared not break. suddenly a wild blast swept where they stood. all was desolate and bare, and clarence was gone. in a moment the bare rocks where she had stood were overwhelmed, and she was drifting far out to sea--alone! stars in the sky above--stars in the deep all round and the winds and the waters were still! and she was drifting--but whither? chapter iv. _marie._ "isn't she pretty?" "she's picturesque looking." "pretty? picturesque? i think she's ugly!" these were the varied opinions of a group of briarsfield girls who were at the station when the evening train stopped. the object of their remarks was a slender girl whom the mayfairs received with warmth. it was marie de vere--graceful, brown-eyed, with a small olive face and daintily dressed brown hair. this was the girl that beth and arthur were introduced to when they went to the mayfairs to tea a few days later. beth recalled the last evening she was there to tea. only a few days had since passed, and yet how all was changed! "do you like miss de vere?" asked clarence, after beth had enjoyed a long conversation with her. "oh, yes! i'm just delighted with her! she has such kind eyes, and she seems to understand one so well!" "you have fallen in love at first sight. the pleasure on your face makes up for the long time i have waited to get you alone. only i wish you would look at me like you looked at miss de vere just now," he said, trying to look dejected. she laughed. those little affectionate expressions always pleased her, for she wondered sometimes if clarence could be a cold and unresponsive husband. he was not a very ardent lover, and grey-eyed, intellectual beth woodburn had a love-hungering heart, though few people knew it. "do you know," said beth, "miss de vere has told me that there is a vacant room at her boarding-house. she is quite sure she can get it for me this winter. isn't she kind? i believe we shall be great friends." "yes, you will enjoy her friendship. she is a clever artist and musician, you know. edith says she lives a sort of bohemian life in toronto. her rooms are littered with music and painting and literature." "how nice! her face looks as if she had a story, too. there's something sad in her eyes." "she struck me as being remarkably lively," said clarence. "oh, yes, but there are lively people who have secret sorrows. look, there she is walking with arthur toward the lake." clarence smiled for a moment. "perhaps fate may see fit to link them together," he said. "oh, no, i don't think so! i can't imagine it." "grafton's a fine fellow, isn't he?" "i'm glad you like him so well, clarence. he's just like my brother, you know. we had such an earnest talk sunday night. he made me feel, oh, i don't know how. but do you know, my life isn't consecrated to god, clarence; is yours?" they were walking under the stars of the open night, and clarence looked thoughtful for a moment, then answered unhesitatingly: "no, beth. i settled that long ago. i don't think we need to be consecrated. so long as we are christians and live fairly consistent lives, i think that suffices. of course, with people like arthur grafton it is different. but as for us we are consecrated to art, you know, in the shape of writing. let us make the utmost of our talents." "yes, we are consecrated to art," said beth with a sigh of relief, and began talking of marie. since beth was to leave home in the fall, she did not go away during the summer, and consequently saw much of marie during the few weeks she stayed at briarsfield. it is strange how every life we come in contact with leaves its impress upon ourselves! it was certainly so with marie and beth. marie had seen so much of the world and of human life, and beth had always lived so quietly there in her own village, that now a restlessness took possession of her to get away far beyond the horizon of briarsfield. the days passed on as days will pass. clarence was home most of the time, and he and beth had many walks together in the twilight, and sometimes in the morning. what delightful walks they were in the cool of the early summer morning! there was one especially pretty spot where they used to rest along the country road-side. it was a little hill-top, with the ground sloping down on either side, then rising again in great forest-crowned hills. two oak trees, side by side, shaded them as they watched the little clouds sailing over the harvest fields. arthur was with them a great deal of the summer, and beth was occupied with preparations for leaving home. she used to talk to arthur about marie sometimes, but he disappointed her by his coldness. she fancied that he did not altogether approve of marie. chapter v. _"for i love you, beth."_ it came soon, her last sabbath at home, and the sun was sinking in the west. beth sat by her favorite window in the parlor. do you remember that last sabbath before you left home? everything, the hills outside, the pictures on the walls, even the very furniture, looked at you in mute farewell. beth leaned back in her rocker and looked through the open door into the kitchen with its maple floor, and the flames leaping up in the old cook-stove where the fire had been made for tea. she had always liked that stove with its cheery fire. then she turned her eyes to the window and noted that the early september frost had browned her favorite meadow where the clover bloomed last june, and that the maples along the road where she went for the milk every evening, were now all decked in crimson and yellow. her father was sitting at the table reading, but when she looked around she saw his eyes were fixed upon her with a tender look. poor father! he would miss her, she knew, though he tried not to let her see how much. aunt prudence, too, dear old soul, seemed sorry to have her go, but she had her own peculiar way of expressing it, namely, by getting crosser every day. she did not approve of so much "larnin'" for girls, especially when beth was "goin' to be married to that puny mayfair." aunt prudence always said her "say," as she expressed it, but she meant well and beth understood. beth was not to go until friday, and clarence was to meet her at the station. he had been called away to the city with his father on business more than a week before. arthur was with them to-day, but he was to leave on the early morning train to join a college mate. he was to be at victoria university that winter and beth expected to see him often. they had an early supper, and the september sunset streamed through the open window on the old-fashioned china tea-set. beth was disappointed after tea when her father's services were required immediately by a patient several miles away. arthur and she sat down by that same old parlor window in the hush of the coming night; a few white clouds were spread like angel wings above and the early stars were shining in the west. they were silent for a while. arthur and beth were often silent when together, but the silence was a pleasing, not an embarrassing one. "are you sorry to leave home, beth?" asked arthur. "yes, i am; and would you believe it, i thought i'd be so glad to have a change, and yet it makes me sad now the time is drawing near." they were silent again for a while. "arthur, do you know, i think it seems so hard for you to go away so far and be a missionary when you are so fond of home and home life." he smiled tenderly upon her, but she did not know the meaning of that smile then as she knew a little later. "it is my father's will," he said with a sweeter, graver smile. "beth, do you not see how your talent could be used in the mission field?" "he does not know i am going to marry clarence," she thought with a smile, "and he is going to map out a life work for a maiden lady." "no, i don't see how," she answered. "you know there is a large proportion of the world that never read such a thing as a missionary book, and that if more such books were read, missions would be better supported. now, if someone with bright talents were to write fascinating stories of arabian life or life in palestine, see how much interest would be aroused. but then you would need to live among the people and know their lives, and who would know them so well as a missionary?" beth smiled at his earnestness. "oh, no, arthur; i couldn't do that." his eyes filled in a moment with a sad, pleading look. "beth, can you refuse longer to surrender your life and your life's toil? look, beth," he said, pointing upward to the picture of christ upon the wall, "can you refuse him--can you refuse, beth?" "oh, arthur, don't," she said drooping her face. "but i _must_, beth! will you enter your father's service? once again i ask you." her eyes were turned away and she answered nothing. "beth," he said softly, "i have a more selfish reason for urging you--for i love you, beth. i have loved you since we were children together. will you be my own--my wife? it is a holy service i ask you to share. are you ready, beth?" her pale face was hidden in her hands. he touched her hair reverently. tick! tick! tick! from the old clock in the silence. then a crimson flush, and she rose with sudden violence. "oh, arthur, what _can_ you mean? i thought--you seemed my brother almost--i thought you would always be that. oh, arthur! arthur! how can you--how dare you talk so? i am clarence mayfair's promised wife." "clarence mayfair's--" the words died away on his white lips. he leaned upon the mantel-piece, and beth stood with her grey eyes fixed. his face was so deathly white. his eyes were shaded by his hand, and his brow bore the marks of strong agony. oh, he was wounded! those moments were awful in their silence. the darkness deepened in the old parlor. there was a sound of voices passing in the street. the church bell broke the stillness. softly the old calm crept over his brow, and he raised his face and looked at her with those great dark eyes--eyes of unfathomable tenderness and impenetrable fire, and she felt that her very soul stood naked before him. she trembled and sank on the couch at her side. his look was infinitely tender as he came toward her. "i have hurt you--forgive me," he said gently, and he laid his hand on her head so reverently for a moment. his white lips murmured something, but she only caught the last words, "god bless you--forever. good-bye, beth--little beth." he smiled back upon her as he left the room, but she would rather he had looked sad. that smile--she could never forget it, with its wonderful sweetness and sorrow. she sat motionless for a while after he left the room. she felt thrilled and numbed. there are moments in life when souls stand forth from their clayey frames and touch each other, forgetful of time and space. it was one of those experiences that beth had just passed through. she went to her room and crouched down at her window beneath the stars of that autumn night. poor arthur! she was so sad over it all. and he had loved her! how strange! how could it have been? loved her since they were children, he had said. she had never thought of love coming like that. and they had played together upon that meadow out there. they had grown up together, and he had even lived in her home those few years before he went to college. no, she had never dreamed of marrying arthur! but oh, he was wounded so! she had never seen him look like that before. and he had hoped that she would share his life and his labor. she thought how he had pictured her far away under the burning sun of palestine, bathing his heated brow and cheering him for fresh effort. he had pictured, perhaps, a little humble home, quiet and peaceful, somewhere amid the snow-crested mountains of the east, where he would walk with her in the cool of night-fall, under the bright stars and clear sky of that distant land. poor, mistaken arthur! she was not fitted for such a life, she thought. they were never made for each other. their ambitions were not the same. she had found her counterpart in clarence, and he understood her as arthur never could have done. arthur was a grand, good, practical man, but there was nothing of the artist-soul in him, she thought. but she had hoped that he would always be her own and clarence's friend. he was such a noble friend! and now her hope was crushed. she could never be the same to him again, she knew, and he had said farewell. "good-bye, beth--little beth," he had said, and she lingered over the last two words, "little beth." yes, she would be "little beth" to him, forever now, the little beth that he had loved and roamed with over meadow and woodland and wayside, in the sunny, bygone days. "good-bye, beth--little beth." poor arthur! chapter vi. _'varsity._ friday morning came, the last day of september, and the train whistled sharply as it steamed around the curve from briarsfield with beth at one of the car-windows. it had almost choked her to say good-bye to her father at the station, and she was still straining her eyes to catch the last glimpse of home. she could see the two poplars at the gate almost last of all, as the train bore her out into the open country. she looked through her tears at the fields and hills, the stretches of woodland and the old farm-houses, with the vines clambering over their porches, and the tomatoes ripening in the kitchen window-sills. gradually the tears dried, for there is pleasure always in travelling through western ontario, particularly on the lake-side, between hamilton and toronto. almost the first one beth saw, as the train entered toronto station, was clarence, scanning the car-windows eagerly for her face. her eyes beamed as he came toward her. she felt as if at home again. marie had secured her room for her, and beth looked around with a pleased air when the cab stopped on st. mary's street. it was a row of three-storey brick houses, all alike, but a cheery, not monotonous, row, with the maples in front, and victoria university at the end of the street. a plump, cheery landlady saw beth to her room, and, once alone, she did just what hundreds of other girls have done in her place--sat down on that big trunk and wept, and wondered what "dear old daddy" was doing. but she soon controlled herself, and looked around the room. it was a very pretty room, with rocker and table, and a book-shelf in the corner. there was a large window, too, opening to the south, with a view of st. michael's college and st. basil's church. beth realized that this room was to be her home for the coming months, and, kneeling down, she asked that the presence of christ might hallow it. she was not a very close follower of christ, but the weakest child of god never breathed a prayer unheard. it was such a pleasant treat when marie tapped at the door just before tea. it would be nice to have marie there all winter. beth looked around the tea-table at the new faces: mrs. owen, at one end of the table, decidedly stout; mr. owen, at the other end, decidedly lean. there were two sweet-faced children, a handsome, gloomy-browed lawyer, and marie at her side. the next day, clarence took beth over to 'varsity--as toronto university is popularly called--and she never forgot that bright autumn morning when she passed under the arch of carved stone into the university halls, those long halls thronged with students. clarence left her in the care of a gentle fourth-year girl. beth was taken from lecturer to lecturer until the registering was done, and then she stopped by one of the windows in the ladies' dressing-room to gaze at the beautiful autumn scenery around--the ravine, with its dark pines, and the parliament buildings beyond. beth was beginning to love the place. we must not pause long over that first year that beth spent at 'varsity. it passed like a flash to her, the days were so constantly occupied. but her memory was being stored with scenes she never forgot. it was so refreshing on the brisk, autumn mornings to walk to lectures through the crimson and yellow leaves of queen's park: and, later in the year, when the snow was falling she liked to listen to the rooks cawing among the pines behind the library. sometimes, too, she walked home alone in the weird, winter twilight from the modern language club, or from a late lecture, her mind all aglow with new thoughts. then there were the social evenings in the gymnasium, with its red, blue and white decorations, palms and promenades, and music of the orchestra, and hum of strange voices. it was all new to beth; she had seen so little of the world. there was the reception the y.w.c.a. gave to the "freshettes"--she enjoyed that, too. what kind girls they were! beth was not slow to decide that the "'varsity maid" would make a model wife, so gentle and kindly and with such a broad, progressive mind. still beth made hardly any friendships worthy of the name that first year. she was peculiar in this respect. in a crowd of girls she was apt to like all, but to love none truly. when she did make friends she came upon them suddenly, by a sort of instinct, as in the case of marie, and became so absorbed in them she forgot everyone else. this friendship with marie was another feature of her present life that pleased her. she had dropped out of sunday-school work. she thought city sunday-schools chilly, and she spent many a sunday afternoon in marie's room. she liked to sit there in the rocker by the grate fire, and listen to marie talk as she reclined in the cushions, with her dark, picturesque face. they talked of love and life and books and music, and the world and its ways, for marie was clever and thoughtful. in after years beth looked back on those sunday afternoons with a shadow of regret, for her feet found a sweeter, holier path. marie prided herself on a little tinge of scepticism, but they rarely touched on that ground. the twilight shadows gathered about the old piano in the corner, and the pictures grew dimmer on the wall, and marie would play soft love-songs on her guitar, and sometime beth would recite one of her poems. "have you finished the novel you were writing last summer, beth?" asked marie, one day. "no, there are just three more chapters, and i am going to leave them till holidays, next summer, so i can give them my full time and attention." "tell me the story." then beth sat by the fire with a dreamy look on her face and told the plot of her story. marie leaned forward, a bright, delighted sparkle in her dark eyes. beth had never interested her like that before. she felt encouraged, and marie was in raptures when she had finished. "it's just splendid! oh, beth, how clever you are; you will be famous soon. i shall be proud of your friendship." beth did not enjoy as much of the company of clarence as she had hoped during these days, though he always brought her home from church on sunday evening. marie was always with them. beth never thought of leaving her, and clarence, too, seemed to enjoy her company. beth was pleased at this; she liked to have clarence appreciate her friends. then, they three often went to the musical concerts; beth liked those concerts so much, and marie's face would fairly sparkle sometimes, and change with every wave of music. "just look! isn't marie's face grand?" said clarence one night in a concert. beth only smiled. that night she sat in the rocker opposite her mirror and looked at her own reflection. "what a grave, grey-eyed face it is!" she thought. she loved music and beautiful things, and yet she wondered why her eyes never sparkled and glowed like marie's. she wished they had more expression. and yet marie was not a pretty girl: no one would have thought for a moment of calling her pretty. but what of arthur? beth was surprised that during all this time she had seen him but once, though she lived so near to victoria. that once was in the university hall. she had studied late one afternoon, in the reading-room, after the other girls were gone, and it was just where the two corridors met that she came face to face with arthur. he stopped, and inquired about her studies and her health, and his eyes rested kindly upon her for a moment; but he did not speak to her just like the old arthur. "good-bye, beth--little beth." she recalled the words as she passed down the long, deserted hall, with its row of lights on either side. there was another thing that touched beth. it was when marie left them just before the examinations in the spring; she was going to visit some friends. sweet marie! how she would miss her. she sat by the drawing-room window waiting to bid her good-bye. it was a bright april day, with soft clouds and a mild breeze playing through the budding trees. marie came down looking so picturesque under her broad-brimmed hat, and lifted her veil to receive beth's farewell kiss. beth watched her as she crossed the lawn to the cab. clarence came hurrying up to clasp her hand at the gate. he looked paler, beth thought; she hoped he would come in, but he turned without looking at her window and hurried away. beth felt a little sad at heart; she looked at the long, empty drawing-room, and sighed faintly, then went back upstairs to her books. and what had that winter brought to beth? she had grown; she felt it within herself. her mind had stretched out over the great wide world with its millions, and even over the worlds of the sky at night, and at times she had been overwhelmed at the glory of earth's creator. yes, she had grown; but with her growth had come a restlessness; she felt as though something were giving way beneath her feet like an iceberg melting in mild waters. there was one particular night that this restlessness had been strong. she had been to the modern language club, and listened to a lecture on walt whitman, by dr. needler. she had never read any of whitman's poetry before, she did not even like it. but there were phrases and sentences here and there, sometimes of whitman's, sometimes of dr. needler's, that awakened a strange incoherent music in her soul--a new chord was struck. it was almost dark when she reached her room, at the close of a stormy winter day. she stood at her window watching the crimson and black drifts of cloud piled upon each other in the west. strife and glory she seemed to read in that sky. she thought of whitman's rugged manliness, of the way he had mingled with all classes of men--mingled with them to do them good. and beth's heart cried out within her, only to do something in this great, weary world--something to uplift, to ennoble men, to raise the lowly, to feed and to clothe the uncared for, to brighten the millions of homes, to lift men--she knew not where. this cry in beth's heart was often heard after that--to be great, to do something for others. she was growing weary of the narrow boundaries of self. she would do good, but she knew not how. she heard a hungry world crying at her feet, but she had not the bread they craved. poor, blinded bird, beating against the bars of heaven! clarence never seemed to understand her in those moods: he had no sympathy with them. alas, he had never known beth woodburn; he had understood her intellectual nature, but he had never sounded the depths of her womanly soul. he did not know she had a heart large enough to embrace the whole world, when once it was opened. poor, weak, blinded clarence! she was as much stronger than he, as the star is greater than the moth that flutters towards it. chapter vii. _ended._ june was almost over, and beth had been home a full month on that long four months' vacation that university students are privileged to enjoy. she was very ambitious when she came home that first vacation. she had conceived a fresh ideal of womanhood, a woman not only brilliantly educated and accomplished, but also a gentle queen of the home, one who thoroughly understood the work of her home. clarence was quite pleased when she began to extol cooking as an art, and dr. woodburn looked through the open kitchen-door with a smile at his daughter hidden behind a clean white apron and absorbed in the mysteries of the pastry board. aunt prudence was a little astonished, but she never would approve of beth's way of doing things--"didn't see the sense of a note-book and lead-pencil." but beth knew what she was doing in that respect. then there were so many books that beth intended to read in that vacation! marie had come to the mayfair's, too, and helped her to pass some pleasant hours. but there was something else that was holding beth's attention. it was saturday evening, and that story was almost finished, that story on which she had built so many hopes. she sat in her room with the great pile of written sheets before her, almost finished; but her head was weary, and she did not feel equal to writing the closing scene that night. she wanted it to be the most touching scene of all, and so it had to be rolled up for another week. just then the door-bell rang and mrs. ashley was announced, our old friend edith mayfair, the same sweet, fair girl under another name. they sat down by the window and had a long chat. "have you seen the new minister and his wife yet?" asked edith. "no; i heard he was going to preach to-morrow." the rev. mr. perth, as the new methodist minister, was just now occupying the attention of briarsfield. "it's interesting to have new people come to town. i wonder if they will be very nice. are they young?" asked beth. "yes. they haven't been married so very long." "edith"--beth hesitated before she finished the quietly eager enquiry--"do you still think marriage the best thing in the world?" edith gave her friend a warm embrace in reply. "yes, beth, i think it the very best thing, if god dwell in your home." "that sounds like arthur," said beth. "do you ever hear of him. where is he?" "i don't know where he is," said beth, with a half sigh. clarence walked home with beth to dinner, after church, the next morning. "how do you like the new minister?" beth asked. "oh, i think he's a clever little fellow." "so do i," said beth. "he seems to be a man of progressive ideas. i think we shall have bright, interesting sermons." marie was slightly ill that sunday, and did not come out. clarence and beth took a stroll in the moonlight. the world looked bright and beautiful beneath the stars, but clarence was quieter even than usual, and beth sighed faintly. clarence was growing strangely quiet and unconfidential. he was certainly not a demonstrative lover. perhaps, after all, love was not all she had dreamed. she had painted her dreamland too bright. she did not acknowledge this thought, even to her own soul; but her heart was a little hungry that summer night. poor beth! before another sabbath she was to know a greater pain than mere weariness. the flames were being kindled that were to scorch that poor heart of hers. it was about ten o'clock the next night when she finished her novel. somehow it gave her a grave feeling. aunt prudence was in bed, and dr. woodburn had gone out into the country to a patient, and would not return till midnight. the house was so still, and the sky and the stars so beautiful; the curtains of her open window just moved in the night air! it was all ended now--that dreamland which she had lived and loved and gave expression to on those sheets of paper. ended! and she was sitting there with her pen in her hand, her work finished, bending over it as a mother does over her child. she almost dreaded to resign it to a publisher, to cast it upon the world. and yet it would return to her, bringing her fame! she was sure of that. the last scene alone would make her famous. she could almost see the sweet earnest-eyed woman in her white robes at the altar; she could hear the sound of voices and the tread of feet; she was even conscious of the fragrance of the flowers. it was all so vivid to her! then a sudden impulse seized her. she would like so much to show it to clarence, to talk to him, and feel his sympathy. he never retired much before midnight, and it was scarcely ten minutes' walk. she would get back before her father returned, and no one would know. seizing her hat, she went quietly out. it was a freak, but then beth had freaks now and then. a great black cloud drifted over the moon, and made everything quite dark. a timid girl would have been frightened, but beth was not timid. she knew clarence was likely to be in the library, and so went around to the south side. the library window was quite close to the door of the side hall, and as beth came up the terrace, through the open window a picture met her eyes that held her spell-bound. clarence and marie were sitting side by side on the sofa, a few feet from the window. marie's dark face was drooping slightly, her cheeks flushed, and her lips just parted in a smile. there was a picture of the crucifixion on the wall above them, and rich violet curtains hanging to one side. one of marie's slender olive hands rested on the crimson cushions at her side, the other clarence was stroking with a tender touch. both were silent for a moment. then clarence spoke in a soft, low tone: "marie, i want to tell you something." "do you? then tell me." "i don't like to say it," he answered. "yes, do. tell me." "if i were not an engaged man,"--his voice seemed to tremble faintly, and his face grew paler--"i should try and win you for my wife." beth drew back a step, her young cheek colorless as death. no cry escaped her white lips, but her heart almost ceased its beating. it was only a moment she stood there, but it seemed like years. the dark, blushing girl, the weak, fair-haired youth in whom she had placed her trust, the pictures, the cushions, the curtains, every detail of the scene, seemed printed with fire upon her soul. she was stung. she had put her lips to the cup of bitterness, and her face looked wild and haggard as she turned away. only the stars above and the night wind sighing in the leaves, and a heart benumbed with pain! a tall man passed her in the shadow of the trees as she was crossing the lawn, but she paid no heed. the lights in the village homes were going out one by one as she returned up the dark, deserted street. the moon emerged from the clouds, and filled her room with a flood of unnatural light just as she entered. she threw herself upon her pillow, and a cry of pain went up from her wounded heart. she started the next instant in fear lest some one had heard. but no, there was no one near here, save that loving one who hears every moan; and beth had not learned yet that he can lull every sufferer to rest in his bosom. the house was perfectly still, and she lay there in the darkness and silence, no line changing in the rigid marble of her face. she heard her father's step pass by in the hall; then the old clock struck out the midnight hour, and still she lay in that stupor with drops of cold perspiration on her brow. suddenly a change came over her. her cheeks grew paler still, but her eyes burned. she rose and paced the room, with quick, agitated steps. "traitress! traitress!" she almost hissed through her white lips. "it is _her_ fault. it is _her_ fault. and i called her _friend_. friend! treachery!" then she sank upon her bed, exhausted by the outburst of passion, for it took but little of this to exhaust beth. she was not a passionate girl. perhaps, never in her life before had she passed through anything like passion, and she lay there now still and white, her hands folded as in death. in the meantime something else had happened at the mayfair dwelling. she had not noticed the tall man that passed her as she crossed the lawn in the darkness, but a moment later a dark figure paused on the terrace in the same spot where she had stood, and his attention was arrested by the same scene in the library. he paused but a moment before entering, but even his firm tread was unheard on the soft carpet, as he strode up the hall to the half-open curtains of the library. marie's face was still drooping, but the next instant the curtains were thrown back violently, and they both paled at the sight of the stern, dark face in the door-way. "clarence mayfair!" he cried in a voice of stern indignation. "clarence mayfair, you dare to speak words of love to that woman at your side? you! beth woodburn's promised husband?" "arthur grafton!" exclaimed clarence, and marie drew back through the violet curtains. a firm hand grasped clarence by the shoulder, and, white with fear, he stood trembling before his accuser. "wretch! unworthy wretch! and you claim _her_ hand! do you know her worth?" "in the name of heaven, grafton, don't alarm the house!" said clarence, in a terrified whisper. his lip trembled with emotion, and arthur's dark eyes flashed with fire. there was a shade of pitiful scorn in them, too. after all, what a mere boy this delicate youth looked, he thought. perhaps he was too harsh. he had only heard a sentence or two outside the window, and he might have judged too harshly. "i know it, i know i have wronged her," said clarence, in a choked voice; "but don't betray me!" there was a ring of true penitence and sorrow in the voice that touched arthur, and as he raised his face to that picture of the crucifixion on the wall, it softened gradually. "well, perhaps i am severe. may god forgive you, clarence. but it is hard for a man to see another treat the woman he--well, there, i'll say no more. only promise me you will be true to her--more worthy of her." "i will try, arthur. heaven knows i have always meant to be honorable." "then, good-bye, clarence. only you need not tell beth you have seen me to-night," said arthur, as he turned to leave; "i shall be out of briarsfield before morning." poor arthur! time had not yet healed his wound, but he was one of those brave souls who can "suffer and be still." that night, as he was passing through briarsfield on the late train, a desire had seized him to go back to the old place just once more, to walk up and down for a little while before the home of the woman he loved. he did not care to speak to her or to meet her face to face. she was another's promised wife. only to be near her home--to breathe one deep blessing upon her, and then to leave before break of day, and she would never know he had been near. he had come under cover of the darkness, and had seen her descending the great wide stairway in her white muslin dress, and going down the dark street toward the mayfairs'. after a little while he had followed, even approached the windows of clarence mayfair's home, hoping for one last look. but he had passed her in the shadow of the trees, and had only seen what filled his heart with sorrow. a meaner man would have taken advantage of the sight, and exposed his rival. but arthur had anything but a mean soul. he believed beth loved clarence, as he thought a woman should love the man to whom she gives her life. he believed that god was calling him to the mission-field alone. he had only caught a few words that clarence had said to marie, and he fancied it may, after all, have been mere nonsense. surely he could not have ceased to love beth! surely he could not be blind to her merits! arthur saw only too truly how weak, emotional and changeable clarence was, but it was not his place to interfere with those whom god had joined. so he argued to himself. but the night was passing, and beth still lay there, no tear on her cold white cheeks. the clock struck one, a knell-like sound in the night! beth lay there, her hands folded on her breast, the prayer unuttered by her still lips--one for death. the rest were sleeping quietly in their beds. they knew nothing of her suffering. they would never know. oh, if that silent messenger would but come now, and still her weary heart! they would come in the morning to look at her. yes; clarence would come, too. perhaps he would love her just a little then. perhaps he would think of her tenderly when he saw her with the white roses in her hands. oh, was there a god in heaven who could look down on her sorrow to-night, and not in pity call her home? she listened for the call that would bear her far beyond this earthly strife, where all was such tangle and confusion. she listened, but she heard it not, and the darkness deepened, the moon grew pale and the stars faded away. the house was so still! the whistle of a steam-engine broke the silence, and she saw the red light as the train swept around the curve. it was bearing arthur away, and she did not know that one who loved her had been so near! then she saw a grey gleam in the east. ah, no! she could not die. the day was coming again, and she would have to face them all. she would sit in the same place at the breakfast table. she would meet clarence again, and marie--oh--oh, she could not bear the thought of it! she sat up on her bedside with such a weary, anguished look in her eyes! then she went to kneel at the open window, where her mother had taught her to kneel long years ago. her sweet-faced, long-dead mother! when she raised her eyes again the east was all aglow with the pink and purple dawn, and the rooks were cawing in the pines across the meadow. she paced the floor for a moment or two. "yes, it must be done. i will do it," she thought. "he loves her. i will not stand in the way of his happiness. no; i had rather die." and she took a sheet of note-paper, and wrote these simple words: "dear clarence,--i do not believe you love me any more. i can never be your wife. i know your secret. i know you love marie. i have seen it often in your eyes. be happy with her, and forget me. may you be very happy, always. good-bye. beth." she took it herself to the mayfair home, knowing that her father would only think she had gone out for a morning walk. the smoke-wreaths were curling upward from the kitchen chimneys as she passed down the street, and squire mayfair looked a little surprised when she handed him her note for clarence, and turned to walk away. that sleepless, tearless night had told upon her, and she was not able to come down to breakfast. her father came in, and looked at her with a professional air. "just what i told you, beth. you've worked too hard. you need rest. that's just what's the matter," he said, in a brusque voice, as he put some medicine on the table and left the room. rest! yes, she could rest now. her work was done. she looked at the sheet of manuscript that she had taken last night to show clarence. yes, the work was done. she had reached the end of her story--the end of her prospect of marriage. ended her labor--ended her life-dream! as for clarence, he read her note without any emotion. "humph! i didn't think grafton was the fellow to make mischief so quickly. a tale-bearer! well, it's all for the best. i made a mistake. i do not love beth woodburn. i cannot understand her." beth slept, and seemed much better in the afternoon, but she was still quite pale when she went into her father's room after tea. "dear old daddy," she said, putting her arms about his neck, "you were always so kind. you never refuse me anything if you can help it. i wish you would let me go away." "why, certainly, beth, dear!" he said briskly. "isn't that just what i've been telling you? stop writing all day in that hot room up-stairs. go off and have a frolic. go and see your aunt margaret." and so it was settled that if beth were well enough she should start for welland next afternoon. she did not see clarence during the next morning. it surprised her that he sought no explanation, and before three o'clock briarsfield was a mere speck in the distance. chapter viii. _the heavenly canaan._ nearly two months later beth returned home. marie had broken off her visit abruptly, and clarence had gone away. it was a rainy saturday, and beth sat waiting for her father to finish his rounds. her visit had refreshed her, and she looked fairly well again. after all, she had so many bright prospects! she was young and talented. her novel was finished. she would read it through at once, making minor corrections, and then publish it. with all youth's hopefulness, she was sure of fame and worldly success, perhaps of wealth too. she seemed to see a rich harvest-field before her as she sat listening to the rain beat on the roof that summer afternoon. but, after all, she was not happy. somehow, life was all so hollow! so much tangle and confusion! her young feet were weary. it was not simply that her love was unreturned. that pained her far less than she would have thought. it was that her idol was shattered. only in the last few weeks had she begun to see clarence mayfair as he really was. it was a wonderfully deep insight into human nature that beth had; but she had never applied it where clarence was concerned before, and now that she did, what was it she saw?--a weak, wavering, fickle youth, with a good deal of fine sentiment, perhaps, but without firm, manly strength; ambitious, it was true, but never likely to fulfil his ambitions. the sight pained her. and yet this was the one she had exalted so, and had believed a soaring genius. true, his mind had fine fibre in it, but he who would soar must have strength as well as wings. beth saw clearly just what clarence lacked, and what can pain a woman more deeply than to know the object she has idealized is unworthy? beth had not told her father yet that all was at an end between her and clarence. she dreaded telling him that, but she knew he must have learned it from the mayfairs during her absence. she sighed as she thought of it all, and just then dr. woodburn came in and sat down on the couch beside her. they talked until the twilight of that rainy afternoon began to deepen. then they were silent for a while, and beth saw her father looking at her with a tender look in his eyes. "beth, my dear child, what is wrong between you and clarence?" she had believed she could tell him all with perfect calmness, but there was something so very gentle in his look and voice that it disarmed her, and she threw both arms about his neck, and burst into tears. "oh, father, dear, i could not marry him. it would not be right. he loves marie de vere." dr. woodburn turned away his face, tenderly stroking her hair as she leaned upon his breast. he spoke no word, but she knew what he felt. "oh, daddy, dear, don't think anything about it," she said, giving him a warm embrace as she looked up at him, smiling through her tears. "i'm not unhappy. i have so many things to think of, and i have always you, you dear old father. i love you better than anyone else on earth. i will be your own little daughter always." she pressed her arms about him more tightly, and there were tears in his eyes as he stooped to kiss her brow. beth thought of all his tenderness that night as she lay in bed, and then slept, with the rain beating on the roof overhead. it was a bright sunshiny sabbath morning when she awoke. she remembered with pleasure how much she had liked mr. perth, the new minister, that sunday. she had heard him before she went away. he had seemed such an energetic, wide-awake, inspiring man! beth liked that stamp of people. she meant to be a progressive girl. she meant to labor much and to have much success. she was quite early at church that morning, and interested herself by looking at mrs. perth, whom she had never seen before. she was a fair, slender, girlish creature--very youthful indeed for a married woman. she had a great mass of light hair, drawn back plainly from a serenely fair forehead. the fashion became her well, for, in fact, the most striking thing about her face was its simplicity and purity. she was certainly plain-looking, but beth fancied her face looked like the white cup of a lily. she had such beautiful blue eyes, too, and such a sweet smile. "i think i shall love her. i believe we shall be great friends," thought beth, after she had had an introduction to mrs. perth; and they did become fast friends. beth had seldom been at sunday-school since she left home, but an impulse seized her to go this afternoon. she was quite early, and she sat down in a seat by herself to muse awhile. she gazed at the lilies about the altar and the stained-glass windows above the organ. how long it seemed to look back to that sunday of two months ago! she shuddered slightly, and tried to change her thoughts, but she could not help going back to it. it seemed as though years had since passed. so it is always. we go about our daily tasks, and the time passes swiftly or slowly, according as our lives are active or monotonous. then a crisis comes--an upheaval--a turn in the current. it lasts but a moment, perhaps, but when we look back, years seem to have intervened. beth gave a half sigh, and concluded she was a little weary, as the people poured into the bible-class. mrs. perth came and sat beside beth. is it not strange how, in this world of formality and convention, we meet someone now and again, and there is but a look, a word, a, smile, and we feel that we have known them so long? there is something familiar in their face, and we seem to have walked beside them all along the way. it was just so with beth and mrs. perth. sweet may perth! she soon learned to call her that. beth was never to forget that sunday afternoon. mr. perth taught the bible-class. he was an enthusiastic man, reminding her somewhat of arthur. they were studying, that day, the approach of the israelites to canaan, and as mr. perth grew more earnest, beth's face wore a brighter look of interest. soon he laid aside historical retrospect, and talked of the heavenly canaan toward which christ's people were journeying, a bright land shining in the sunlight of god's love, joy in abundance, joy overflowing! he looked so happy as he talked of that divine love, changeless throughout all time, throughout all eternity--a love that never forsakes, that lulls the weary like a cradle-song, a love that satisfies even the secret longings! oh, that woman heart of hers, how it yearned, yea, hungered for a love like that love, that could tread the earth in humiliation, bearing the cross of others' guilt, dying there at calvary! she knew that old, old story well, but she drank it in like a little wondering child to-day. what were those things he promised to those who would tread the shining pathway? life, peace, rest, hope, joy of earth, joy of heaven! oh, how she longed to go with them! the tears were standing in her eyes, and her heart was beating faster. but this one thing she must do, or turn aside from the promised land of god's people. down at the feet of jesus she must lay her all. and what of that novel she had written? could she carry that over into this heavenly canaan? "the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is." hers would perish, she knew that well. highly moral, highly refined and scholarly, but what of its doubts, its shadows, its sorrows without hope, its supernatural gloom? beth was a master-artist in the field of gloom. she knew how to make her readers shudder, but would that story of hers bring more joy into the world? would it sweeten life and warm human hearts? ah, no! and yet, could she destroy it now, before its publication? could she bear the thought of it? she loved it almost as a mother loves her child. a look of indecision crossed her face. but, just then, she seemed to hear the bells of heaven ringing forth their sweet gospel call. the bright sunshine and the angel voices of a higher life seemed to break in on her soul. in a moment--she never knew how it was--she became willing to surrender all. it was hardly a year since she had said nay to arthur, when he asked her to lay her life at the feet of that same jesus of nazareth. she refused then, and even one hour ago she would still have refused; but now she would have trudged the highways, poverty-stricken, unknown and obscure, for his dear sake. she would have gone forth, like st. paul, to the uttermost ends of the earth, she felt she loved him so! there were tears in her eyes, and a new joy seemed to throb in her heart. she felt so kindly to everyone about her. was it an impulse or what? she laid her hand softly on may perth's as she sat beside her, and may, looking into her eyes, seemed to read her heart. she held her hand with a warm, loving pressure, and they were friends from that hour. even the sunlight looked more golden when beth stepped out into it that afternoon. everything had caught a tint from the pearly gates, for that hour had been a turning-point in her life. she had found the secret of life--the secret of putting self utterly into the background and living for others' happiness; and they who find that secret have the key to their own happiness. the old tinge of gloom in her grey eyes passed away, and, instead, there came into them the warmth and light of a new life. they seemed to reach out over the whole world with tender sympathy, like a deep, placid sea, with the sunlight gilding, its depths. "beth, you are growing beautiful," her father said to her one day; and there were something so reverential in his look that it touched her too deeply to make her vain. the four weeks that remained before the first of october, when she was to return to college, passed quickly. clarence did not return, and she heard that he had gone to england, intending to take his degree at cambridge. the ashleys, too, had left briarsfield, as mr. ashley had secured a principalship east of toronto. beth heard nothing more of marie, though she would so gladly have forgiven her now! beth soon became quite absorbed in her new friend, may perth. she told her one day of her fancy that her face looked like a lily-cup. mrs. perth only laughed and kissed her, in her sweet, unconscious way. beth always loved to kiss may perth's brow; it was so calm and fair, it reminded her of the white breast of a dove. just three or four days before beth was to go away, aunt prudence came into her room at a time when she was alone. "did you ever see this picture that arthur left in his room when he went away last fall?" she asked. "i don't know whether he did it himself or not." she placed it in the light and left the room. beth recognized it almost instantly. "why, it's that poem of mine that arthur liked best of all!" she thought. yes, it was the very same--the grey rocks rising one above another, the broad white shore, and the lonely cottage, with the dark storm-clouds lowering above it, and the fisherman's bride at the window, pale and anxious, her sunny hair falling about her shoulders as she peered far out across the sea--the black, storm-tossed sea--and far out among the billows the tiny speck of sail that never reached the shore. beth was no connoisseur of art, but she knew the picture before her was intensely beautiful, even sublime. there was something in it that made her _feel_. it moved her to tears even as arthur's music had done. no need to tell her both came from the same hand. besides, no one else had seen that poem but arthur. and arthur could paint like this, and yet she had said he had not an artist soul. she sighed faintly. poor arthur! perhaps, after all, she had been mistaken. and she laid the picture carefully away among her treasures. her last evening at home soon came. it was a clear, chilly night, and they had a fire in the drawing-room grate. it was so cosy to sit there with her father, resting her head on his shoulders, and watching the coals glowing in the twilight. "beth, my child, you look so much happier lately. are you really so happy?" he said, after they had been talking for a while. "oh, i think life is so very happy!" said beth, in a buoyant tone. "and when you love jesus it is so much sweeter, and somehow i like everyone so much and everybody is so kind. oh, i think life is grand!" dr. woodburn was a godly man, and his daughter's words thrilled him sweetly. he brushed away a tear she did not see, and stooped to kiss the young cheek resting on his coat-sleeve. they were silent for a few moments. "beth, my dear," he said in a softer tone, "do you know, i thought that trouble last summer--over clarence--was going to hurt you more. how is it, beth?" she hesitated a moment. "i don't believe i really loved him, father," she said, in a quiet tone, "i thought i did. i thought it was going to break my heart that night i found out he loved marie. but, somehow, i don't mind. i think it is far better as it is. oh, daddy, dear, it's so nice i can tell you things like this. i don't believe all girls can talk to their fathers this way. but i--i always wanted to be loved--and clarence was different from other people in briarsfield, you know, and i suppose i thought we were meant for each other." dr. woodburn did not answer at once. "i don't think you would have been happy with him, beth," he said, after a little. "all has been for the best. i was afraid you didn't know what love meant when you became engaged to him. it was only a school-girl's fancy." "beth, i am going to tell you something," he said a moment later, as he stroked her hair. "people believe that i always took a special interest in arthur grafton because his father saved my life when we were boys, but that was not the only reason i loved him. years ago, down along the ottawa river, lawrence grafton was pastor in the town where i had my first practice. he was a grand fellow, and we were the greatest friends. i used to take him to see my patients often. he was just the one to cheer them up. poor fellow! let's see, it's seventeen years this fall since he died. it was the first summer i was there, and lawrence had driven out into the country with me to see a sick patient. when we were coming back, he asked me to stop with him at a farm-house, where some members of his church lived. i remember the place as if i had seen it yesterday, an old red brick building, with honeysuckle climbing about the porch and cherry-trees on the lawn. the front door was open, and there was a flight of stairs right opposite, and while we waited for an answer to the bell a beautiful woman, tall and graceful, paused at the head of the stairs above us, and then came down. to my eyes she was the most beautiful woman i had ever seen, beth. she was dressed in white, and had a basket of flowers on her arm. she smiled as she came towards us. her hair was glossy-black, parted in the middle, and falling in waves about her smooth white forehead; but her eyes were her real beauty, i never saw anything like them, beth. they were such great, dark, tender eyes. they seemed to have worlds in them. it was not long before i loved florence waldon. i loved her." his voice had a strange, deep pathos in it. "she was kind to me always, but i hardly dared to hope, and one day i saw her bidding good-bye to lawrence. it was only a look and a hand-clasp, but it was a revelation to me. i kept silent about my love from that hour, and one evening lawrence came to my rooms. "'congratulate me, arthur!' he cried, in a tone that bubbled over with joy. i knew what was coming, but the merciful twilight concealed my face. 'congratulate me, arthur! i am going to marry florence waldon next month, and you must be best man.' "i did congratulate him from the depth of my heart, and i was best man at the wedding; and when their little son was born they named him arthur after me. he is the arthur grafton you have known. but poor lawrence! little arthur was only a few months old when she took sick. they called me in, and i did all i could to save her, but one night, as lawrence and i stood by her bedside--it was a wild march night, and the wind was moaning through the shutters while she slept--suddenly she opened her eyes with a bright look. "'oh, lawrence, listen, they are singing!' she cried, 'it is so beautiful; i am going home--good-bye--take care of arthur,' and she was gone." dr. woodburn paused a moment, and his breath came faster. "after that i came to briarsfield and met your mother, beth. she seemed to understand from my face that i had suffered, and after we had become friends i told her that story, that i had never told to mortal before or since till now. she was so very tender, and i saw in her face that she loved me, and by-and-by i took her to wife, and she healed over the wound with her gentle hands. she was a sweet woman, beth. god bless her memory. but the strange part of the story is, florence waldon's brother, garth, had settled on that farm over there, the other side of the pine-wood. she had two other brothers, one a talented editor in the states, the other a successful lawyer. garth, too, was a bright, original fellow; he had a high standard of farm life, and he lived up to it. he was a good man and a truly refined one, and when poor lawrence died he left little arthur--he was three years old then--to him. the dear little fellow; he looked so much like his mother. he used to come and hold you in his arms when you were in long dresses, and then, do you remember a few years later, when your own sweet mother died, how he came to comfort you and filled your lap with flowers?" yes, beth remembered it all, and the tears were running down her cheeks as she drooped her head in silence. the door-bell broke the stillness just then. dr. woodburn was wanted. bidding beth a hasty but tender good-bye, he hurried off at the call of duty. beth sat gazing at the coal-fire in silence after her father left. poor dear old father! what a touching story it was! he must have suffered so, and yet he had buried his sorrow and gone about his work with smiling face. brave, heroic soul! beth fell to picturing it all over again with that brilliant imagination of hers, until she seemed to see the tall woman, with her beautiful dark eyes and hair, coming down the stairs, just as he had seen her. she seemed to hear the march winds moan as he stepped out into the night and left the beautiful young wife, pale in death. then she went to the window and looked out at the stars in the clear sky, and the meadow tinged with the first frost of autumn; and the pine-wood to the north, with the moon hanging like a crescent of silver above it. it was there, at that window, arthur had asked her to be his wife. poor arthur! she was glad her father did not know. it would have pained him to think she had refused the son of the woman he had loved. beth lingered a little, gazing at the clear frosty scene before her, then rose with a firm look on her face and went up to her room. there was one thing more to be done before she left home to-morrow. she had resolved upon it. it was dark in her room, but she needed no light to recognize that roll of manuscript in her drawer. she hesitated a moment as she touched it tenderly. must she do it? yes, ah, yes! she could not publish that story now. just then the picture of arthur seemed to flash through her mind, reading it and tossing it down with that cold, silent look she had sometimes seen on his face. it was dark in the hall as she carried it down to the drawing-room grate. she crouched down on the hearth-rug before the coals, and a moment later the flames that played among the closely-written sheets lighted her face. nothing but a blackened parchment now for all that proud dream of fame! the room grew dark again, and only the coals cracking and snapping, and the steady ticking of the old clock on the mantel piece above her head, broke the stillness. it was done. she went to the window and knelt down. "father, i have sacrificed it for thee. take this talent thou hast given me and use it for thy honor, for i would serve thee alone, father." she slept that night with a smile on her lips. yes, friend, it was a hero's deed, and he who alone witnessed it hath sealed her brow with a light such as martyrs wear in heaven. as for the world, oh, that every book filled with dark doubts and drifting fears and shuddering gloom had perished, too, in those flames! chapter ix. _'varsity again._ in a few days beth was settled again at mrs. owen's, on st. mary's street, and tripping to her lectures as usual. marie was not there, of course, and beth knew nothing of her whereabouts. in fact, there had been a complete change of boarders. the house was filled with 'varsity girls this year, with the exception of marie's old room, a change which beth appreciated. one of the girls was a special friend of hers, a plump, dignified little creature whom most people called pretty. hers was certainly a jolly face, with those rosy cheeks and laughing brown eyes, and no one could help loving mabel clayton. she belonged to the students' volunteer movement, and as this was her last year at college, beth thought sometimes a little sorrowfully of the following autumn when she was to leave for india. beth meant to have her spend a few days at briarsfield with her next summer. but a good many things were to happen to beth before the next summer passed. a victoria student was occupying marie's old room, but as he took his meals out of the house beth never even saw him. one of the girls who saw him in the hall one day described him as "just too nice looking for anything," but beth's interest was not aroused in the stranger. that was a golden autumn for beth, the happiest by far she had ever known. she was living life under that sweet plan of beginning every day afresh, and thinking of some little act of kindness to be done. beth soon began to believe the girls of university college were the very kindest in the world; but she would have been surprised, to hear how often they remarked, "beth woodburn is always so kind!" there was another treat that she was enjoying this year, and that was dr. tracy's lectures. "i think he is an ideal man," she remarked once to mabel clayton. "i'm not in love with him, but i think he's an ideal man." mabel was an ardent admirer of dr. tracy's, too, but she could not help laughing at beth's statement. "you are such a hero-worshipper, beth!" she said. "you put a person up on a pedestal, and then endow him with all the virtues under the sun." a peculiar look crossed beth's face. she remembered one whom she had placed on the pedestal of genius, and the idol had fallen, shattered at her feet. she was still the same emotional beth. there were times when without any outward cause, seemingly from a mere overflow of happiness, she almost cried out, "oh stay, happy moment, till i drink to the full my draught of joy!" arthur's painting hung above beth's study table, and sometimes a shadow crossed her face as she looked at it. she missed the old friendship, and she wondered, too, that she never met him anywhere. beth did not go home at thanksgiving that year, and she almost regretted it the evening before. she was a little homesick for "daddy," and to dispel her loneliness she shut up her books and went to bed early. her head had scarcely touched the pillow when, hark! there was a sound of music in the drawing-room down-stairs. she rose in bed to listen, it was so like arthur's music. she was not at all familiar with the piece, but it thrilled her somehow. there was a succession, of sweet, mellow notes at first; then higher, higher, higher, broader, deeper, fuller, it was bearing her very soul away! then sweeter, softer, darker, tint of gold and touch of shadow, the tears were standing in her eyes! clearer again, and more triumphant! her lips parted as she listened. one sweet prolonged swell, and it died away. she listened for more, but all was silent. she looked out of the window at the stars in the clear sky, and the dark shadow of st. michael's tower on the snow-covered college roof, then fell back among the pillows to sleep and dream. she was walking again on the old path by the road-side at home, just as she used to go every evening for the milk. the dusk was deepening and she began to hurry, when she noticed a tall, dark figure ahead. as she drew nearer she recognized arthur's broad shoulders and well-set head. then a strange, indefinable fear seized her. she did not want to overtake him, to meet him face to face. she tried to slacken her steps, but a mysterious, resistless wind seemed to bear her forward against her will. not a leaf stirred. all was still around her, and yet that uncanny, spirit-like wind urged her on. she struggled, and although arthur never looked back, she felt that he knew all about her struggles. at last she made one mighty effort and tore herself free. she took the path on the other side of the road. it was all quiet there, and she walked on slowly. the darkness grew thicker, and she lost sight of arthur. then the country became quite new to her. there were bridges every little way--old rickety bridges, that creaked beneath her step, with holes where she caught her feet, and she could hear the great wild torrents rushing below in the darkness. she grew frightened. oh, how she wished arthur were there! then suddenly it grew lighter, and she saw that her path was turning, and lo! there was arthur! a moment more and their paths would meet. he reached the spot a few steps before her, and turning, looked at her just once, but she saw in his look that he knew all that had passed in her heart. "follow me," he said, with a tender look; and she followed in silence where the path led between the steep, high banks, where strange flowers were clinging in the dim light. she was quite content now, not frightened any longer. then the bank opened by their pathway, and he led her into a strange, sandy, desert-looking place. they entered a shadowy tent, and in the dim light she could see strange faces, to whom arthur was talking. no one noticed her, but she did not feel slighted, for though he did not look at her, she felt that he was thinking of her. then suddenly the strange faces vanished, and she was alone with arthur. he came toward her with such a beautiful smile, and there was something in his hand of bright gold--the brightest gold she had ever seen. it was a golden spear with a tiny ring on one end and a mass of chain hanging to it; but lo! when she looked around her she saw it had filled the place with a beautiful mystic light, a golden halo. then he drew her nearer, nearer to his bosom, and in a moment she felt the spear point touch her heart! an instant of pain, then it pierced her with a deep, sweet thrill. she felt it even to her finger tips. she awoke with a start, but she could almost feel that thrill even after she was awake. she could not sleep again quickly, but lay watching the stars and the moonlight growing paler on her book-case. sleep came at length, and when she awoke again it was at the sound of mr. owen's jolly "heigho! everybody up! everybody up!" this was a way he had of waking the children in good time for breakfast, and it had the merit of always arousing the boarders, too. beth naturally supposed that the musician she had heard the night before had been a caller, and so made no enquiries. the following sunday evening beth went to church alone. it was only three or four blocks up to the central, and beth was never timid. she did not look around the church much, or she would have recognized a familiar face on the east side. it was clarence mayfair's; he was paler than usual, and his light curly hair looked almost artificial in the gaslight. there was something sadder and more manly in his expression, and his eyes were fixed on beth with a reverent look. how pure she was, he thought, how serene; her brow looked as though an angel-hand had smoothed it in her slumber. she seemed to breathe a benediction on everything around her; she reminded him of an image of an angel bending in prayer, that he had seen in one of the old cathedral windows across the sea. and yet, after knowing a woman like that, he had fancied he could--even fancied he did--love marie de vere. what folly had blinded him then, he wondered? marie had her charms, to be sure, with those dark, bewitching eyes of hers, so kind and sympathetic, so bright and witty and entertaining. but there was something about marie that was fleeting, something about beth that was abiding; marie's charms bewitched while she was present and were soon forgotten, but beth's lingered in the memory and deepened with the years. it was well, after all, he thought, that marie had refused his offer of marriage that morning he received beth's note, and went to her in the heat of his passion. he was but a boy then, and yet it was only a few months ago. what was it that had changed him from boyhood to manhood so suddenly? he did not try to answer the question, but only felt conscious of the change within. he realized now that he had never known what it meant to love. marie had shed her lustre on him as she passed; beth he had never fully comprehended. he had a dim feeling that she was somehow too high for him. but would this reverence he felt for her ripen into love with the maturer years of his manhood? we never can tell the changes that time will weave in these hearts of ours. it is to be feared clarence was not a very attentive listener throughout the service that night. at the close he waited for beth in the moonlight outside, but she did not notice him till he was right beside her. "clarence!" she exclaimed, in a tone of astonishment. "why, i thought you were in england." "so i was; but i am back, you see." "i thought you were going to take a year at cambridge." "i did intend to, but i found it too expensive. besides, i thought i wouldn't bother finishing my course. i am doing some work along the journalistic line at present. i just came to toronto last night, and intend to leave tuesday or wednesday." in the first moment of her surprise she had forgotten everything except that clarence was an old friend from home; but now, as he walked beside her, it all came back like a flash--the memory of that night last summer when she had seen him last. she grew suddenly silent and embarrassed. she longed to ask him about marie; she wondered if they were engaged, and if so where she was, but she soon controlled herself and asked him about his trip to england, about his mother, about his work, about edith and everything else of possible or impossible interest. she was relieved, without knowing why, that it was only a few blocks to her boarding-place. he lingered a moment as he said good-night, and something in his look touched her a little. only the stirring of old memories. she hardly knew whether she was pleased or not to meet him again; but as she entered her room in the darkness her dream seemed to flash across her memory and a tender voice said, "follow me." clarence strolled a little way into the park, pondering on the past. he had never asked beth for an explanation of her farewell note. he naturally supposed that arthur grafton had gone directly to her that night and caused the rupture. he wondered if arthur were in love with her. then he turned suddenly and walked back by st. mary's street to yonge. the street was almost deserted; there was only one figure in sight, a tall man drawing nearer. there was no.----, where he had left beth at the door. he had just passed a few more doors when a familiar voice startled him. it was arthur grafton! clarence felt ill at ease for a moment, but arthur's tone was so kind it dispelled his embarrassment. they talked for a few moments, then parted; and clarence, looking back a moment later, saw arthur ring the bell at beth's boarding-place. a peculiar look, almost a sneer, crossed his face for a moment. "ah, he is going in to spend the evening with his beloved," he thought. and clarence resolved, then and there, not to call on beth the following day, as he had intended. but arthur proceeded absently to the room marie had formerly occupied, without the slightest idea that beth had lived in the house with him nearly two months. it was strange, but though he had seen all the other girls in the house he had never seen beth. he had not enquired her address the year before, not wishing to know. he wished to have nothing to do with clarence mayfair's promised wife. she was nothing to him. should he encourage the love he felt for another's wife? no! he had loved with all the strength of that love that comes but once to any human heart, and he had suffered as only the strong and silent can suffer; but he had resolved to bury his pain, and it had given his face a sterner look. so he lay down to rest that night all unconscious that beth was in the room just overhead; that he had heard her footsteps daily, even listened to her humming little airs to unrecognizable tunes; but the sight of clarence mayfair had aroused the past, and he did not sleep till late. the following afternoon, as beth sat studying in her room after lectures, she heard a faint tap at her door, a timid knock that in some way seemed to appeal strangely to her. she opened the door--and there stood marie! in the first moment of her surprise beth forgot everything that had separated them, and threw both arms about her in the old child-like way. she seated her in the rocker by the window and they talked of various things for a while, but beth noticed, now and then, an uneasy look in her eyes. "she has come to tell me she is going to marry clarence, and she finds it difficult, poor girl," thought beth, with a heart full of sympathy. "beth," said marie at last, "i have wronged you. i have come here to ask you to forgive me." beth belonged to the kind of people who are always silent in emergencies, so she only looked at her with her great tender eyes, in which there was no trace of resentment. "i came between you and clarence mayfair. he never loved me. it was only a fancy. i amused and interested him, i suppose. that was all. he is true to you in the depths of his heart, beth. it was my fault--all my fault. he never loved me. it was you he loved, but i encouraged him. it was wrong, i know." something seemed to choke her for a moment. "will you forgive me, beth? can you ever forgive?" she was leaning forward gracefully, her fur cape falling back from her shoulders and her dark eyes full of tears. beth threw both arms about her old friend tenderly, forgetting all the bitter thoughts she had once had. "oh, marie, dear, i love you--i love you still. of course i forgive you." then beth told her all the story of the past, and of that night when she had learned that clarence did not love her, of her wounded vanity, her mistaken belief in the genuineness of her own love for him, and her gradual awakening to the fact that it was not love after all. "then it wasn't mr. grafton at all who made the trouble?" interrupted marie. "mr. grafton? why, no! what could he have to do with it?" "oh, nothing. we thought, at least clarence thought, he made the trouble." beth looked mystified, but marie only continued in a softened tone: "i am afraid you don't know your own heart, dear beth. you will come together again, and all will be forgotten." "no, marie, never! the past was folly. all is better as it is." a pained look that beth could not fathom drifted across marie's brow. "you think so now, but you will change," she said. a knock at the door interrupted them just then, as mrs. owen announced a friend of beth's. marie kissed her gently. "good-bye, beth," she said in her sweet low voice, and there was a tender sadness in her dark eyes. beth did not know its meaning at the time, but a day was coming when she would know. beth saw nothing more of clarence during his few days in the city. she wondered sometimes if marie had seen him, but though they saw each other occasionally during the rest of the winter, neither of them mentioned his name. that week had seemed eventful in beth's eyes, but it was more eventful even than she thought. the following saturday, after tea, as beth and mabel clayton were going back upstairs, beth had seated mabel by force on the first step of the second flight to tell her some funny little story. beth was in one of her merry moods that night. beth was not a wit, but she had her vein of mirth, and the girls used to say she was growing livelier every day. the gas was not lighted in the hall, but beth had left her door open and the light shone out on the head of the stairs. a moment later they started up with their arms about each other's waist. "oh, beth, i left that note-book down stairs. wait, i'll bring it up to you." beth waited, standing in the light as her friend scampered down again. she heard the door of marie's old room open, and a tall man stepped into the hall, but as it was dark below she could not see his face. she wondered, though, why he stood so still, and she had a consciousness that someone was looking at her. arthur grafton--for it was he--stood for a moment as if stunned. there she was--beth woodburn! the woman he--hush! clarence mayfair's promised wife! she looked even beautiful as she stood there in the light, with a smile on her face and a pure white chrysanthemum at her throat. "you needn't hurry so, mabel dear. i can wait," she said as her friend approached. it was over a year since he had heard that voice, and he had tried to believe his heart was deadened to its influence; but now to-night, at the first sound, it thrilled him again with its old-time music. a moment later she closed her door and the hall was dark, and his heart began to beat faster now that he grasped the truth. he turned again to his room, filled with the soft radiance of moonlight. he leaned back in his study chair, his eyes closed; he could hear the students of st. michael's chanting an evening hymn, and an occasional cab rattled past in the street below. he noted it as we note all little details in our moments of high excitement. then a smile gradually lighted up his face. oh, sweet love! for one moment it seemed to be mastering him. she was there. hark! was that her footstep overhead? oh, to be near her--to touch her hand just once! then a stern, dark frown settled on his brow. he rose and paced the room with a sort of frenzied step. what is she to you--clarence mayfair's promised wife? arthur grafton, what is she to you? oh, that love, deep and passionate, that comes to us but once! that heart-cry of a strong soul for the one being it has enshrined! sometimes it is gratified and bears in after years its fruits, whether sweet or bitter; or again, it is crushed--blighted in one moment, perhaps--and we go forth as usual trying to smile, and the world never knows, never dreams. a few years pass and our hearts grow numb to the pain, and we say we have forgotten--that love can grow cold. cold? yes; but the cold ashes will lie there in the heart--the dust of our dead ideal! would such a fate be arthur's? no. there was no room in that great pulsing heart of his for anything that was cold--no room for the chill of forgetfulness. strive as he might, he knew he could never forget. what then remained? even in that hour a holier radiance lighted his brow. strong to bear the burdens and sorrows of others, he had learned to cast all his care upon one who had never forsaken him--even his unrequited love. he laid it on the altar of his god, to bloom afresh, a beauteous flower transplanted by the river of life, beyond the blight of envy and of care--beyond, yet near enough to earth to scatter its fragrance in blessings down upon the head of her whom he--loved! dare he say that word? yes, in a sweeter, holier sense than before, as one might love the beings of another world. his face was quite calm as he turned on the light to resume his studies, but before beginning his work he looked a little sadly around the room. yes, he had spent pleasant hours there, but he must leave, now. it was better that the same roof should not shelter them both. he did not wish to see beth woodburn again; and he just remembered that a friend of his was going to vacate a room on the other side of the park. he would take it early next week. it was a week later, one afternoon, just before tea, that beth and mabel clayton were sitting in the drawing-room with mrs. owen. "do you know any of the girls over at the college who would like to get a room, miss clayton?" "no, but i might find some one." "mr. grafton has moved out of his room for some reason, i don't know what." "mr.--whom did you say?" asked beth. "mr. grafton. did you know him? a tall, dark fellow! goes to victoria. quite good-looking!" "why, surely, can it be arthur grafton! that's just who it is! why, how funny we never met each other coming in and out!" "did you know him, beth?" asked mabel. "i met him once or twice in the halls, but i didn't know you knew him." "yes, i have known him ever since we were children." "oh, then you have heard him play," said mrs. owens. "he played for us thanksgiving eve. he's a splendid musician." beth felt just a tinge of disappointment that night as she passed the closed door of the room arthur had occupied. she wondered why he never tried to find her. it was unkind of him to break the old friendship so coldly. it was not her fault she could not love him, she thought. she could never, never do that! in fact, she did not believe she would ever love any man. "some people are not made for marriage, and i think i'm one of them." and beth sighed faintly and fell asleep. chapter x. _death._ christmas eve, and beth was home for her two weeks' holidays. it was just after tea, and she and her father thought the parlor decidedly cosy, with the curtains drawn and the candles flaming among the holly over the mantel-piece. it seemed all the cosier because of the storm that raged without. the sleet was beating against the pane, and the wind came howling across the fields. beth parted the curtains once, and peeped out at the snow-wreaths whirling and circling round. "dear! such a storm! i am glad you're not out to-night, daddy." beth came back to the fire-side, and passed her father a plate of fruit-cake she had made herself. "it's too fresh to be good, but you mustn't find any fault. just eat every bit of it down. oh, kitty, stop!" they had been cracking walnuts on the hearth-rug, and beth's pet kitten was amusing itself by scattering the shells over the carpet. beth sat down on the footstool at her father's feet. "you look well after your fall's work, beth; hard study doesn't seem to hurt you." "i believe it agrees with me, father." "did you see much of arthur while you were in toronto, beth? i was hoping you would bring him home for the christmas holidays." "no, i never saw him once." "never saw him once!" he looked at her a little sternly. "beth, what is the matter between you and arthur?" ding! the old door-bell sounded. beth drooped her head, but the bell had attracted her father's attention, and aunt prudence thrust her head into the parlor in her unceremonious way. "doctor, that brown fellow, by the mill, is wuss, an' his wife's took down, too. they think he's dyin'." "oh, daddy, i can't let you go out into this dreadful storm. let me go with you." "nonsense, child! i must go. it's a matter of life and death, perhaps. help me on with my coat, daughter, please, i've been out in worse storms than this." beth thought her father looked so brave and noble in that big otter overcoat, and his long white beard flowing down. she opened the door for him, and the hall light shone out into the snow. she shuddered as she saw him staggering in the wind and sleet, then went back into the parlor. it seemed lonely there, and she went on to the kitchen, where aunt prudence was elbow-deep in pastry. a kitchen is always a cheerful place at christmas time. beth's fears seemed quieted, and she went back to the parlor to fix another branch of holly about a picture. ding! was any one else sick, she wondered, as she went to answer the bell. she opened the door, and there stood mrs. perth! it was really she, looking so frail and fair in her furs. "why, may, dear! what are you doing out in this storm?" "oh, i'm nearly half dead, beth." she tried to laugh, but the attempt was not exactly a success. beth took her in to the fire, removed her wraps, all matted with snow, and called to aunt prudence for some hot tea. "is your father out to-night, beth?" asked may. "yes, he went away out to the browns'. but wherever have you been?" "i've been taking some christmas things to a poor family about two miles out in the country, and i didn't think the storm so very bad when i started; but i'm like the irishman with his children, i've 'more'n i want'--of sleet, at any rate. walter is away to-night, you know." "mr. perth away! where?" "oh, he went to simcoe. he has two weddings. they are friends of ours, and we didn't like to refuse. but it's mean, though," she continued, with a sweet, affected little pout; "he'll not get back till afternoon, and it's christmas, too." "oh, may dear, you'll just stay right here with us to-night, and for dinner to-morrow. isn't that just fine!" beth was dancing around her in child-like glee. mrs. perth accepted, smiling at her pleasure; and they sat on the couch, chatting. "did you say dr. woodburn had gone to the browns'." "yes, mrs. brown is sick, too." "oh, isn't it dreadful? they're so poor, too. i don't believe they've a decent bed in the house." "eight! there, the clock just struck. father ought to be back. it was only a little after six when he went out." she looked anxiously at the drawn curtains, but the sleet beating harder and harder upon the pane was her only answer. "there he is now!" she cried, as a step entered the hall, and she rushed to meet him. "oh, daddy, dear--why, father!" her voice changed to wonder and fear. his overcoat was gone and he seemed a mass of ice and snow. his beard was frozen together; his breath came with a thick, husky, sound, and he looked so pale and exhausted. she led him to the fire, and began removing his icy garments. she was too frightened to be of much use, but may's thoughtful self was flitting quietly around, preparing a hot drink and seeing that the bed was ready. he could not speak for a few minutes, and then it was only brokenly. "poor creatures! she had nothing over her but a thin quilt, and the snow blowing through the cracks; and i just took off my coat--and put it over her. i thought i could stand it." beth understood it now. he had driven home, all that long way, facing the storm, after taking off his warm fur overcoat, and he was just recovering from a severe cough, too. she trembled for its effect upon him. it went to her heart to hear his husky breathing as he sat there trembling before the fire. they got him to bed soon, and aunt prudence tramped through the storm for dr. mackay, the young doctor who had started up on the other side of the town. he came at once, and looked grave after he had made a careful examination. there had been some trouble with the heart setting in, and the excitement of his adventure in the storm had aggravated it. beth remembered his having trouble of that sort once before, and she thought she read danger in dr. mackay's face. that was a long, strange night to beth as she sat there alone by her father's bedside. he did not sleep, his breathing seemed so difficult. she had never seen him look like that before--so weak and helpless, his silvery hair falling back from his brow, his cheeks flushed, but not with health. he said nothing, but he looked at her with a pitying look sometimes. what did it all mean? where would it end? she gave him his medicine from hour to hour. the sleet beat on the window and the heavy ticking of the clock in the intervals of the storm sounded like approaching footsteps. the wind roared, and the old shutter creaked uneasily. the husky breathing continued by her side and the hours grew longer. oh, for the morning! what would the morrow bring? she had promised may to awaken her at three o'clock, but she looked so serene sleeping with a smile on her lips, that beth only kissed her softly and went back to her place. her father had fallen asleep, and it was an hour later that she heard a gentle step beside her, and may looked at her reproachfully. she went to her room and left may to watch. there was a box on her table that her father had left before he went out that evening, and then she remembered that it was christmas morning. christmas morning! there was a handsome leather-bound bible and a gold watch with a tiny diamond set in the back. she had a choked feeling as she lay down, but she was so exhausted she soon slept. it was late in the morning when she awoke, and may did not tell her of her father's fainting spell. aunt prudence was to sit up that night. the dear old housekeeper! how kind she was, beth thought. she had often been amused at the quaint, old-fashioned creature. but she was a kind old soul, in spite of her occasional sharp words. dr. woodburn continued about the same all the following day, saving that he slept more. the next day was sunday, and beth slept a little in the afternoon. when she awakened she heard dr. mackay going down the hall, and may came in to take her in her arms and kiss her. she sat down on the bed beside beth, with tears in her beautiful eyes. "beth, your father has been such a good man. he has done so much! if god should call him home to his reward, would you--would you refuse to give him up?" beth laid her head on may's shoulder, sobbing. "oh, may--is it--death?" she asked, in a hoarse whisper. "i fear so, dear." beth wept long, and may let her grief have its way for a while, then drew her nearer to her heart. "if jesus comes for him, will you say 'no'?" "his will be done," she answered, when she grew calmer. the next day lawyer graham came and stayed with dr. woodburn some time, and beth knew that all hope was past, but she wore a cheerful smile in her father's presence during the few days that followed--bright winter days, with sunshine and deep snow. the jingle of sleigh-bells and the sound of merry voices passed in the street below as she listened to the labored breathing at her side. it was the last day of the year that he raised his hand and smoothed her hair in his old-time way. "beth, i am going home. you have been a good daughter--my one great joy. god bless you, my child." he paused a moment. "you will have to teach, and i think you had better go back to college soon. you'll not miss me so much when you're working." beth pressed back her tears as she kissed him silently, and he soon fell asleep. she went to the window and looked out on it all--the clear, cold night sky with its myriads of stars, the brightly lighted windows and the snow-covered roofs of the town on the hill-slope, and the erie, a frozen line of ice in the distant moonlight. the town seemed unusually bright with lights, for it was the gay season of the year. and, oh, if she but dared to give vent to that sob rising in her throat! she turned to the sleeper again; a little later he opened his eyes with a bright smile. "in the everlasting arms," he whispered faintly, then pointed to a picture of arthur on the table. beth brought it to him. he looked at it tenderly, then gave it back to her. he tried to say something, and she bent over him to catch the words, but all was silent there; his eyes were closed, his lips set in a smile. her head sank upon his breast. "papa!" she cried. no answer, not even the sound of heartbeats. there was a noiseless step at her side, and she fell back, unconscious, into may's arms. when she came to again she was in her own room, and mr. perth was by her side. then the sense of her loss swept over her, and he let her grief have its way for a while. "my child," he said at last, bending over her. how those two words soothed her! he talked to her tenderly for a little while, and she looked much calmer when may came back. but the strain had been too much for her, and she was quite ill all the next day. she lay listening to the strange footsteps coming and going in the halls, for everyone came to take a last look at one whom all loved and honored. there was the old woman whom he had helped and encouraged, hobbling on her cane to give him a last look and blessing; there was the poor man whose children he had attended free of charge, the hand of whose dying boy he had held; there was the little ragged girl, who looked up through her tears and said, "he was good to me." then came the saddest moment beth had ever known, when they led her down for the last time to his side. she scarcely saw the crowded room, the flowers that were strewn everywhere. it was all over. the last words were said, and they led her out to the carriage. the sun was low in the west that afternoon when the perths took her to the parsonage--"home to the parsonage," as she always said after that. aunt prudence came to bid her good-bye before she went away to live with her married son, and beth never realized before how much she loved the dear old creature who had watched over her from her childhood. just once before she returned to college she went back to look at the old home, with its shutters closed and the snow-drifts on its walks. she had thought her future was to be spent there, and now where would her path be guided? "thou knowest, lord," she said faintly. chapter xi. _love._ in the soft flush of the following spring beth returned to the parsonage at briarsfield. it was so nice to see the open country again after the city streets. mr. perth met her at the station just as the sun was setting, and there was a curious smile on his face. he was a little silent on the way home, as if he had something on his mind; but evidently it was nothing unpleasant. the parsonage seemed hidden among the apple-blossoms, and mrs. perth came down the walk to meet them, looking so fair and smiling, and why--she had something white in her arms! beth bounded forward to meet her. "why, may, where did you--whose baby?" asked beth, breathless and smiling. "who does she look like?" the likeness to may perth on the little one-month-old face was unmistakable. "you naughty puss, why didn't you tell me when you wrote?" "been keeping it to surprise you," said mr. perth. "handsome baby, isn't it? just like her mother!" "what are you going to call her?" "beth." and may kissed her fondly as she led her in. what a pleasant week that was! life may be somewhat desert-like, but there is many a sweet little oasis where we can rest in the shade by the rippling water, with the flowers and the birds about us. one afternoon beth went out for a stroll by herself down toward the lake, and past the old mayfair home. the family were still in europe, and the place, she heard, was to be sold. the afternoon sunshine was beating on the closed shutters, the grass was knee-deep on the lawn and terraces, and the weeds grew tall in the flower-beds. deserted and silent! silent as that past she had buried in her soul. silent as those first throbs of her child-heart that she had once fancied meant love. that evening she and may sat by the window watching the sunset cast its glories over the lake, a great sheet of flame, softened by a wrapping of thin purplish cloud, like some lives, struggling, fiery, triumphant, but half hidden by this hazy veil of mortality. "are you going to write another story, beth?" "yes, i thought one out last fall. i shall write it as soon as i am rested." "what is it--a love story?" "yes, it's natural to me to write of love; and yet--i have never been seriously in love." may laughed softly. "do you know, i am beginning to long to love truly. i want to taste the deep of life, even if it brings me pain." it was a momentary restlessness, and she recalled these words before long. mr. perth joined them just then. he was going away for a week's holiday on the following day. "i suppose you have a supply for sunday," said mrs. perth. "yes, i have. i think he'll be a very good one. he's a volunteer missionary." "where is he going?" asked beth. "i don't know." "i should like to meet him," and beth paused before she continued, in a quiet tone, "i am going to be a missionary myself." "beth!" exclaimed mrs. perth. "i thought you were planning this," said mr. perth. "thought so? how could you tell?" asked beth. "i saw it working in your mind. you are easily read. where are you going?" "i haven't decided yet. i only just decided to go lately--one sunday afternoon this spring. i used to hate the idea." perhaps it was this little talk that made her think of arthur again that night. why had he never sent her one line, one word of sympathy in her sorrow? he was very unkind, when her father had loved him so. was that what love meant? the supply did not stay at the parsonage, and beth did not even ask his name, as she supposed it would be unfamiliar to her. the old church seemed so home-like that sunday. the first sacred notes echoed softly down the aisles; the choir took their places; then there was a moment's solemn hush,--and arthur! why, that was arthur going up into the pulpit! she could hardly repress a cry of surprise. for the moment she forgot all her coldness and indifference, and looked at him intently. he seemed changed, somehow; he was a trifle paler, but there was a delicate fineness about him she had never seen before, particularly in his eyes, a mystery of pain and sweetness, blended and ripened into a more perfect manhood. was it because arthur preached that sermon she thought it so grand? no, everybody seemed touched. and this was the small boy who had gone hazel-nutting with her, who had heard her geography, and, barefoot, carried her through the brook. but that was long, long ago. they had changed since then. before she realized it, the service was over, and the people were streaming through the door-way where arthur stood shaking hands with the acquaintances of his childhood. there was a soothed, calm expression on beth's brow, and her eyes met arthur's as he touched her hand. may thought she seemed a trifle subdued that day, especially toward evening. beth had a sort of feeling that night that she would have been content to sit there at the church window for all time. there was a border of white lilies about the altar, a sprinkling of early stars in the evening sky; solemn hush and sacred music within, and the cry of some stray night-bird without. there were gems of poetry in that sermon, too; little gleanings from nature here and there. then she remembered how she had once said arthur had not an artist-soul. was she mistaken? was he one of those men who bury their sentiments under the practical duties of every-day life? perhaps so. the next day she and may sat talking on the sofa by the window. "don't you think, may, i should make a mistake if i married a man who had no taste for literature and art?" "yes, i do. i believe in the old german proverb, 'let like and like mate together.'" was that a shadow crossed beth's face? "but, whatever you do, beth, don't marry a man who is all moonshine. a man may be literary in his tastes and yet not be devoted to a literary life. i think the greatest genius is sometimes silent; but, even when silent, he inspires others to climb the heights that duty forbade him to climb himself." "you've deep thoughts in your little head, may." and beth bent over, in lover-like fashion, to kiss the little white hand, but may had dropped into one of her light-hearted, baby moods, and playfully withdrew it. "don't go mooning like that, kissing my dirty little hands! one would think you had been falling in love." beth went for another stroll that evening. she walked past the dear old house on the hill-top. the shutters were no longer closed; last summer's flowers were blooming again by the pathway; strange children stopped their play to look at her as she passed, and there were sounds of mirth and music within. yes, that was the old home--home no longer now! there was her own old window, the white roses drooping about it in the early dew. "oh, papa! papa! look down on your little beth!" these words were in her eyes as she lifted them to the evening sky, her tears falling silently. she was following the old path by the road-side, where she used to go for the milk every evening, when a firm step startled her. "arthur! good evening. i'm so glad to see you again!" she looked beautiful for a moment, with the tears hanging from her lashes, and the smile on her face. "i called to see you at the parsonage, but you were just going up the street, so i thought i might be pardoned for coming too." they were silent for a few moments. it was so like old times to be walking there together. the early stars shone faintly; but the clouds were still pink in the west; not a leaf stirred, not a breath; no sound save a night-bird calling to its mate in the pine-wood yonder, and the bleat of lambs in the distance. presently arthur broke the silence with sweet, tender words of sorrow for her loss. "i should have written to you if i had known, but i was sick in the hospital, and i didn't--" "sick in the hospital! why, arthur, have you been ill? what was the matter?" "a light typhoid fever. i went to the wesleyan college, at montreal, after that, so i didn't even know you had come back to college." "to the wesleyan? i thought you were so attached to victoria! whatever made you leave it, arthur?" he flushed slightly, and evaded her question. "do you know, it was so funny, arthur, you roomed in the very house where i boarded last fall, and i never knew a thing about it till afterward? wasn't it odd we didn't meet?" again he made some evasive reply, and she had an odd sensation, as of something cold passing between them. he suddenly became formal, and they turned back again at the bridge where they used to sit fishing, and where beth never caught anything (just like a girl); they always went to arthur's hook. the two forgot their coldness as they walked back, and beth was disappointed that arthur had an engagement and could not come in. they lingered a moment at the gate as he bade her good-night. a delicate thrill, a something sweet and new and strange, possessed her as he pressed her hand! their eyes met for a moment. "good-bye for to-night, beth." may was singing a soft lullaby as she came up the walk. only a moment! yet what a revelation a moment may bring to these hearts of ours! a look, a touch, and something live is throbbing within! we cannot speak it. we dare not name it. for, oh, hush, 'tis a sacred hour in a woman's life. beth went straight to her room, and sat by the open window in the star-light. some boys were singing an old scotch ballad as they passed in the street below; the moon was rising silvery above the blue erie; the white petals of apple-blossoms floated downward in the night air, and in it all she saw but one face--a face with great, dark, tender eyes, that soothed her with their silence. soothed? ah, yes! she felt like a babe to-night, cradled in the arms of something, she knew not what--something holy, eternal and calm. and _this_ was love. she had craved it often--wondered how it would come to her--and it was just arthur, after all, her childhood's friend, arthur--but yet how changed! he was not the same. she felt it dimly. the arthur of her girlhood was gone. they were man and woman now. she had not known this arthur as he was now. a veil seemed to have been suddenly drawn from his face, and she saw in him--her ideal. there were tears in her eyes as she gazed heavenward. she had thought to journey to heathen lands alone, single-handed to fight the battle, and now--"arthur--arthur!" she called in a soft, sweet whisper as she drooped her smiling face. what mattered all her blind shilly-shally fancies about his nature not being poetic? there was more poetry buried in that heart of his than she had ever dreamed. "i can never, never marry arthur!" she had often told herself. she laughed now as she thought of it, and it was late before she slept, for she seemed to see those eyes looking at her in the darkness--so familiar, yet so new and changed! she awoke for a moment in the grey light just before dawn, and she could see him still; her hand yet thrilled from his touch. she heard the hoarse whistle of a steamer on the lake; the rooks were cawing in the elm-tree over the roof, and she fell asleep again. "good-morning, rip van winkle," said may, when she entered the breakfast-room. "why, is that clock--just look at the time! i forgot to wind my watch last night, and i hadn't the faintest idea what time it was when i got up this morning!" "good-bye for to-night, beth," he had said, and he was going away to-morrow morning, so he would surely come to-day. no wonder she went about with an absent smile on her face, and did everything in the craziest possible way. it was so precious, this newly-found secret of hers! she knew her own heart now. there was no possibility of her misunderstanding herself in the future. the afternoon was wearing away, and she sat waiting and listening. ding! no, that was only a beggar-woman at the door. ding, again! yes, that was arthur! then she grew frightened. how could she look into his eyes? he would read her secret there. he sat down before her, and a formal coldness seemed to paralyze them both. "i have come to bid you good-bye, miss woodburn!" miss woodburn! he had never called her that before. how cold his voice sounded in her ears! "are you going back to victoria college?" she asked. "no, to the wesleyan. are you going to spend your summer in briarsfield?" "most of it. i am going back to toronto for a week or two before 'varsity opens. my friend miss de vere is staying with some friends there. she is ill and--" "do you still call her your friend?" he interrupted, with a sarcastic smile. "why, yes!" she answered wonderingly, never dreaming that he had witnessed that same scene in the mayfair home. "you are faithful, beth," he said, looking graver. then he talked steadily of things in which neither of them had any interest. how cold and unnatural it all was! beth longed to give way to tears. in a few minutes he rose to go. he was going! arthur was going! she dared not look into his face as he touched her hand coldly. "good-bye, miss woodburn. i wish you every success next winter." she went back to the parlor and watched him--under the apple trees, white with blossom, through the gate, past the old church, around the corner--he was gone! the clock ticked away in the long, silent parlor; the sunshine slept on the grass outside; the butterflies were flitting from flower to flower, and laughing voices passed in the street, but her heart was strangely still. a numb, voiceless pain! what did it mean? had arthur changed? once he had loved her. "god have pity!" her white lips murmured. and yet that look, that touch last night--what did it mean? what folly after all! a touch, a smile, and she had woven her fond hopes together. foolish woman-heart, building her palace on the sands for next day's tide to sweep away! yet how happy she had been last night! a thrill, a throb, a dream of bliss; crushed now, all but the memory! the years might bury it all in silence, but she could never, never forget. she had laid her plans for life, sweet, unselfish plans for uplifting human lives. strange lands, strange scenes, strange faces would surround her. she would toil and smile on others, "but oh, arthur, arthur--" all through the long hours of that night she lay watching; she could not sleep. arthur was still near, the same hills surrounding them both. the stars were shining and the hoarse whistle of the steamers rent the night. perhaps they would never be so near again. would they ever meet, she wondered. perhaps not! another year, and he would be gone far across the seas, and then, "good-bye, arthur! good-bye! god be with you!" chapter xii. _farewell._ beth's summer at briarsfield parsonage passed quietly and sweetly. she had seemed a little sad at first, and may, with her woman's instinct, read more of her story than she thought, but she said nothing, though she doubled her little loving attentions. the love of woman for woman is passing sweet. but let us look at beth as she sits in the shadow of the trees in the parsonage garden. it was late in august, and beth was waiting for may to come out. do you remember the first time we saw her in the shadow of the trees on the lawn at home? it is only a little over two years ago, but yet how much she has changed! you would hardly recognize the immature girl in that gentle, sweet-faced lady in her dark mourning dress. the old gloom had drifted from her brow, and in its place was sunlight, not the sunlight of one who had never known suffering, but the gentler, sweeter light of one who had triumphed over it. it was a face that would have attracted you, that would have attracted everyone, in fact, from the black-gowned college professor to the small urchin shouting in the street. to the rejoicing it said, "let me laugh with you, for life is sweet;" to the sorrowing, "i understand, i have suffered, too. i know what you feel." just then her sweet eyes were raised to heaven in holy thought, "dear heavenly father, thou knowest everything--how i loved him. thy will be done. oh, jesus, my tender one, thou art so sweet! thou dost understand my woman's heart and satisfy even its sweet longings. resting in thy sweet presence what matter life's sorrows!" she did not notice the lattice gate open and a slender, fair-haired man pause just inside to watch her. it was clarence mayfair. there was a touching expression on his face as he looked at her. yes, she was beautiful, he thought. it was not a dream, the face that he had carried in his soul since that sunday night last fall. beth woodburn was beautiful. she was a woman now. she was only a child when they played their little drama of love there in briarsfield. the play was past now; he loved her as a man can love but one woman. and now--a shadow crossed his face--perhaps it was too late! "clarence!" exclaimed beth, as he advanced, "i'm glad to see you." and she held out her hand with an air of graceful dignity. "you have come back to visit briarsfield, i suppose. i was so surprised to see you," she continued. "yes, i am staying at mr. graham's." she noticed as he talked that he looked healthier, stronger and more manly. altogether she thought him improved. "your father and mother are still in england, i suppose," said she. "yes, they intend to stay with their relatives this winter. as for me, i shall go back to 'varsity and finish my course." "oh, are you going to teach?" "yes; there's nothing else before me," he answered, in a discouraged tone. she understood. she had heard of his father's losses, and, what grieved her still more, she had heard that clarence was turning out a literary failure. he had talent, but he had not the fresh, original genius that this age of competition demands. poor clarence! she was sorry for him. "you have been all summer in briarsfield?" he asked. "yes, but i am going to toronto to-morrow morning." "yes, i know. miss de vere told me she had sent for you." "oh, you have seen her then!" "yes, i saw her yesterday. poor girl, she'll not last long. consumption has killed all the family." beth wondered if he loved marie, and she looked at him, with her gentle, sympathetic eyes. he caught her look and winced under it. she gazed away at the glimpse of lake between the village roofs for a moment. "beth, have you forgotten the past?" he asked, in a voice abrupt but gentle. she started. she had never seen his face look so expressive. the tears rose to her eyes as she drooped her flushing face. "no, i have not forgotten." "beth, i did not love you then; i did not know what love meant--" "oh, don't speak of it! it would have been a terrible mistake!" "but, beth, can you never forgive the past? i love you _now_--i have loved you since--" "oh, hush, clarence! you _must_ not speak of love!" and she buried her face in her hands and sobbed a moment, then leaned forward slightly toward him, a tender look in her eyes. "i love another," she said, in a low gentle voice. he shielded his eyes for a moment with his fair delicate hand. it was a hard moment for them both. "i am so sorry, clarence. i know what you feel. i am sorry we ever met." he looked at her with a smile on his saddened face. "i feared it was so; but i had rather love you in vain than to win the love of any other woman. good-bye, beth." "good-bye." he lingered a moment as he touched her hand in farewell. "god bless you," she said, softly. he crossed the garden in the sunshine, and she sat watching the fleecy clouds and snatches of lake between the roofs. poor clarence! did love mean to him what it meant to her? ah, yes! she had seen the pain written on his brow. poor clarence! that night she craved a blessing upon him as she knelt beside her bed. just then he was wandering about the weed-grown lawns of his father's house, which looked more desolate than ever in the light of the full moon. it was to be sold the following spring, and he sighed as he walked on toward the lake-side. right there on that little cliff he had asked beth woodburn to be his wife, and but for that fickle faithlessness of his, who knew what might have been? and yet it was better so--better for _her_--god bless her. and the thought of her drew him heavenward that night. the next day beth was on her way to toronto to see marie. she was in a pensive mood as she sat by the car window, gazing at the farm-lands stretching far away, and the wooded hill-sides checkered by the sunlight shining through their boughs. there is always a pleasant diversion in a few hours' travel, and beth found herself drawn from her thoughts by the antics of a negro family at the other end of the car. a portly colored woman presided over them; she had "leben chilen, four dead and gone to glory," as she explained to everyone who questioned her. it was about two o'clock when beth reached toronto, and the whirr of electric cars, the rattle of cabs and the mixed noises of the city street would all have been pleasantly exciting to her young nerves but for her thoughts of marie. she wondered at her coming to the city to spend her last days, but it was quiet on grenville street, where she was staying with her friends, the bartrams. beth was, indeed, struck by the change in her friend when she entered the room. she lay there so frail and shadow-like among her pillows, her dark cheeks sunken, though flushed; but her eyes had still their old brilliancy, and there was an indefinable gentleness about her. beth seemed almost to feel it as she stooped to kiss her. the bartrams were very considerate, and left them alone together as much as possible, but marie was not in a talking mood that day. her breath came with difficulty, and she seemed content to hold beth's hand and smile upon her, sometimes through tears that gathered silently. bright, sparkling marie! they had not been wont to associate tears with her in the past. it was a pleasant room she had, suggestive of her taste--soft carpet and brightly-cushioned chairs, a tall mirror reflecting the lilies on the stand, and a glimpse of queen's park through the open window. the next day was sunday, and beth sat by marie while the others went to church. they listened quietly to the bells peal forth their morning call together, and beth noted with pleasure that it seemed to soothe marie as she lay with closed eyes and a half smile on her lips. "beth, you have been so much to me this summer. your letters were so sweet. you are a great, grand woman, beth." and she stroked beth's hair softly with her frail, wasted hand. "do you remember when i used to pride myself on my unbelief?" her breath failed her for a moment. "it is past now," she continued, with a smile. "it was one sunday; i had just read one of your letters, and i felt somehow that jesus had touched me. i am ready now. it was hard, so hard at first, to give up life, but i have learned at last to say 'his will be done.'" beth could not speak for the sob she had checked in her throat. "beth, i may not be here another sunday. i want to talk to you, dear. you remember the old days when that trouble came between you and--and clarence. i was a treacherous friend to you, beth, to ever let him speak of love to me. i was a traitor to--" "oh, hush! marie, darling, don't talk so," beth pleaded in a sobbing tone. "i _must_ speak of it, beth. i was treacherous to you. but when you know what i suffered--" her breath failed again for a moment. "i _loved_ him, beth," she whispered. "marie!" there was silence for a moment, broken only by marie's labored breathing. "i loved him, but i knew he did not love me. it was only a fancy of his. i had charmed him for the time, but i knew when i was gone his heart would go back to you--and now, beth, i am dying slowly, i ask but one thing more. i have sent for clarence. let everything be forgotten now; let me see you happy together just as it was before." "oh, hush, marie! it cannot be. it can never be. you know i told you last fall that i did not love him." "ah, but that is your pride, beth; all your pride! listen to me, beth. if i had ten years more to live, i would give them all to see you both happy and united." beth covered her face with her hands, as her tears flowed silently. "marie, i must tell you all," she said, as she bent over her. "i love another: i love arthur!" "arthur grafton!" marie exclaimed, and her breath came in quick, short gasps, and there was a pained look about her closed eyes. beth understood she was grieved for the disappointment of the man she loved. "and you, beth--are you happy? does he--arthur, i mean--love you?" she asked, with a smile. "no. he loved me once, the summer before i came to college, but he is changed now. he was in briarsfield this summer for a few days, but i saw he was changed. he was not like the same arthur--so changed and cold." she sat with a grave look in her grey eyes as marie lay watching her. "only once i thought he loved me," she continued; "one night when he looked at me and touched my hand. but the next day he was cold again, and i knew then that he didn't love me any more." marie lay for a few moments with a very thoughtful look in her eyes, but she made no remark, and, after a while, she slept from weakness and exhaustion. beth went out for a few hours next morning, and found her very much weaker when she returned. mrs. bartram said she had tired herself writing a letter. she had a wide-awake air as if she were watching for something, and her ear seemed to catch every step on the stair-way. it was toward the close of day. "hark! who's that?" she asked, starting. "only mrs. bartram. rest, dearest," said beth. but the brilliant eyes were fixed on the door, and a moment later clarence entered the room. marie still held beth's hand, but her dark eyes were fixed on clarence with a look never to be forgotten. "you have come at last," she said, then fell back on her pillows exhausted, but smiling, her eyes closed. he stood holding the frail hand she had stretched out to him, then the dark eyes opened slowly, and she gazed on him with a yearning look. "put your hand upon my forehead, i shall die happier," she said, softly. "oh, clarence, i loved you! i loved you! it can do no harm to tell you now. kiss me just once. in a moment i shall be with my god." beth had glided from the room, and left her alone with the man she loved; but in a few minutes he called her and mrs. bartram to the bed-side. marie was almost past speaking, but she stretched forth her arms to beth and drew her young head down upon her breast. there was silence for a few minutes, broken only by marie's hoarse breathing. "jesus, my redeemer," her pale lips murmured faintly, then the heart-throbs beneath beth's ear were still; the slender hand fell helpless on the counterpane; the brilliant eyes were closed; marie was gone! when beth came to look at her again she lay smiling in her white, flowing garment, a single lily in her clasped hands. poor marie! she had loved and suffered, and now it was ended. aye, but she had done more than suffer. she had refused the man she loved for his sake and for the sake of another. her sacrifice had been in vain, but the love that sacrificed itself--was that vain? ah, no! sweet, brave marie! her friends thought it a strange request of hers to be buried at briarsfield, but it was granted. her vast wealth--as she had died childless--went, by the provisions of her father's will, to a distant cousin, but her jewels she left to beth. the following afternoon mr. perth read the funeral service, and they lowered the lovely burden in the shadow of the pines at the corner of the briarsfield church-yard. there in that quiet village she had first seen him she loved. after all her gay social life she sought its quiet at last, and the stars of that summer night looked down on her new-made grave. the following day mr. perth laid a colored envelope from a large publishing firm in beth's lap. they had accepted her last story for a good round sum, accompanied by most flattering words of encouragement. as she read the commendatory words, she smiled at the thought of having at least one talent to use in her master's service. yes, beth woodburn of briarsfield would be famous after all. it was no vain dream of her childhood. four weeks passed and beth had finished her preparations for returning to college in the fall. in a few weeks she would be leaving may and the dear old parsonage, but she would be glad to be back at 'varsity again. there came a day of heavy rain, and she went out on an errand of charity for may. when she returned, late in the afternoon, she heard mr. perth talking to someone in the study, but that was nothing unusual. the rain was just ceasing, and the sun suddenly broke through the clouds, filling all the west with glory. beth went down into the garden to drink in the beauty. rugged clouds stood out like hills of fire fringed with gold, and the great sea of purple and crimson overhead died away in the soft flush of the east, while the wet foliage of the trees and gardens shone like gold beneath the clouds. it was glorious! she had never seen anything like it before. look! there were two clouds of flame parting about the sunset like a gateway into the beyond, and within all looked peaceful and golden. somehow it made her think of marie. poor marie! why had clarence's love for her been unreal? why could she not have lived and they been happy together? love and suffering! and what had love brought to her? only pain. she thought of arthur, too. perhaps he was happiest of all. he seemed to have forgotten. but she--ah, she could never forget! yet, "even so, father, for so it seemed good in thy sight." and she pulled a bunch of fall flowers from the bush at her side, careless of the rain-drops that shook on her bare head as she touched the branches. she did not know that she was being observed from the study window. "she is going to be a missionary, isn't she?" said the stranger who was talking to mr. perth. "yes; she hasn't decided her field yet, but she will make a grand one wherever she goes. she's a noble girl; i honor her." "yes, she is very noble," said the stranger slowly, as he looked at her. she would have recognized his voice if she had been within hearing, but she only pulled another spray of blossoms, without heeding the sound of the study door shutting and a step approaching her on the gravelled walk. "beth." "arthur! why, i--i thought you were in montreal!" "so, i was. i just got there a few days ago, but i turned around and came back to-day to scold you for getting your feet wet standing there in the wet grass. i knew you didn't know how to take care of yourself." there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "didn't i always take care of you when you were little?" "yes, and a nice tyrant you were!" she said, laughing, when she had recovered from her surprise, "always scolding and preaching at me." he seemed inclined to talk lightly at first, and then grew suddenly silent as they went into the drawing-room. beth felt as though he were regarding her with a sort of protecting air. what did it mean? what had brought him here so suddenly? she was growing embarrassed at his silence, when she suddenly plunged into conversation about montreal, the wesleyan college, and other topics that were farthest away from her present thought and interest. "beth," said arthur suddenly, interrupting the flow of her remarks in a gentle tone, "beth, why did you not tell me last summer that you were going to be a missionary?" she seemed startled for a moment, as he looked into her flushed face. "oh, i don't know. i--i meant to. i meant to tell you that afternoon you came here before you went away, but i didn't know you were going so soon, and i didn't tell you somehow. who told you?" "marie de vere told me," he said, gently. "she wrote to me just a few hours before she died; but i didn't get the letter till yesterday. she left it with clarence, and he couldn't find me at first." they looked at each other a moment in silence, and there was a tender smile in his eyes. then a sudden flush crimsoned her cheek. how much did he know? had marie told him that she-"beth, why did you not tell me before that you were free--that you were not another's promised wife?" his voice was gentle, very gentle. her face drooped, and her hand trembled as it lay on her black dress. he rose and bent over her, his hand resting on her shoulder. his touch thrilled her, soothed her, but she dare not raise her eyes. "i--i--didn't know it mattered--that; you cared," she stammered. "didn't know i cared!" he exclaimed; then, in a softer tone, "beth, did you think i had forgotten--that i could forget? i love you, beth. can you ever love me enough to be my wife?" she could not speak, but in her upturned face he read her answer, and his lips touched her brow reverently. closer, closer to his breast he drew her. soul open to soul, heart beating against heart! the old clock ticked in the stillness, and the crimson glow of the sunset was reflected on the parlor wall. oh, what joy was this suddenly breaking through the clouds upon them! beth was the first to break the silence. "oh, arthur, i love you so! i love you so!" she said, twining her arms passionately about his neck, as her tears fell upon his breast. it was the long pent-up cry of her loving womanhood. "but arthur, why were you so cold and strange that day we parted last summer?" "i thought you were another's intended wife. i tried to hide my love from you." his voice shook slightly as he answered. one long, lingering look into each other's eyes, and, with one thought, they knelt together beside the old couch and gave thanks to the all-loving father who had guided their paths together. that night beth lay listening as the autumn wind shook the elm-tree over the roof and drifted the clouds in dark masses across the starry sky. but the winds might rage without--aye, the storms might beat down, if they would, what did it matter? arthur was near, and the divine presence was bending over her with its shielding love. "oh, god, thou art good!" she was happy--oh, so happy! and she fell asleep with a smile on her face. the autumn passed--such a gloriously happy autumn--and christmas eve had come. the snow lay white and cold on the fields and hills about briarsfield, but in the old church all was warmth and light. a group of villagers were gathered inside, most of them from curiosity, and before the altar arthur and beth were standing side by side. beth looked very beautiful as she stood there in her white bridal robes. the church was still, sacredly still, but for the sound of mr. perth's earnest voice; and in the rear of the crowd was one face, deadly pale, but calm. it was clarence. how pure she looked, he thought. pure as the lilies hanging in clusters above her head! was she of the earth--clay, like these others about her? the very tone of her voice seemed to have caught a note from above. no, he had never been worthy of her! weak, fickle, wave-tossed soul that he was! a look of humiliation crossed his face, then a look of hope. if he had never been worthy of her hand he would be worthy at least to have loved her in vain. he would be what she would have had him be. it was over; the last words were said; the music broke forth, and the little gold band gleamed on beth's fair hand as it lay on arthur's arm. he led her down the aisle, smiling and happy. oh, joy! joy everlasting! joy linking earth to heaven! they rested that night in beth's old room at the parsonage, and as the door closed behind them they knelt together--man and wife. sacred hour! out beneath the stars of that still christmas eve was one who saw the light shine from their window as he passed and blessed them. he carried a bunch of lilies in his hand as he made his way to a long white mound in the church-yard. poor marie! he stooped and laid them in the snow, the pure white snow--pure as the dead whose grave it covered! pure as the vows he had heard breathed that night! * * * * * seven years have passed, and beth sits leaning back in a rocker by the window, in the soft bright moonlight of palestine. and what have the years brought to beth? she is famous now. her novels are among the most successful of the day. she has marked out a new line of work, and the dark-eyed jewish characters in her stories have broadened the sympathies of her world of readers. but the years have brought her something besides literary fame and success in the mission-field. by her side is a little white cot, and a little rosy-cheeked boy lies asleep upon the pillow, one hand, thrown back over his dark curls--her little arthur. there is a step beside her, and her husband bends over her with a loving look. "it is seven years to-night since we were married, beth." there are tears in her smiling eyes as she looks up into his face. "and you have never regretted?" he asks. "oh, arthur! how could i?" and she hides her face on his breast. "my wife! my joy!" he whispers, as he draws her closer. "arthur, do you remember what a silly, silly girl i used to be when i thought you had not enough of the artist-soul to understand my nature? and here, if i hadn't had you to criticise and encourage me, i'd never have succeeded as well as i have." he only kisses her for reply, and they look out over the flat-roofed city in the moonlight. peace! peace! sweet peace! "not as the world giveth, give i unto you." and the stars are shining down upon them in their love. and so, dear beth, farewell! the evening shadows lengthen as i write, but there is another to whom we must bid farewell. it is clarence. father and mother are both dead, and in one of the quiet parts of toronto he lives, unmarried, in his comfortable rooms. the years have brought him a greater measure of success than once he had hoped. the sorrow he has so bravely hidden has perhaps enabled him to touch some chord in the human hearts of his readers. at any rate, he has a good round income now. edith's children come often to twine their arms about his neck; but there are other children who love him, too. down in the dark, narrow streets of the city there is many a bare, desolate home that he has cheered with warmth and comfort, many a humble fireside where the little ones listen for his step, many little hands and feet protected from the cold by his benefactions. but no matter how lowly the house, he always leaves behind some trace of his artistic nature--a picture or a bunch of flowers, something suggestive of the beautiful, the ideal. sometimes, when the little ones playing about him lisp their childish praises, a softness fills his eyes and he thinks of one who is far away. blessed be her footsteps! but he is not sad long. no, he is the genial, jolly bachelor, whom everybody loves, so unlike the clarence of long ago; and so farewell, brave heart--fare thee well! this file was produced from images generously made available by the canadian institute for historical microreproductions. lady mary and her nurse; or, a peep into the canadian forest. by mrs. traill contents chapter i. the flying squirrel--its food--story of a wolf--indian village--wild rice chapter ii. sleighing--sleigh robes--fur caps--otter skins--old snow-storm--otter hunting--otter slides--indian names--remarks on wild animals and their habits chapter iii. part i.--lady mary reads to mrs. frazer the first part of the history of the squirrel family part ii.--which tells how the grey squirrels get on while they remained on pine island--how they behaved to their poor relations, the chitmunks-and what happened to them in the forest part iii.--how the squirrels got to the mill at the rapids--and what happened to velvet-paw chapter iv. squirrels--the chitmunks--docility of a pet one--roguery of a yankee pedlar--return of the musical chitmunk to his master's bosom--sagacity of a black squirrel chapter v. indian baskets--thread--plants--maple sugar-tree--indian ornamental works --racoons chapter vi. canadian flowers--american porcupine--canadian birds--snow sparrow-robin red-breast chapter vii. indian bag--indian embroidery--beaver's tail--beaver architecture--habits of the beaver--beaver tools--beaver meadows chapter viii. indian boy and his pets--tame beaver at home--kitten, wildfire--pet racoon and the spaniel puppies--canadian flora chapter ix. nurse tells lady mary about a little boy who was eaten by a bear in the province of new brunswick--of a baby that was carried away, but taken alive--a walk in the garden--humming birds--canadian balsams chapter x. aurora borealis, or northern lights, most frequently seen in northern climates--called merry dancers--rose tints--tint-like appearance--lady mary frightened chapter xi strawberries--canadian wild fruits--wild raspberries--the hunter and the lost child--cranberries--cranberry marshes--nuts chapter xii garter snakes--rattle snakes--anecdote of a little boy--fisherman and snake--snake charmers--spiders--land tortoise chapter xiii ellen and her pet pawns--docility of pan--jack's droll tricks-affectionate wolf--fall flowers--departure of lady mary--the end a peep into the canadian forest. chapter i. the flying squirrel--its food--story of a wolf--indian village--wild rice. "nurse, what is the name of that pretty creature you have in your hand? what bright eyes it has! what a soft tail, just like a grey feather! is it a little beaver?" asked the governor's [footnote: lady mary's father was governor of canada.] little daughter, as her nurse came into the room where her young charge, whom we shall call lady mary, was playing with her doll. carefully sheltered against her breast, its velvet nose just peeping from beneath her muslin neckerchief, the nurse held a small grey-furred animal, of the most delicate form and colour. "no, my lady," she replied, "this is not a young beaver; a beaver is a much larger animal. a beaver's tail is not covered with fur; it is scaly, broad, and flat; it looks something like black leather, not very unlike that of my seal-skin slippers. the indians eat beavers' tails at their great feasts, and think they make an excellent dish." "if they are black, and look like leather shoes, i am very sure i should not like to eat them; so, if you please, mrs. frazer, do not let me have any beavers' tails cooked for my dinner," said the little lady in a very decided tone. "indeed, my lady," replied her nurse, smiling, "it would not be an easy thing to obtain, if you wished to taste one, for beavers are not brought to our market. it is only the indians and hunters who know how to trap them, and beavers are not so plentiful as they used to be." mrs. frazer would have told lady mary a great deal about the way in which the trappers take the beavers, but the little girl interrupted her by saying, "please, nurse, will you tell me the name of your pretty pet? ah, sweet thing! what bright eyes you have!" she added, caressing the soft little head which was just seen from beneath the folds of the muslin handkerchief to which it timidly nestled, casting furtive glances at the admiring child, while the panting of its breast told the mortal terror that shook its frame whenever the little girl's hand was advanced to coax its soft back. "it is a flying squirrel, lady mary," replied her nurse; "one of my brothers caught it a month ago, when he was chopping in the forest. he thought it might amuse your ladyship, and so he tamed it and sent it to me in a basket filled with moss, with some acorns, and hickory-nuts, and beech-mast for him to eat on his journey, for the little fellow has travelled a long way: he came from the beech-woods near the town of coburg, in the upper province." "and where is coburg, nurse? is it a large city like montreal or quebec?" "no, my lady; it is a large town on the shores of the great lake ontario." "and are there many woods near it?" "yes; but not so many as there used to be many years ago. the forest is almost all cleared, and there are fields of wheat and indian corn, and nice farms and pretty houses, where a few years back the lofty forest grew dark and thick." "nurse, you said there were acorns, and hickory-nuts, and beech-mast in the basket. i have seen acorns at home in dear england and scotland, and i have eaten the hickory-nuts here; but what is beech-mast? is it in granaries for winter stores; and wild ducks and wild pigeons come from the far north at the season when the beech-mast fall, to eat them; for god teaches these, his creatures, to know the times and the seasons when his bounteous hand is open to give them food from his boundless store. a great many other birds and beasts also feed upon the beech-mast." "it was very good of your brother to send me this pretty creature, nurse," said the little lady; "i will ask papa to give him some money." "there is no need of that, lady mary. my brother is not in want; he has a farm in the upper province, and is very well off." "i am glad he is well off," said lady mary; "indeed, i do not see so many beggars here as in england." "people need not beg in canada, if they are well and strong and can work; a poor man can soon earn enough money to keep himself and his little ones." "nurse, will you be so kind as to ask campbell to get a pretty cage for my squirrel? i will let him live close to my dormice, who will be pleasant company for him, and i will feed him every day myself with nuts and sugar, and sweet cake and white bread. now do not tremble and look so frightened, as though i were going to hurt you; and pray, mr. squirrel, do not bite. oh! nurse, nurse, the wicked, spiteful creature has bitten my finger! see, see, it has made it bleed! naughty thing! i will not love you if you bite. pray, nurse, bind up my finger, or it will soil my frock." great was the pity bestowed upon the wound by lady mary's kind attendant, till the little girl, tired of hearing so much said about the bitten finger, gravely desired her maid to go in search of the cage, and catch the truant, which had effected its escape, and was clinging to the curtains of the bed. the cage was procured--a large wooden cage, with an outer and an inner chamber, a bar for the little fellow to swing himself on, and a drawer for his food, and a little dish for his water. the sleeping-room was furnished by the nurse with soft wool, and a fine store of nuts was put in the drawer; all his wants were well supplied, and lady mary watched the catching of the little animal with much interest. great was the activity displayed by the runaway squirrel, and still greater the astonishment evinced by the governor's little daughter, at the flying leaps made by the squirrel in its attempts to elude the grasp of its pursuers. "it flies! i am sure it must have wings. look, look, nurse! it is here, now it is on the wall, now on the curtains! it must have wings, but it has no feathers!" "it has no wings, dear lady, but it has a fine ridge of fur, that covers a strong sinew or muscle between the fore and hinder legs; and it is by the help of this muscle that it is able to spring so far, and so fast; and its claws are so sharp that it can cling to a wall, or any flat surface. the black and red squirrels, and the common grey, can jump very far, and run up the bark of the trees very fast, but not so fast as the flying squirrel." at last lady mary's maid, with the help of one of the housemaids, succeeded in catching the squirrel, and securing him within his cage. but though lady mary tried all her words of endearment to coax the little creature to eat some of the good things that had been provided so liberally for his entertainment, he remained sullen and motionless at the bottom of the cage. a captive is no less a captive in a cage with gilded bars, and with dainties to eat, than if rusted iron shut him in, and kept him from enjoying his freedom. it is for dear liberty that he pines, and is sad, even in the midst of plenty! "dear nurse, why does my little squirrel tremble and look so unhappy? tell me if he wants anything to eat that we have not given him. why does he not lie down and sleep on the nice soft bed you have made for him in his little chamber? see, he has not tasted the nice sweet cake and sugar that i gave him." "he is not used to such dainties, lady mary. in the forest, he feeds upon hickory-nuts, and butter-nuts, and acorns, and beech-mast, and the buds of the spruce, fir and pine kernels, and many other seeds and nuts and berries, that we could not get for him; he loves grain too, and indian corn. he sleeps on green moss and leaves, and fine fibres of grass and roots; and drinks heaven's blessed dew, as it lies bright and pure upon the herbs of the field." "dear little squirrel, pretty creature! i know now what makes you sad. you long to be abroad among your own green woods, and sleeping on the soft green moss, which is far prettier than this ugly cotton wool. but you shall stay with me, my sweet one, till the cold winter is passed and gone, and the spring flowers have come again; and then, my pretty squirrel, i will take you out of your dull cage, and we will go to st. helen's green island, and i will let you go free; but i will put a scarlet collar about your neck before i let you go, that, if any one finds you, they may know that you are my squirrel. were you ever in the green forest, nurse? i hear papa talk about the 'bush' and the 'backwoods;' it must be very pleasant in the summer, to live among the green trees. were you ever there?" "yes, dear lady, i did live in the woods when i was a child. i was born in a little log-shanty, far, far away up the country, near a beautiful lake, called rice lake, among woods, and valleys, and hills covered with flowers, and groves of pine, and white and black oaks." "stop, nurse, and tell me why they are called black and white; are the flowers black and white?" "no, my lady; it is because the wood of the one is darker than the other, and the leaves of the black oak are dark and shining, while those of the white oak are brighter and lighter. the black oak is a beautiful tree. when i was a young girl, i used to like to climb the sides of the steep valleys, and look down upon the tops of the oaks that grew beneath; and to watch the wind lifting the boughs all glittering in the moonlight; they looked like a sea of ruffled green water. it is very solemn, lady mary, to be in the woods by night, and to hear no sound but the cry of the great wood-owl, or the voice of the whip-poor-will, calling to his fellow from the tamarack swamp; or, may be, the timid bleating of a fawn that has lost its mother, or the howl of a wolf." "nurse, i should be so afraid; i am sure i should cry if i heard the wicked wolves howling in the dark woods, by night. did you ever know any one who was eaten by a wolf?" "no, my lady; the canadian wolf is a great coward. i have heard the hunters say, that they never attack any one, unless there is a great flock together and the man is alone and unarmed. my uncle used to go out a great deal hunting, sometimes by torchlight, and sometimes on the lake in a canoe, with the indians; and he shot and trapped a great many wolves and foxes and racoons. he has a great many heads of wild animals nailed up on the stoup in front of his log-house." "please tell me what a stoup is, nurse?" "a verandah, my lady, is the same thing, only the old dutch settlers gave it the name of a stoup; and the stoup is heavier and broader, and not quite so nicely made as a verandah. one day my uncle was crossing the lake on the ice; it was a cold winter afternoon; he was in a hurry to take some food to his brothers, who were drawing pine-logs in the bush. he had, besides a bag of meal and flour, a new axe on his shoulder. he heard steps as of a dog trotting after him; he turned his head, and there he saw close at his heels, a big, hungry-looking grey wolf; he stopped and faced about, and the big beast stopped and showed his white sharp teeth. my uncle did not feel afraid, but looked steadily at the wolf, as much as to say, 'follow me if you dare,' and walked on. when my uncle stopped, the wolf stopped; when he went on, the beast also went on. "i would have run away," said lady mary. "if my uncle had let the wolf see that he was afraid of him, he would have grown bolder, and have run after him and seized him. all animals are afraid of brave men, but not of cowards. when the beast came too near, my uncle faced him, and showed the bright axe, and the wolf then shrank back a few paces. when my uncle got near the shore, he heard a long wild cry, as if from twenty wolves at once. it might have been the echoes from the islands that increased the sound; but it was very frightful, and made his blood chill, for he knew that without his rifle he should stand a poor chance against a large pack of hungry wolves. just then a gun went off; he heard the wolf give a terrible yell, he felt the whizzing of a bullet pass him, and, turning about, saw the wolf lying dead on the ice. a loud shout from the cedars in front told him from whom the shot came; it was my father, who had been on the look-out on the lake shore, and he had fired at and hit the wolf, when he saw that he could do so without hurting his brother." "nurse, it would have been a sad thing if the gun had shot your uncle." "it would; but my father was one of the best shots in the district, and could hit a white spot on the bark of a tree at a great distance without missing. it was an old indian from buckhorn lake, who taught him to shoot deer by torchlight, and to trap beavers." "well, i am glad that horrid wolf was killed, for wolves eat sheep and lambs; and i dare say they would devour my little squirrel if they could get him. nurse, please to tell me again the name of the lake near which you were born." "it is called rice lake, my lady. it is a fine piece of water, more than twenty miles long, and from three to five miles broad. it has pretty wooded islands, and several rivers or streams empty themselves into it. the otonabee river is a fine broad stream, which flows through the forest a long way. many years ago, there were no clearings on the banks, and no houses, only indian tents or wigwams; but now, there are a great many houses and farms." "what are wigwams?" "a sort of light tent, made with poles stuck into the ground, in a circle, fastened together at the top, and covered on the outside with skins of wild animals, or with birch bark. the indians light a fire of sticks and logs on the ground, in the middle of the wigwam, and lie or sit all round it; the smoke goes up to the top and escapes. in the winter, they bank it up with snow, and it is very warm." "i think it must be a very ugly sort of house; and i am glad i do not live in an indian wigwam," said the little lady. "the indians are a very simple folk, my lady, and do not need fine houses, like this in which your papa lives. they do not know the names or uses of half the fine things that are in the houses of the white people. they are happy and contented without them. it is not the richest that are happiest, lady mary, and the lord careth for the poor and the lowly. there is a village on the shores of rice lake where the indians live. it is not very pretty. the houses are all built of logs, and some of them have gardens and orchards. they have a neat church, and they have a good minister, who takes great pains to teach them the gospel of the lord jesus christ. the poor indians were pagans until within the last few years." "what are pagans, nurse?" "people, lady mary, who do not believe in god, and the lord jesus christ, our blessed saviour." "nurse, is there real rice growing in the rice lake? i heard my governess say that rice grew only in warm countries. now, your lake must be very cold if your uncle walked across the ice." "this rice, my lady, is not real rice. i heard a gentleman tell my father, that it was, properly speaking, a species of oats, [footnote: zizania or water oats.]--water oats he called it, but the common name for it is wild rice. this wild rice grows in vast beds in the lake, in patches of many acres. it will grow in water from eight to ten or twelve feet deep; the grassy leaves float upon the water like long narrow green ribbons. in the month of august, the stem that is to bear the flower and the grain rises straight up, above the surface, and light delicate blossoms come out of a pale straw colour and lilac. they are very pretty, and wave in the wind with a rustling noise. in the month of october, when the rice is ripe, the leaves turn yellow, and the rice-heads grow heavy and droop; then the squaws--as the indian women are called--go out in their birch-bark canoes, holding in one hand a stick, in the other a short curved paddle, with a sharp edge. with this, they bend down the rice across the stick, and strike off the heads, which fall into the canoe, as they push it along through the rice-beds. in this way they collect a great many bushels in the course of the day. the wild rice is not the least like the rice which your ladyship has eaten; it is thin and covered with a light chaffy husk. the colour of the grain itself is a brownish green, or olive, smooth, shining, and brittle. after separating the outward chaff, the squaws put by a large portion of the clean rice in its natural state for sale; for this they get from a dollar and a half to two dollars a bushel. some they parch, either in large pots, or on mats made of the inner bark of cedar or bass wood, beneath which they light a slow fire, and plant around it a temporary hedge of green boughs, closely set to prevent the heat from escaping; they also plant stakes, over which they stretch the matting at a certain height above the fire. on this they spread the green rice, stirring it about with wooden paddles, till it is properly parched; this is known by its bursting and showing the white grain of the flour. when quite cool it is stowed away in troughs, scooped out of butter-nut wood, or else sewed up in sheets of birch-bark or bass-mats, or in coarsely made birch-bark baskets." "and is the rice good to eat, nurse?" "some people like it as well as the white rice of carolina; but it does not look so well. it is a great blessing to the poor indians, who boil it in their soups, or eat it with maple molasses. and they eat it when parched without any other cooking, when they are on a long journey in the woods, or on the lakes. i have often eaten nice puddings made of it with milk. the deer feed upon the green rice. they swim into the water, and eat the green leaves and tops. the indians go out at night to shoot the deer on the water; they listen for them, and shoot them in the dark. the wild ducks and water-fowls come down in great flocks to fatten on the ripe rice in the fall of the year; also large flocks of rice buntings and red wings which make their roosts among the low willows, flags, and lilies close to the shallows of the lake." "it seems very useful to birds as well as to men and beasts," said little lady mary. "yes, my lady, and to fishes also, i make no doubt; for the good god has cast it so abundantly abroad on the waters, that i dare say they also have their share. when the rice is fully ripe, the sun shining on it gives it a golden hue, just like a field of ripened grain. surrounded by the deep blue waters, it looks very pretty." "i am very much obliged to you, nurse, for telling me so much about the indian rice, and i will ask mamma to let me have some one day for my dinner, that i may know how it tastes." just then lady mary's governess came to bid her nurse dress her for a sleigh-ride, and so for the present we shall leave her; but we will tell our little readers something more in another chapter about lady mary and her flying squirrel. chapter ii. sleighing--sleigh robes--fur caps--otter skins--old snow-storm--otter hunting--otter slides--indian names--remarks on wild animals and their habits. "nurse, we have had a very nice sleigh-drive. i like sleighing very much over the white snow. the trees look so pretty, as if they were covered with white flowers, and the ground sparkled just like mamma's diamonds." "it is pleasant, lady mary, to ride through the woods on a bright sunshiny day, after a fresh fall of snow. the young evergreens, hemlocks, balsams, and spruce-trees, are loaded with great masses of the new-fallen snow; while the slender saplings of the beech, birch, and basswood are bent down to the very ground, making bowers so bright and beautiful, you would be delighted to see them. sometimes, as you drive along, great masses of the snow come showering down upon you; but it is so light and dry, that it shakes off without wetting you. it is pleasant to be wrapped up in warm blankets, or buffalo robes, at the bottom of a lumber-sleigh, and to travel through the forest by moonlight; the merry bells echoing through the silent woods, and the stars just peeping down through the frosted trees, which sparkle like diamonds in the moonbeams." "nurse, i should like to take a drive through the forest in winter. it is so nice to hear the sleigh-bells. we used sometimes to go out in the snow in scotland, but we were in the carriage, and had no bells." "no, lady mary: the snow seldom lies long enough in the old country to make it worth while to have sleighs there; but in russia and sweden, and other cold northern countries, they use sleighs with bells." lady mary ran to the little bookcase where she had a collection of children's books, and very soon found, in one of peter parley's books, a picture of laplanders and russians wrapped in furs sleighing. "how long will the winter last, nurse?" said the child, after she had tired herself with looking at the prints; "a long, long time--a great many weeks?--a great many months?" "yes, my lady; five or six months." "oh, that is nice--nearly half a year of white snow, and sleigh-drives every day, and bells ringing all the time! i tried to make out a tune, but they only seemed to say, 'up-hill, up-hill! down-hill, down-hill!' all the way. nurse, please tell me what are sleigh-robes made of?" "some sleigh-robes, lady mary, are made of bear-skins, lined with red or blue flannel; some are of wolf-skins, lined with bright scarlet cloth; and some of racoon; the commonest are buffalo-skins: i have seen some of deer-skins, but these last are not so good, as the hair comes off, and they are not so warm as the skins of the furred or woolly-coated animals." "i sometimes see long tails hanging down over the backs of the sleigh and cutters--they look very pretty, like the end of mamma's boa." "the wolf and racoon skin robes are generally made up with the tails, and sometimes the heads of the animals are also left. i noticed the head of a wolf, with its sharp ears, and long white teeth, looking very fierce, at the back of a cutter, the other day." "nurse, that must have looked very droll. do you know, i saw a gentleman the other day, walking with papa, who had a fox-skin cap on his head, and the fox's nose was just peeping over his shoulder, and the tail hung down his back, and i saw its bright black eyes looking so cunning. i thought it must be alive, and that it had curled itself round his head; but the gentleman took it off, and showed me that the eyes were glass." "some hunters, lady mary, make caps of otter, mink, or badger skins, and ornament them with the tails, heads, and claws." "i have seen a picture of the otter, nurse; it is a pretty, soft-looking thing, with a round head and black eyes. where do otters live?" "the canadian otters, lady mary, live in holes in the banks of sedgy, shallow lakes, mill-ponds, and sheltered creeks. the indian hunters find their haunts by tracking their steps in the snow; for an indian or canadian hunter knows the track made by any bird or beast, from the deep broad print of the bear, to the tiny one of the little shrewmouse, which is the smallest four-footed beast in this or any other country. "indians catch the otter, and many other wild animals, in a sort of trap, which they call a 'dead-fall.' wolves are often so trapped, and then shot. the indians catch the otter for the sake of its dark shining fur, which is used by the hatters and furriers. old jacob snowstorm, an old indian who lived on the banks of the rice lake, used to catch otters; and i have often listened to him, and laughed at his stories." "do, please, nurse, tell me what old jacob snow-storm told you about the otters; i like to hear stories about wild beasts. but what a droll surname snow-storm is!" "yes, lady mary; indians have very odd names; they are called after all sorts of strange things. they do not name the children, as we do, soon after they are born, but wait for some remarkable circumstance, some dream or accident. some call them after the first strange animal or bird that appears to the new-born. old snow-storm most likely owed his name to a heavy fall of snow when he was a baby. i knew a chief named musk-rat, and a pretty indian girl who was named 'badau'-bun,' or the 'light of the morning.'" "and what is the indian name for old snow-storm?" "'be-che-go-ke-poor,' my lady." lady mary said it was a funny sounding name, and not at all like snow-storm, which she liked a great deal better; and she was much amused while her nurse repeated to her some names of squaws and papooses (indian women and children); such as long thrush, little fox, running stream, snow-bird, red cloud, young eagle, big bush, and many others. "now, nurse, will you tell me some more about jacob snow-storm and the otters?" "well, lady mary, the old man had a cap of otter-skin, of which he was very proud, and only wore on great days. one day as he was playing with it, he said:--'otter funny fellow; he like play too, sometimes. indian go hunting up ottawa, that great big river, you know. go one moonlight night; lie down under bushes in snow: see lot of little fellow and big fellow at play. run tip and down bank; bank all ice. sit down top of bank; good slide there. down he go splash into water; out again. funny fellow those!' and then the old hunter threw back his head, and laughed, till you could have seen all his white teeth, he opened his mouth so wide." lady mary was very much amused at the comical way in which the old indian talked. "can otters swim, nurse?" "yes, lady mary; the good god, who has created all things well, has given to this animal webbed feet, which enable it to swim; and it can also dive down in the deep water, where it finds fish and mussels, and perhaps the roots of some water-plants to eat. it makes very little motion or disturbance in the water when it goes down in search of its prey. its coat is thick, and formed of two kinds of hair; the outer hair is long, silky, and shining; the under part is short, fine, and warm. the water cannot penetrate to wet them,--the oily nature of the fur throws off the moisture. they dig large holes with their claws, which are short, but very strong. they line their nests with dry grass and rushes and roots gnawed fine, and do not pass the winter in sleep, as the dormice, flying squirrels, racoons, and bears do. they are very innocent and playful, both when young and even after they grow old. the lumberers often tame them, and they become so docile that they will come at a call or whistle. like all wild animals, they are most lively at night, when they come out to feed and play." "dear little things! i should like to have a tame otter to play with, and run after me; but do you think he would eat my squirrel? you know cats will eat squirrels--so mamma says." "cats belong to a very different class of animals; they are beasts of prey, formed to spring and bound, and tear with their teeth and claws. the otter is also a beast of prey, but its prey is found in the still waters, and not on the land; it can neither climb nor leap. so i do not think he would hurt your squirrel, if you had one." "see, nurse, my dear little squirrel is still where i left him, clinging to the wires of the cage, his bright eyes looking like two black beads." "as soon as it grows dark he will begin to be more lively, and perhaps he will eat something, but not while we look at him--he is too shy for that." "nurse, how can they see to eat in the dark?" "the good god, lady mary, has so formed their eyes that they can see best by night. i will read you, lady mary, a few verses from psalm civ.:- "verse 19. he appointed the moon for seasons: the sun knoweth his going down. 20. thou makest darkness, and it is night: wherein all the beasts of the forest do creep forth. 21. the young lions roar after their prey, and seek their meat from god. 22. the sun ariseth, they gather themselves together, and lay them down in their dens. 23. man goeth forth unto his work and to his labour until the evening. 24. o lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the eath is full of thy riches. "thus you see, my dear lady, that our heavenly father taketh care of all his creatures, and provideth for them both by day and by night." "i remember, nurse, that my dormice used to lie quite still, nestled among the moss and wool in their little dark chamber in the cage, all day long; but when it was night they used to come out and frisk about, and run along the wires, and play all sorts of tricks, chasing one another round and round, and they were not afraid of me, but would let me look at them while they ate a nut, or a bit of sugar; and the dear little things would drink out of their little white saucer, and wash their faces and tails--it was so pretty to see them!" "did you notice, lady mary, how the dormice held their food?" "yes, they sat up, and held it in their fore-paws, which looked just like tiny hands." "there are many animals whose fore-feet resemble hands, and these, generally, convey their food to their mouths--among these are the squirrel and dormice. they are good climbers and diggers. you see, my dear young lady, how the merciful creator has given to all his creatures, however lowly, the best means of supplying their wants, whether of food or shelter." "indeed, nurse, i have learned a great deal about squirrels, canadian rice, otters, and indians; but, if you please, i must now have a little play with my doll. good-bye, mrs. frazer,--pray take care of my dear little squirrel, and mind that he does not fly away." and lady mary was soon busily engaged in drawing her wax doll about the nursery in a little sleigh lined with red squirrel fur robes, and talking to her as all children like to talk to their dolls, whether they be rich or poor--the children of peasants, or governors' daughters. chapter iii. lady mary reads to mrs. frazer the first part of the history of the squirrel family. one day lady mary came to her nurse, and putting her arms about her neck, whispered to her,--"mrs. frazer, my dear good governess has given me something--it is in my hand," and she slily held her hand behind her-"will you guess what it is?" "is it a book, my lady?" "yes, yes, it is a book, a pretty book; and see, here are pictures of squirrels in it. mrs. frazer, if you like, i will sit down on this cushion by you and read some of my new book. it does not seem very hard." then mrs. frazer took out her work-basket and sat down to sew, and lady mary began to read the little story, which, i hope, may entertain my little readers as much as it did the governor's daughter. the history of a squirrel family it must be a pleasant thing to be a squirrel, and live a life of freedom in the boundless forests; to leap and bound among the branches of the tall trees; to gambol in the deep shade of the cool glossy leaves, through the long warm summer day; to gather the fresh nuts and berries; to drink the pure dews of heaven, all bright and sparkling from the opening flowers; to sleep on soft beds of moss and thistle-down in some hollow branch rocked by the wind as in a cradle. yet, though this was the happy life led by a family of pretty grey squirrels that had their dwelling in the hoary branch of an old oak-tree that grew on one of the rocky islands in a beautiful lake in upper canada, called _stony lake_ (because it was full of rocky islands), these little creatures were far from being contented, and were always wishing for a change. indeed, they had been very happy, till one day when a great black squirrel swam to the island and paid them a visit. he was a very fine handsome fellow, nearly twice as large as any of the grey squirrels; he had a tail that flourished over his back, when he set it up, like a great black feather; his claws were sharp and strong, and his eyes very round and bright; he had upright ears, and long, sharp teeth, of which he made good use. the old grey squirrels called him cousin, and invited him to dinner. they very civilly set before him some acorns and beech-nuts; but he proved a hungry visitor, and ate as much as would have fed the whole family for a week. after the grey squirrels had cleared away the shells and scraps, they asked their greedy guest where he came from, when blackie told them he was a great traveller, and had seen many wonderful things; that he had once lived on a forked pine at the head of the waterfall, but being tired of a dull life, he had gone out on his travels to see the world; that he had been down the lake, and along the river shore, where there were great places cut out in the thick forest, called clearings, where some very tall creatures lived, who were called men and women, with young ones called children; that though they were not so pretty as squirrels--for they had no fur on them, and were obliged to make clothes to cover them and keep them warm--they were very useful, and sowed corn and planted fruit-trees and roots for squirrels to eat, and even built large grain stores to keep it safe and dry for them. this seemed very strange, and the simple little grey squirrels were very much pleased, and said they should like very much to go down the lakes too, and see these wonderful things. the black squirrel then told them that there were many things to be seen in these clearings: that there were large beasts, called oxen, and cows, and sheep, and pigs; and these creatures had houses built for them to live in; and all the men and women seemed to employ themselves about, was feeding and taking care of them. now this cunning fellow never told his simple cousins that the oxen had to bear a heavy wooden yoke and chain, and were made to work very hard; nor that the cows were fed that they might give milk to the children; nor that the pigs were fatted to make pork; nor that the sheep had their warm fleeces cut off every year that the settlers might have the wool to spin and weave. blackie did not say that the men carried guns, and the dogs were fierce, and would hunt poor squirrels from tree to tree, frightening them almost to death with their loud, angry barking; that cats haunted the barns and houses, and, in short, that there were dangers as well as pleasures to be met with in these clearings; and that the barns were built to shelter the grain for men, and not for the benefit of squirrels. the black squirrel proved rather a troublesome guest, for he stayed several days, and ate so heartily, that the old grey squirrels were obliged to hint that he had better go back to the clearings, where there was so much food, for that their store was nearly done. when blackie found that all the nice nuts were eaten, and that even pine-kernels and beech-nuts were becoming scarce, he went away, saying that he should soon come again. the old grey squirrels were glad when they saw the tip of blackie's tail disappear, as he whisked down the trunk of the old oak; but their young ones were very sorry that he was gone, for they liked very much to listen to all his wonderful stories, which they thought were true; and they told their father and mother how they wished they would leave the dull island and the old tree, and go down the lakes, and see the wonderful things that their black cousin had described. but the old ones shook their heads, and said they feared there was more fiction than truth in the tales they had heard, and that if they were wise they would stay where they were. "what do you want more, my dear children," said their mother, "than you enjoy here? have you not this grand old oak for a palace to live in; its leaves and branches spreading like a canopy over your heads, to shelter you from the hot sun by day and the dews by night? are there not moss, dried grass, and roots beneath, to make a soft bed for you to lie upon? and do not the boughs drop down a plentiful store of brown ripe acorns? that silver lake, studded with islands of all shapes and sizes, produces cool clear water for you to drink and bathe yourselves in. look at those flowers that droop their blossoms down to its glassy surface, and the white lilies that rest upon its bosom,--will you see anything fairer or better if you leave this place? stay at home and be contented." "if i hear any more grumbling," said their father, "i shall pinch your ears and tails." so the little squirrels said no more, but i am sorry to say they did not pay much heed to their wise, old mother's counsels; for whenever they were alone, all their talk was how to run away, and go abroad to see the world, as their black cousin had called the new settlement down the lakes. it never came into the heads of the silly creatures that those wonderful stories they had been told originated in an artful scheme of the greedy black squirrel, to induce them to leave their warm pleasant house in the oak, that he and his children might come and live in it, and get the hoards of grain, and nuts, and acorns, that their father and mother had been laying up for winter stores. moreover, the wily black squirrel had privately told them that their father and mother intended to turn them out of the nest very soon, and make provision for a new family. this indeed was really the case; for as soon as young animals can provide for themselves, their parents turn them off, and care no more for them. very different, indeed, is this from our parents; for they love and cherish us as long as they live, and afford us a home and shelter as long as we need it. every hour these little grey squirrels grew more and more impatient to leave the lonely little rocky island, though it was a pretty spot, and the place of their birth; but they were now eager to go abroad and seek their fortunes. "let us keep our own counsel," said nimble-foot to his sisters velvet-paw and silver-nose, "or we may chance to get our tails pulled; but be all ready for a start by early dawn to-morrow." velvet-paw and silver-nose said they would be up before sunrise, as they should have a long voyage down the lake, and agreed to rest on pine island near the opening of clear lake. "and then take to the shore and travel through the woods, where, no doubt, we shall have a pleasant time," said nimble-foot, who was the most hopeful of the party. the sun was scarcely yet risen over the fringe of dark pines that skirted the shores of the lake, and a soft creamy mist hung on the surface of the still waters, which were unruffled by the slightest breeze. the little grey squirrels awoke, and looked sleepily out from the leafy screen that shaded their mossy nest. the early notes of the wood-thrush and song-sparrow, with the tender warbling of the tiny wren, sounded sweetly in the still, dewy morning air; while from a cedar swamp was heard the trill of the green frogs, which the squirrels thought very pretty music. as the sun rose above the tops of the trees, the mist rolled off in light fleecy clouds, and soon was lost in the blue sky, or lay in large bright drops on the cool grass and shining leaves. then all the birds awoke, and the insects shook their gauzy wings which had been folded all the night in the flower-cups, and the flowers began to lift their heads, and the leaves to expand to catch the golden light. there was a murmur on the water as it played among the sedges, and lifted the broad floating leaves of the white water-lilies, with their carved ivory cups; and the great green, brown, and blue dragon-flies rose with a whirring sound, and darted to and fro among the water flowers. it is a glorious sight to see the sun rise at any time, for then we can look upon him without having our eyes dazzled with the brightness of his beams; and though there were no men and women and little children, in the lonely waters and woods, to lift up their hands and voices in prayer and praise to god, who makes the sun to rise each day, yet no doubt the great creator is pleased to see his creatures rejoice in the blessings of light and heat. lightly running down the rugged bark of the old oak-tree, the little squirrels bade farewell to their island home--to the rocks, mosses, ferns, and flowers that had sheltered them, among which they had so often chased each other in merry gambols. they thought little of all this, when they launched themselves on the silver bosom of the cool lake. "how easy it is to swim in this clear water!" said silver-nose to her sister velvet-paw. "we shall not be long in reaching yonder island, and there, no doubt, we shall get a good breakfast." so the little swimmers proceeded on their voyage, furrowing the calm waters as they glided noiselessly along; their soft grey heads and ears and round black eyes only being seen, and the bright streaks caused by the motion of their tails, which lay flat on the surface, looking like silver threads gently floating on the stream. not being much used to the fatigue of swimming, the little squirrels were soon tired, and if it had not been for a friendly bit of stick that happened to float near her, poor velvet-paw would have been drowned; however, she got up on the stick, and, setting up her fine broad tail, went merrily on, and soon passed nimble-foot and silver-nose. the current drew the stick towards the pine island that lay at the entrance of clear lake, and velvet-paw leaped ashore, and sat down on a mossy stone to dry her fur, and watch for her brother and sister: they, too, found a large piece of birch-bark which the winds had blown into the water, and as a little breeze had sprung up to waft them along, they were not very long before they landed on the island. they were all very glad when they met again, after the perils and fatigues of the voyage. the first thing to be done was to look for something to eat, for their early rising had made them very hungry. they found abundance of pine-cones strewn on the ground, but, alas for our little squirrels! very few kernels in them; for the crossbills and chiccadees had been at work for many weeks on the trees; and also many families of their poor relations, the chitmunks or ground squirrels, had not been idle, as our little voyagers could easily guess by the chips and empty cones round their holes. so, weary as they were, they were obliged to run up the tall pine and hemlock trees, to search among the cones that grew on their very top branches. while our squirrels were busy with the few kernels they chanced to find, they were startled from their repast by the screams of a large slate-coloured hawk, and velvet-paw very narrowly escaped being pounced upon and carried off in its sharp-hooked talons. silver-nose at the same time was nearly frightened to death by the keen round eyes of a cunning racoon, which had come within a few feet of the mossy branch of an old cedar, where she sat picking the seeds out of a dry head of a blue flag-flower she had found on the shore. silvy, at this sight, gave a spring that left her many yards beyond her sharp-sighted enemy. a lively note of joy was uttered by nimblefoot, for, perched at his ease on a top branch of the hemlock-tree, he had seen the bound made by silver-nose. "well jumped, silvy," said he; "mister coon must be a smart fellow to equal that. but look sharp, or you will get your neck wrung yet; i see we must keep a good look-out in this strange country." "i begin to wish we were safe back again in our old one," whined silvy, who was much frightened by the danger she had just escaped. "pooh, pooh, child; don't be a coward," said nimble, laughing. "cousin blackie never told us there were hawks and coons on this island," said velvet-paw. "my dear, he thought we were too brave to be afraid of hawks and coons," said nimble. "for my part, i think it is a fine thing to go out a little into the world. we should never see anything better than the sky and the water, and the old oak-tree on that little island." "ay, but i think it is safer to see than to be seen," said silvy, "for hawks and eagles have strong beaks, and racoons sharp claws and hungry-looking teeth; and it is not very pleasant, nimble, to be obliged to look out for such wicked creatures." "oh, true indeed," said nimble; "if it had not been for that famous jump you made, silvy, and, velvet, your two admirers, the hawk and racoon, would soon have hid all your beauties from the world, and put a stop to your travels." "it is very well for brother nimble to make light of our dangers," whispered velvet-paw, "but let us see how he will jump if a big eagle were to pounce down to carry him off." "yes, yes," said silvy; "it is easy to brag before one is in danger." the squirrels thought they would now go and look for some partridge-berries, of which they were very fond, for the pine-kernels were but dry husky food after all. there were plenty of the pretty white star-shaped blossoms, growing all over the ground under the pine-trees, but the bright scarlet twin-berries were not yet ripe. in winter the partridges eat this fruit from under the snow; and it furnishes food for many little animals as well as birds. the leaves are small, of a dark green, and the white flowers have a very fine fragrant scent. though the runaways found none of these berries fit to eat, they saw some ripe strawberries among the bushes; and, having satisfied their hunger, began to grow very merry, and whisked here and there and everywhere, peeping into this hole and under that stone. sometimes they had a good game of play, chasing one another up and down the trees, chattering and squeaking as grey squirrels only can chatter and squeak, when they are gambolling about in the wild woods of canada. indeed, they made such a noise, that the great ugly black snakes lifted up their heads, and stared at them with their wicked spiteful-looking eyes, and the little ducklings swimming among the water-lilies, gathered round their mother, and a red-winged blackbird perched on a dead tree gave alarm to the rest of the flock by calling out, _geck, geck, geck,_ as loudly as he could. in the midst of their frolics, nimble skipped into a hollow log--but was glad to run out again; for a porcupine covered with sharp spines was there, and was so angry at being disturbed, that he stuck one of his spines into poor nimble-foot's soft velvet nose, and there it would have remained if silvy had not seized it with her teeth and pulled it out. nimble-foot squeaked sadly, and would not play any longer, but rolled himself up and went to sleep in a red-headed woodpecker's old nest; while silvy and velvet-paw frisked about in the moonlight, and when tired of play got up into an old oak which had a large hollow place in the crown of it, and fell asleep, fancying, no doubt, that they were on the rocky island in stony lake; and so we will bid them good night, and wish them pleasant dreams. * * * * * lady mary had read a long while, and was now tired; so she kissed her nurse, and-said "now, mrs. frazer, i will play with my doll, and feed my squirrel and my dormice." the dormice were two soft, brown creatures, almost as pretty and as innocent as the squirrel, and a great deal tamer; and they were called jeannette and jeannot, and would come when they were called by their names, and take a bit of cake or a lump of sugar out of the fingers of their little mistress. lady mary had two canaries, dick and pet; and she loved her dormice and birds, and her new pet the flying squirrel, very much, and never let them want for food, or water, or any nice thing she could get for them. she liked the history of the grey squirrels very much; and was quite eager to get her book the next afternoon, to read the second part of the adventures and wanderings of the family. part ii. which tells how the grey squirrels get on while they remained on pine island--how they behaved to their poor relations, the chitmunks--and what happened to them in the forest. it was noon when the little squirrels awoke, and, of course, they were quite ready for their breakfast; but there was no good, kind old mother to provide for their wants, and to bring nuts, acorns, roots, or fruit for them; they must now get up, go forth, and seek food for themselves. when velvet-paw and silver-nose went to call nimble-foot, they were surprised to find his nest empty; but after searching a long while, they found him sitting on the root of an upturned tree, looking at a family of little chitmunks busily picking over the pine-cones on the ground; but as soon as one of the poor little fellows, with great labour, had dug out a kernel, and was preparing to eat it, down leaped nimble-foot, and carried off the prize; and if one of the little chitmunks ventured to say a word, he very uncivilly gave him a scratch, or bit his ears, calling him a mean, shabby fellow. now, the chitmunks were really very pretty. they were, to be sure, not more than half the size of the grey squirrels, and their fur was short, without the soft thick glossy look upon it of the grey squirrels'. they were of a lively tawny yellow-brown colour, with long black and white stripes down their backs; their tails were not so long nor so thickly furred; and instead of living in the trees, they made their nests in logs and wind-falls, and had their granaries and winter houses too under ground, where they made warm nests of dried moss and grass and thistledown; to these they had several entrances, so that they had always a chance of refuge if danger were nigh. like the dormice, flying squirrels, and ground hogs, they slept soundly during the cold weather, only awakening when the warm spring sun had melted the snow. [footnote: it is not quite certain that the chitmunk is a true squirrel, and he is sometimes called a striped rat. this pretty animal seems, indeed, to form a link between the rat and squirrel.] the vain little grey squirrels thought themselves much better than these little chitmunks, whom they treated with very little politeness, laughing at them for living in holes in the ground, instead of upon lofty trees, as they did; they even called them low-bred fellows, and wondered why they did not imitate their high breeding and behaviour. the chitmunks took very little notice of their rudeness, but merely said that, if being high-bred made people rude, they would rather remain humble as they were. "as we are the head of all the squirrel families," said silver-nose, "we shall do you the honour of breakfasting with you to-day." "we breakfasted hours ago, while you lazy fellows were fast asleep," replied an old chitmunk, poking his little nose out of a hole in the ground. "then we shall dine with you: so make haste and get something good for us," said nimble-foot. "i have no doubt you have plenty of butter and hickory-nuts laid up in your holes." the old chitmunk told him he might come and get them, if he could. at this the grey squirrels skipped down from the branches, and began to run hither and thither, and to scratch among the moss and leaves, to find the entrance to the chitmunks' grain stores. they peeped under the old twisted roots of the pines and cedars, into every chink and cranny, but no sign of a granary was to be seen. then the chitmunks said, "my dear friends, this is a bad season to visit us; we are very poor just now, finding it difficult to get a few dry pine-kernels and berries, but if you will come and see us after harvest, we shall have a store of nuts and acorns." "pretty fellows you are!" replied nimble, "to put us off with promises, when we are so hungry; we might starve between this and harvest." "if you leave this island, and go down the lake, you will come to a mill, where the red squirrels live, and where you will have fine times," said one of the chitmunks. "which is the nearest way to the mill?" asked velvet-paw. "swim to the shore, and keep the indian, path, and you will soon see it." but while the grey squirrels were looking out for the path, the cunning chitmunks whisked away into their holes, and left the inquirers in the lurch, who could not tell what had become of them; for though they did find a round hole that they thought might be one of their burrows, it was so narrow that they could only poke in their noses, but could get no further; the grey squirrels being much fatter and bigger than the slim little chitmunks. "after all," said silvy, who was the best of the three, "perhaps, if we had been civil, the chitmunks would have treated us better." "well," said nimble, "if they had been good fellows, they would have invited us, as our mother did cousin blackie, and have set before us the best they had. i could find it in my heart to dig them out of their holes, and give them a good bite." this was all brag on nimble's part, who was not near so brave as he wished silvy and velvet-paw to suppose he was. after spending some time in hunting for acorns, they made up their minds to leave the island; and as it was not very far to the mainland, they decided on swimming thither. "indeed," said silver-nose, "i am tired of this dull place; we are not better off here than we were in the little island in stony lake, where our good old mother took care we should have plenty to eat, and we had a nice warm nest to shelter us." "ah! well, it is of no use grumbling now; if we were to go back, we should only get a scolding, and perhaps be chased off the island," said nimble. "now let us have a race, and see which of us will get to shore first;" and he leaped over velvet-paw's head, and was soon swimming merrily for the shore. he was soon followed by his companions, and in half an hour they were all safely landed. instead of going into the thick forest, they agreed to take the path by the margin of the lake, for there they had a better chance of getting nuts and fruit; but though it was the merry month of june, and there were plenty of pretty flowers in bloom, the berries were hardly ripe, and our little vagrants fared but badly. besides being hungry, they were sadly afraid of the eagles and fish-hawks that kept hovering over the water; and when they went further into the forest to avoid them, they saw a great white wood-owl, noiselessly flying out from among the close cedar swamps, that seemed just ready to pounce down upon them. the grey squirrels did not like the look of the owl's great round shining eyes, as they peered at them, under the tufts of silky white feathers, which almost hid his hooked bill; and their hearts sunk within them, when they heard his hollow cry, "_ho, ho, ho, ho!" "waugh, ho!"_ dismally sounding in their ears. it was well that velvet-paw was as swift afoot as she was soft, for one of these great owls had very nearly caught her, while she was eating a filbert that she had found in a cleft branch, where a nuthatch had fixed it, while she pecked a hole in the shell. some bird of prey had scared away the poor nuthatch, and velvet-paw no doubt thought she was in luck when she found the prize; but it would have been a dear nut to her, if nimble, who was a sharp-sighted fellow, had not seen the owl, and cried _"chit, chit, chit, chit!"_ to warn her of her danger. _"chit, chit, chit, chit!"_ cried velvet-paw, and away she flew to the very top of a tall pine-tree, springing from one tree-top to another, till she was soon out of the old owl's reach. "what shall we do for supper to-night?" said silver-nose, looking very pitifully at nimble-foot; whom they looked upon as the head of the family. "we shall not want for a good supper and breakfast too, or i am very much mistaken. do you see that red squirrel yonder, climbing the hemlock-tree? well, my dears, he has a fine store of good things in that beech-tree. i watched him run down with a nut in his teeth. let us wait patiently, and we shall see him come again for another; and as soon as he has done his meal, we will go and take ours." the red squirrel ran to and fro several times, each time carrying off a nut to his nest in the hemlock; after a while, he came no more. as soon as he was out of sight nimble led the way, and found the hoard. the beech was quite hollow in the heart, and they went down through a hole in the branch, and found a store of hazel-nuts, with acorns, hickory-nuts, butter-nuts, and beech-mast, all packed quite close and dry. they soon made a great hole in the red squirrel's store of provisions, and were just choosing some nuts to carry off with them, when they were disturbed by a scratching against the bark of the tree. nimble, who was always the first to take care of himself, gave the alarm, and he and velvet-paw, being nearest to the hole, got off safely; but poor silvy had the ill luck to sneeze, and before she had time to hide herself the angry red squirrel sprang upon her, and gave her such a terrible cuffing and scratching, that silvy cried out for mercy. as to nimble-foot and velvet-paw, they paid no heed to her cries for help; they ran away, and left her to bear the blame of all their misdeeds, as well as her own. thieves are always cowards, and are sure to forsake one another when danger is nigh. the angry red squirrel pushed poor silvy out of her granary, and she was glad to crawl away, and hide herself in a hole at the root of a neighbouring tree, where she lay in great pain and terror, licking her wounds, and crying to think how cruel it was of her brother and sister to leave her to the mercy of the red squirrel. it was surely very cowardly of foot-foot and velvet-paw to forsake her in such a time of need; nor was this the only danger that befel poor silvy. one morning, when she put her nose out of the hole, to look about her before venturing out, she saw seated on a branch, close beside the tree she was under, a racoon, staring full at her, with his sharp cunning black eyes. she was very much afraid of him, for she thought he looked very hungry; but as she knew that racoons are very fond of nuts and fruit, she said to herself, "perhaps if i show him where the red squirrel's granary in the beech-tree is, he will not kill me." then she said very softly to him, "good mister coon, if you want a very nice breakfast, and will promise to do me no hurt, i will tell you where to find plenty of nuts." the coon eyed her with a sly grin, and said, "if i can get anything more to my taste than a pretty grey squirrel, i will take it, my dear, and not lay a paw upon your soft back." "ah! but you must promise not to touch me, if i come out and show you where to find the nuts," said silvy. "upon the word and honour of a coon!" replied the racoon, laying one black paw upon his breast; "but if you do not come out of your hole, i shall soon come and dig you out, so you had best be quick; and if you trust me, you shall come to no hurt." then silvy thought it wisest to seem to trust the racoon's word, and she came out of her hole, and went a few paces to point out the tree, where her enemy the red squirrel's store of nuts was; but as soon as she saw mister coon disappear in the hollow of the tree, she bade him good-bye, and whisked up a tall tree, where she knew the racoon could not reach her; and having now quite recovered her strength, she was able to leap from branch to branch, and even from one tree to another, whenever they grew, close and the boughs touched, as they often do in the grand old woods in canada; and so she was soon far, far away from the artful coon, who waited a long time, hoping to carry off poor silvy for his dinner. silvy contrived to pick up a living by digging for roots, and eating such fruits as she could find; but one day she came to a grassy cleared spot, where she saw a strange-looking tent, made with poles stuck into the ground and meeting at the top, from which came a bluish cloud that spread among the trees; and as silvy was very curious, she came nearer, and at last, hearing no sound, ran up one of the poles, and peeped in, to see what was within side, thinking it might be one of the fine stores of grain that people built for the squirrels, as her cousin blackie had made her believe. the poles were covered with sheets of birch-bark, and skins of deer and wolves, and there was a fire of sticks burning in the middle, round which some large creatures were sitting on a bear's skin, eating something that smelt very nice. they had long black hair, and black eyes, and very white teeth. silvy felt alarmed at first; but thinking they must be the people who were kind to squirrels, she ventured to slip through a slit in the bark, and ran down into the wigwam, hoping to get something to eat; but in a minute the indians jumped up, and before she had time to make her escape she was seized by a young squaw, and popped into a birch box, and the lid shut down upon her: so poor silvy was caught in a trap; and all for believing the artful black squirrel's tales. silver-nose remembered her mother's warning now, when it was too late; she tried to get out of her prison, but in vain; the sides of the box were too strong, and there was not so much as a single crack for a peep-hole. after she had been shut up some time, the lid was raised a little, and a dark hand put in some bright, shining hard grains for her to eat. this was indian corn, and it was excellent food; but silvy was a long, long time before she would eat any of this sweet corn, she was so vexed at being caught and shut up in prison; besides, she was very much afraid that the indians were going to eat her. after some days, she began to get used to her captive state; the little squaw used to feed her, and one day took her out of the box, and put her into a nice light cage, where there was soft green moss to lie on, a little bark dish with clear water, and abundance of food. the cage was hung up on the bough of a tree, near the wigwam, to swing to and fro as the wind waved the tree. here silvy could see the birds flying to and fro, and listen to their cheerful songs. the indian women and children had always a kind look, or a word to say to her; and her little mistress was so kind to her, that silvy could not help loving her. she was very grateful for her care; for when she was sick and sulky, the little squaw gave her bits of maple-sugar and parched rice out of her hand. at last silvy grew tame, and would suffer herself to be taken out of her house, to sit on her mistress's shoulder, or in her lap; and though she sometimes ran away and hid herself, out of fun, she would not have gone far from the tent of the good indians, on any account. sometimes she saw the red squirrels running about in the forest, but they never came very near her; but she used to watch ail day long for her brother nimble-foot, or sister velvet; but they were now far away from her, and no doubt thought that she had been killed by the red squirrel, or eaten up by a fox or racoon. * * * * * "nurse, i am so glad pretty silvy was not killed, and that the good indians took care of her." "it is time now, my dear, for you to put down your book," said mrs. frazer, "and to-morrow we will read some more." "yes, if you please, mrs. frazer," said lady mary. part iii. how the squirrels got to the mill at the rapids--and what happened to velvet-paw. nimble-foot and velvet-paw were so frightened by the sight of the red squirrel, that they ran down the tree without once looking back to see what had become of poor silver-nose; indeed the cowards, instead of waiting for their poor sister, fled through the forest as if an army of red squirrels were behind them. at last they reached the banks of the lake, and, jumping into the water, swam down the current till they came to a place called the "narrow," where the wide lake poured its waters through a deep rocky channel, not more than a hundred yards wide; here the waters became so rough and rapid, that our little swimmers thought it wisest to go on shore. they scrambled up the steep rocky bank, and found themselves on a wide open space, quite free from trees, which they knew must be one of the great clearings the traveller squirrel had spoken of. there was a very high building on the water's edge, that they thought must be the mill that the chitmunks had told them they would come to; and they were in good spirits, as they now expected to find plenty of good things laid up for them to eat, so they went in by the door of the mill. "dear me, what a dust there is!", said nimble, looking about him; "i think it must be snowing." "snow does not fall in hot weather," said velvet; "besides, this white powder is very sweet and nice;" and she began to lick some of the flour that lay in the cracks of the floor. "i have found some nice seeds here," said nimble, running to the top of a sack that stood with the mouth untied; "these are better than pine-kernels, and not so hard. we must have come to one of the great grain-stores that our cousin told us of. well, i am sure the people are very kind to have laid up so many good things for us squirrels." when they had eaten as much as they liked, they began to run about to see what was in the mill. presently, a man came in, and they saw him take one of the sacks of wheat, and pour it into a large upright box, and in a few minutes there was a great noise--a sort of buzzing, whirring, rumbling, dashing, and splashing;--and away ran velvet-paw in a terrible fright, and scrambled up some beams and rafters to the top of the wall, where she sat watching what was going--on, trembling all over; but finding that no harm happened to her, took courage, and after a time ceased to be afraid. she saw nimble perched on a cross-beam looking down very intently at something; so she came out of her corner and ran to him, and asked what he was looking at. "there is a great black thing here," said he, "i cannot tell what to make of him at all; it turns round, and round, and round, and dashes the water about, making a fine splash." (this was the water-wheel.) "it looks very ugly indeed," said velvet-paw, "and makes my head giddy to look at it; let us go away. i want to find out what these two big stones are doing," said she; "they keep rubbing against one another, and making a great noise." "there is nothing so wonderful in two big stones, my dear," said nimble; "i have seen plenty bigger than these in stony lake." "but they did not move about as these do; and only look here at the white stuff that is running down all the time into this great box. well, we shall not want for food for the rest of our lives; i wish poor silvy were with us to share in our good luck." they saw a great many other strange things in the mill, and they thought that the miller was a very funny-looking creature; but as they fancied that he was grinding the wheat into flour for them, they were not much afraid of him; they were more troubled at the sight of a black dog, which spied them out as they sat on the beams of the mill, and ran about in a great rage, barking at them in a frightful way, and never left off till the miller went out of the mill, when he went away with his master, and did not return till the next day; but whenever he saw the grey squirrels, this little dog, whose name was "pinch," was sure to set up his ears and tail, and snap and bark, showing all his sharp white teeth in a very savage manner. not far from the mill was another building: this was the house the miller lived in; and close by the house was a barn, a stable, a cow-shed, and a sheep-pen, and there was a garden full of fruit and flowers, and an orchard of apple-trees close by. one day velvet-paw ran up one of the apple-trees and began to eat an apple; it looked very good, for it had a bright red cheek, but it was hard and sour, not being ripe. "i do not like these big, sour berries," said she, making wry faces as she tried to get the bad taste out of her mouth by wiping her tongue on her fore-paw. nimble had found some ripe currants; so he only laughed at poor velvet for the trouble she was in. these little grey squirrels now led a merry life; they found plenty to eat and drink, and would not have had a care in the world, if it had not been for the noisy little dog pinch, who let them have no quiet, barking and baying at them whenever he saw them; and also for the watchful eyes of a great tom-cat, who was always prowling about the mill, or creeping round the orchard and outhouses; so that with all their good food they were not quite free from causes of fear, and no doubt sometimes wished themselves safe back on the little rocky island, in their nest in the old oak-tree. time passed away--the wheat and the oats were now ripe and fit for the scythe, for in canada the settlers mow wheat with an instrument called a "cradle scythe." the beautiful indian corn was in bloom, and its long pale green silken threads were waving in the summer breeze. the blue-jays were busy in the fields of wheat; so were the red-winged blackbirds, and the sparrows, and many other birds, great and small; field-mice in dozens were cutting the straw with their sharp teeth, and carrying off the grain to their nests; and as to the squirrels and chitmunks, there were scores of them, black, red, and grey, filling their cheeks with the grain, and laying it out on the rail fences and on the top of the stumps to dry, before they carried it away to their storehouses. and many a battle the red and the black squirrels had, and sometimes the grey joined with the red, to beat the black ones off the ground. nimble-foot and his sister kept out of these quarrels as much as they could; but once they got a severe beating from the red squirrels for not helping them to drive off the saucy black ones, who would carry away the little heaps of wheat, as soon as they were dry. "we do not mean to trouble ourselves with laying up winter stores," said nimble one day to his red cousins; "don't you see peter, the miller's man, has got a great wagon and horses, and is carting wheat into the barn for us?" the red squirrel opened his round eyes very wide at this speech. "why, cousin nimble," he said, "you are not so foolish as to think the miller is harvesting that grain for your use. no, no, my friend; if you want any, you must work as we do, or run the chance of starving in the winter." then nimble told him what their cousin blackie had said. "you were wise fellows to believe such nonsense!" said the red squirrel. "these mills and barns are all stored for the use of the miller and his family; and what is more, my friend, i can tell you that men are no great friends to us poor squirrels, and will kill us when they get the chance, and begrudge us the grain we help ourselves to." "well, that is very stingy," said velvet-paw; "i am sure there is enough for men and squirrels too. however, i suppose all must live, so we will let them have what we leave; i shall help myself after they have stored it up in yonder barn." "you had better do as we do, and make hay while the sun shines," said the red squirrel. "i would rather play in the sunshine, and eat what i want here," said idle velvet-paw, setting up her fine tail like a feather over her back, as she ate an ear of corn. "you are a foolish, idle thing, and will come to no good," said the red squirrel. "i wonder where you were brought up?" i am very sorry to relate that velvet-paw did not come to a good end, for she did not take the advice of her red cousin, to lay up provisions during the harvest; but instead of that, she ate all day long, and grew fat and lazy; and after the fields were all cleared, she went to the mill one day, when the mill was grinding, and seeing a quantity of wheat in the feeder of the mill, she ran up a beam and jumped down, thinking to make a good dinner from the grain she saw; but it kept sliding down and sliding down so fast, that she could not get one grain, so at last she began to be frightened, and tried to get up again, but, alas! this was not possible. she cried out to nimble to help her; and while he ran to look for a stick for her to raise herself up by, the mill-wheel kept on turning, and the great stones went round faster and faster, till poor velvet-paw was crushed to death between them. nimble was now left all alone, and sad enough he was, you may suppose. "ah," said he, "idleness is the ruin of grey squirrels, as well as men, so i will go away from this place, and try and earn an honest living in the forest. i wish i had not believed all the fine tales my cousin the black squirrel told me." then nimble went away from the clearing, and once more resolved to seek his fortune in the woods. he knew there were plenty butter-nuts, acorns, hickory-nuts, and beech-nuts, to be found, besides many sorts of berries; and he very diligently set to work to lay up stores against the coming winter. as it was now getting cold at night, nimble-foot thought it would be wise to make himself a warm house; so he found out a tall hemlock-pine that was very thick and bushy at the top; there was a forked branch in the tree, with a hollow just fit for his nest. he carried twigs of birch and beech, and over these he laid dry green moss, which he collected on the north side of the cedar-trees, and some long grey moss that he found on the swamp maples, and then he stripped the silky threads from the milk-weeds, and the bark of the cedar and birch-trees. these he gnawed fine, and soon made a soft bed; he wove and twisted the sticks, and roots, and mosses together, till the walls of his house were quite thick, and he made a sort of thatch over the top with dry leaves and long moss, with a round hole to creep in and out of. making this warm house took him many days' labour; but many strokes will fell great oaks, so at last nimble-foot's work came to an end, and he had the comfort of a charming house to shelter him from the cold season. he laid up a good store of nuts, acorns, and roots: some he put in a hollow branch of the hemlock-tree close to his nest; some he hid in a stump, and another store he laid under the roots of a mossy cedar. when all this was done, he began to feet very lonely, and often wished no doubt that he had had his sisters silvy and velvet-paw with him, to share his nice warm house; but of silvy he knew nothing, and poor velvet-paw was dead. one fine moonlight night, as nimble was frisking about on the bough of a birch-tree, not very far from his house in the hemlock, he saw a canoe land on the shore of the lake, and some indians with an axe cut down some bushes, and having cleared a small piece of ground, begin to sharpen, the ends of some long poles. these they stuck into the ground close together in a circle; and having stripped some sheets of birch-bark from the birch-trees close by, they thatched the sides of the hut, and made a fire of sticks inside. they had a dead deer in the canoe, and there were several hares and black squirrels, the sight of which rather alarmed nimble; for he thought if they killed one sort of squirrel, they might another, and he was very much scared at one of the indians firing off a gun close by him. the noise made him fall down to the ground, and it was a good thing that it was dark among the leaves and grass where the trunk of the tree threw its long shadow, so that the indian did not see him, or perhaps he might have loaded the gun again, and shot our little friend, and made soup of him for his supper. nimble ran swiftly up a pine-tree, and was soon out of danger. while he was watching some of the indian children at play, he saw a girl come out of the hut with a grey squirrel in her arms; it did not seem at all afraid of her, but nestled to her shoulder, and even ate out of her hand; and what was nimble's surprise to see that this tame grey squirrel was none other than his own pretty sister silver-nose, whom he had left in the hollow tree when they both ran away from the red squirrel. you may suppose the sight of his lost companion was a joyful one; he waited for a long, long time, till the fire went out, and all the indians were fast asleep, and little silvy came out to play in the moonlight, and frisk about on the dewy grass as she used to do. then nimble, when he saw her, ran down the tree, and came to her and rubbed his nose against her, and licked her soft fur, and told her who he was, and how sorry he was for having left her in so cowardly a manner, to be beaten by the red squirrel. the good little silvy told nimble not to fret about what was past, and then she asked him for her sister velvet-paw. nimble had a long sorrowful tale to tell about the death of poor velvet; and silvy was much grieved. then in her turn she told nimble all her adventures, and how she had been caught by the indian, girl, and kept, and fed, and tamed, and had passed her time very happily, if it had not been for thinking about her dear lost companions. "but now," she said, "my dear brother, we will never, part again; you shall be quite welcome, to share my cage, and my nice stores of indian corn, rice, and nuts, which my kind mistress gives me." "i would not be shut up in a cage, not even for one day," said nimble, "for all the nice and grain in canada. i am a free squirrel, and love my liberty. i would not exchange a life of freedom in these fine old woods, for all the dainties in the world. so, silvy, if you prefer a life of idleness and ease to living with me in the forest, i must say good-bye to you." "but there is nothing to hurt us, my dear nimble--no racoons, nor foxes, nor hawks, nor owls, nor weasels; if i see any hungry-looking birds or beasts, i have a safe place to run to, and never need be hungry!" "i would not lead a life like that, for the world," said nimble. "i should die of dullness; if there is danger in a life of freedom, there is pleasure too, which you cannot enjoy, shut up in a wooden cage, and fed at the will of a master or mistress." "well, i shall be shot if the indians awake and see me; so i shall be off." silvy looked very sorrowful; she did not like to part from her newly-found brother, but she was unwilling to forego all the comforts and luxuries her life of captivity afforded her. "you will not tell the indians where i live, i hope, silvy, for they would think it a fine thing to hunt me with their dogs, or shoot me down with their bows and arrows." at these words silvy was overcome with grief, so jumping off from the log on which she was standing, she said, "nimble, i will go with you and share all your perils, and we will never part again." she then ran into the wigwam; and going softly to the little squaw, who was asleep, licked her hands and face, as if she would say, "good-bye, my good kind friend; i shall not forget all your love for me, though i am going away from you for ever." silvy then followed nimble into the forest, and they soon reached his nice comfortable nest in the tall hemlock-tree. * * * * * "nurse, i am glad silvy went away with nimble, are not you? poor nimble must have been so lonely without her, and then you know it must have seemed so hard to him if silvy had preferred staying with the indians, to living with him." "those who have been used to a life of ease do not willingly give it up, my dear lady; thus you see, love for her old companion was stronger even than love of self. but i think you must have tired yourself with reading so long to me." "indeed, nurse, i must read a little more, for i want you to hear how silvy and nimble amused themselves in the hemlock-tree." then lady mary went on and read as follows. * * * * * silvy was greatly pleased with her new home, which was as soft and as warm as clean dry moss, hay, and fibres of roots could make it. the squirrels built a sort of pent or outer roof of twigs, dry leaves, and roots of withered grass, which was pitched so high that it threw off the rain and kept the inner house very dry. they worked at this very diligently, and also laid up a store of nuts and berries. they knew that they must not only provide plenty of food for the winter, but also for the spring months, when they could get little to eat beside the buds and bark of some sort of trees, and the chance seeds that might still remain in the pine-cones. thus the autumn months passed away very quickly and cheerfully with the squirrels while preparing for the coming winter. half the cold season was spent, too, in sleep; but on mild sunny days the little squirrels, roused by the bright light of the sunbeams on the white and glittering snow, would shake themselves, rub their black eyes, and after licking themselves clean from dust, would whisk out of their house and indulge in merry gambols up and down the trunks of the trees, skipping from bough to bough, and frolicking over the hard crisp snow, which scarcely showed on its surface the delicate print of their tiny feet, and the sweep of their fine light feathery tails. sometimes they met with some little shrewmice, running on the snow. these very tiny things are so small, they hardly look bigger than a large black beetle; they lived on the seeds of the tall weeds, which they, might be seen climbing and clinging to, yet were hardly heavy enough to weigh down the heads of the dry stalks. it is pretty to see the footprints of these small shrewmice, on the surface of the fresh fallen snow in the deep forest-glades. they are not dormant during the winter like many of the mouse tribe, for they are up and abroad at all seasons; for however stormy and severe the weather may be, they do not seem to heed its inclemency. surely, children, there is one who cares for the small tender things of earth, and shelters them from the rude blasts. nimble-foot and silver-nose often saw their cousins, the black squirrels, playing in the sunshine, chasing each other merrily up and down the trees, or over the brush-heaps; their jetty coats, and long feathery tails, forming a striking contrast with the whiteness of the snow, above which they were sporting. sometimes they saw a few red squirrels too, but there was generally war between them and the black ones. in these lonely forests, everything seems still and silent, during the long wintry season, as if death had spread a white pall over, the earth, and hushed every living thing into silence. few sounds are heard through the winter days, to break the death-like silence that reigns around, excepting the sudden rending and cracking of the trees in the frosty air, the fall of a decayed branch, the tapping of a solitary woodpecker, two or three small species of which still remain after all the summer birds are flown; and the gentle, weak chirp of the little tree-creeper, as it runs up and down the hemlocks and pines, searching the crevices of the bark for insects. yet in all this seeming death lies hidden the life of myriads of insects, the huge beast of the forest, asleep in his lair, with many of the smaller quadrupeds, and forest-birds, that, hushed in lonely places, shall awake to life and activity as soon as the sun-beams shall once more dissolve the snow, unbind the frozen streams, and loosen the bands which held them in repose. at last the spring, the glad joyous spring, returned. the leaf-buds, wrapped within their gummy and downy cases, began to unfold; the dark green pines, spruce, and balsams began to shoot out fresh spiny leaves, like tassels, from the ends of every bough, giving out the most refreshing fragrance; the crimson buds of the young hazels, and the scarlet blossoms of the soft maple, enlivened the edges of the streams; the bright coral bark of the dogwood seemed as if freshly varnished, so brightly it glowed in the morning sunshine; the scream of the blue jay, the song of the robin and wood-thrush, the merry note of the chiccadee, and plaintive cry of the pheobe, with loud hammering strokes of the great red-headed woodpecker, mingled with the rush of the unbound forest streams, gurgling and murmuring as their water flowed over the stones, and the sighing of the breeze, playing in the tree-tops, made pleasant and ceaseless music. and then as time passed on, the trees unfolded all their bright green leaves, the buds and forest flowers opened; and many a bright bell our little squirrels looked down upon, from their leafy home, that the eye of man had never seen. it was pleasant for our little squirrels, just after sunset, in the still summer evenings, when the small silver stars came stealing out, one by one, in the blue sky, to play among the cool dewy leaves of the grand old oaks and maples; to watch the fitful flash of the fireflies, as they glanced here and there, flitting through the deep gloom of the forest boughs, now lost to sight, as they closed their wings, now flashing out like tiny tapers, borne aloft by unseen hands in the darkness. where that little creek runs singing over its mossy bed, and the cedar-boughs bend down so thick and close, that only a gleam of the bright water can be seen, even in the sunlight--there the fireflies crowd, and the damp foliage is all alive with their dazzling light. in this sweet still hour, just at the dewfall, the rush of whirring wings may be heard from the islands, or in the forest, bordering on the water's edge; and out of hollow logs and hoary trunks of trees come forth the speckled night-hawks, cutting the air with their thin sharp wide wings, and open beak, ready to entrap the unwary moth, or moskitoe, that float so joyously upon the evening air. one after another, sweeping in wider circles, come forth these birds of prey, till the whole air seems alive with them; darting hither and thither, and uttering wild shrill screams, as they rise higher and higher in the upper air, till some are almost lost to sight. sometimes one of them will descend with a sudden swoop, to the lower regions of the air, just above the highest tree-tops, with a hollow booming sound, as if some one were blowing in an empty vessel. at this hour, too, the bats would quit their homes in hollow trees and old rocky banks, and flit noiselessly abroad, over the surface of the quiet star-lit lake; and now also would begin the shrill, trilling note of the green-frog, and the deep hoarse bass of the bull-frog, which ceases only at intervals, through the long, warm summer night. you might fancy a droll sort of dialogue was being carried on among them. at first, a great fellow, the patriarch of the swamp, will put up his head, which looks very much like a small pair of bellows, with yellow leather sides; and say in a harsh, guttural tone, "go to bed, go to bed, go to bed." after a moment's pause, two or three will rise and reply, "no, i won't! no, i won't! no, i won't!" then the old fellow, with a growl, replies,--"get out, get out, get out," --and forthwith, with a rush, and a splash, and a dash, they raise a chorus of whirring, grating, growling, grunting, whistling sounds, which make you hold your ears. when all this hubbub has lasted some minutes, there is a pop, and a splash, and down go all the heads under the weeds and mud; and after another pause, up comes the old father of the frogs, and begins again with the old story--"go to bed, go to bed, go to bed," and so on. during the heat of the day, the bull-frogs are silent; but as the day declines, and the air becomes cooler, they re-commence their noisy chorus. i suppose these sounds, though not very pleasant to the ears of men, may not be so disagreeable to those of wild animals. i dare say neither nimble nor silvy were in the least annoyed by the hoarse note of the bull-frog; but gambolled as merrily among the boughs and fresh dewy leaves, as if they were listening to sweet music, or the songs of the birds. the summer passed away very happily; but towards the close of the warm season, the squirrels, nimble and silvy, resolved to make a journey to the rocky island on stony lake, to see the old squirrels, their father and mother. so they started at sunrise one fine pleasant day, and travelled along, till one cool evening, just as the moon was beginning to rise above the pine-trees, they arrived at the little rocky islet where they first saw the light; but when they eagerly ran up the trunk of the old oak-tree, expecting to have seen their old father and mother, they were surprised and terrified by seeing a wood-owl in the nest. as soon as she espied our little squirrels, she shook her feathers, and set up her ears--for she was a long-eared owl--and said, "what do you want here?--ho, ho, ho, ho! "indeed, mrs. owl," said nimble, "we come hither to see our parents, whom we left here a year ago. can you tell us where we shall find them?" the owl peered out of her ruff of silken feathers, and after wiping her sharp bill on her breast, said, "your cousin the black squirrel beat your father and mother out of their nest a long time ago, and took possession of the tree and all that was in it, and they brought up a large family of little ones, all of which i pounced upon one after another, and ate. indeed, the oaks here belong to my family; so finding these impudent intruders would not quit the premises, i made short work of the matter, and took the law into my own hands." "did you kill them?" asked silvy, in a trembling voice. "of course i did, and very nice tender meat they were," replied the horrid old owl, beginning to scramble out of the nest, and eyeing the squirrels at the same time with a wicked look. "but you did not eat our parents too?" asked the trembling squirrels. "yes, i did; they were very tough, to be sure, but i am not very particular." the grey squirrels, though full of grief and vain regret, were obliged to take care of themselves. there was, indeed, no time to fee lost, so they made a hasty retreat. they crept under the roots of an old tree, where they lay till the morning; they were not much concerned for the death of the treacherous black squirrel who had told so many stories, got possession of their old nest, and caused the death of their parents; but they said--"we will go home again to our dear old hemlock-tree, and never leave it more." so these dear little squirrels returned to their forest home, and may be living there yet. * * * * * "nurse," said lady mary, "how do you like the story?" mrs. frazer said it was a very pretty one. "perhaps my dear little pet is one of nimble or silvy's children. you know, nurse, they might have gone on their travels too when they were old enough, and then your brother may have chopped down the tree and found them in the forest." "but your squirrel, lady mary, is a flying squirrel, and these were only common grey ones, which are a different species. besides, my dear, this history is but a fable." "i suppose, nurse," said the child, looking up in her nurse's face, "squirrels do not really talk." "no, my dear, they have not the use of speech as we have, but in all ages people have written little tales called fables, in which they make birds and beasts speak as if they were men and women, it being an easy method of conveying instruction." "my book is only a fable then, nurse? i wish it had been true; but it is very pretty." chapter iv. squirrels--the chitmunks-docility of a pet one--roguery of a yankee pedlar--return of the musical chitmunk to his master's bosom--sagacity of a black squirrel. "mrs. frazer, are you very busy just now?" asked lady mary, coming up to the table where her nurse was ironing some lace. "no, my dear, not very busy, only preparing these lace edgings for your frocks. do you want me to do anything for you?" "i only want to tell you that my governess has promised to paint my dear squirrel's picture, as soon as it is tame, and will let me hold it in my lap, without flying away. i saw a picture of a flying squirrel to-day, but it was very ugly--not at all like mine; it was long and flat, and its legs looked like sticks, and it was stretched out, just like one of those muskrat skins that you pointed out to me in a fur store. mamma said it was drawn so, to show it while it was in the act of flying; but it is not pretty--it does not show its beautiful tail, nor its bright eyes, nor soft silky fur. i heard a lady tell mamma about a nest full of dear, tiny little flying squirrels; [footnote: tame flying squirrels may be purchased at the pantheon, in oxford street.] that her brother once found in a tree in the forest; he tamed them, and they lived very happily together, and would feed from his hand. they slept in the cold weather like dormice; in the day-time they lay very still, but would come out, and gambol, and frisk about at night. but somebody left the cage open, and they all ran away except one, and that he found in his bed, where it had run for shelter with its little nose under his pillow. he caught the little fellow, and it lived with him till the spring, when it grew restless, and one day got away, and went off to the woods." "these little creatures are impatient of confinement, and will gnaw through the woodwork of the cage to get free, especially in the spring of the year. doubtless, my dear, they pine for the liberty which they used to enjoy before they were captured by man." "nurse, i will not let my little pet be unhappy. as soon as the warm days come again, and my governess has taken his picture, i will let him go free. are there many squirrels in this part of canada?" "not so many as in upper canada, lady mary. they abound more in some years than in others. i have seen the beech and oak woods swarming with black squirrels. my brothers have brought in two or three dozen in one day. the indians used to tell us that want of food, or very severe weather setting in, in the north, drive these little animals from their haunts. the indians, who observe these things more than we do, can generally tell what sort of winter it will be, from the number of wild animals in the fall." "what do you mean by the fall, nurse?" "the autumn in canada, my lady, is called so from the fall of the leaves. i remember one year was remarkable for the great number of black, grey, and flying squirrels; the little striped chitmunk was also plentiful, and so were weasels and foxes. they came into the barns and granaries, and into the houses, and destroyed great quantities of grain; besides gnawing clothes that were laid out to dry; this they did to line their nests with. next year there were very few to be seen." "what became of them, nurse?" "some, no doubt, fell a prey to their enemies, the cats, foxes, and weasels, which were also very numerous that year; and the rest, perhaps, went back to their own country again." "i should like to see a great number of these pretty creatures travelling together," said lady mary. "all wild animals, my dear, are more active by night than by day, and probably make their long journeys during that season. the eyes of many animals and birds are so formed, that they see best in the dim twilight, as cats, and owls, and others. our heavenly father has fitted all his. creatures for the state in which he has placed them." "can squirrels swim like otters and beavers, nurse? if they come to a lake or river, can they cross it?" "i think they can, lady mary; for though these creatures are not formed like the otter, or beaver, or muskrat, to get their living in the water, they are able to swim when necessity requires them to do so. i heard a lady say that she was crossing a lake, between one of the islands and the shore, in a canoe, with a baby on her lap. she noticed a movement on the surface of the water. at first she thought it might be a water snake, but the servant lad who was paddling the canoe, said it was a red squirrel, and he tried to strike it with the paddle; but the little squirrel leaped out of the water to the blade of the paddle, and sprang on the head of the baby, as it lay on her lap; from whence it jumped to her shoulder, and before she had recovered from her surprise, was in the water again, swimming straight for the shore, where it was soon safe in the dark pine woods." this feat of the squirrel delighted lady mary, who expressed her joy at the bravery of the little creature. besides, she said she had heard that grey squirrels, when they wished to go to a distance in search of food, would all meet together, and collect pieces of bark to serve them for boats, and would set up their broad tails like sails, to catch the wind, and in this way cross large sheets of water. "i do not think this can be true," observed mrs. frazer; "for the squirrel, when swimming, uses his tail as an oar or rudder to help the motion, the tail lying flat on the surface of the water; nor do these creatures need a boat, for god, who made them, has _given them_ the power of swimming at their need." "nurse, you said something about a ground squirrel, and called it a chitmunk. if you please, will you tell me something about it, and why it is called by such a curious name?" "i believe it is the indian name for this sort of squirrel, my dear. the chitmunk is not so large as the black, red, or grey squirrels. it is marked along the back with black and white stripes; the rest of its fur is a yellowish tawny colour. it is a very playful, lively, cleanly animal, somewhat resembling the dormouse in its habits. it burrows under ground. its nest is made with great care, with many galleries which open at the surface, so that when attacked by an enemy, it can run from one to another for security." [footnote: the squirrel has many enemies; all the weasel tribe, cats, and even dogs attack them. cats kill great numbers of these little animals. the farmer shows them as little mercy as he does rats and mice, as they are very destructive, and carry off vast quantities of grain, which they store in hollow trees for use. not contenting themselves with one, granary, they have several in case one should fail, or perhaps become injured by accidental causes. thus do these simple little creatures teach us a lesson of providential care for future events.] "how wise of these little chitmunks to think of that!" said lady mary. "nay, my dear child, it is god's wisdom, not theirs. these creatures work according to his will; and so they always do what is fittest and best for their own comfort and safety. man is the only one of god's creatures who disobeys him." these words made lady mary look grave, till her nurse began to talk to her again about the chitmunk. "it is very easily tamed, and becomes very fond of its master. it will obey his voice, come at a call or a whistle, sit up and beg, take a nut or an acorn out of his hand, run up a stick, nestle in his bosom, and become quite familiar. my uncle had a tame chitmunk that was much attached to him; it lived in his pocket or bosom; it was his companion by day and by night. when he was out in the forest lumbering, or on the lake fishing, or in the fields at work, it was always with him. at meals it sat by the side of his plate, eating what he gave it; but he did not give it meat, as he thought that might injure its health. one day he and his pet were in the steam-boat, going to toronto. he had been showing off the little chitmunk's tricks to the ladies and gentlemen on board the boat, and several persons offered him money if he would sell it; but my uncle was fond of the little thing, and would not part with it. however, just before he left the boat, he missed his pet; for a cunning yankee pedlar on board had stolen it. my uncle knew that his little friend would not desert its old master; so he went on deck where the passengers were assembled, and whistled a popular tune familiar to the chitmunk. the little fellow, on hearing it, whisked out of the pedlar's pocket, and running swiftly along a railing against which he was standing, soon sought refuge in his master's bosom." lady mary clapped her hands with joy, and said, "i am so glad, nurse, that the chitmunk ran back to his old friend. i wish it had bitten that yankee pedlar's fingers." "when angry, these creatures will bite very sharply, set up their tails, and run to and fro, and make a chattering sound with their teeth. the red squirrel is very fearless for its size, and will sometimes turn round and face you, set up its tail, and scold. but they will, when busy eating the seeds of the sunflower or thistle, of which they are very fond, suffer you to stand and watch them without attempting to run away. when near their granaries, or the tree where their nest is, they are unwilling to leave it, running to and fro, and uttering their angry notes; but if a dog is near, they make for a tree, and as soon as they are out of his reach, turn round to chatter and scold, as long as he remains in sight. when hard pressed, the black and flying squirrels will take prodigious leaps, springing from bough to bough, and from tree to tree. in this manner they baffle the hunters, and travel a great distance over the tops of the trees. once i saw my uncle and brothers chasing a large black squirrel. he kept out of reach of the dogs, as well as out of sight of the men, by passing round and round the tree as he went up, so that they could never get a fair shot at him. at last, they got so provoked that they took their axes, and set to work to chop down the tree. it was a large pine-tree, and took them some time. just as the tree was ready to fall, and was wavering to and fro, the squirrel, who had kept on the topmost bough, sprang nimbly to the next tree, and then to another, and by the time the great pine had reached the ground, the squirrel was far away in his nest among his little ones, safe from hunters, guns, and dogs." "the black squirrel must have wondered, i think, nurse, why so many men and dogs tried to kill such a little creature as he was. do the black squirrels sleep in the winter as well as the flying squirrels and chitmunks?" "no, lady mary; i have often seen them on bright days chasing each other over logs and brush heaps, and running gaily up the pine-trees. they are easily seen from the contrast which their jetty black coats make with the sparkling white snow. these creatures feed a good deal on the kernels of the pines and hemlocks; they also eat the buds of some trees. they lay up great stores of nuts and grain for winter use. the flying squirrels sleep much, and in the cold season lie heaped upon each other, for the sake of warmth. as many as seven or eight may be found in one nest asleep. they sometimes awaken, if there come a succession of warm days, as in the january thaw; for i must tell you that in this country we generally have rain and mild weather for a few days in the beginning of january, when the snow nearly disappears from the ground. about the 12th, [footnote: this remark applies more particularly to the upper province.] the weather sets in again steadily cold; when the little animals retire once more to sleep in their winter cradles, which they rarely leave till the hard weather is over." "i suppose, nurse, when they awake, they are glad to eat some of the food they hare laid up in their granaries?" "yes, my dear, it is for this they gather their hoards in mild weather; which also supports them in the spring months, and possibly even during the summer, till grain and fruit are ripe. i was walking in the harvest field one day, where my brothers were cradling wheat. as i passed along the fence, i noticed a great many little heaps of wheat lying here and there on the rails, also upon the tops of the stumps in the field. i wondered at first who could have placed them there, but presently noticed a number of red squirrels running very swiftly along the fence, and perceived that they emptied their mouths of a quantity of the new wheat, which they had been diligently employed in collecting from the ears that lay scattered over the ground. these little gleaners did not seem to be at all alarmed at my presence, but went to and fro as busy as bees. on taking some of the grains into my hand, i noticed that the germ or eye of the kernels was bitten clean out." "what was that for, nurse? can you tell me?" "my dear young lady, i did not know at first, till, upon showing it to my father, he told me that the squirrels destroyed the germ of the grain, such as wheat or indian corn, that they stored up for winter use, that it might not sprout when buried in the ground or in a hollow tree." "this is very strange, nurse," said the little girl. "but i suppose," she added, after a moment's thought, "it was god who taught the squirrels to do so. but why would biting out the eye prevent the grain from growing?" "because the eye or bud contains the life of the plant; from it springs the green blade, and the stem that bears the ear, and the root that strikes down to the earth. the flowery part, which swells and becomes soft and jelly-like, serves to nourish the young plant till the tender fibres of the roots are able to draw moisture from the ground." lady mary asked if all seeds had an eye or germ. her nurse replied that all had, though some were so minute that they looked no bigger than dust, or a grain of sand; yet each was perfect in its kind, and contained the plant that would, when sown in the earth, bring forth roots, leaves, buds, flowers, and fruits in due season. "how glad i should have been to see the little squirrels gleaning the wheat, and laying it in the little heaps on the rail fence. why did they not carry it at once to their nests?" "they laid it out in the sun and wind to dry; for if it had been stored away while damp, it would have moulded, and have been spoiled. the squirrels were busy all that day; when i went to see them again, the grain was gone. i saw several red squirrels running up and down a large pine-tree, which had been broken by the wind at the top; and there, no doubt, they had laid up stores. these squirrels did not follow each other in a straight line, but ran round and round in a spiral direction, so that they never hindered each other, nor came in each other's way: two were always going up, while the other two were going down. they seem to work in families; for the young ones, though old enough to get their own living, usually inhabit the same nest, and help to store up the grain for winter use. they all separate again in spring. the little chitmunk does not live in trees, but burrows in the ground, or makes its nest in some large hollow log. it is very pretty to see the little chitmunks, on a warm spring day, running about and chasing each other among the moss and leaves; they are not bigger than mice, but look bright and lively. the fur of all the squirrel tribe is used in trimming, but the grey is the best and most valuable. it has often been remarked by the indians, and others, that the red and black squirrels never live in the same place; for the red, though the smallest, beat away the black ones. the flesh of the black squirrel is very good to eat; the indians also eat the red." lady mary was very glad to hear all these things, and quite forgot to play with her doll. "please, mrs. frazer," said the little lady, "tell me now about beavers and muskrats." but mrs. frazer was obliged to go out on business; she promised, however, to tell lady mary all she knew about these animals another day. chapter v. indian baskets--thread plants--maple sugar tree--indian ornamental works-racoons it was some time before lady mary's nurse could tell her any more stories. she received a letter from her sister-in-law, informing her that her brother was dangerously ill, confined to what was feared would prove his deathbed, and that he earnestly desired to see her before he died. the governor's lady, who was very kind and good to all her household, readily consented to let mrs. frazer go to her sick relation. lady mary parted from her dear nurse, whom she loved very tenderly, with much regret. mrs. frazer told her that it might be a fortnight before she could return, as her brother lived on the shores of one of the small lakes, near the head waters of the otonabee river, a great way off; but she promised to return as soon as she could, and to console her young mistress for her absence, said she would bring her some indian toys from the backwoods. the month of march passed away pleasantly, for lady mary enjoyed many delightful sleigh-drives with her papa and mamma, who took every opportunity to instruct and amuse her. on entering her nursery one day, after enjoying a long drive in the country, great was her joy to find her good nurse sitting quietly at work by the stove. she was dressed in deep mourning, and looked much thinner and paler than when she had last seen her. the kind little girl knew, when she saw her nurse's black dress, that her brother must be dead; and with the thoughtfulness of a true lady, remained very quiet, and did not annoy her with questions about trifling matters; she spoke low and gently to her, and tried to comfort her when she saw large tears falling on the work which she held in her hand, kindly said, "mrs, frazer, you had better go and lie down and rest yourself, for you must be tired after your long long journey." the next day mrs. frazer seemed to be much better; and she showed lady mary an indian basket, made of birch-bark, very richly wrought with coloured porcupine-quills, and which had two lids. lady mary admired the splendid colours, and strange patterns on the basket. "it is for you, my dear," said her nurse, "open it, and see what is in it." lady mary lifted one of the lids, and took out another small basket, of a different shape and pattern. it had a top, which was sewn down with coarse-looking thread, which her nurse told her was nothing but the sinews of the deer, dried and beaten fine, and drawn out like thread. then, taking an end of it in her hand, she made lady mary observe that these coarse threads could be separated into a great number of finer ones, sufficiently delicate to pass through the eye of a fine needle, or to string tiny beads. "the indians, my lady, sew with the sinews of the wild animals they kill. these sinews are much stronger and tougher than thread, and therefore are well adapted to sew together such things as moccasins, leggings, and garments made of the skins of wild animals. the finer threads are used for sewing the beads and quill ornaments on moccasins, sheaths, and pouches, besides other things that i cannot now think of. "they sew some things with the roots of the tamarack, of larch; such as coarse birch-baskets, bark canoes, and the covering of their wigwams. they call this 'wah-tap,' [footnote: asclepia paviflora.] (wood-thread,) and they prepare it by pulling off the outer rind and steeping it in water. it is the larger fibres which have the appearance of small cordage when coiled up and fit for use. this 'wah-tap' is very valuable to these poor indians. there is also another plant, called indian hemp, which is a small shrubby kind of milk-weed, that grows on gravelly islands. it bears white flowers, and the branches are long and slender; under the bark there is a fine silky thread covering the wood; this is tough, and can be twisted and spun into cloth. it is very white and fine, and does not easily break. there are other plants of the same family, with pods full of fine shining silk; but these are too brittle to spin into thread. this last kind, lady mary, which is called milk-weed flytrap, i will show you in summer." [footnote: asclepia syriaca.] but while mrs. frazer was talking about these plants, the little lady was examining the contents of the small birch-box. "if you please, nurse, will you tell me what these dark shining seeds are?" "these seeds, my dear, are indian rice; an old squaw, mrs. peter noggan, gave me this as a present for 'governor's daughter,'" and mrs. frazer imitated the soft, whining tone of the indian, which made lady mary laugh. "the box is called a 'mowkowk.' there is another just like it, only there is a white bird,--a snow-bird, i suppose it is intended for--worked on the lid." the lid of this box was fastened down with a narrow slip of deer-skin; lady mary cut the fastening, and raised the lid,--"nurse, it is only yellow sand; how droll, to send me a box of sand!" "it is not sand; taste it, lady mary." "it is sweet--it is sugar! ah! now i know what it is that this kind old squaw has sent me; it is maple-sugar; and is very nice. i will go and show it to mamma." "wait a little, lady mary, let us see what there is in the basket besides the rice and the maple-sugar." "what a lovely thing this is! dear nurse, what can it be?" "it is a sheath for your scissors, my dear; it is made of doe-skin, embroidered with white beads, and coloured quills split fine, and sewn with deer-sinew thread. look at these curious bracelets." lady mary examined the bracelets, and said she thought they were wrought with beads; but mrs. frazer told her that what she took for beads were porcupine quills, cut out very finely, and strung in a pattern. they were not only neatly but tastefully made; the pattern, though a grecian scroll, having been carefully imitated by some indian squaw. "this embroidered knife-sheath is large enough for a hunting-knife," said lady mary, "a '_couteau de chasse_,'--is it not?" "this sheath was worked by the wife of isaac iron, an educated chief of the mud lake indians; she gave it to me because i had been kind to her in sickness." "i will give it to my dear papa," said lady mary, "for i never go out hunting, and do not wish to carry a large knife by my side;" and she laid the sheath away, after having admired its gay colours, and particularly the figure of a little animal worked in black and white quills, which was intended to represent a racoon. "this is a present for your doll; it is a doll's mat, woven by a little girl, aged seven years, rachel muskrat; and here is a little canoe of red cedar, made by a little indian boy." "what a darling little boat, and there is a fish carved on the paddles." this device greatly pleased lady mary, who said she would send rachel a wax doll, and little moses a knife, or some other useful article, when mrs. frazer went again to the lakes; but when her nurse took out of the other end of the basket a birch-bark cradle, made for her doll, worked very richly, she clapped her hands for joy, saying, "ah, nurse, you should not have brought me so many pretty things at once, for i am too happy!" the remaining contents of the basket consisted of seeds and berries, and a small cake of maple-sugar, which mrs. frazer had made for the young lady. this was very different in appearance from the indian sugar; it was bright and sparkling, like sugar-candy, and tasted sweeter. the other sugar was dry, and slightly bitter: mrs. frazer told lady mary that this peculiar taste was caused by the birch-bark vessels, which the indians used for catching the sap as it flowed from the maple-trees. "i wonder who taught the indians how to make maple-sugar?" asked the child. "i do not know;" replied the nurse. "i have heard that they knew how to make this sugar when the discoverers of the country found them. [footnote: however this may be, the french settlers claim the merit of converting the sap into sugar.] it may be that they found it out by accident. the sugar-maple when wounded in march, and april, yields a great deal of sweet liquor. some indians may have supplied themselves with this juice, when pressed for want of water; for it flows so freely in warm days in spring, that several pints can be obtained from one tree in the course of the day. by boiling this juice, it becomes very sweet; and at last, when all the thin watery part has gone off in steam, it becomes thick, like honey; by boiling it still-longer, it turns to sugar, when cold. so you see, my dear, that the indians may have found it out by boiling some sap, instead of water, and letting it remain on the fire till it grew thick." "are there many kinds of maple-trees, that sugar can be made from, nurse?" asked the little girl. "yes, [footnote: all the maple tribe are of a saccharine nature. sugar has been made in england from the sap of the sycamore.] my lady; but i believe the sugar-maple yields the best sap for the purpose; that of the birch-tree, i have heard, can be made into sugar; but it would require a larger quantity; weak wine, or vinegar, is made by the settlers of birch-sap, which is very pleasant tasted. the people who live in the backwoods, and make maple-sugar, always make a keg of vinegar at the sugaring off." "that must be very useful; but if the sap is sweet, how can it be made into such sour stuff as vinegar?" then nurse tried to make lady mary understand that the heat of the sun, or of a warm room, would make the liquor ferment, unless it had been boiled a long time, so as to become very sweet, and somewhat thick. the first fermentation, she told her, would give only a winy taste; but if it continued to ferment a great deal, it turned sour, and became vinegar. "how very useful the maple-tree is, nurse! i wish there were maples in the garden, and i would make sugar, molasses, wine, and vinegar; and what else would i do with my maple-tree?" mrs. frazer laughed, and said,--"the wood makes excellent fuel; but is also used in making bedsteads, chests of drawers, and many other things. there is a very pretty wood for furniture, called 'bird's-eye maple;' the drawers in my bedroom that you think so pretty are made of it; but it is a disease in the tree that causes it to have these little marks all through the wood. in autumn, this tree improves the forest landscape, for the bright scarlet leaves of the maple give a beautiful look to the woods in the fall. the soft maple, another species, is very bright when the leaves are changing, but it gives no sugar." "then i will not let it grow in my garden, nurse!" "it is good for other purposes, my dear. the settlers use the bark for dyeing wool; and a jet black ink can be made from it, by boiling down the bark with a bit of copperas, in an iron vessel; so you see it is useful. the bright red flowers of this tree look very pretty in the spring; it grows best by the water-side, and some call it 'the swamp maple.'" this was all mrs. frazer could tell lady mary about the maple-trees. many little girls, as young as the governor's daughter, would have thought it very dull to listen to what her nurse had to say about plants and trees; but lady mary would put aside her dolls and toys, to stand beside her to ask questions, and listen to her answers; the more she heard, the more she desired to hear, about these things. "the hearing ear, and the seeing eye, are two things that are never satisfied," saith the wise king solomon. lady mary was delighted with the contents of her indian basket, and spent the rest of her play-hours in looking at the various articles it contained, and asking her nurse questions about the materials of which they were made. some of the bark boxes were lined with paper, but the doll's cradle was not, and lady mary perceived that the inside of it was very rough, caused by the hard ends of the quills with which it was ornamented. at first, she could not think how the squaws worked with the quills, as they could not possibly thread them through the eye of a needle; but her nurse told her that when they want to work any pattern in birch-bark, they trace it with some sharp-pointed instrument, such as a nail, or bodkin, or even a sharp thorn; with which they pierce holes close together round the edge of the leaf, or blade, or bird they have drawn out on the birch-bark; into these holes they insert one end of the quill, the other end is then drawn through the opposite hole, pulled tight, bent a little, and cut off on the inside. this any one of my young readers may see, if they examine the indian baskets or toys, made of birch-bark. "i have seen the squaws in their wigwams at work on these things, sitting cross-legged on their mats,--some had the quills in a little bark dish on their laps, while others held them in their mouths--not a very safe nor delicate way; but indians are not very nice in some of their habits," said mrs. frazer. "nurse, if you please, will you tell me what this little animal is designed to represent," said lady mary, pointing to the figure of the racoon worked in quills on the sheath of the hunting-knife. "it is intended for a racoon, my lady," replied her nurse. "is the racoon a pretty creature like my squirrel?" "it is much larger than your squirrel; its fur is not nearly so soft or so fine; the colour being black and grey, or dun; the tail barred across, and bushy,--you have seen many sleigh-robes made of racoon-skins, with the tails looking like tassels at the back of the sleighs." "oh, yes, and a funny cunning-looking face peeping out too!" "the face of this little animal is sharp, and the eyes black and keen, like a fox; the feet bare, like the soles of our feet, only black and leathery; their claws are very sharp; they can climb trees very fast. during the winter the racoons sleep in hollow trees, and cling together for the sake of keeping each other warm. the choppers find as many as seven or eight in one nest, fast asleep. most probably the young family remain with the old ones until spring, when, they separate. the racoon in its habits is said to resemble the bear; like the bear, it lives chiefly on vegetables, especially indian corn, but i do not think that it lays by any store for winter. they sometimes awake if there come a few warm days, but soon retire again to their warm cosy nests." "racoons will eat eggs; and fowls are often taken by them,--perhaps this is in the winter, when they wake up and are pressed by hunger." her nurse said that one of her friends had a racoon which he kept in a wooden cage, but he was obliged to have a chain and collar to keep him from getting away, as he used to gnaw the bars asunder; and had slily stolen away and killed some ducks, and was almost as mischievous as a fox, but was very lively and amusing in his way. lady mary now left her good nurse, and took her basket, with all its indian treasures, to show to her mamma,--with whom we leave her for the present. chapter vi. canadian birds--snow sparrow--robin red-breast--canadian flowers-american porcupine. "spring is coming, nurse! spring is coming at last!" exclaimed the governor's little daughter, joyfully. "the snow is going away at last. i am tired of the white snow, it makes my eyes ache. i want to see the brown earth, and the grass, and the green moss, and the pretty flowers again." "it will be some days before this deep covering of snow is gone. the streets are still slippery with ice, which it will take some time, my lady, to soften." "but, nurse, the sun shines, and there are little streams of water running along the streets in every direction; see, the snow is gone from under the bushes and trees in the garden. i saw some dear little birds flying about, and i watched them perching on the dry stalks of the tall rough weeds, and they appeared to be picking seeds out of the husks. can you tell me what birds they were?" "i saw the flock of birds you mean, lady mary; they are the common snow-sparrows; [footnote: fringilla nivalis.] almost our earliest visitants; for they may be seen in april, mingled with the brown song-sparrow, [footnote: fringilla melodia.] flitting about the garden fences, or picking the stalks of the tall mullein and amaranths, to find the seeds that have not been shaken out by the autumn winds; and possibly they also find insects cradled in the husks of the old seed-vessels. these snow-sparrows are very hardy, and though some migrate to the states in the beginning of winter, a few stay in the upper province, and others come back to us before the snow is all gone." "they are very pretty, neat-looking birds, nurse; dark slate colour, with white breasts." "when i was a little girl, i used to call them my quaker-birds, they looked so neat and prim. in the summer you may find their nests in the brush-heaps near the edge of the forest; they sing a soft, low song." "nurse, i heard a bird singing yesterday, when i was in the garden; a little plain brown bird, nurse." "it was a song-sparrow, lady mary. this cheerful little bird comes with the snow-birds, often before the robin." "oh, nurse, the robin! i wish you would show me a darling robin redbreast. i did not know they lived in canada." "the bird that we call the robin in this country, my dear, is not like the little redbreast you have seen at home; our robin is twice as large; though in shape resembling the european robin; i believe it is really a kind of thrush. it migrates in the fall, and returns to us early in the spring." "what is migrating, nurse; is it the same as emigrating?" "yes, lady mary, for when a person leaves his native country, and goes to live in another country, he is said to emigrate. this is the reason why the english, scotch, and irish families who come to live in canada are called emigrants." "what colour are the canadian robins, nurse?" "the head is blackish, the back lead colour, and the breast is pale orange; not so bright a red, however, as the real robin." "have you ever seen their nests, nurse?" "yes, my dear, many of them. it is not a pretty nest; it is large, and coarsely put together, of old dried grass, roots, and dead leaves, plastered inside with clay, mixed with bits of straw, so as to form a sort of mortar. you know, lady mary, that the blackbird and thrush build nests, and plaster them in this way." the little lady nodded her head in assent. "nurse, i once saw a robin's nest when i was in england; it was in the side of a mossy ditch, with primroses growing close beside it; it was made of green moss, and lined with white wool and hair; it was a pretty nest, with nice eggs in it, much better than your canadian robin's nest." "our robins build in upturned roots, in the corners of rail fences, and in the young pear-trees and apple-trees in the orchard. the eggs are a greenish blue. the robin sings a full, clear song; indeed he is our best songster. we have so few singing-birds, that we prize those that do sing very much." "does the canadian robin come into the house in winter, and pick up the crumbs, as the dear little redbreasts do at home?" "no, lady mary, they are able to find plenty of food abroad, when they return to us; but they hop about the houses and gardens pretty freely. in the fall, before they go away, they may be seen in great numbers, running about the old pastures, picking up worms and seeds." "do people see the birds flying away together, nurse?" "not often, my dear, for most birds congregate together in small flocks and depart unnoticed; many go away at night, when we are sleeping; and some fly very high on cloudy days, so that they are not distinctly seen against the dull grey sky. the water birds, such as geese, swans, and ducks, take their flight in large bodies. they are heard making a continual noise in the air, and may be seen grouped in long lines, or in the form of the letter v lying on its side, (<), the point generally directed southward or westward, the strongest and oldest birds acting as leaders: when tired, these aquatic generals fall backward into the main body, and are replaced by others." lady mary was much surprised at the order and sagacity displayed by wild fowl in their flight; and mrs. frazer told her that some other time she would tell her some more facts respecting their migration to other countries. "nurse, will you tell me something about birds' nests, and what they make them of?" "birds that live chiefly in the depths of the forest, or in solitary places, far away from the haunts of men, build their nests of ruder materials, and with less care in the manner of putting them together; dried grass, roots, and a little moss, seem to be the materials they make use of. it has been noticed by many persons, my dear, that those birds that live near towns and villages and cleared farms, soon learn to make better sorts of nests, and to weave into them soft and comfortable things, such as silk, wool, cotton, and hair." "that is very strange, nurse." "it is so, lady mary; but the same thing may also be seen among human beings. the savage nations are contented with rude dwellings made of sticks and cane, covered with skins of beasts, bark, or reeds; but when they once unite together in a more social state, and live in villages and towns, a desire for improvement takes place; the tent of skins, or the rude shanty, is exchanged for a hut of better shape; and this in time gives place to houses and furniture of more useful and ornamental kinds." "nurse, i heard mamma say, that the britons who lived in england were once savages, and lived in caves, huts, and thick woods; that they dressed in skins, and painted their bodies like the indians." "when you read the history of england, you will see that such was the case," said mrs. frazer. "nurse, perhaps the little birds like to see the flowers, and the sunshine, and the blue sky, and men's houses. i will make my garden very pretty this spring, and plant some nice flowers to please the dear little birds." many persons would have thought such remarks very foolish in our little lady, but mrs. frazer, who was a good and wise woman, did not laugh at the little girl; for she thought it was a lovely thing to see her wish to give happiness to the least of god's creatures, for it was imitating his own goodness and mercy, which delight in the enjoyment of the things which he has called into existence. "please, mrs. frazer, will you tell me which flowers will be first in bloom?" "the very first is a plant that comes up without leaves." "nurse, that is the christmas-rose; [footnote: winter aconite.] i have seen it in the old country." "no, lady mary, it is the colt's-foot; [footnote: tussilago farfara.] it is a common looking, coarse, yellow-blossomed flower; it is the first that blooms after the snow; then comes the pretty snow-flower or hepatica. its pretty tufts of white, pink, or blue starry flowers, may be seen on the open clearing, or beneath the shade of the half-cleared woods, or upturned roots and sunny banks. like the english daisy, it grows everywhere, and the sight of its bright starry blossoms delights every eye." "the next flower that comes in is the dog's-tooth-violet." [footnote: erythronium.] "what a droll name!" exclaimed lady mary, laughing. "i suppose it is called so from the sharpness of the flower-leaves (petals), my lady, but it is a beautiful yellow lily; the leaves are also pretty; they are veined or clouded with milky white or dusky purple. the plant has a bulbous root, and in the month of april sends up its single, nodding, yellow-spotted flowers; they grow in large beds, where the ground is black, moist and rich, near creeks on the edge of the forest." "do you know any other pretty flowers, nurse?" "yes, my lady, there are a great many that bloom in april and may; white violets, and blue, and yellow, of many kinds; and then there is the spring beauty, [footnote: claytonia.] a delicate little flower with pink striped bells, and the everlasting flower, [footnote: graphalium.] and saxifrage, and the white and dark red lily, that the yankees call 'white and red death.' [footnote: trillium, or wake robin.] these have three green leaves about the middle of the stalk, and the flower is composed of three pure white or deep red leaves--petals my father used to call them; for my father, lady mary, was a botanist, and knew the names of all the flowers, and i learned them from him. "the most curious is the mocassin flower. the early one is bright golden yellow, and has a bag or sack which is curiously spotted with ruby red, and its petals are twisted like horns. there is a hard thick piece that lies down just above the sack or mocassin part; and if you lift this up, you see a pair of round dark spots like eyes, and the indians say it is like the face of a hound, with the nose and black eyes plain to be seen; two of the shorter curled brown petals look like flapped ears, one on each side of the face. "there is a more beautiful sort, purple and white, which blooms in august; the plant is taller, and bears large lovely flowers." "and has it a funny face and ears too, nurse?" "yes, my dear, but the face is more like an ape's; it is even more distinct than in the yellow mocassin. when my brother and i were children, we used to fold back the petals and call them baby flowers; the sack, we thought, looked like a baby's white frock." lady mary was much amused at this notion. "there are a great number of very beautiful and also very curious flowers growing in the forest," said mrs. frazer; "some of them are used in medicine, and some by the indians for dyes, with which they stain the baskets and porcupine quills. one of our earliest flowers is called the blood-root; [footnote: sanguivaria.] it comes up a delicate white folded bud, within a vine-shaped leaf, which is veined on the under side with orange yellow. if the stem or the root of this plant be broken, a scarlet juice drops out very fast--it is with this the squaws dye red and orange colours." "i am glad to hear this, nurse; now i can tell my dear mamma what the baskets and quills are dyed with." "the flower is very pretty, like a white crocus, only not so large. you saw some crocuses in the conservatory the other day, i think, my dear lady." "oh, yes, yellow ones, and purple too, in a funny china thing with holes in its back, and the flowers came up through the holes. the gardener said it was a porcupine." "please, nurse, tell me of what colours real porcupine quills are?" "they are white and greyish-brown." then lady mary brought a print and showed it to her nurse, saying, "nurse, is the porcupine like this picture?" "the american porcupine, my dear, is not so large as this species; its spines are smaller and weaker. it resembles the common hedgehog more nearly. it is an innocent animal, feeding mostly on roots [footnote: there is a plant of the lily tribe, upon the roots of which the porcupine feeds, as well as on wild bulbs and berries, and the bark of the black spruce and larch. it will also eat apples and indian corn.] and small fruits; it burrows in dry stony hillocks, and passes the cold weather in sleep. it goes abroad chiefly during the night. the spines of the canadian porcupine are much weaker than those of the african species. the indians trap these creatures and eat their flesh. they bake them in their skins in native ovens,--holes made in the earth, lined with stones, which they make very hot, covering them over with embers." mrs. frazer had told lady mary all she knew about the porcupine, when campbell, the footman, came to say that her papa wanted to see her. chapter vii. indian bag--indian embroidery--beaver's tail--beaver architecture--habits of the beaver--beaver tools--beaver meadows. when lady mary went down to her father, he presented her with a beautiful indian bag, which he had brought from lake huron, in the upper province. it was of fine doeskin, very nicely wrought with dyed moose-hair, and the pattern was very pretty; the border was of scarlet feathers on one side, and blue on the other, which formed a rich silken fringe at each edge. this was a present from the wife of a chief on manitoulin island. lady mary was much delighted with her present, and admired this new-fashioned work in moose-hair very much. the feathers, mrs. frazer told her, were from the summer red bird or war bird, and the blue bird, both of which, lady mary said, she had seen. the indians use these feathers as ornaments for their heads and shoulders on grand occasions. lady mary recollected hearing her mamma speak of indians who wore mantles and dresses of gay feathers. they were chiefs of the sandwich islands, she believed, who had these superb habits. "dear nurse, will you tell me anything more about birds and flowers to-day?" asked lady mary, after she had put away her pretty bag. "i promised to tell you about the beavers, my lady," replied mrs. frazer. "oh, yes, about the beavers that make the dams and the nice houses, and cut down whole trees. i am glad you can tell me something about those curious creatures; for mamma bought me a pretty picture, which i will show you, if you please," said the little girl. "but what is this odd-looking, black thing here? is it a dried fish? it must be a black bass? yes, nurse, i am sure it is." the nurse smiled, and said, "it is not a fish at all, my dear; it is a dried beaver's tail. i brought it from the back lakes when i was at home, that you might see it. see, my lady, how curiously the beaver's tail is covered with scales; it looks like some sort of black leather, stamped in a diaper pattern. before it is dried, it is very heavy, weighing three or four pounds. i have heard my brothers and some of the indian trappers say, that the animal makes use of its tail to beat the sides of the dams and smoothe the mud and clay, as a plasterer uses a trowel. some people think otherwise, but it seems well suited from its shape and weight for the purpose, and, indeed, as the walls they raise seem to have been smoothed by some implement, i see no reason to disbelieve the story." "and what do the beavers make dams with, nurse?" "with small trees cut into pieces, and drawn in close to each other; and then the beavers fill the spaces between with sods, and stones, and clay, and all sorts of things that they gather together and work up into a solid wall. the walls are made broad at the bottom, and are several feet in thickness, to make them strong enough to keep the water from washing through them. the beavers assemble together in the fall, about the months of october and november, to build their houses and repair their dams. they prefer running water, as it is less likely to freeze. they work in large parties, sometimes fifty or a hundred together, and do a great deal in a short time. they work during the night." "of what use is the dam, nurse?" "the dam is for the purpose of securing a constant supply of water, without which they could not live. when they have enclosed the beaver-pond, they separate into family parties of eleven [transcriber's note: lengthy footnote moved to end of chapter] or twelve, perhaps more, sometimes less, and construct dwellings, which are raised against the inner walls of the dam. these little huts have two chambers, one in which they sleep, which is warm and soft and dry, lined with roots and sedges and dry grass, and any odds and ends that serve their purpose. the feeding place is below; in this is stored the wood or the bark on which they feed. the entrance to this is under water, and hidden from sight; but it is there that the cunning hunter sets his trap to catch the unsuspecting beavers." "nurse, do not beavers, and otters, and muskrats feel cold while living in the water; and do they not get wet?" "no, my dear; they do not feel cold, and cannot get wet, for the thick coating of hair and down keeps them warm; and these animals, like ducks and geese and all kinds of water-fowls, are supplied with a bag of oil, with which they dress their coats, and that throws off the moisture; for you know, lady mary, that oil and water will not mix. all creatures that live in the water are provided with oily fur, or smooth scales that no water can penetrate; and water birds, such as ducks and geese, have a little bag of oil, with which they dress their feathers." "are there any beavers in england, nurse?" asked lady mary. "no, my lady, not now; but i remember my father told me that this animal once existed in numbers in different countries of europe; he said they were still to be found in norway, sweden, russia, germany, and even in france. [footnote: the remains of bearer dams in wales prove that this interesting animal was once a native of great britain.] the beaver abounds mostly in north america, and in its cold portions; in solitudes that no foot of man but the wild indian has ever penetrated; in lonely streams and inland lakes,--these harmless creatures are found fulfilling god's purpose, and doing injury to none. "i think if there had been any beavers in the land of israel, in solomon's time, that the wise king, who spake of ants, spiders, grasshoppers, and conies, [footnote: the rock rabbits of judaea.] would have named the beavers also, as patterns of gentleness, cleanliness, and industry. they work together in bands, and live in families and never fight or disagree. they have no chief or leader; they seem to have neither king nor ruler; yet they work in perfect love and harmony. how pleasant it would be, lady mary, if all christian people would love each other as these poor beavers seem to do!" "nurse how can beavers cut down trees; they have neither axes nor saws?" "here, lady mary, are the axes and saws with which god has provided these little creatures;" and mrs. frazer showed lady mary two long curved tusks, of a reddish-brown colour, which she told her were the tools used by the beavers to cut and gnaw the trees; she said she had seen trees as thick as a man's leg, that had been felled by these simple tools. lady mary was much surprised that such small animals could cut through any thing so thick. "in nature," replied her nurse, "we often see great things done by very small means. patience and perseverance work well. the poplar, birch, and some other trees, on which beavers feed, and which they also use in making their dams, are softer and more easily cut than oak, elm or birch would be: these trees are found growing near the water, and in such places as the beavers build in. the settler owes to the industrious habits of this animal those large open tracts of land called beaver meadows, covered with long, thick, rank grass, which he cuts down and uses as hay. these beaver meadows have the appearance of dried-up lakes. the soil is black and spongy; for you may put a stick down to the depth of many feet; it is only in the months of july, august, and september, that they are dry. bushes of black alder, with a few poplars and twining shrubs, are scattered over the beaver meadows; some of which have high stony banks; and little islands of trees. on these are many pretty wild flowers; among others, i found growing on the dry banks some real hare-bells, both blue and white." "ah, dear nurse, hare-bells! did you find real hare-bells, such as grow on the bonny highland hills among the heather? i wish papa would let me go to the upper province, to see the beaver meadows, and gather the dear blue-bells." "my father, lady mary, wept when i brought him a handful of these flowers, for he said it reminded him of his highland home. i have found these pretty bells growing on the wild hills about rice lake, near the water, as well as near the beaver meadows." "do the beavers sleep in the winter time, nurse?" "they do not lie torpid, as racoons do, though they may sleep a good deal; but as they lay up a great store of provisions for the winter, of course they must awake sometimes to eat it." lady mary thought so too. "in the spring, when the long warm days return, they quit their winter retreat, and separate in pairs, living in holes in the banks of lakes and rivers, and do not unite again till the approach of the cold calls them together to prepare for winter, as i told you." "who calls them all to build their winter houses?" asked the child. "the providence of god; usually called instinct, that guides these wild animals; doubtless it is the law of nature given to them by god. "there is a great resemblance in the habits of the musk-rat and the beaver. they all live in the water; all separate in the spring, and meet again in the fall to build and work together; and, having helped each other in these things, they retire to a private dwelling, each family by itself. the otter does not make a dam, like the beaver, and i am not sure that it works in companies, as the beaver; it lives on fish and roots; the musk-rats on shell-fish and roots, and the beaver on vegetable food mostly. musk-rats and beavers are used for food, but the flesh of the otter is too fishy to be eaten." "nurse, can people eat musk-rats?" asked lady mary, with surprise. "yes, my lady, in the spring months the hunters and indians reckon them good food; i have eaten them myself, but i did not like them, they were too fat. musk-rats build a little house of rushes, and plaster it; they have two chambers, and do not lie torpid; they build in shallow, rushy places in lakes, but in spring they quit their winter houses and are often found in holes among the roots of trees; they live on mussels and shell-fish. the fur is used in making caps, and hats, and fur gloves." "nurse, did you ever see a tame beaver?" "yes, my dear; i knew a squaw who had a tame beaver, which she used to take out in her canoe with her, and it sat in her lap, or on her shoulder, and was very playful." just then the dinner-bell rang, and as dinner at government-house waits for no one, lady mary was obliged to defer hearing more about beavers until another time. [relocated footnote: i copy for the reader an account of the beavers, written by an indian chief, who was born at rice lake, in canada, and becoming a christian, learned to read and write, and went on a mission to teach the poor indians, who did not know christ, to worship god in spirit and in truth. during some months while he was journeying towards a settlement belonging to the hudson bay company, he wrote a journal of the things he saw in that wild country; and, among other matters, he made the following note about the habits of those curious animals the beavers, which i think is most likely to be correct, as indians are very observant of the habits of wild animals. he says,--"the country here is marshy, covered with low evergreens. here begins an extensive beaver settlement; it continues up the river for sixty miles. when travelling with a row-boat, the noise frightens the timid beavers, and they dive under water; but as we had a light birch-bark canoe, we saw them at evening and at day-break going to and fro from their work to the shore. they sleep, during the day, and chop and gnaw during the night. they cut the wood that they use, from slender wands up to poles four inches through, and from one to two fathoms long (a fathom is a measure of six feet). a large beaver will carry in his mouth a stick i should not like to carry on my shoulder, for two or three hundred yards to the water, and then float it off to where he wants to take it. the kinds of trees used by the beavers are willow and poplar--the round-leaved poplar they prefer. the canada beavers, where the poplars are large, lumber (_i.e._ cut down) on a larger scale; they cut trees a foot through, but in that case only make use of the limbs, which are gnawed off the trunk in suitable lengths. the beaver is not a climbing animal. about two cords of wood serve mister beaver and his family for the winter. a beaver's house is large enough to allow two men a comfortable sleeping-room, and it is kept very clean. it is built of sticks, stones, and mud, and is well plastered outside and in. the trowel the beaver uses in plastering is his tail; this is considered a great delicacy at the table. their beds are made of chips, split as fine as the brush of an indian broom; these are disposed in one corner, and kept dry and sweet and clean. it is the bark of the green wood that is used by the beavers for food; after the stick is peeled, they float it out at a distance from the house. many good housewives might learn a lesson of neatness and order from the humble beaver. "in large lakes and rivers, the beavers make no dams; they have water enough without putting themselves to that trouble; but in small creeks they dam up, and make a better stop-water than is done by the millers. the spot where they build their dams is the most labour-saving place in the valley, and where the work will stand best. when the dam is finished, not a drop of water escapes; their work is always well done. "this part of the country abounds in beavers. an indian will kill upwards of three hundred in a season. the skin of the beaver is not worth as much as it used to be, but their flesh is an excellent article of food." --_journal of the_ rev. peter jacobs, _indian missionary_.] chapter viii. indian boy and his pets--tame beaver at home--kitten, wildfire--pet racoon and the spaniel puppies--canadian flora. "nurse, you have told me a great many nice stories; now i can tell you one, if you would like to hear it," and the governor's little daughter fixed her bright eyes, teaming with intelligence, on the face of her nurse, who smiled, and said she should like very much to hear the story. "you must guess what it is to be about, nurse." "i am afraid i shall not guess right. is it 'little red riding hood,' or 'old mother hubbard,' or 'jack the giant killer?'" "oh, nurse, to guess such silly stories!" said the little girl, stopping her ears. "those are too silly for me even to tell baby. my story is nice story about a darling tame beaver. major pickford took me on his knee and told me the story last night." mrs. frazer begged lady mary's pardon for making such foolish guesses, and declared she should like very much to hear major pickford's story of the tame beaver. "well, nurse, you must know there was once a gentleman who lived in the bush, on the banks of a small lake, somewhere in canada, a long, long way from montreal. he lived all alone in a little log-house, and spent his time in fishing, and trapping, and hunting; and he was very dull, for he had no wife and no child like me to talk to. the only people whom he used to see were some french lumberers, and now and then the indians would come in their canoes and fish on his lake, and make their wigwams on the lake shore, and hunt deer in the wood. the gentleman was very fond of the indians, and used to pass a great deal of his time with them, and talk to them in their own language. "well, nurse, one day he found a poor little indian boy who had been lost in the woods and was half starved, sick and weak, and the kind gentleman took him home to his house, and fed and nursed him till he got quite strong again. was not that good, nurse?" "it was quite right, my lady. people should always be kind to the sick and weak, and especially a poor indian stranger. i like the story very much, and shall be glad to hear more about the indian boy." "nurse, there is not a great deal more about the indian boy; for when the indian party to which he belonged returned from hunting, he went away to his own home; but i forgot to tell you that the gentleman had often said how much he should like to have a young beaver to make a pet of. he was very fond of pets; he had a dear little squirrel, just like mine, nurse, a flying squirrel, which he had made so tame that it slept in his bosom and lived in his pocket, where he kept nuts and acorns and apples for it to eat, and he had a racoon too, nurse,--only think! a real racoon; and major pickford told me something so droll about the racoon, only i want first to go on with the story about the beaver. "one day, as the gentleman was sitting by the fire reading, he heard a slight noise, and when he looked up was quite surprised to see an indian boy in a blanket coat,--with his dark eyes fixed upon his face, while his long black hair hung down on his shoulders. he looked quite wild, and did not say a word, but only opened his blanket coat, and showed a brown furred animal asleep on his breast. what do you think it was, nurse?" "a young beaver, my lady." "yes, nurse, it was a little beaver. the good indian boy had caught it, and tamed it on purpose to bring it to his white friend, who had been so good to him. "i cannot tell you all the amusing things the indian boy said about the beaver, though the major told them to me; but i cannot talk like an indian, you know, mrs. frazer. after the boy went away, the gentleman set to work and made a little log-house for his beaver to live in, and set it in a corner of the shanty; and he hollowed a large sugar-trough for his water, that he might have water to wash in, and cut down some young willows and poplars and birch-trees for him to eat, and the little beaver grew-very fond of his new master; it would fondle him just like a little squirrel, put its soft head on his knee, and climb upon his lap; he taught it to eat bread, sweet cake, and biscuit, and even roast and boiled meat, and it would drink milk too. "well, nurse, the little beaver lived very happily with this kind gentleman till the next fall, and then it began to get very restless and active, as if it were tired of doing nothing. one day his master heard of the arrival of a friend some miles off, so he left mister beaver to take care of himself, and went away; but he did not forget to give him some green wood, and plenty of water to drink and play in; he stayed several days, for he was very glad to meet with a friend in that lonely place; but when he came, he could not open his door, and was obliged to get in at the window. what do you think the beaver had done? it had built a dam against the side of the trough, and a wall across the door, and it had dug up the hearth and the floor, and carried the earth and the stones to help to make his dam, and puddled it with water, and made such work! the house was in perfect confusion, with mud, chips, bark, and stone; and, oh nurse, worse than all that, it had gnawed through the legs of the tables and chairs, and they were lying on the floor in such a state, and it cost the poor gentleman so much trouble to put things to rights again, and make more chairs and another table! and when i laughed at the pranks of that wicked beaver, for i could not help laughing, the major pinched my ear, and called me a mischievous puss." mrs. frazer was very much entertained with the story, and she told lady mary that she had heard of tame beavers doing such things before; for in the season of the year when beavers congregate together to repair their works and build their winter houses, those that are in confinement become restless and unquiet, and show the instinct that moves these animals to provide their winter retreats, and lay up their stores of food. "nurse," said lady mary, "i did not think that beavers and racoons could be taught to eat sweet cake, and bread and meat." "many animals learn to eat very different food to what they are accustomed to live upon in a wild state. the wild cat lives on raw flesh; while the domestic cat, you know, my dear, will eat cooked meat, and even salt meat, with bread and milk and many other things. i knew a person who had a black kitten called 'wildfire,' who would sip whiskey-toddy out of his glass, and seemed to like it as well as milk or water, only it made him too wild and frisky." "nurse, the racoon that the gentleman had, would drink sweet whiskey-punch; but my governess said it was not right to give it to him; and major pickford laughed, and declared the racoon must have looked very funny when it was tipsy. was not the major naughty to say so?" mrs. frazer said it was not quite proper. "but, nurse, i have not told you about the racoon,--he was a funny fellow; he was very fond of a little spaniel and her puppies, and took a great deal of care of them; he brought them meat and anything nice that had been given him to eat; but one day he thought he would give them a fine treat, so he contrived to catch a poor cat by the tail, and drag her into his den, where he and the puppies lived together. his pets of course would not eat the cat, so the wicked creature ate up poor pussy himself; and the gentleman was so angry with the naughty thing that he killed him and made a cap of his skin, for he was afraid the cunning racoon would kill his beaver and eat up his tame squirrel." "the racoon, lady mary, in its natural state, has all the wildness and cunning of the fox and weasel; he will eat flesh, poultry, and sucking pigs, and is, also very destructive to indian corn. these creatures abound in the western states, and are killed in great numbers for their skins. the indian hunters eat the flesh, and say it is very tender and good; but it is not used for food in canada. the racoon belongs to the same class of animals as the bear, which it resembles in some points, though, being small, it is not so dangerous either to man or the larger animals. "and now, my dear, let me show you some pretty wild flowers a little girl brought me this morning for you, as she heard that you loved flowers. there are yellow mocassins, or ladies'-slippers, the same that i told you of a little while ago; and white lilies, crane-bills, and these pretty lilac geraniums; here are scarlet-cups, and blue lupines, they are all in bloom now, and many others. if we were on the rice lake plains, my lady, we could gather all these and many, many more. in the months of june i and july those plains are like a garden, and their roses scent the air." "nurse, i will ask my dear papa to take me to the rice lake plains," said the little girl, as she gazed with delight on the lovely canadian flowers. chapter ix. nurse tells lady mary about a little boy who was eaten by a bear in the province op new brunswick--of a baby that was carried away, but taken alive--a walk in the garden--humming-birds--canadian balsams. "nurse," said lady mary, "did you ever hear of any one having been eaten by a wolf or bear?" "i have heard of such things happening, my dear, in this country; but only in lonely, unsettled parts of the country, near swamps and deep woods." "did you ever hear of any little boy or girl having been carried off by a wolf or bear?" asked the child. "no, my lady, not in canada, though similar accidents may have happened there; but when i was a young girl i heard of such tragedies at new brunswick; one of the british provinces lying to the east of this, and a cold and rather barren country, but containing many minerals, such as coal, limestone, and marble, besides vast forests of pine, and small lakes and rivers. it resembles lower canada in many respects; but it is not so pleasant as the province of upper canada, neither is it so productive. "thirty years ago it was not so well cleared or cultivated as it is now, and the woods were full of wild beasts that dwelt among the swamps and wild rocky valleys. bears, wolves, and catamounts abounded, with foxes of several kinds, and many of the fine furred and smaller species of animals, which were much sought for, on account of their skins. well, my dear, near the little village where my aunt and uncle were, living, there were great tracts of unbroken swamps and forests, which of course sheltered many wild animals. a sad accident happened a few days before we arrived, which caused much sorrow, and no little fright, in the place. "an old man went out into the woods one morning with his little grandson, to look for the oxen, which had strayed from the clearing. they had not gone many yards from the enclosure when they heard a crackling and rustling among the underwood and dry timbers that strewed the ground. the old man, thinking it was caused by the cattle they were looking for, bade the little boy go forward and drive them, on the track; but in a few minutes he heard a fearful cry from the child, and hurrying forward through the tangled brushwood, saw the poor little boy in the deadly grasp of a huge black bear, who was making off at a fast trot with his prey. "the old man was unarmed, and too feeble to pursue the dreadful beast. he could only wring his hands and rend his grey hairs in grief and terror; but his lamentations would not restore the child to life. a band of hunters and lumberers, armed with rifles and knives, turned out to beat the woods, and were not long in tracking the savage animal to his retreat in a neighbouring cedar swamp. a few fragments of the child's dress were all that remained of him; but the villagers had the satisfaction of killing the great she-bear with her two half-grown cubs. the magistrates of the district gave them a large sum for shooting these creatures, and the skins were sold, and the money given to the parents of the little boy; but no money could console them for the loss of their beloved child. "the flesh of the bear is eaten both by indians and hunters; it is like coarse beef. the hams are cured a led, the woods disappear. the axe and the fire destroy the haunts that sheltered these wild beasts, and they retreat further back, where the deer and other creatures on which they principally feed abound." "nurse, that was a very sad story about the poor little boy," said lady mary. "i also heard of a little child," continued nurse, "not more than two years old, who was with her mother in the harvest field; who had spread a shawl on the ground near a tall tree, and laid the child upon it to sleep or play, when a bear came out of the wood and carried her off, leaping the fence with her in its arms; but the mother ran screaming after the beast, and the reapers pursued so closely with their pitchforks and reaping-hooks, that bruin, who was only a half-grown bear, being hard pressed, made for a tree; and as it was not easy to climb with a babe in his arms, he quietly laid the little one down at the foot of the tree, and soon was among the thick branches out of the reach of the enemy. i dare say baby must have wondered what rough nurse had taken her up; but she was unhurt, and is alive now." "i am so glad, nurse, the dear baby was not hugged to death by that horrid black bear; and i hope he was killed." "i dare say, my lady, he was shot by some of the men; for they seldom worked near the forest without having a gun with them, in case of seeing deer, or pigeons, or partridges." "i should not like to live in that country, mrs. frazer; for a bear, a wolf, or a catamount might eat me." "i never heard of a governor's daughter being eaten by a bear," said mrs. frazer, laughing, as she noticed the earnest expression on the face of her little charge. she then continued her account of the ursine family. "the bear retires in cold weather, and sleeps till warmer seasons awaken him; he does not lay up any store of winter provisions, because he seldom rouses himself during the time of his long sleep, and in the spring he finds food, both vegetable and animal, for he can eat anything when hungry, like the hog. he often robs the wild bees of their honey, and his hide being so very thick, seems insensible to the stings of the angry bees. bruin will sometimes find odd places for his winter bed, for a farmer, who was taking a stack of wheat into his barn to be threshed in the winter time, once found a large black bear comfortably asleep in the middle of the sheaves." "how could the bear have got into the stack of wheat, nurse?" "the claws of this animal are so strong, and he makes so much use of his paws, which are almost like hands, that he must have pulled the sheaves out, and so made an entrance for himself. his skin and flesh amply repaid the farmer for any injury the grain had received. i remember seeing the bear brought home in triumph on the top of the load of wheat. bears often do great mischief by eating the indian corn when it is ripening; for besides what they devour, they spoil a vast deal by trampling the plants down with their clumsy feet. they will, when hard pressed by hunger, come close to the farmer's house and rob the pig-sty of its tenants. many years ago, before the forest was cleared away in the neighbourhood of what is now a large town, but in those days consisted of only a few poor log-houses, a settler was much annoyed by the frequent visits of a bear to his hog-pen. at last he resolved to get a neighbour who was a very expert hunter to come with his rifle and watch with him. the pen where the fatling hogs were was close to the log-house; it had a long low shingled roof, and was carefully fastened up, so that no bear could find entrance. well, the farmer's son and the hunter had watched for two nights, and no bear came; on the third they were both tired, and lay down to sleep upon the floor of the kitchen, when the farmer's son was awakened by a sound as of some one tearing and stripping the shingles from the pen. he looked out; it was moonlight, and there he saw the dark shadow of some tall figure on the ground, and spied the great black bear standing on its hinder legs, and pulling the shingles off as fast as it could lay its big black paws upon them. the hogs were in a great fright, screaming and grunting with terror. the young man stepped back into the house, roused up the hunter, who took aim from the doorway, and shot the bear dead. the head of the huge beast was nailed up as a trophy, and the meat was dried or salted for winter use, and great were the rejoicings of the settlers who had suffered so much from bruin's thefts of corn and pork." "i am glad the hunter killed him, nurse, for he might have eaten up some of the little children, when they were playing about in the fields." "sometimes," continued mrs. frazer, "the bears used to visit the sugar-bush, when the settlers were making maple sugar, and overturn the sap-troughs, and drink the sweet liquid. i dare say they would have been glad of a taste of the sugar too, if they could have got at it. the bear is not so often met with now as it used to be many years ago. the fur of the bear used to be worn as muffs and tippets, but, is now little used for that purpose, being thought to be too coarse and heavy, but it is still made into caps for soldiers, and worn as sleigh-robes." this was all mrs. frazer chose to recollect about bears, for she was unwilling to dwell long on any gloomy subject, which she knew was not good for young minds, so she took her charge into the garden to look at the flowerbeds, and watch the birds and butterflies; and soon the child was gaily running from flower to flower, watching with childish interest the insects flitting to and fro. at last she stopped, and holding up her finger to warn mrs. frazer not to come too near, stood gazing in wonder and admiration on a fluttering object that was hovering over the full-blown honeysuckles on a trellis near the greenhouse. mrs. frazer approached her with due caution. "nurse," whispered the child, "look at that curious moth with a long bill like a bird; see its beautiful shining colours. it has a red necklace, like mamma's rubies. oh, what a curious creature! it must be a moth or a butterfly. what is it?" "it is neither a moth nor a butterfly, my dear. it is a humming-bird." "oh, nurse, a humming-bird--a real humming-bird--pretty creature! but it is gone. oh, nurse, it darts through the air as swift as an arrow. what was it doing? looking at the honeysuckles,--i dare say it thought them very pretty; or was it smelling them? they are very sweet." "my dear child, it might be doing so; i don't know. perhaps the good god has given to these creatures the same senses for enjoying sweet scents and bright colours, as we have; yet it was not for the perfume, but the honey, that this little bird came to visit the open flowers. the long slender bill which the humming-bird inserts into the tubes of the flowers, is his instrument for extracting the honey. look at the pretty creature's ruby throat, and green and gold feathers." "how does it make that whirring noise, nurse, just like the humming of a top?" asked the child. "the little bird produces the sound from which he derives his name, by beating the air with his wings. this rapid motion is necessary to sustain its position in the air while sucking the flowers. "i remember, lady mary, first seeing humming-birds when i was about your age, while walking in the garden. it was a bright september morning, and the rail-fences and every dry twig of the brushwood were filled with the webs of the field-spider. some, like thick white muslin, lay upon the grass; while others were suspended from trees like forest lace-work, on the threads of which the dewdrops hung like strings of shining pearls; and hovering round the flowers were several ruby-throated humming-birds, the whirring of whose wings as they beat the air sounded like the humming of a spinning-wheel; and i thought as i gazed upon them, and the beautiful lace webs that hung among the bushes, that they must have been the work of these curious creatures, who had made them to catch flies, and had strung the bright dewdrops thereon to entice them, so little did i know of the nature of these birds; but my father told me a great deal about them, and read me some very pretty things about humming-birds; and one day, lady mary, i will show you a stuffed one a friend gave me, with its tiny nest and eggs not bigger than peas." lady mary was much delighted at the idea of seeing the little nest and eggs, and mrs. frazer said, "there is a wild flower [footnote: _noli me tangere_, canadian balsam.] that is known to the canadians by the name of the humming-flower, on account of the fondness which those birds evince for it. this plant grows on the moist banks of creeks. it is very beautiful, of a bright orange-scarlet colour. the stalks and stem of the plant are almost transparent; some call it speckled jewels, for the bright blossoms are spotted with dark purple, and some, touch-me-not." "that is a droll name, nurse," said lady mary. "does it prick one's finger like a thistle?" "no, my lady; but when the seed-pods are nearly ripe, if you touch them, they spring open and curl into little rings, and the seed drops out." "nurse, when you see any of these curious flowers, will you show them to me?" mrs. frazer said they would soon be in bloom, and promised lady mary to bring her some, and to show her the singular manner in which the pods burst. "but, my lady," said she, "the gardener will show you the same thing in the greenhouse. as soon as the seed-pods of the balsams in the pots begin to harden they will spring and curl, if touched, and drop the seeds like the wild plant, for they belong to the same family. but it is time for your ladyship to go in." when lady mary returned to the schoolroom, her governess read to her some interesting accounts of the habits of the humming-bird. "'this lively little feathered gem--for in its hues it unites the brightness of the emerald, the richness of the ruby, and the lustre of the topaz--includes in its wide range more than one hundred species. it is the smallest, and at the same time the most brilliant, of all the american birds. its head-quarters may be said to be among the glowing flowers and luxurious fruits of the torrid zone and the tropics. but one species, the ruby-throated, is widely diffused, and is a summer visitor all over north america, even within the arctic circle, where, for a brief space of time, it revels in the ardent heat of the short-lived summer of the north. like the cuckoo, she follows the summer wherever she flies. "'the ruby-throated humming-bird [footnote: _trochilus rubus_.] is the only species that is known in canada. with us it builds and breeds, and then returns to summer skies and warmer airs. the length of the humming-bird is only three inches and a half, and four and a quarter in extent, from one tip of the wing to the other. when on the wing, the bird has the form of a cross, the wings forming no curve, though the tail is depressed during the time that it is poised in the act of sucking the honey of the flower. the tongue is long and slender; the bill long and straight; the legs are very short, so that the feet are hardly visible when on the wing. they are seldom seen walking, but rest on the slender sprigs when tired. the flight is so rapid that it seems without effort. the humming sound is produced by the wing, in the act of keeping itself balanced while feeding in this position. they resemble the hawk-moth, which also keeps up a constant vibratory motion with its wings. this little creature is of a temper as fierce and fiery as its plumes, often attacking birds of treble its size; but it seems very little disturbed by the near approach of the truman species, often entering open windows, and hovering around the flowers in the flower-stand; it has even been known to approach the vase on the table, and insert its bill among the flowers, quite fearless of those persons who sat in the room. sometimes these beautiful creatures have suffered themselves to be captured by the hand. "'the nest of the ruby-throated hummingbird is usually built on a mossy branch. at first sight, it looks like a tuft of grey lichens; but when closely examined, shows both care and skill in its construction, the outer wall being of fine bluish lichens cemented together, and the interior lined with the silken threads of the milk-weed, the velvety down of the tall mullein, or the brown hair-like filaments of the fern. these, or similar soft materials, form the bed of the tiny young ones. the eggs are white, two in number, and about the size of a pea, but oblong in shape. the parents hatch their eggs in about ten days, and in a week the little ones are able to fly, though the old birds continue to supply them with honey for some time longer. the mexican indians give the name of sunbeam to the humming-bird, either in reference to its bright plumage or its love of sunshine. "'the young of the humming-bird does not attain its gay plumage till the second year. the male displays the finest colours--the ruby necklace being confined to the old male bird. the green and coppery lustre of the feathers is also finer in the male bird.'" lady mary was much pleased with what she had heard about the humming-bird, and she liked the name of sunbeam for this lovely creature. chapter x. aurora borealis, or northern lights, most frequently seen in northern climates--called merry dancers--rose tints--tint-like appearance--lady mary frightened. one evening, just as mrs. frazer was preparing to undress lady mary, miss campbell, her governess, came into the nursery, and taking the little girl by the hand, led her to an open balcony, and bade her look out on the sky towards the north, where a low dark arch, surmounted by an irregular border, like a silver fringe, was visible. for some moments lady mary stood silently regarding this singular appearance; at length she said, "it is a rainbow, miss campbell; but where is the sun that you told me shone into the drops of rain to make the pretty colours?" "it is not a rainbow, my dear; the sun has been long set." "can the moon make rainbows at night?" asked the little girl. make what is called a _lunar_ rainbow. luna was the ancient "the moon does sometimes, but very rarely, name for the moon; but the arch you now see is caused neither by the light of the sun nor of the moon, but is known by the name of aurora borealis, or northern lights. the word aurora means morning, or dawn; and borealis, northern. you know, my dear, what is meant by the word dawn; it is the light that is seen in the sky before the sun rises." lady mary replied, "yes, miss campbell, i have often seen the sun rise, and once very early too, when i was ill, and could not sleep; for nurse lifted me in her arms out of bed, and took me to the window. the sky was all over of a bright golden colour, with streaks of rosy red; and nurse said, 'it is dawn; the sun will soon be up.' and i saw the beautiful sun rise from behind the trees and hills. he came up so gloriously, larger than when we see him in the middle of the sky, and i could look at him without hurting my eyes." "sunrise is indeed a glorious sight, my dear; but he who made the sun is more glorious still. do you remember what we read yesterday in the psalms?- "verse 1. the heavens declare the glory of god: and the firmament sheweth his handywork. 2. one day telleth another, and one night certifieth another. 3. there is neither speech nor language where their voice is not heard. 5. in them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, which cometh forth as a bridegroom from his chamber, and rejoiceth as a giant to run his course." "the northern lights, lady mary, are frequently visible in canada, but are most brilliant in the colder regions near the north pole, where they serve to give light during the dark season, to those dismal countries from which the sun is so many months absent. the light of the aurora borealis is so soft and beautiful, that any object can be distinctly seen; though in those cold countries there are few human beings to be benefited by this beautiful provision of nature." "the wild beasts and birds must be glad of the pretty lights," said the child thoughtfully; for lady mary's young heart always rejoiced when she thought that god's gifts could be shared by the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air, as well as by mankind. "look now, my dear," said miss campbell, directing the attention of her pupil to the horizon; "what a change has taken place whilst we have been speaking. see, the arch is sending up long shafts of light; now they divide, and shift from side to side, gliding along among the darker portions of vapour, like moving pillars." "ah! there, there they go!" cried the little girl, clapping her hands her hands with delight. "see, nurse, how the pretty lights' chase each other, and dance about! up they go! higher and higher! how pretty they look! but now they are gone. they are fading away; i am so sorry," said the child despondingly, for a sudden cessation had taken place in the motions of the heavens. "we will go in for a little time, my dear," said her governess; "and then look out again. great changes take place sometimes in these aerial phenomena in a few minutes." "i suppose," said lady mary, "these lights are the same that the peasants of northern england and ireland call the merry dancers." "yes, they are the same; and they fancy that they are seen when war and troubles are about to break out. but this idea is a very ignorant one; for were, that the case, some of the cold countries of the world, where the sky is illumined night after night by the aurora borealis, would be one continual scene of misery. i have seen in this country a succession of these lights for four or five successive nights. this phenomenon owes its origin to _electricity_, which is a very wonderful agent in nature, and exists in various bodies, perhaps in all created things. it is this that shoots across the sky in the form of lightning, and causes the thunder to be heard; circulates in the air we breathe; occasions whirlwinds, waterspouts, earthquakes, and volcanoes; and makes one substance attract another. "look at this piece of amber; if i rub it on the table, it will become warm to the touch. now i will take a bit of thread, and hold near it. see, the thread moves towards the amber, and clings to it. sealing-wax, and many other substances, when heated, have this property. some bodies give out flashes and sparks by being rubbed. if you stroke a black cat briskly in the dark, you will see faint flashes of light come from her fur; and on very cold nights in the winter season, flannels that are worn next the skin crackle, and give sparks when taken off and shaken." these things astonished lady mary. she tried the experiment with the amber and thread, and was much amused by seeing the thread attracted, and wanted to see the sparks from the cat's back, only there happened, unfortunately, to be no black cat or kitten in government house. mrs. frazer, however, promised to procure a beautiful black kitten for her, that she might enjoy the singular sight of the electric sparks from its coat; and lady mary wished winter were come, that she might see the sparks from her flannel petticoat, and hear the sounds. "let us now go and look out again at the sky," said miss campbell; and lady mary skipped joyfully through the french window to the balcony, but ran back, and flinging her arms about her nurse, cried out in accents of alarm, "nurse, nurse, the sky is all closing together! oh, miss campbell, what shall we do?" "there is no cause for fear, my dear child; do not be frightened. there is nothing to harm us." indeed, during the short time they had been absent, a great and remarkable change had taken place in the appearance of the sky. the electric fluid had diffused itself over the face of the whole heavens; the pale colour of the streamers had changed to bright rose, pale violet, and greenish yellow. at the zenith, or that part more immediately over head, a vast ring of deep indigo was presented to the eye; from this swept down, as it were, a flowing curtain of rosy light, which wavered and moved incessantly as if agitated by a gentle breeze, though a perfect stillness reigned through the air. the child's young heart was awed by this sublime spectacle; it seemed to her as if it were indeed the throne of the great creator of the world that she was gazing upon; and she veiled her face in her nurse's arms, and trembled exceedingly, even as the children of israel when the fire of mount sinai was revealed, and they feared to behold the glory of the most high god. after a while, lady mary, encouraged by the cheerful voices of her governess and nurse, ventured to look up to watch the silver stars shining dimly as from beneath a veil, and she whispered to herself the words that her governess had before repeated to her, "the heavens declare the glory of god, and the firmament sheweth his handywork." after a little while, mrs. frazer thought it better to put lady mary to bed, as she had been up much longer than usual, and miss campbell was afraid lest the excitement should make her ill; but the child did not soon fall asleep, for her thoughts were full of the strange and glorious things she had seen that night. [footnote: singularly splendid exhibitions of aurora borealis were visible in the month, of august, 1839; in august, 1851; and again on the 21st february, 1852. the colours were rosy red, varied with other prismatic colours. but the most singular feature was the ring-like circle from which the broad streams of light seemed to flow down in a curtain that appeared to reach from heaven to earth. in looking upwards, the sky had the appearance of a tent narrowed to a small circle at the top, which seemed to be the centre of illimitable space. though we listened with great attention, none of the crackling sounds that some northern travellers have declared to accompany the aurora borealis could be heard; neither did any one experience any of the disagreeable bodily sensations that are often felt during thunder-storms. the atmosphere was unusually calm, and in two of the three instances warm and agreeable.] chapter xi. strawberries--canadian wild fruits--wild raspberries--the hunter and the lost child--cranberries-cranberry marshes--nuts. one day lady mary's nurse brought her a small indian basket, filled with ripe red strawberries. "nurse, where did you get these nice strawberries?" said the little girl, peeping beneath the fresh leaves with which they were covered. "i bought them from a little indian squaw, in the street; she had brought them from a wooded meadow, some miles off, my lady. they are very fine; see, they are as large as those that the gardener sent in yesterday from the forcing-house, and these wild ones have grown without any pains having been bestowed upon them." "i did not think, nurse, that wild strawberries could have been so fine as these; may i taste them?" mrs. frazer said she might. "these are not so large, so red, or so sweet as some that i have gathered when i lived at home with my father," said the nurse. "i have seen acres and acres of strawberries, as large as the early scarlet that are sold so high in the market, on the rice lake plains. when the farmers have ploughed a fallow on the rice lake plains, the following summer it will be covered with a crop of the finest strawberries. i have gathered pailsful day after day; these, however, have been partly cultivated by the plough breaking up the sod; but they seem as if sown by the hand of nature. these fruits, and many sorts of flowers, appear on the new soil that were never seen there before. after a fallow has been chopped, logged, and burnt, if it be left for a few years, trees, shrubs and plants will cover it, unlike those that grew there before." "that is curious," said the child. "does god sow the seeds in the new ground?" "my lady, no doubt they come from him; for he openeth his hand, and filleth all things living with plenteousness. my father, who thought a great deal on these subjects, said that the seeds of many plants may fall upon the earth, and yet none of them take root till the soil be favourable for their growth. it may be that these seeds had lain for years, preserved in the earth, till the forest was cleared away, and the sun, air, and rain caused them to spring up. or the earth may still bring forth the herb of the field, after its kind, as in the day of the creation; but whether it be so or not, we must bless the lord for his goodness and for the blessings that he giveth us at all times." "are there many sorts of wild fruits fit to eat, nurse, in this country? please, will you tell me all that you know about them?" "there are so many, lady mary, that i am afraid i shall weary you before i have told you half of them." "nurse, i shall not be tired, for i like to hear about fruits and flowers very much; and my dear mamma likes you to tell me all you know about the plants, trees, birds and beasts of canada." "besides many sorts of strawberries, there are wild currants, both black and red, and many kinds of wild gooseberries," said mrs. frazer: "some grow on wastes by the roadside, in dry soil, others in swamps; but most gooseberries are covered with thorns, which grow not only on the wood, but on the berries themselves." "i would not eat those disagreeable, thorny gooseberries; they would prick my tongue," said the little girl. "they cannot be eaten without first being scalded. the settlers' wives contrive to make good pies and preserves with them by first scalding the fruit and then rubbing it between coarse linen cloths; i have heard these tarts called thornberry pies, which, i think, was a good name for them. when emigrants first come to canada, and clear the backwoods, they have little time to make nice fruit-gardens for themselves, and they are glad to gather the wild berries that grow in the woods and swamps to make tarts and preserves, so that they do not even despise the thorny gooseberries or the wild black currants. some swamp-gooseberries, however, are quite smooth, of a dark red colour, but small, and they are very nice when ripe. the blossoms of the wild currants are very beautiful, of a pale yellowish green, and hang down in long, graceful branches; the fruit is harsh, but makes wholesome preserves: but there are thorny currants as well as thorny gooseberries; these have long, weak, trailing branches; the berries are small, covered with stiff bristles, and of a pale red colour. they are not wholesome; i have seen people made very ill by eating them; i have heard even of their dying in consequence of having done so." "i am sure, nurse, i will not eat those wild currants," said lady mary; "i am glad you have told me about their being poisonous." "this sort is not often met with, my dear; and these berries, though they are not good for man, doubtless give nourishment to some of the wild creatures that seek their food from god, and we have enough dainties, and to spare, without them. "the red raspberry is one of the most common and the most useful to us of the wild fruits. it grows in abundance all over the country, by the roadside, in the half-opened woods, on upturned roots, or in old neglected clearings; there is no place so wild but it will grow, wherever its roots can find a crevice. with maple sugar, the farmers' wives never need lack a tart, nor a dish of fruit and cream. the poor irish emigrants' children go out and gather pailsful, which they carry to the towns and villages to sell. the birds, too, live upon the fruit, and, flying away with it to distant places, help to sow the seed. a great many small animals eat the ripe raspberry, for even the racoon and great black bear come in for their share." "the black bears! oh, nurse, oh, mrs. frazer!" exclaimed lady mary, in great astonishment. "what! do bears eat raspberries?" "yes, indeed, my lady, they do. bears are fond of all ripe fruits. the bear resembles the hog in all its tastes very closely; both in their wild state will eat flesh, grain, fruit, and roots. there is a small red berry in the woods that is known by the name of the bear-berry, [transcriber's note: lengthy footnote moved to end of chapter.] of which they say the young bears are particularly fond." "i should be afraid of going to gather raspberries, nurse, for fear of the bears coming to eat them too." "the hunters know that the bears are partial to this fruit, and often seek them in large thickets, where they grow. a young gentleman, lady mary, once went out shooting game, in the province of new brunswick, in the month of july, when the weather was warm, and there were plenty of wild berries ripe. he had been out for many hours, and at last found himself on the banks of a creek. but the bridge he had been use to cross was gone, having been swept away by heavy rains in the spring. passing on a little higher up, he saw an old clearing full of bushes; and knowing that wild animals were often to be met in such spots, he determined to cross over and try his luck for a bear, a racoon, or a young fawn. not far from the spot, he saw a large fallen swamp elm-tree, which made a capital bridge. just as he was preparing to cross, he heard the sound of footsteps on the dry crackling sticks, and saw a movement among the raspberry bushes; his finger was on the lock of his rifle in an instant, for he thought it must be a bear or a deer; but just as he was about to fire, he saw a small, thin, brown hand, all red and stained from the juice of the ripe berries, reaching down a branch of the fruit; his very heart leaped within him with fright, for in another moment he would have shot the poor little child that, with wan, wasted face, was looking at him from between the raspberry bushes. it was a little girl, about as old as you are, lady mary. she was without hat or shoes, and her clothes were all in tatters; her hands and neck were quite brown and sun-burnt. she seemed frightened at first, and would have hid herself, had not the stranger called out gently to her to stay, and not to be afraid; and then he hurried over the log bridge, and asked her who she was, and where she lived. and she said 'she did not live anywhere, for she was lost.' she could not tell how many days, but she thought she had been seven nights out in the woods. she had been sent to take some dinner to her father, who was at work in the forest; but had missed the path, and gone on a cattle track, and did not find her mistake until it was too late; when she became frightened, and tried to get back, but only lost herself deeper in the woods. the first night she wrapped her frock about her head, and lay down beneath the shelter of a great upturned root. she had eaten but little of the food she had in the basket that day, for it lasted her nearly two; after it was gone, she chewed some leaves, till she came to the raspberry clearing, and got berries of several kinds, and plenty of water to drink from the creek. one night, she said, she was awakened by a heavy tramping near her, and looking up in the moonlight, saw two great black beasts, which she thought were her father's oxen, and so she sat up and called, 'buck,' 'bright,'-for these were their names,--but they had no bells, and looked like two great shaggy black dogs; they stood on their hind legs upright, and looked at her, but went away. these animals were bears, but the child did not know that, and she said she felt no fear--for she said her prayers every night before she lay down to sleep, and she knew that god would take care of her, both sleeping and waking." [footnote: the facts of this story i met with, many years ago, in a provincial paper. they afterwards appeared in a canadian sketch, in chambers' journal, contributed by me in 1838.] "and did the hunter take her home?" asked lady mary, who was much interested in the story. "yes, my dear, he did. finding that the poor little girl was very weak, the young man took her on his back,--fortunately he happened to have a little wine in a flask, and a bit of dry biscuit in his knapsack, and this greatly revived the little creature; sometimes she ran by his side, while holding by his coat, talking to her new friend, seemingly quite happy and cheerful, bidding him not to be afraid even if they had to pass another night in the wood; but just as the sun was setting, they came out of the dark forest into an open clearing. "it was not the child's home, but a farm belonging to a miller who knew her father, and had been in search of her for several days; and he and his wife were very glad when they saw the lost child, and gladly showed her preserver the way; and they rejoiced much when the poor little girl was restored safe and well to her sorrowing parents." "nurse," said lady mary, "i am so glad the good hunter found the little girl. i must tell my own dear mamma that nice story. how sorry my mamma and papa would be to lose me in the woods." the nurse smiled, and said, "my dear lady, there is no fear of such an accident happening to you. you are not exposed to the same trials and dangers as the children of poor emigrants; therefore, you must be very grateful to god, and do all you can to serve and please him; and when you are able, be kind and good to those who are not as well off as you are." "are there any other wild fruits, nurse, besides raspberries and strawberries, and currants and gooseberries?" "yes, my dear lady, a great many more. we will begin with wild plums: these we often preserve; and when the trees are planted in gardens, and taken care of, the fruit is very good to eat. the wild cherries are not very nice; but the bark of the black cherry is good for agues and low fevers. the choke-cherry is very beautiful to look at, but hurts the throat, closing it up if many are eaten, and making it quite sore. the huckleberry is a sweet, dark blue berry, that grows on a very delicate low shrub, the blossoms are very pretty, pale pink or greenish white bells, the fruit is very wholesome; it grows on light dry ground, on those parts of the country that are called plains in canada. the settlers' children go out in parties, and gather great quantities, either to eat or dry for winter use. these berries are a great blessing to every one, besides forming abundant food for the broods of young quails and partridges; squirrels, too, of every kind eat them. there are blackberries also, lady mary; and some people call them thimbleberries." "nurse, i have heard mamma talk about blackberries." "the canadian blackberries are not so sweet, i am told, my lady, as those at home, though they are very rich and nice tasted; neither do they grow so high. then there are high bush cranberries, and low bush cranberries. the first grow on a tall bush, and the fruit has a fine appearance, hanging in large bunches of light scarlet, among the dark green leaves; but they are very, very sour, and take a great deal of sugar to sweeten them. the low bush cranberries grow on a slender trailing plant; the blossom is very pretty, and the fruit about the size of a common gooseberry, of a dark purplish red, very smooth and shining; the seeds are minute, and lie in the white pulp within the skin; this berry is not nice till it is cooked with sugar. there is a large cranberry marsh somewhere at the back of kingston, where vast quantities grow. i heard a young gentleman say that he passed over this tract when he was hunting, while the snow was on the ground, and that the red juice of the dropped berries dyed the snow crimson beneath his feet. the indians go every year to a small lake called buckhorn lake, many miles up the river otonabee, in the upper province, to gather cranberries, which they sell to the settlers in the towns and villages, or trade away for pork, flour, and clothes. the cranberries, when spread out on a dry floor, will keep fresh and good for a long time. great quantities of cranberries are brought to england from russia, norway, and lapland, in barrels, or large earthern jars, filled with brine; but the fruit thus roughly preserved must be drained, and washed many times, and stirred with sugar, before it can be put into tarts, or it would be salt and bitter. i will boil some cranberries with sugar, that you may taste them; for they are very wholesome." lady mary said she should like to have some in her own garden. "the cranberry requires a particular kind of soil, not usually found in gardens, my dear lady; for as the cranberry marshes are often covered with water in the spring, i suppose they need a damp, cool soil, near lakes or rivers; perhaps sand, too, may be good for them. but we can plant some berries, and water them well; in a light soil they may grow, and bear fruit, but i am not sure that they will do so. besides these fruits, there are many others, that are little used by men, but are of great service as food to the birds and small animals. there are many kinds of nuts, too-filberts, with rough prickly husks, walnuts, butternuts, and hickory-nuts; these last are large trees, the nuts of which are very nice to eat, and the wood very fine for cabinet-work, and for firewood; the bark is used for dyeing. now, my dear, i think you must be quite tired with hearing so much about canadian fruits." lady mary said she was glad to learn that there were so many good things in canada, for she heard a lady say to her mamma, that it was an ugly country, with nothing good or pretty in it. "there is something good and pretty to be found everywhere, my dear child, if people will but open their eyes to see it, and their hearts to enjoy the good things that god has so mercifully spread abroad for us and all his creatures to enjoy. but canada is really a fine country, and is fast becoming a great one." [relocated footnote: arbutus ursursi--"kinnikinnick," indian name. there is a story about a bear and an indian hunter, which will show how bears eat berries. it is from the journal of peter jacobs, the indian missionary:-"at sunrise, next morning," he says, "we tried to land, but the water was so full of shoals, we could not without wading a great distance. "the beach before us was of bright sand, and the sun was about, [footnote: we find some curious expressions in this journal, for peter jacobs is an indian, writing not his own, but a foreign language.] when i saw an object moving on the shore; it appeared to be a man, and seemed to be making signals of distress. we were all weary and hungry, but thinking it was a fellow-creature in distress, we pulled towards him. judge of our surprise when the stranger proved to be an enormous bear. "he was seated on his hams, and what we thought his signals were his raising himself on his hind legs to pull down the berries from a high bush, and, with his paws full sitting down again to eat them at his leisure. "thus he continued daintily enjoying his ripe fruit in the posture some lapdogs are taught to assume while eating. on we pulled, and forgot our hunger and weariness; the bear still continued breakfasting. "we got as close on shore as the shoals would permit, and john, (one of the indians,) taking my double-barrelled gun, leaped into the water, gun in hand, and gained the beach. some dead brushwood hid the bear from john's sight, but from the canoe we could see both john and the bear. "the bear now discovered us, and advanced towards us; and john, not seeing him for the bush, ran along the beach towards him. the weariness from pulling all night, and having eaten no food, made me lose my presence of mind, for i now remembered that the gun was only loaded with duck-shot, and you might as well meet a bear with a gun loaded with peas. "john was in danger, and we strained at our paddles to get to his assistance; but as the bear was a very large one, and as we had no other firearms, we should have been but poor helps to john in the hug of a wounded bear. the bear was at the other side of the brush-heap: john heard the dry branches cracking, and he dodged into a hollow under a bush. the bear passed, and was coursing along the sand, but as he passed by where john lay, bang went the gun.--the bear was struck. "we saw him leap through the smoke to the very spot where we had last seen john. we held our breath; but instead of the cry of agony we expected to hear from john, bang went the gun again--john is not yet caught. our canoe rushed through the water.--we might yet be in time; but my paddle fell from my hand with joy as i saw john pop his head above the bush, and with a shout point to the side of the log on which he stood, 'there he lies, dead enough.' we were thankful indeed to our great preserver."--_peter jacob's journal._ though fruit and vegetables seem to be the natural food of the bear, they also devour flesh, and even fish,--a fact of which the good indian missionary assures us; and that being new to my young readers, i shall give them in his own words:-"a few evenings after we left the 'rock,' while the men were before me 'tracking,' (towing the canoe,) by pulling her along by a rope from the shore, i observed behind a rock in the river, what i took to be a black fox. i stole upon it as quietly as possible, hoping to get a shot, but the animal saw me, and waded to the shore. it turned out to be a young bear fishing. the bear is a great fisherman. his mode of fishing is very curious. he wades into a current, and seating himself upright on his hams, lets the water come about up to his shoulders; he patiently waits until the little fishes come along and rub themselves against his sides, he seizes them instantly, gives them a nip, and with his left paw tosses them over his shoulder to the shore. his left paw is always the one used for tossing ashore the produce of his fishing. feeling is the sense of which bruin makes use here, not sight. "the indians of that part say that the bear catches sturgeon when spawning in the shoal-water; but the only fish that i know of their catching, is the sucker: of these, in the months of april and may, the bear makes his daily breakfast and supper, devouring about thirty or forty at a meal. as soon as he has caught a sufficient number, he wades ashore, and regales himself on the best morsels, which are the thick of the neck, behind the gills. the indians often shoot him when thus engaged."--peter jacob's journal, p. 46_] chapter xii. garter-snakes--rattlesnakes--anecdote of a little boy--fisherman and snake--snake charmers--spiders--land-tortoise. "nurse, i have been so terrified. i was walking in the meadow, and a great snake--so big, i am sure"--and lady mary held out her arms as wide as she could--"came out of a tuft of grass. his tongue was like a scarlet thread, and had two sharp points; and, do you know, he raised his wicked head, and hissed at me; i was so frightened that i ran away. i think, mrs. frazer, it must have been a rattlesnake. only feel now how my heart beats" --and the little girl took her nurse's hand, and laid it on her heart. "what colour was the snake, my dear?" asked her nurse. "it was green and black, chequered all over; and it was very large, and opened its mouth very wide, and showed its red tongue. it would have killed me if it had bitten me, would it not, nurse?" "it would not have harmed you, my lady or even if it had bitten you, it would not have killed you. the chequered green snake of canada is not poisonous. it was more afraid of you than you were of it, i make no doubt." "do you think it was a rattlesnake, nurse?" "no, my dear; there are no snakes of that kind in lower canada, and very few below toronto. the winters are too cold for them, but there are plenty in the western part of the province, where the summers are warmer, and the winters milder. the rattlesnake is a dangerous reptile, and its bite causes death, unless the wound be burnt or cut out. the indians apply different sorts of herbs to the wound. they have several plants, known by the names of rattlesnake root, rattlesnake weed, and snake root. it is a good thing that the rattlesnake gives warning of its approach before it strikes the traveller with its deadly fangs. some people think that the rattle is a sign of fear, and that it would not wound people, if it were not afraid they were coming near to hurt it. i will tell you a story, lady mary, about a brave little boy. he went out nutting one day with another boy about his own age; and while they were in the grove gathering nuts, a large black snake, that was in a low tree, dropped down and suddenly coiled itself round the throat of his companion. the child's screams were dreadful; his eyes were starting from his head with pain and terror. the other, regardless of the danger, opened a clasp-knife that he had in his pocket, and seizing the snake near the head, cut it apart, and so saved his friend's life, who was well-nigh strangled by the tight folds of the reptile, which was one of a very venomous species, the bite of which generally proves fatal." "what a brave little fellow!" said lady mary. "you do not think it was cruel, nurse, to kill the snake?" she added, looking up in mrs. frazer's face. "no, lady mary, for he did it to save a fellow-creature from a painful death; and we are taught by god's word that the soul of man is precious in the sight of his creator. we should be cruel were we wantonly to inflict pain upon the least of god's creatures; but to kill them in self-defence, or for necessary food, is not cruel; for when god made adam, he gave him dominion, or power, over the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air, and every creeping thing. it was an act of great courage and humanity in the little boy, who perilled his own life to save that of his helpless comrade, especially as he was not naturally a child of much courage, and was very much afraid of snakes; but love for his friend overcame all thought of his own personal danger. [footnote: a fact related to me by an old gentleman from the state of vermont, as an instance of impulsive feeling overcoming natural timidity.] "the large garter-snake, that which you saw, my dear lady, is comparatively harmless. it lives on toads and frogs, and robs the nests of young birds, and the eggs also. its long forked tongue enables it to catch insects of different kinds; it will even eat fish, and for that purpose frequents the water as well as the black snake. "i heard a gentleman once relate a circumstance to my father that surprised me a good deal. he was fishing one day in a river near his own house, but, being tired, seated himself on a log or fallen tree, where his basket of fish also stood; when a large garter-snake came up the log, and took a small fish out of his basket, which it speedily swallowed. the gentleman, seeing the snake so bold as not to mind his presence, took a small rock-bass by the tail, and half in joke held it towards him, when, to his great surprise, the snake glided towards him, took the fish out of his hand, and sliding away with its prize to a hole beneath the log, began by slow degrees to swallow it, stretching its mouth and the skin of its neck to a great extent; till, after a long while, it was fairly gorged, and then slid down its hole, leaving its neck and head only to be seen." "i should have been so frightened, nurse, if i had been the gentleman, when the snake came to take the fish," said lady mary. "the gentleman was well aware of the nature of the reptile, and knew that it would not bite him. i have read of snakes of the most poisonous kinds being tamed and taught all manner of tricks. there are in india and egypt people that are called snake-charmers, who will contrive to extract the fangs containing the venom from the cobra capella, or hooded snake; which then become quite harmless. these snakes are very fond of music, and will come out of the leather bag or basket that their master carries them in, and will dance or run up his arms, twining about his neck, and even entering his mouth. they do not tell people that the poison-teeth have been extracted, so that it is thought to be the music that keeps the snake from biting. the snake has a power of charming birds and small animals by fixing its eye steadily upon them, when the little creatures become paralysed with fear, either standing quite still, or coming nearer and nearer to their cruel enemy, till they are within his reach. the cat has the same power, and can by this art draw birds from the tops of trees within her reach. these little creatures seem unable to resist the temptation of approaching her, and, even when driven away, will return from a distance to the same spot, seeking, instead of shunning, the danger which is certain to prove fatal to them in the end. some writers assert that all wild animals have this power in the eye, especially those of the cat tribe, as the lion and tiger, leopard and panther. before they spring upon their prey, the eye is always steadily fixed, the back lowered, the neck stretched out, and the tail waved from side to side; if the eye is averted, they lose the animal, and do not make the spring." "are there any other kinds of snakes in canada, nurse," asked lady mary, "besides the garter-snake?" "yes, my lady, several; the black snake, which is the most deadly next to the rattlesnake, is sometimes called the puff-adder, as it inflates the skin of the head and neck when angry. the copper-bellied snake is also poisonous. there is a small snake of a deep grass green colour sometimes seen in the fields and open copse-woods. i do not think it is dangerous; i never heard of its biting any one. the stare-worm is also harmless. i am not sure whether the black snakes that live in the water are the same as the puff or black adder. it is a great blessing, my dear, that these deadly snakes are so rare, and do so little harm to man. indeed, i believe they would never harm him, were they let alone; but if trodden upon, they cannot tell that it was by accident, and so put forth the weapons that god has armed them with in self-defence. the indians in the north-west, i have been told, eat snakes, after cutting off their heads. the cat also eats snakes, leaving the head; she will also catch and eat frogs, a thing i have witnessed myself, and know to be true. [footnote: i saw a half grown kitten eat a live green frog, which she first caught and brought into the parlour, playing with it like a mouse.] one day a snake fixed itself on a little girl's arm and wound itself around it; the mother of the child was too much terrified to tear the deadly creature off, but filled the air with cries. just then a cat came out of the house, and quick as lightning sprang upon the snake, and fastened on its neck, which caused the reptile to uncoil its folds, and it fell to the earth in the grasp of the cat; thus the child's life was saved, and the snake killed. thus you see, my dear, that god provided a preserver for this little one when no help was nigh; perhaps the child cried to him for aid, and he heard her and saved her by means of the cat." lady mary was much interested in all that mrs. frazer had told her; she remembered having heard some one say that the snake would swallow her own young ones, and she asked her nurse if it was true, and if they laid eggs. "the snake will swallow her young ones," said mrs. frazer. "i have seen the garter-snake open her mouth and let the little ones run into it when danger was nigh; the snake also lays eggs: i have seen and handled them often; they are not covered with a hard, brittle shell, like that of a hen, but with a sort of whitish skin, like leather; they are about the size of a blackbird's egg, long in shape, some are rounder and larger. they are laid in some warm place, where the heat of the sun and earth hatches them; but though the mother does not brood over them, as a hen does over her eggs, she seems to take great care of them, and defends them from their many enemies by hiding them out of sight in the singular manner i have just told you. this love of offspring, my dear child, has been wisely given to all mothers, from the human mother down to the very lowest of the insect tribe. the fiercest beast of prey loves its young, and provides food and shelter for them; forgetting its savage nature to play with and caress them. even the spider, which is a disagreeable insect, fierce and unloving to its fellows, displays the tenderest care for its brood, providing a safe retreat for them in the fine silken cradle she spins to envelope the eggs, which she leaves in some warm spot, where she secures them from danger; some glue a leaf down, and overlap it, to ensure it from being agitated by the winds, or discovered by birds. there is a curious spider, commonly known as the nursing spider, who carries her sack of eggs with her, wherever she goes; and when the young ones come out, they cluster on her back, and so travel with her; when a little older, they attach themselves to the old one by threads, and run after her in a train." lady mary laughed, and said she should like to see the funny little spiders all tied to their mother, trotting along behind her. "if you go into the meadow, my dear," said mrs. frazer, "you will see on the larger stones some pretty shining little cases, quite round, looking like grey satin." "nurse, i know what they are," said lady mary; "last year i was playing in the green meadow, and i found a piece of granite with several of these satin cases. i called them silk pies, for they looked like tiny mince-pies. i tried to pick one off, but it stuck so hard that i could not; so i asked the gardener to lend me his knife, and when i raised the crust, it had a little rim under the top, and i slipped the knife in, and what do you think i saw? the pie was full of tiny black shining spiders, and they ran out, such a number of them,--more than i could count, they ran so fast. i was sorry i opened the crust, for it was a cold, cold day, and the little spiders must have been frozen out of their warm air-tight house." "they are able to bear a great deal of cold, lady mary--all insects can; and even when frozen hard, so that they will break if any one tries to bend them, yet when spring comes again to warm them, they revive, and are as full of life as ever. caterpillars thus frozen will become butterflies in due time. spiders, and many other creatures, lie torpid during the winter, and then revive in the same way as dormice, bears, and marmots do." "nurse, please will you tell me something about tortoises and porcupines?" said lady mary. "i cannot tell you a great deal about the tortoise, my dear," replied her nurse. "i have seen them sometimes on the shores of the lakes, and once or twice i have met with the small land-tortoise, in the woods on the banks of the otonabee river. the shell that covers these reptiles is black and yellow, divided into squares--those which i saw were about the size of my two hands. they are very harmless creatures, living chiefly on roots and bitter herbs: perhaps they eat insects as well. they lie buried in the sand during the long winters, in a torpid state: they lay a number of eggs, about the size of a blackbird's, the shell of which is tough and soft, like a snake's egg. the old tortoise buries these in the loose sand near the water's edge, and leaves them to be hatched by the heat of the sun. the little tortoise, when it comes out of the shell, is about as big as a large spider--it is a funny-looking thing. i have heard some of the indians say that they dive into the water, and swim, as soon as they are hatched; but this i am not sure of. i saw one about the size of a crown-piece that was caught in a hole in the sand; it was very lively, and ran along the table, making a rattling noise with its hard shell as it moved. an old one that one of my brothers brought in he put under a large heavy box, meaning to feed and keep it; but in the morning it was gone: it had lifted the edge of the box and was away, nor could he find out how it had contrived to make its escape from the room. this is all that i know about the canadian land-tortoise." chapter xiii. ellen and her pet fawns--docility of fan--jack's droll tricks-affectionate wolf--fall flowers--departure of lady mary--the end. one day lady mary came to seek her nurse in great haste, to describe to her a fine deer that had been sent as a present to her father by one of his canadian friends. she said the great antlers were to be put up over the library-door. "papa called me down to see the poor dead deer, nurse, and i was very sorry it had been killed; it was such a fine creature. major pickford laughed when i said so, but he promised to get me a live fawn. nurse, what is a fawn?" "it is a young deer, my lady." "nurse, please can you tell me anything about fawns? are they pretty creatures, and can they be tamed; or are they fierce, wild little things?" "they are very gentle animals; and if taken young, can be brought up by sucking the finger like a young calf or a pet lamb. they are playful and lively, and will follow the person who feeds them like a dog. they are very pretty, of a pale dun or red colour, with small white spots on the back like large hailstones; the eyes are large and soft, and black, with a very meek expression in them; the hoofs are black and sharp: they are clean and delicate in their habits, and easy and graceful in their movements." "did you ever see a tame fawn?" asked lady mary. "i have seen several, my dear. i will tell you about a fawn that belonged to a little girl whom i knew many years ago. a hunter had shot a poor doe, which was very wrong, and contrary to the indian hunting law; for the native hunter will not, unless pressed for hunger, kill the deer in the spring of the year, when the fawns are young. the indian wanted to find the little one after he had shot the dam, so he sounded a decoy whistle, to imitate the call of the doe, and the harmless thing answered it with a bleat, thinking no doubt it was its mother calling to it. this betrayed its hiding-place, and it was taken unhurt by the hunter, who took it home, and gave it to my little friend ellen to feed and take care of." "please, mrs. frazer, will you tell me what sort of trees hemlocks are? hemlocks in england are poisonous weeds." "these are not weeds, but large forest trees--a species of pine. i will show you some the next time we go out for a drive--they are very handsome trees." "and what are creeks, nurse." "creeks are small streams, such as in scotland would be termed 'burns,' and in england rivulets." "now, nurse, you may go on about the dear little fawn; i want you to tell me all you know about it." "little ellen took the poor timid thing, and laid it in an old indian basket near the hearth, and put some wool in it, and covered it with an old cloak to keep it warm; and she tended it very carefully, letting it suck her fingers dipped in warm milk, as she had seen the dairy-maid do in weaning young calves. in a few days it began to grow strong and lively, and would jump out of its basket, and run bleating after its foster-mother: if it missed her from the room, it would wait at the door watching for her return. "when it was older, it used to run on the grass plot in the garden; but if it heard its little mistress's step or voice in the parlour, it would bound through the open window to her side; and her call of 'fan, fan, fan!' would bring it home from the fields near the edge of the forest; but poor fan got killed by a careless boy throwing some fire-wood down upon it, as it lay asleep in the wood-shed. ellen's grief was very great, but all she could do was to bury it in the garden near the river-side, and plant lilac bushes round its little green-sodded grave." "i am so sorry, nurse, that this good little girl lost her pretty pet." "some time after the death of 'fan,' ellen had another fawn given to her. she called this one jack,--it was older, larger, and stronger, but was more mischievous and frolicsome than her first pet. it would lie in front of the fire on the hearth, like a dog, and rub its soft velvet nose against the hand that patted it very affectionately, but gave a good deal of trouble in the house: it would eat the carrots, potatoes, and cabbages, while the cook was preparing them for dinner; and when the housemaid had laid the cloth for dinner, jack would go round the table and eat up the bread she had laid to each plate, to the great delight of the children, who thought it good fun to see him do so. "ellen put a red leather collar about jack's neck, and some months after this he swam across the rapid river, and went off to the wild woods, and was shot by some hunters, a great many miles away from his old home, being known by his fine red collar. after the sad end of her two favourites, ellen would have no more fawns brought in for her to tame." lady mary was much interested in the account of the little girl and her pets. "is this all you know about fawns, nurse?" "i once went to call on a clergyman's wife who lived in a small log-house near a new village. the youngest child, a fat baby of two years old, was lying on the rug before a large log-fire, fast asleep; its little head was pillowed on the back of a tame half-grown fawn that lay stretched on its side, enjoying the warmth of the fire, as tame and familiar as a spaniel dog. this fawn had been brought up with the children, and they were very fond of it, and would share their bread and milk with it at meal times; but it got into disgrace by gnawing the bark of the young orchard-trees, and cropping the bushes in the garden; besides, it had a trick of opening the cupboard, and eating the bread, and drinking any milk it could find; so the master of the house gave it away to a baker who lived in the village; but it did not forget its old friends, and used to watch for the children going to school, and as soon as it caught sight of them, it would trot after them, poking its nose into the basket to get a share of their dinner, and very often managed to get it all." "and what became of this nice fellow, nurse?" "unfortunately, my lady, it was chased by some dogs, and ran away to the woods near the town, and never came back again. dogs will always hunt tame fawns when they can get near them, so it seems a pity to domesticate them only to be killed in so cruel a way. the forest is the best home for these pretty creatures, though even there they have many enemies beside the hunter. the bear, the wolf, and the wolverine kill them. their only means of defence lies in their fleetness of foot. the stag will defend himself with his strong horns; but the doe and her little fawn have no such weapons to guard them when attacked by beasts of prey. the wolf is one of the greatest enemies they have." "i hate wolves," said lady mary; "wolves can never be tamed, nurse." "i have heard and read of wolves being tamed and becoming very fond of their masters. a gentleman in canada once brought up a wolf puppy, which became so fond of him that when he left it to go home to england, it refused to eat, and died of grief at his absence. kindness will tame even fierce beasts, who soon learn to love the hand that feeds them. bears and foxes have often been kept tame in this country, and eagles and owls; but i think they cannot be so happy shut up, away from their natural companions and habits, as if they were free to go and come at their own will." "i should not like to be shut up, nurse, far away from my own dear home," said the little girl, thoughtfully. "i think, sometimes, i ought not to keep my dear squirrel in a cage--shall i let him go?" "my dear, he has now been so used to the cage, and to have all his daily wants supplied, that i am sure he would suffer from cold and hunger at this season of the year if he were left to provide for himself, and if he remained here the cats and weasels might kill him." "i will keep him safe from harm, then, till the warm weather comes again; and then, nurse, we will take him to the mountain, and let him go, if he likes to be free, among the trees and bushes." it was now the middle of october; the rainy season that usually comes in the end of september and beginning of october in canada was over. the soft hazy season, called indian summer, was come again; the few forest leaves that yet lingered were ready to fall--bright and beautiful they still looked, but lady mary missed the flowers. "i do not love the fall--i see no flowers now, except those in the greenhouse. the cold, cold winter will soon be here again," she added sadly. "last year, dear lady, you said you loved the white snow, and the sleighing, and the merry bells, and wished that winter would last all the year round." "ah! yes, nurse; but i did not know how many pretty birds and flowers i should see in the spring and the summer; and now they are all gone, and i shall see them no more for a long time." "there are still a few flowers, lady mary, to be found; look at these." "ah, dear nurse, where did you get them? how lovely they are!" "your little french maid picked them for you, on the side of the mountain. rosette loves the wild flowers of her native land." "nurse, do you know the names of these pretty starry flowers on this little branch, that look so light and pretty?" "these are asters; a word, your governess told me the other day, meaning starlike; some people call these flowers michaelmas daisies. these lovely lilac asters grow in light dry ground; they are among the prettiest of our fall flowers. these with the small white starry flowers crowded upon the stalks, with the crimson and gold in the middle, are dwarf asters." "i like these white ones, nurse; the little branches look so nicely loaded with blossoms; see, they are quite bowed down with the weight of all these flowers." "these small shrubby asters grow on dry gravelly banks of lakes and rivers." "but here are some large dark purple ones." "these are also asters; they are to be found on dry wastes, in stony barren fields, by the corners of rail-fences; they form large spreading bushes, and look very lovely, covered with their large dark purple flowers. there is no waste so wild, my lady, but the hand of the most high can plant it with some blossom, and make the waste and desert place flourish like a garden. here are others, still brighter and larger, with yellow disks, and sky-blue flowers; these grow by still waters, near milldams and swampy places. though they are larger and gayer, i do not think they will please you so well as the small ones that i first showed you; they do not fade so fast, and that is one good quality they have." "they are more like the china asters in the garden, nurse, only more upright and stiff; but here is another sweet blue flower--can you tell me its name?" "no, my dear, you must ask your governess." lady mary carried the nosegay to miss campbell, who told her the blue flower was called the fringed gentian, and that the gentians and asters bloomed the latest of all the autumn flowers in canada. among these wild flowers, she also showed her the large dark blue bell flowered gentian, which was indeed the last flower of the year." "are there no more flowers in bloom now, nurse?" asked the child, as she watched mrs. frazer arranging them for her in a flower-glass. "i do not know of any now in bloom but the golden rods and the latest of the ever-listings. rosette shall go out, and try to get some of them for you. the french children make little mats and garlands of them to ornament their houses, and to hang on the little crosses above the graves of their friends, because they do not fade away like other flowers." next day, rosette, the little nursery-maid, brought lady mary an indian basket full of sweet-scented everlastings. this flower had a fragrant smell; the leaves were less downy than some of the earlier sorts, but were covered with a resinous gum, that caused it to stick to the fingers; it looked quite silky, from the thistledown, which, falling upon the leaves, were gummed down to the surface. "the country folks," said mrs. frazer, "call this plant neglected everlasting, because it grows on dry wastes by road-sides, among thistles and fireweed; but i love it for its sweetness; it is like a true friend-it never changes. see, my dear, how shining its straw-coloured blossoms and buds are, just like satin flowers." "nurse, it shall be my own flower," said the little girl, "and i will make a pretty garland of it, to hang over my own dear mamma's picture. rosette says she will show me how to tie the flowers together; she has made me a pretty wreath for my doll's straw hat, and she means to make her a mat and a carpet too." the little maid promised to bring her young lady some wreaths of the festoon pine; a low-creeping plant, with dry, green chaffy leaves, that grows in the barren pine woods, of which the canadians make christmas garlands, and also some of the winter berries, and spice berries, which look so gay in the fall and early spring, with berries of brightest scarlet, and shining dark green leaves, that trail over the ground on the gravelly hills and plains. nurse frazer brought lady mary some sweetmeats, flavored with an extract of the spicy winter green, from the confectioner's shop; the canadians being very fond of the flavor of this plant. the indians chew the leaves, and eat the ripe mealy berries, which have something of the taste of the bay-laurel leaves. the indian men smoke the leaves as tobacco. one day, while mrs. frazer was at work in the nursery, her little charge came to her in a great state of agitation--her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were dancing with joy; she threw herself into her arms, and said, "oh! dear nurse, i am going home to dear old england and scotland. papa and mamma are going away from government house, and i am to return to the old country with them; i am so glad, are not you?" but the tears gathered in mrs. frazer's eyes and fell fast upon the work she held in her hand. lady mary looked surprised, when she saw how her kind nurse was weeping. "nurse, you are to go too; mamma says so; now you need not cry, for you are not going to leave me." "i cannot go with you, my dearest child," whispered her weeping attendant, "much as i love you; for i have a dear son of my own. i have but him, and it would break my heart to part from him;" and she softly put aside the bright curls from lady mary's fair forehead, and tenderly kissed her. "this child is all i have in the world to love me, and when his father, my own kind husband, died, he vowed to take care of me, and cherish me in my old age, and i promised that i would never leave him; so i cannot go away from canada with you, my lady, though i dearly love you." "then, mrs. frazer, i shall be sorry to leave canada; for when i go home, i shall have no one to talk to me about beavers, and squirrels, and indians, and flowers, and birds." "indeed, my lady, you will not want for amusement there, for england and scotland are finer places than canada. your good governess and your new nurse will be able to tell you many things that will delight you; and you will not quite forget your poor old nurse, i am sure, when you think about the time you have spent in this country." "ah, dear good old nurse, i will not forget you," said lady mary, springing into her nurse's lap, and fondly caressing her, while big bright tears fell from her eyes. there was so much to do, and so much to think about before the governor's departure, that lady mary had no time to hear any more stories, nor to ask any more questions about the natural history of canada; though, doubtless, there were many other curious things that mrs. frazer could have related; for she was a person of good education, who had seen and noticed as well as read a great deal. she had not always been a poor woman, but had once been a respectable farmer's wife, though her husband's death had reduced her to a state of servitude; and she had earned money enough while in the governor's service to educate her son, and this was how she came to be lady mary's nurse. lady mary did not forget to have all her indian curiosities packed up with some dried plants and flower seeds, collected by her governess; but she left the cage, with her flying squirrel, to mrs. frazer, to take care of till the following spring, when she told her to take it to the mountain, or st. helen's island, and let it go free, that it might be a happy squirrel once more, and bound away among the green trees in the canadian woods. when mrs. frazer was called in to take leave of the governor and his lady, after receiving a handsome salary for her care and attendance on their little daughter, the governor gave her a sealed parchment, which, when she opened, was found to contain a government deed for a fine lot of land, in a fertile township in upper canada. it was with many tears and blessings that mrs. frazer took leave of the good governor's family; and, above all, of her beloved charge, lady mary. the end. file was produced from images generously made available by the canadian institute for historical microreproductions. editorial note: this book is essentially identical to lady mary and her nurse, by mrs. traill, project gutenberg ebook #6479, but the two come from different sources. in the forest or, pictures of life and scenery in the woods of canada a tale by mrs. traill with 19 illustrations 1881 [illustration: a narrow escape] chapter i the flying squirrel--its food--story of a wolf--indian village--wild rice chapter ii sleighing--sleigh robes--fur caps--otter skins--old snow-storm--otter hunting--otter slides--indian names--remarks on wild animals and their habits chapter iii part i--lady mary reads to mrs. frazer the first part of the history of the squirrel family part ii--which tells how the gray squirrels fared while they remained on pine island--how they behaved to their poor relations, the chipmunks--and what happens to them in the forest part iii--how the squirrels got to the mill at the rapids--and what happened to the velvet-paw chapter iv squirrels--the chipmunks--docility of a pet one--roguery of a yankee pedlar--return of the musical chipmunk to his master's bosom--sagacity of a black squirrel chapter v indian baskets--thread plants--maple sugar tree--indian ornamental works--racoons chapter vi. canadian birds--snow sparrow--robin redbreast--canadian flowers--american porcupine chapter vii. indian bag--indian embroidery--beaver's tail--beaver architecture--habits of the beaver--beaver tools--beaver meadows chapter viii. indian boy and his pets--tame beaver at home--kitten, wildfire--pet racoon and the spaniel puppies--canadian flora chapter ix. nurse tells lady mary about a little boy who was eaten by a bear in the province of new brunswick--of a baby who was carried away but taken alive--a walk in the garden--humming birds--canadian balsams chapter x. aurora borealis, or northern lights, most frequently seen in northern climates--called merry dancers--rose tints--tintlike appearance--lady mary frightened chapter xi. strawberries--canadian wild fruits--wild raspberries--the hunter and the lost child--cranberries--cranberry marshes--nuts chapter xii. garter snakes--rattle-snakes--anecdote of a little boy--fisherman and snake--snake charmers--spiders--land tortoise chapter xiii. ellen and her pet fawns--docility of fan--jack's droll tricks-affectionate wolf--fall flowers--departure of lady mary--the end. list of illustrations. lady mary and the nosegay a narrow escape the flying squirrel adventure with a wolf indian wigwams the otters dolly's sleigh ride lady mary reading her picture book the gray squirrel and the chipmunks the pet squirrel nimble recovering his sister watching the birds the present from father beavers making a dam "caught at last" the aurora borealis the lost child and the bears a boy hero the indian hunter in the forest. chapter i. the flying squirrel--its food--story of a wolf--indian village--wild rice. "nurse, what is the name of that pretty creature you have in your hand? what bright eyes it has! what a soft tail--just like a gray feather! is it a little beaver?" asked the governor's little daughter, as her nurse came into the room where her young charge, whom we shall call lady mary, was playing with her doll. carefully sheltered against her breast, its velvet nose just peeping from beneath her muslin neckerchief, the nurse held a small gray-furred animal, of the most delicate form and colour. "no, my lady," she replied, "this is not a young beaver; a beaver is a much larger animal. a beaver's tail is not covered with fur; it is scaly, broad, and flat; it looks something like black leather, not very unlike that of my seal-skin slippers. the indians eat beavers' tails at their great feasts, and think they make an excellent dish." "if they are black, and look like leather shoes, i am very sure i should not like to eat them; so, if you please, mrs. frazer, do not let me have any beavers' tails cooked for my dinner," said the little lady, in a very decided tone. "indeed, my lady," replied her nurse, smiling, "it would not be an easy thing to obtain, if you wished to taste one, for beavers are not brought to our market. it is only the indians and hunters who know how to trap them, and beavers are not so plentiful as they used to be." mrs. frazer would have told lady mary a great deal about the way in which the trappers take the beavers, but the little girl interrupted her by saying, "please, nurse, will you tell me the name of your pretty pet? ah, sweet thing, what bright eyes you have!" she added, caressing the soft little head which was just seen from beneath the folds of the muslin handkerchief to which it timidly nestled, casting furtive glances at the admiring child, while the panting of its breast told the mortal terror that shook its frame whenever the little girl's hand was advanced to coax its soft back. [illustration: the flying squirrel] "it is a flying squirrel, lady mary," replied her nurse; "one of my brothers caught it a month ago, when he was chopping in the forest. he thought it might amuse your ladyship, and so he tamed it and sent it to me in a basket filled with moss, with some acorns, and hickory-nuts, and beech-mast for him to eat on his journey, for the little fellow has travelled a long way: he came from the beech-woods near the town of coburg, in the upper province." "and where is coburg, nurse? is it a large city like montreal or quebec?" "no, my lady; it is a large town on the shores of the great lake ontario." "and are there many woods near it?" "yes; but not so many as there used to be many years ago. the forest is almost all cleared, and there are fields of wheat and indian corn, and nice farms and pretty houses, where a few years back the lofty forest grew dark and thick." "nurse, you said there were acorns, and hickory-nuts, and beech-mast in the basket. i have seen acorns at home in dear england and scotland, and i have eaten the hickory-nuts here; but what is beech-mast? is it in granaries for winter stores; and wild ducks and wild pigeons come from the far north at the season when the beech-mast fall, to eat them; for god teaches these, his creatures, to know the times and the seasons when his bounteous hand is open to give them food from his boundless store. a great many other birds and beasts also feed upon the beech-mast." "it was very good of your brother to send me this pretty creature, nurse," said the little lady; "i will ask papa to give him some money." "there is no need of that, lady mary. my brother is not in want; he has a farm in the upper province, and is very well off." "i am glad he is well off," said lady mary; "indeed, i do not see so many beggars here as in england." "people need not beg in canada, if they are well and strong and can work; a poor man can soon earn enough money to keep himself and his little ones." "nurse, will you be so kind as to ask campbell to get a pretty cage for my squirrel? i will let him live close to my dormice, who will be pleasant company for him, and i will feed him every day myself with nuts and sugar, and sweet cake and white bread. now do not tremble and look so frightened, as though i were going to hurt you; and pray, mr squirrel, do not bite. oh! nurse, nurse, the wicked, spiteful creature has bitten my finger! see, see, it has made it bleed! naughty thing! i will not love you if you bite. pray, nurse, bind up my finger, or it will soil my frock." great was the pity bestowed upon the wound by lady mary's kind attendant, till the little girl, tired of hearing so much said about the bitten finger, gravely desired her maid to go in search of the cage and catch the truant, which had effected its escape, and was clinging to the curtains of the bed. the cage was procured--a large wooden cage, with an outer and an inner chamber, a bar for the little fellow to swing himself on, a drawer for his food, and a little dish for his water. the sleeping-room was furnished by the nurse with soft wool, and a fine store of nuts was put in the drawer; all his wants were well supplied, and lady mary watched the catching of the little animal with much interest. great was the activity displayed by the runaway squirrel, and still greater the astonishment evinced by the governor's little daughter at the flying leaps made by the squirrel in its attempts to elude the grasp of its pursuers. "it flies! i am sure it must have wings. look, look, nurse! it is here, now it is on the wall, now on the curtains! it must have wings; but it has no feathers!" "it has, no wings, dear lady, but it has a fine ridge of fur that covers a strong sinew or muscle between the fore and hinder legs; and it is by the help of this muscle that it is able to spring so far and so fast; and its claws are so sharp, that it can cling to a wall or any flat surface. the black and red squirrels, and the common gray, can jump very far and run up the bark of the trees very fast, but not so fast as the flying squirrel." at last lady mary's maid, with the help of one of the housemaids, succeeded in catching the squirrel and securing him within his cage. but though lady mary tried all her words of endearment to coax the little creature to eat some of the good things that had been provided so liberally for his entertainment, he remained sullen and motionless at the bottom of the cage. a captive is no less a captive in a cage with gilded bars and with dainties to eat, than if rusted iron shut him in, and kept him from enjoying his freedom. it is for dear liberty that he pines and is sad, even in the midst of plenty! "dear nurse, why does my little squirrel tremble and look so unhappy? tell me if he wants anything to eat that we have not given him. why does he not lie down and sleep on the nice soft bed you have made for him in his little chamber? see, he has not tasted the nice sweet cake and sugar that i gave him." "he is not used to such dainties, lady mary. in the forest he feeds upon hickory-nuts, and butternuts, and acorns, and beech-mast, and the buds of the spruce, fir and pine kernels, and many other seeds and nuts and berries that we could not get for him; he loves grain too, and indian corn. he sleeps on green moss and leaves, and fine fibres of grass and roots, and drinks heaven's blessed dew, as it lies bright and pure upon the herbs of the field." "dear little squirrel! pretty creature! i know now what makes you sad. you long to be abroad among your own green woods, and sleeping on the soft green moss, which is far prettier than this ugly cotton wool. but you shall stay with me, my sweet one, till the cold winter is past and gone, and the spring flowers have come again; and then, my pretty squirrel, i will take you out of your dull cage, and we will go to st. helen's green island, and i will let you go free; but i will put a scarlet collar about your neck before i let you go, that if any one finds you, they may know that you are my squirrel. were you ever in the green forest, nurse? i hear papa talk about the 'bush' and the 'backwoods;' it must be very pleasant in the summer to live among the green trees. were you ever there?" "yes, dear lady; i did live in the woods when i was a child. i was born in a little log-shanty, far, far away up the country, near a beautiful lake called rice lake, among woods, and valleys, and hills covered with flowers, and groves of pine, and white and black oaks." "stop, nurse, and tell me why they are called black and white; are the flowers black and white?" "no, my lady; it is because the wood of the one is darker than the other, and the leaves of the black oak are dark and shining, while those of the white oak are brighter and lighter. the black oak is a beautiful tree. when i was a young girl, i used to like to climb the sides of the steep valleys, and look down upon the tops of the oaks that grew beneath, and to watch the wind lifting the boughs all glittering in the moonlight; they looked like a sea of ruffled green water. it is very solemn, lady mary, to be in the woods by night, and to hear no sound but the cry of the great wood-owl, or the voice of the whip-poor-will, calling to his fellow from the tamarack swamp, or, may be, the timid bleating of a fawn that has lost its mother, or the howl of a wolf." "nurse, i should be so afraid; i am sure i should cry if i heard the wicked wolves howling in the dark woods by night. did you ever know any one who was eaten by a wolf?" "no, my lady; the canadian wolf is a great coward. i have heard the hunters say that they never attack any one unless there is a great flock together and the man is alone and unarmed. my uncle used to go out a great deal hunting, sometimes by torchlight, and sometimes on the lake, in a canoe with the indians; and he shot and trapped a great many wolves and foxes and racoons. he has a great many heads of wild animals nailed up on the stoup in front of his log-house." "please tell me what a stoup is, nurse?" "a verandah, my lady, is the same thing, only the old dutch settlers gave it the name of a stoup, and the stoup is heavier and broader, and not quite so nicely made as a verandah. one day my uncle was crossing the lake on the ice; it was a cold winter afternoon, he was in a hurry to take some food to his brothers, who were drawing pine-logs in the bush. he had, besides a bag of meal and flour, a new axe on his shoulder. he heard steps as of a dog trotting after him; he turned his head, and there he saw, close at his heels, a big, hungry-looking gray wolf; he stopped and faced about, and the big beast stopped and showed his white sharp teeth. my uncle did not feel afraid, but looked steadily at the wolf, as much as to say, 'follow me if you dare,' and walked on. when my uncle stopped, the wolf stopped; when he went on, the beast also went on." "i would have run away," said lady mary. "if my uncle had let the wolf see that he was afraid of him, he would have grown bolder, and have run after him and seized him. all animals are afraid of brave men, but not of cowards. when the beast came too near, my uncle faced him and showed the bright axe, and the wolf then shrank back a few paces. when my uncle got near the shore, he heard a long wild cry, as if from twenty wolves at once. it might have been the echoes from the islands that increased the sound; but it was very frightful and made his blood chill, for he knew that without his rifle he should stand a poor chance against a large pack of hungry wolves. just then a gun went off; he heard the wolf give a terrible yell, he felt the whizzing of a bullet pass him, and turning about, saw the wolf lying dead on the ice. a loud shout from the cedars in front told him from whom the shot came; it was my father, who had been on the look-out on the lake shore, and he had fired at and hit the wolf when he saw that he could do so without hurting his brother." "nurse, it would have been a sad thing if the gun had shot your uncle." "it would; but my father was one of the best shots in the district, and could hit a white spot on the bark of a tree with a precision that was perfectly wonderful. it was an old indian from buckhorn lake who taught him to shoot deer by torchlight and to trap beavers." "well, i am glad that horrid wolf was killed, for wolves eat sheep and lambs; and i daresay they would devour my little squirrel if they could get him. nurse, please to tell me again the name of the lake near which you were born." "it is called rice lake, my lady. it is a fine piece of water, more than twenty miles long, and from three to five miles broad. it has pretty wooded islands, and several rivers or streams empty themselves into it. the otonabee river is a fine broad stream, which flows through the forest a long way. many years ago, there were no clearings on the banks, and no houses, only indian tents or wigwams; but now there are a great many houses and farms." "what are wigwams?" "a sort of light tent, made with poles stuck into the ground in a circle, fastened together at the top, and covered on the outside with skins of wild animals, or with birch bark. the indians light a fire of sticks and logs on the ground, in the middle of the wigwam, and lie or sit all round it; the smoke goes up to the top and escapes. or sometimes, in the warm summer weather, they kindle their fire without, and their squaws, or wives, attend to it; while they go hunting in the forest, or, mounted on swift horses, pursue the trail of their enemies. in the winter, they bank up the wigwam with snow, and make it very warm." [illustration: indian wigwams] "i think it must be a very ugly sort of house, and i am glad i do not live in an indian wigwam," said the little lady. "the indians are a very simple folk, my lady, and do not need fine houses like this in which your papa lives. they do not know the names or uses of half the fine things that are in the houses of the white people. they are happy and contented without them. it is not the richest that are happiest, lady mary, and the lord careth for the poor and the lowly. there is a village on the shores of rice lake where the indians live. it is not very pretty. the houses are all built of logs, and some of them have gardens and orchards. they have a neat church, and they have a good minister, who takes great pains to teach them the gospel of the lord jesus christ. the poor indians were pagans until within the last few years." "what are pagans, nurse?" "people, lady mary, who do not believe in god and the lord jesus christ, our blessed saviour." "nurse, is there real rice growing in the rice lake? i heard my governess say that rice grew only in warm countries. now, your lake must be very cold if your uncle walked across the ice." "this rice, my lady, is not real rice. i heard a gentleman tell my father that it was, properly speaking, a species of oats [footnote: zizania, or water oats]--water oats, he called it; but the common name for it is wild rice. this wild rice grows in vast beds in the lake in patches of many acres. it will grow in water from eight to ten or twelve feet deep; the grassy leaves float upon the water like long narrow green ribbons. in the month of august, the stem that is to bear the flower and the grain rises straight up above the surface, and light delicate blossoms come out of a pale straw colour and lilac. they are very pretty, and wave in the wind with a rustling noise. in the month of october, when the rice is ripe, the leaves torn yellow, and the rice-heads grow heavy and droop; then the squaws--as the indian women are called--go out in their birch-bark canoes, holding in one hand a stick, in the other a short curved paddle with a sharp edge. with this they bend down the rice across the stick and strike off the heads, which fall into the canoe, as they push it along through the rice-beds. in this way they collect a great many bushels in the course of the day. the wild rice is not the least like the rice which your ladyship has eaten; it is thin, and covered with a light chaffy husk. the colour of the grain itself is a brownish-green, or olive, smooth, shining, and brittle. after separating the outward chaff, the squaws put by a large portion of the clean rice in its natural state for sale; for this they get from a dollar and a half to two dollars a bushel. some they parch, either in large pots, or on mats made of the inner bark of cedar or bass wood, beneath which they light a slow fire, and plant around it a temporary hedge of green boughs closely set, to prevent the heat from escaping; they also drive stakes into the ground, over which they stretch the matting at a certain height above the fire. on this they spread the green rice, stirring it about with wooden paddles till it is properly parched; this is known by its bursting and showing the white grain of the flour. when quite cool it is stowed away in troughs, scooped out of butter-nut wood, or else sewed up in sheets of birch bark or bass-mats, or in coarsely-made birch-bark baskets." "and is the rice good to eat, nurse?" "some people like it as well as the white rice of carolina; but it does not look so well. it is a great blessing to the poor indians, who boil it in their soups, or eat it with maple molasses. and they eat it when parched without any other cooking, when they are on a long journey in the woods, or on the lakes. i have often eaten nice puddings made of it with milk. the deer feed upon the green rice. they swim into the water and eat the green leaves and tops. the indians go out at night to shoot the deer on the water; they listen for them, and shoot them in the dark. the wild ducks and water-fowls come down in great flocks to fatten on the ripe rice in the fall of the year; also large flocks of rice buntings and red wings, which make their roosts among the low willows, flags, and lilies, close to the shallows of the lake." "it seems very useful to birds as well as to men and beasts," said little lady mary. "yes, my lady, and to fishes also, i make no doubt; for the good god has cast it so abundantly abroad on the waters, that i daresay they also have their share. when the rice is fully ripe, the sun shining on it gives it a golden hue, just like a field of ripened grain. surrounded by the deep-blue waters, it looks very pretty." "i am very much obliged to you nurse, for telling me so much about the indian rice, and i will ask mamma to let me have some one day for my dinner, that i may know how it tastes." just then lady mary's governess came to bid her nurse dress her for a sleigh-ride, and so for the present we shall leave her; but we will tell our little readers something more in another chapter about lady mary and her flying squirrel. chapter ii. sleighing--sleigh robes--fur caps--otter skins--old snow-storm--otter hunting--otter slides--indian names--remarks on wild animals and their habits nurse, we have had a very nice sleigh-drive. i like sleighing very much over the white snow. the trees look so pretty, as if they were covered with white flowers, and the ground sparkled just like mamma's diamonds." "it is pleasant, lady mary, to ride through the woods on a bright sunshiny day, after a fresh fall of snow. the young evergreens, hemlocks, balsams, and spruce-trees, are loaded with great masses of the new-fallen snow; while the slender saplings of the beech, birch, and basswood (the lime or linden) are bent down to the very ground, making bowers so bright and beautiful, you would be delighted to see them. sometimes, as you drive along, great masses of the snow come showering down upon you; but it is so light and dry, that it shakes off without wetting you. it is pleasant to be wrapped up in warm blankets, or buffalo robes, at the bottom of a lumber-sleigh, and to travel through the forest by moonlight; the merry bells echoing through the silent woods, and the stars just peeping down through the frosted trees, which sparkle like diamonds in the moonbeams." "nurse, i should like to take a drive through the forest in winter. it is so nice to hear the sleigh-bells. we used sometimes to go out in the snow in scotland, but we were in the carriage, and had no bells." "no, lady mary; the snow seldom lies long enough in the old country to make it worth while to have sleighs there; but in russia and sweden, and other cold northern countries, they use sleighs with bells." lady mary ran to the little bookcase where she had a collection of children's books, and very soon found a picture of laplanders and russians wrapped in furs. "how long will the winter last, nurse?" said the child, after she had tired herself with looking at the prints, "a long, long time--a great many weeks?--a great many months?" "yes, my lady; five or six months." "oh, that is nice--nearly half a year of white snow, and sleigh-drives every day, and bells ringing all the time! i tried to make out a tune, but they only seemed to say, 'up-hill, up-hill! down-hill, down-hill!' all the way. nurse, please tell me what are sleigh-robes made of?" "some sleigh-robes, lady mary, are made of bear-skins, lined with red or blue flannel; some are of wolf-skins, lined with bright scarlet cloth; and some of racoon, the commonest are buffalo-skins; i have seen some of deer-skins, but these last are not so good, as the hair comes off, and they are not so warm as the skins of the furred or woolly-coated animals" "i sometimes see long tails hanging down over the backs of the sleigh and cutters--they look very pretty, like the end of mamma's boa." "the wolf and racoon skin robes are generally made up with the tails, and sometimes the heads of the animals are also left. i noticed the head of a wolf, with its sharp ears, and long white teeth, looking very fierce, at the back of a cutter, the other day." "nurse, that must have looked very droll. do you know i saw a gentleman the other day, walking with papa, who had a fox-skin cap on his head, and the fox's nose was just peeping over his shoulder, and the tail hung down his back, and i saw its bright black eyes looking so cunning i thought it must be alive, and that it had curled itself round his head; but the gentleman took it off, and showed me that the eyes were glass." "some hunters, lady mary, make caps of otter, mink, or badger skins, and ornament them with the tails, heads, and claws." "i have seen a picture of the otter, nurse; it is a pretty, soft-looking thing, with a round head and black eyes. where do otters live?" "the canadian otters, lady mary, live in holes in the banks of sedgy, shallow lakes, mill-ponds, and sheltered creeks. the indian hunters find their haunts by tracking their steps in the snow; for an indian or canadian hunter knows the track made by any bird or beast, from the deep broad print of the bear, to the tiny one of the little shrewmouse, which is the smallest four-footed beast in this or any other country. "indians catch the otter, and many other wild animals, in a sort of trap, which they call a 'deadfall.' wolves are often so trapped, and then shot. the indians catch the otter for the sake of its dark shining fur, which is used by the hatters and furriers old jacob snow-storm, an old indian who lived on the banks of the rice lake, used to catch otters; and i have often listened to him, and laughed at his stories." "do, please, nurse, tell me what old jacob snow-storm told you about the otters; i like to hear stories about wild beasts. but what a droll surname snow-storm is!" "yes, lady mary; indians have very odd names; they are called after all sorts of strange things. they do not name the children, as we do, soon after they are born, but wait for some remarkable circumstance, some dream or accident. some call them after the first strange animal or bird that appears to the new-born. old snow-storm most likely owed his name to a heavy fall of snow when he was a baby. i knew a chief named musk-rat, and a pretty indian girl who was named 'badau'-bun'--_light of the morning._" "and what is the indian name for old snow-storm?" "'be-che-go-ke-poor,' my lady." lady mary said it was a funny sounding name, and not at all like snow-storm, which she liked a great deal better; and she was much amused while her nurse repeated to her some names of squaws and papooses (indian women and children); such as long thrush, little fox, running stream, snowbird, red cloud, young eagle, big bush, and many others. "now, nurse, will you tell me some more about jacob snow-storm and the otters?" "well, lady mary, the old man had a cap of otter-skin, of which he was very proud, and only wore on great days. one day as he was playing with it, he said:--'otter funny fellow; he like play too, sometimes. indian go hunting up ottawa, that great big river, you know. go one moonlight night; lie down under bushes in snow; see lot of little fellow and big fellow at play. run up and down bank; bank all ice. sit down top of bank; good slide there. down he go splash into water; out again. funny fellow those!' and then the old hunter threw hack his head, and laughed, till you could have seen all his white teeth, he opened his mouth so wide." [illustration: the otters] lady mary was very much amused at the comical way in which the old indian talked. "can otters swim, nurse?" "yes, lady mary, the good god who has created all things well, has given to this animal webbed feet, which enable it to swim, and it can also dive down in the deep water, where it finds fish and mussels, and perhaps the roots of some water-plants to eat. it makes very little motion or disturbance in the water when it goes down in search of its prey. its coat is thick, and formed of two kinds of hair; the outer hair is long, silky, and shining; the under part is short, fine, and warm. the water cannot penetrate to wet them,--the oily nature of the fur throws off the moisture. they dig large holes with their claws, which are short, but very strong. they line their nests with dry grass, and rushes, and roots gnawed fine, and do not pass the winter in sleep, as the dormice, flying squirrels, racoons, and bears do. they are very innocent and playful, both when young, and even after they grow old. the lumberers often tame them, and they become so docile that they will come at a call or whistle. like all wild animals, they are most lively at night, when they come out to feed and play." "dear little things! i should like to have a tame otter to play with, and run after me; but do you think he would eat my squirrel? you know cats will eat squirrels--so mamma says." "cats belong to a very different class of animals; they are beasts of prey, formed to spring and bound, and tear with their teeth and claws. the otter is also a beast of prey, but its prey is found in the still waters, and not on the land; it can neither climb nor leap. so i do not think he would hurt your squirrel, if you had one." "see, nurse, my dear little squirrel is still where i left him, clinging to the wires of the cage, his bright eyes looking like two black beads." "as soon as it grows dark he will begin to be more lively, and perhaps he will eat something, but not while we look at him--he is too shy for that." "nurse, how can they see to eat in the dark?" "the good god, lady mary, has so formed their eyes that they can see best by night. i will read you, lady mary, a few verses from psalm civ.:-"'verse 19. he appointed the moon for seasons: the sun knoweth his going down. "'20. thou makest darkness, and it is night: wherein all the beast of the forest do creep forth. "'21. the young lions roar after their prey, and seek their meat from god. "'22. the sun ariseth, they gather themselves together, and lay them down in their dens. "'23. man goeth forth unto his work and to his labour, until the evening. "'24. o lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches.' "thus you see, my dear lady, that our heavenly father taketh care of all his creatures, and provideth for them both by day and by night." "i remember, nurse, that my dormice used to lie quite still, nestled among the moss and wool in their little dark chamber in the cage, all day long; but when it was night they used to come out and frisk about, and run along the wires, and play all sorts of tricks, chasing one another round and round, and they were not afraid of me, but would let me look at them while they ate a nut, or a hit of sugar; and the dear little things would drink out of their little white saucer, and wash their faces and tails--it was so pretty to see them!" "did you notice, lady mary, how the dormice held their food?" "yes; they sat up, and held it in their fore-paws, which looked just like tiny hands." "there are many animals whose fore-feet resemble hands, and these, generally, convey their food to their mouths--among these are the squirrel and dormice. they are good climbers and diggers. you see, my dear young lady, how the merciful creator has given to all his creatures, however lowly, the best means of supplying their wants, whether of food or shelter." "indeed, nurse. i have learned a great deal about squirrels, canadian rice, otters, and indians; but, if you please, i must now have a little play with my doll. good-bye, mrs. frazer; pray take care of my dear little squirrel, and mind that he does not fly away." and lady mary was soon busily engaged in drawing her wax doll about the nursery in a little sleigh lined with red squirrel fur robes, and talking to her as all children like to talk to their dolls, whether they be rich or poor--the children of peasants, or governors' daughters. [illustration: dolly's sleigh-ride] chapter iii. lady mary reads to mrs. frazer the first part of the history of the squirrel family. one day lady mary came to her nurse, and putting her arms about her neck, whispered to her,--"mrs. frazer, my dear good governess has given me something--it is in my hand," and she slily held her hand behind her--"will you guess what it is?" "is it a book, my lady?" "yes, yes, it is a book, a pretty book; and see, here are pictures of squirrels in it. mrs. frazer, if you like, i will sit down on this cushion by you and read some of my new book. it does not seem very hard." then mrs. frazer took out her work-basket and sat down to sew, and lady mary began to read the little story, which, i hope, may entertain my little readers as much as it did the governor's daughter. * * * * * part i the history of a squirrel family. [illustration: lady mary reading her picture-book.] it must be a pleasant thing to be a squirrel, and live a life of freedom in the boundless forests; to leap and bound among the branches of the tall trees, to gambol in the deep shade of the cool glossy leaves, through the long warm summer day; to gather the fresh nuts and berries; to drink the pure dews of heaven, all bright and sparkling from the opening flowers; to sleep on soft beds of moss and thistle-down in some hollow branch rocked by the wind as in a cradle. yet, though this was the happy life led by a family of pretty gray squirrels that had their dwelling in the hoary branch of an old oak-tree that grew on one of the rocky islands in a beautiful lake in upper canada, called _stony lake_ (because it was full of rocky islands), these little creatures were far from being contented, and were always wishing for a change. indeed, they had been very happy, till one day when a great black squirrel swam to the island and paid them a visit. he was a very fine handsome fellow, nearly twice as large as any of the gray squirrels; he had a tail that flourished over his back, when he set it up, like a great black feather; his claws were sharp and strong, and his eyes very round and bright; he had upright ears, and long, sharp teeth, of which he made good use. the old gray squirrels called him cousin, and invited him to dinner. they very civilly set before him some acorns and beechnuts; but he proved a hungry visitor, and ate as much as would have fed the whole family for a week. after the gray squirrels had cleared away the shells and scraps, they asked their greedy guest where he came from, when blackie told them he was a great traveller, and had seen many wonderful things; that he had once lived on a forked pine at the head of the waterfall, but being tired of a dull life, he had gone out on his travels to see the world; that he had been down the lake, and along the river shore, where there were great places cut out in the thick forest, called clearings, where some very tall creatures lived, who were called men and women, with young ones called children; that though they were not so pretty as squirrels--for they had no fur on them, and were obliged to make clothes to cover them and keep them warm--they were very useful, and sowed corn and planted fruit-trees and roots for squirrels to eat, and even built large grain stores to keep it safe and dry for them. this seemed very strange, and the simple little gray squirrels were very much pleased, and said they should like very much to go down the lakes too, and see these wonderful things. the black squirrel then told them that there were many things to be seen in these clearings; that there were large beasts, called oxen, and cows, and sheep, and pigs; and these creatures had houses built for them to live in; and all the men and women seemed to employ themselves about, was feeding and taking care of them. now this cunning fellow never told his simple cousins that the oxen had to bear a heavy wooden yoke and chain, and were made to work very hard; nor that the cows were fed that they might give milk to the children; nor that the pigs were fatted to make pork; nor that the sheep had their warm fleeces cut off every year that the settlers might have the wool to spin and weave. blackie did not say that the men carried guns, and the dogs were fierce, and would hunt poor squirrels from tree to tree, frightening them almost to death with their loud, angry barking; that cats haunted the barns and houses; and, in short, that there were dangers as well as pleasures to be met with in these clearings; and that the barns were built to shelter the grain for men, and not for the benefit of squirrels. the black squirrel proved rather a troublesome guest, for he stayed several days, and ate so heartily, that the old gray squirrels were obliged to hint that he had better go back to the clearings, where there was so much food, for that their store was nearly done. when blackie found that all the nice nuts were eaten, and that even pine-kernels and beech-nuts were becoming scarce, he went away, saying that he should soon come again. the old gray squirrels were glad when they saw the tip of blackie's tail disappear, as he whisked down the trunk of the old oak; but their young ones were very sorry that he was gone, for they liked very much to listen to all his wonderful stories, which they thought were true; and they told their father and mother how they wished they would leave the dull island and the old tree, and go down the lakes, and see the wonderful things that their black cousin had described. but the old ones shook their heads, and said they feared there was more fiction than truth in the tales they had heard, and that if they were wise they would stay where they were. "what do you want more, my dear children," said their mother, "than you enjoy here? have you not this grand old oak for a palace to live in; its leaves and branches spreading like a canopy over your heads, to shelter you from the hot sun by day and the dews by night? are there not moss, dried grass, and roots beneath, to make a soft bed for you to lie upon? and do not the boughs drop down a plentiful store of brown ripe acorns? that silver lake, studded with islands of all shapes and sizes, produces cool clear water for you to drink and bathe yourselves in. look at those flowers that droop their blossoms down to its glassy surface, and the white lilies that rest upon its bosom,--will you see anything fairer or better if you leave this place? stay at home and be contented." "if i hear any more grumbling," said their father, "i shall pinch your ears and tails." so the little squirrels said no more, but i am sorry to say they did not pay much heed to their wise old mother's counsels; for whenever they were alone, all their talk was how to run away, and go abroad to see the world, as their black cousin had called the new settlement down the lakes. it never came into the heads of the silly creatures that those wonderful stories they had been told originated in an artful scheme of the greedy black squirrel, to induce them to leave their warm pleasant house in the oak, that he and his children might come and live in it, and get the hoards of grain, and nuts, and acorns, that their father and mother had been laying up for winter stores. moreover, the wily black squirrel had privately told them that their father and mother intended to turn them out of the nest very soon, and make provision for a new family. this indeed was really the case; for as soon as young animals can provide for themselves, their parents turn them off, and care no more for them. very different, indeed, is this from our parents; for they love and cherish us as long as they live, and afford us a home and shelter as long as we need it. every hour these little gray squirrels grew more and more impatient to leave the lonely little rocky island, though it was a pretty spot, and the place of their birth; but they were now eager to go abroad and seek their fortunes. "let us keep our own counsel," said nimble-foot to his sisters velvet-paw and silver-nose, "or we may chance to get our tails pulled; but be all ready for a start by early dawn to-morrow." velvet-paw and silver-nose said they would be up before sunrise, as they should have a long voyage down the lake, and agreed to rest on pine island near the opening of clear lake. "and then take to the shore and travel through the woods, where, no doubt, we shall have a pleasant time," said nimble-foot, who was the most hopeful of the party. the sun was scarcely yet risen over the fringe of dark pines that skirted the shores of the lake, and a soft creamy mist hung on the surface of the still waters, which were unruffled by the slightest breeze. the little gray squirrels awoke, and looked sleepily out from the leafy screen that shaded their mossy nest. the early notes of the wood-thrush and song-sparrow, with the tender warbling of the tiny wren, sounded sweetly in the still, dewy morning air; while from a cedar swamp was heard the trill of the green frogs, which the squirrels thought very pretty music. as the sun rose above the tops of the trees, the mist rolled off in light fleecy clouds, and soon was lost in the blue sky, or lay in large bright drops on the cool grass and shining leaves. then all the birds awoke, and the insects shook their gauzy wings which had been folded all the night in the flower-cups, and the flowers began to lift their heads, and the leaves to expand to catch the golden light. there was a murmur on the water as it played among the sedges, and lifted the broad floating leaves of the white water-lilies, with their carved ivory cups; and the great green, brown, and blue dragon-flies rose with a whirring sound, and darted to and fro among the water-flowers. it is a glorious sight to see the sun rise at any time, for then we can look upon him without having our eyes dazzled with the brightness of his beams; and though there were no men and women and little children, in the lonely waters and woods, to lift up their hands and voices in prayer and praise to god, who makes the sun to rise each day, yet no doubt the great creator is pleased to see his creatures rejoice in the blessings of light and heat. lightly running down the rugged bark of the old oak-tree, the little squirrels bade farewell to their island home--to the rocks, mosses, ferns, and flowers that had sheltered them, among which they had so often chased each other in merry gambols. they thought little of all this, when they launched themselves on the silver bosom of the cool lake. "how easy it is to swim in this clear water!" said silver-nose to her sister velvet-paw. "we shall not be long in reaching yonder island, and there, no doubt, we shall get a good breakfast." so the little swimmers proceeded on their voyage, furrowing the calm waters as they glided noiselessly along; their soft gray heads and ears and round black eyes only being seen, and the bright streaks caused by the motion of their tails, which lay flat on the surface, looking like silver threads gently floating on the stream. not being much used to the fatigue of swimming, the little squirrels were soon tired, and if it had not been for a friendly bit of stick that happened to float near her, poor velvet-paw would have been drowned; however, she got up on the stick, and, setting up her fine broad tail, went merrily on, and soon passed nimble-foot and silver-nose. the current drew the stick towards the pine island that lay at the entrance of clear lake, and velvet-paw leaped ashore, and sat down on a mossy stone to dry her fur, and watch for her brother and sister: they, too, found a large piece of birch-bark which the winds had blown into the water, and as a little breeze had sprung up to waft them along, they were not very long before they landed on the island. they were all very glad when they met again, after the perils and fatigues of the voyage. the first thing to be done was to look for something to eat, for their early rising had made them very hungry. they found abundance of pine-cones strewn on the ground, but, alas for our little squirrels! very few kernels in them; for the crossbills and chiccadees had been at work for many weeks on the trees; and also many families of their poor relations, the chitmunks or ground squirrels, had not been idle, as our little voyagers could easily guess by the chips and empty cones round their holes. so, weary as they were, they were obliged to run up the tall pine and hemlock trees, to search among the cones that grew on their very top branches. while our squirrels were busy with the few kernels they chanced to find, they were started from their repast by the screams of a large slate-coloured hawk, and velvet-paw very narrowly escaped being pounced upon and carried off in its sharp-hooked talons. silver-nose at the same time was nearly frightened to death by the keen round eyes of a cunning racoon, which had come within a few feet of the mossy branch of an old cedar, where she sat picking the seeds out of a dry head of a blue flag-flower she had found on the shore. silvy, at this sight, gave a spring that left her many yards beyond her sharp-sighted enemy. a lively note of joy was uttered by nimble-foot, for, perched at his ease on a top branch of the hemlock-tree, he had seen the bound made by silver-nose. "well jumped, silvy," said he; "mister coon must be a smart fellow to equal that. but look sharp, or you will get your neck wrung yet; i see we must keep a good look-out in this strange country." "i begin to wish we were safe back again in our old one," whined silvy, who was much frightened by the danger she had just escaped. "pooh, pooh, child; don't be a coward," said nimble, laughing. "cousin blackie never told us there were hawks and coons on this island," said vehret-paw. "my dear, he thought we were too brave to be afraid of hawks and coons," said nimble. "for my part, i think it is a fine thing to go out a little into the world. we should never see anything better than the sky, and the water, and the old oak-tree on that little island." "ay, but i think it is safer to see than to be seen," said silvy, "for hawks and eagles have strong beaks, and racoons sharp claws and hungry-looking teeth; and it is not very pleasant, nimble, to be obliged to look out for such wicked creatures." "oh, true indeed," said nimble; "if it had not been for that famous jump you made, silvy, and, velvet, your two admirers, the hawk and racoon, would soon have hid all your beauties from the world, and put a stop to your travels." "it is very well for brother nimble to make light of our dangers," whispered velvet-paw, "but let us see how he will jump if a big eagle were to pounce down to carry him off." "yes, yes," said silvy; "it is easy to brag before one is in danger." the squirrels thought they would now go and look for some partridge-berries, of which they were very fond, for the pine-kernels were but dry husky food after all. there were plenty of the pretty white star-shaped blossoms, growing all over the ground under the pine-trees, but the bright scarlet twin-berries were not yet ripe. in winter the partridges eat this fruit from under the snow; and it furnishes food for many little animals as well as birds. the leaves are small, of a dark green, and the white flowers have a very fine fragrant scent. though the runaways found none of these berries fit to eat, they saw some ripe strawberries among the bushes; and, having satisfied their hunger, began to grow very merry, and whisked here and there and everywhere, peeping into this hole and under that stone. sometimes they had a good game of play, chasing one another up and down the trees, chattering and squeaking as gray squirrels only can chatter and squeak, when they are gambolling about in the wild woods of canada. indeed, they made such a noise, that the great ugly black snakes lifted up their heads, and stared at them with their wicked spiteful-looking eyes, and the little ducklings swimming among the water-lilies gathered round their mother, and a red-winged blackbird perched on a dead tree gave alarm to the rest of the flock by calling out, _geck_, _geck_, _geck_, as loudly as he could. in the midst of their frolics, nimble skipped into a hollow log--but was glad to run out again; for a porcupine covered with sharp spines was there, and was so angry at being disturbed, that he stuck one of his spines into poor nimble-foot's soft velvet nose, and there it could have remained if silvy had not seized it with her teeth and pulled it out. nimble-foot squeaked sadly, and would not play any longer, but rolled himself up and went to sleep in a red-headed woodpecker's old nest; while silvy and velvet-paw frisked about in the moonlight, and when tired of play got up into an old oak which had a large hollow place in the crown of it, and fell asleep, fancying, no doubt, that they were on the rocky island in stony lake; and so we will bid them good night, and wish them pleasant dreams. * * * * * lady mary had read a long while, and was now tired; so she kissed her nurse, and said, "now, mrs. frazer, i will play with my doll, and feed my squirrel and my dormice." the dormice were two soft, brown creatures, almost as pretty and as innocent as the squirrel, and a great deal tamer; and they were called jeannette and jeannot, and would come when they were called by their names, and take a bit of cake or a lump of sugar out of the fingers of their little mistress. lady mary had two canaries, dick and pet; and she loved her dormice and birds, and her new pet, the flying squirrel, very much, and never let them want for food, or water, or any nice thing she could get for them. she liked the history of the gray squirrels very much, and was quite eager to get her book the next afternoon, to read the second part of the adventures and wanderings of the family. * * * * * part ii. which tells how the gray squirrels get on while they remained on pike island--how they behaved to their poor relations, the chitmunks--and what happened to them in the forest. it was noon when the little squirrels awoke, and, of course, they were quite ready for their breakfast; but there was no good, kind old mother to provide for their wants, and to bring nuts, acorns, roots, or fruit for them; they must now get up, go forth, and seek food for themselves. when velvet-paw and silver-nose went to call nimble-foot, they were surprised to find his nest empty; but after searching a long while, they found him sitting on the root of an up-turned tree, looking at a family of little chitmunks busily picking over the pine-cones on the ground; but as soon as one of the poor little fellows, with great labour, had dug out a kernel, and was preparing to eat it, down leaped nimble-foot and carried off the prize; and if one of the little chitmunks ventured to say a word, he very uncivilly gave him a scratch, or bit his ears, calling him a mean, shabby fellow. now the chitmunks were really very pretty. they were, to be sure, not more than half the size of the gray squirrels, and their fur was short, without the soft, thick glossy look upon it of the gray squirrels'. they were of a lively, tawny yellow-brown colour, with long black and white stripes down their backs; their tails were not so long nor so thickly furred; and instead of living in the trees, they made their nests in logs and windfalls, and had their granaries and winter houses too underground, where they made warm nests of dried moss and grass and thistledown; to these they had several entrances, so that they had always a chance of refuge if danger were nigh. like the dormice, flying squirrels, and ground hogs, they slept soundly during the cold weather, only awakening when the warm spring sun had melted the snow. [footnote: it is not quite certain that the chitmunk is a true squirrel, and he is sometimes called a striped rat. this pretty animal seems, indeed, to form a link between the rat and squirrel.] the vain little gray squirrels thought themselves much better than these little chitmunks, whom they treated with very little politeness, laughing at them for living in holes in the ground, instead of upon lofty trees, as they did; they even called them low-bred fellows, and wondered why they did not imitate their high-breeding and behaviour. the chitmunks took very little notice of their rudeness, but merely said that, if being high-bred made people rude, they would rather remain humble as they were. "as we are the head of all the squirrel families," said silver-nose, "we shall do you the honour of breakfasting with you to-day." "we breakfasted hours ago, while you lazy fellows were fast asleep," replied an old chitmunk, poking his little nose out of a hole in the ground. "then we shall dine with you; so make haste and get something good for us," said nimble-foot. "i have no doubt you have plenty of butter and hickory-nuts laid up in your holes." the old chitmunk told him he might come and get them, if he could. at this the gray squirrels skipped down from the branches, and began to run hither and thither, and to scratch among the moss and leaves, to find the entrance to the chitmunks' grain stores. they peeped under the old twisted roots of the pines and cedars, into every chink and cranny, but no sign of a granary was to be seen. [illustration: the gray squirrel and the chitmunks.] then the chitmunks said, "my dear friends, this is a bad season to visit us; we are very poor just now, finding it difficult to get a few dry pine-kernels and berries; but if you will come and see us after harvest, we shall have a store of nuts and acorns." "pretty fellows you are!" replied nimble, "to put us off with promises, when we are so hungry; we might starve between this and harvest." "if you leave this island, and go down the lake, you will come to a mill, where the red squirrels live, and where you will have fine times," said one of the chitmunks. "which is the nearest way to the mill?" asked velvet-paw. "swim to the shore, and keep the indian path, and you will soon see it." but while the gray squirrels were looking out for the path, the cunning chitmunks whisked away into their holes, and left the inquirers in the lurch, who could not tell what had become of them; for though they did find a round hole that they thought might be one of their burrows, it was so narrow that they could only poke in their noses, but could get no further--the gray squirrels being much fatter and bigger than the slim little chitmunks. "after all," said silvy, who was the best of the three, "perhaps, if we had been civil, the chitmunks would have treated us better." "well," said nimble, "if they had been good fellows, they would have invited us, as our mother did cousin blackie, and have set before us the best they had. i could find it in my heart to dig them out of their holes and give them a good bite." this was all brag on nimble's part, who was not near so brave as he wished silvy and velvet-paw to suppose he was. after spending some time in hunting for acorns they made up their minds to leave the island, and as it was not very far to the mainland, they decided on swimming thither. "indeed," said silver-nose, "i am tired of this dull place; we are not better off here than we were in the little island in stony lake, where our good old mother took care we should have plenty to eat, and we had a nice warm nest to shelter us." "ah, well, it is of no use grumbling now; if we were to go back, we should only get a scolding, and perhaps be chased off the island," said nimble. "now let us have a race, and see which of us will get to shore first;" and he leaped over velvet-paw's head, and was soon swimming merrily for the shore. he was soon followed by his companions, and in half an hour they were all safely landed. instead of going into the thick forest, they agreed to take the path by the margin of the lake, for there they had a better chance of getting nuts and fruit; but though it was the merry month of june, and there were plenty of pretty flowers in bloom, the berries were hardly ripe, and our little vagrants fared but badly. besides being hungry, they were sadly afraid of the eagles and fish-hawks that kept hovering over the water; and when they went further into the forest to avoid them, they saw a great white wood-owl, noiselessly flying out from among the close cedar swamps, that seemed just ready to pounce down upon them. the gray squirrels did not like the look of the owl's great round shining eyes, as they peered at them, under the tufts of silky white feathers, which almost hid his hooked bill, and their hearts sunk within them when they heard his hollow cry, _"ho, ho, ho, ho!" "waugh, ho!"_ dismally sounding in their ears. it was well that velvet-paw was as swift afoot as she was soft, for one of these great owls had very nearly caught her, while she was eating a filbert that she had found in a cleft branch, where a nuthatch had fixed it, while she pecked a hole in the shell. some bird of prey had scared away the poor nuthatch, and velvet-paw no doubt thought she was in luck when she found the prize; but it would have been a dear nut to her, if nimble, who was a sharp-sighted fellow, had not seen the owl, and cried, _"chit, chit, chit, chit!"_ to warn her of her danger. _"chit, chit, chit, chit!"_ cried velvet-paw, and away she flew to the very top of a tall pine-tree, springing from one tree-top to another, till she was soon out of the old owl's reach. "what shall we do for supper to-night?" said silver-nose, looking very pitifully at nimble-foot, whom they looked upon as the head of the family. "we shall not want for a good supper and breakfast too, or i am very much mistaken. do you see that red squirrel yonder, climbing the hemlock-tree? well, my dears, he has a fine store of good things in that beech-tree. i watched him run down with a nut in his teeth. let us wait patiently, and we shall see him come again for another; and as soon as he has done his meal, we will go and take ours." the red squirrel ran to and fro several times, each time carrying off a nut to his nest in the hemlock; after a while, he came no more. as soon as he was out of sight, nimble led the way and found the hoard. the beech was quite hollow in the heart; and they went down through a hole in the branch, and found a store of hazel-nuts, with acorns, hickory-nuts, butter-nuts, and beech-mast, all packed quite close and dry. they soon made a great hole in the red squirrel's store of provisions, and were just choosing some nuts to carry off with them, when they were disturbed by a scratching against the bark of the tree. nimble, who was always the first to take care of himself, gave the alarm, and he and velvet-paw, being nearest to the hole, got off safely; but poor silvy had the ill luck to sneeze, and before she had time to hide herself, the angry red squirrel sprang upon her, and gave her such a terrible cuffing and scratching, that silvy cried out for mercy. as to nimble-foot and velvet-paw, they paid no heed to her cries for help; they ran away, and left her to bear the blame of all their misdeeds as well as her own. thieves are always cowards, and are sure to forsake one another when danger is nigh. the angry red squirrel pushed poor silvy out of her granary, and she was glad to crawl away and hide herself in a hole at the root of a neighbouring tree, where she lay in great pain and terror, licking her wounds and crying to think how cruel it was of her brother and sister to leave her to the mercy of the red squirrel. it was surely very cowardly of nimble-foot and velvet-paw to forsake her in such a time of need; nor was this the only danger that befell poor silvy. one morning, when she put her nose out of the hole to look about her before venturing out, she saw seated on a branch, close beside the tree she was under, a racoon, staring full at her with his sharp cunning black eyes. she was very much afraid of him, for she thought he looked very hungry; but as she knew that racoons are very fond of nuts and fruit, she said to herself, "perhaps if i show him where the red squirrel's granary in the beech-tree is, he will not kill me." then she said very softly to him, "good mister coon, if you want a very nice breakfast, and will promise to do me no hurt, i will tell you where to find plenty of nuts." the coon eyed her with a sly grin, and said, "if i can get anything more to my taste than a pretty gray squirrel, i will take it, my dear, and not lay a paw upon your soft back." "ah, but you must promise not to touch me, if i come out and show you where to find the nuts," said silvy. "upon the word and honour of a coon!" replied the racoon, laying one black paw upon his breast; "but if you do not come out of your hole, i shall soon come and dig you out, so you had best be quick; and if you trust me, you shall come to no hurt." then silvy thought it wisest to seem to trust the racoon's word, and she came out of her hole, and went a few paces to point out the tree where her enemy the red squirrel's store of nuts was; but as soon as she saw mister coon disappear in the hollow of the tree, she bade him good-bye, and whisked up a tall tree, where she knew the racoon could not reach her; and having now quite recovered her strength, she was able to leap from branch to branch, and even from one tree to another, whenever they grew close and the boughs touched, as they often do in the grand old woods in canada, and so she was soon far, far away from the artful coon, who waited a long time, hoping to carry off poor silvy for his dinner. silvy contrived to pick up a living by digging for roots and eating such fruits as she could find; but one day she came to a grassy cleared spot, where she saw a strange-looking tent, made with poles stuck into the ground and meeting at the top, from which came a bluish cloud that spread among the trees; and as silvy was very curious, she came nearer, and at last, hearing no sound, ran up one of the poles and peeped in, to see what was within side, thinking it might be one of the fine stores of grain that people built for the squirrels, as her cousin blackie had made her believe. the poles were covered with sheets of birch-bark and skins of deer and wolves, and there was a fire of sticks burning in the middle, round which some large creatures were sitting on a bear's skin, eating something that smelt very nice. they had long black hair and black eyes and very white teeth. silvy felt alarmed at first; but thinking they must be the people who were kind to squirrels, she ventured to slip through a slit in the bark, and ran down into the wigwam, hoping to get something to eat; but in a minute the indians jumped up, and before she had time to make her escape, she was seized by a young squaw, and popped into a birch box, and the lid shut down upon her; so poor silvy was caught in a trap, and all for believing the artful black squirrel's tales. silver-nose remembered her mother's warning now when it was too late; she tried to get out of her prison, but in vain; the sides of the box were too strong, and there was not so much as a single crack for a peep-hole. after she had been shut up some time, the lid was raised a little, and a dark hand put in some bright, shining hard grains for her to eat. this was indian corn, and it was excellent food; but silvy was a long, long time before she would eat any of this sweet corn, she was so vexed at being caught and shut up in prison; besides, she was very much afraid that the indians were going to eat her. after some days, she began to get used to her captive state; the little squaw used to feed her, and one day took her out of the box and put her into a nice light cage, where there was soft green moss to be on, a little bark dish with clear water, and abundance of food. the cage was hung up on the bough of a tree near the wigwam, to swing to and fro as the wind waved the tree. here silvy could see the birds flying to and fro, and listen to their cheerful songs. the indian women and children had always a kind look or a word to say to her; and her little mistress was so kind to her, that silvy could not help loving her. she was very grateful for her care; for when she was sick and sulky, the little squaw gave her bits of maple-sugar and parched rice out of her hand. at last silvy grew tame, and would suffer herself to be taken out of her house to sit on her mistress's shoulder or in her lap; and though she sometimes ran away and hid herself, out of fun, she would not have gone far from the tent of the good indians on any account. sometimes she saw the red squirrels running about in the forest, but they never came very near her; but she used to watch all day long for her brother nimble-foot, or sister velvet-paw, but they were now far away from her, and no doubt thought that she had been killed by the red squirrel, or eaten up by a fox or racoon. [illustration: the pet squirrel] * * * * * "nurse, i am so glad pretty silvy was not killed, and that the good indians took care of her." "it is time now, my dear, for you to put down your book," said mrs. frazer, "and to-morrow we will read some more." * * * * * part iii. how the squirrels got to the mill at the rapids--and what happened to velvet-paw. nimble-foot and velvet-paw were so frightened by the sight of the red squirrel, that they ran down the tree without once looking back to see what had become of poor silver-nose; indeed, the cowards, instead of waiting for their poor sister, fled through the forest as if an army of red squirrels were behind them. at last they reached the banks of the lake, and jumping into the water, swam down the current till they came to a place called the "narrow," where the wide lake poured its waters through a deep rocky channel, not more than a hundred yards wide; here the waters became so rough and rapid, that our little swimmers thought it wisest to go on shore. they scrambled up the steep rocky bank, and found themselves on a wide open space, quite free from trees, which they knew must be one of the great clearings the traveller squirrel had spoken of. there was a very high building on the water's edge that they thought must be the mill that the chitmunks had told them they would come to; and they were in good spirits, as they now expected to find plenty of good things laid up for them to eat, so they went in by the door of the mill. "dear me, what a dust there is!" said nimble, looking about him; "i think it must be snowing." "snow does not fall in hot weather," said velvet; "besides, this white powder is very sweet and nice;" and she began to lick some of the flour that lay in the cracks of the floor. "i have found some nice seeds here," said nimble, running to the top of a sack that stood with the mouth untied; "these are better than pine-kernels, and not so hard. we must have come to one of the great grain-stores that our cousin told us of. well, i am sure the people are very kind to have laid up so many good things for us squirrels." when they had eaten as much as they liked, they began to ran about to see what was in the mill. presently, a man came in, and they saw him take one of the sacks of wheat, and pour it into a large upright box, and in a few minutes there was a great noise--a sort of buzzing, whirring, rumbling, dashing, and splashing--and away ran velvet-paw in a terrible fright, and scrambled up some beams and rafters to the top of the wall, where she sat watching what was going on, trembling all over; but finding that no harm happened to her, took courage, and after a time ceased to be afraid. she saw nimble perched on a cross-beam looking down very intently at something; so she came out of her corner and ran to him, and asked what he was looking at. "there is a great black thing here," said he, "i cannot tell what to make of him at all; it turns round and round, and dashes the water about, making a fine splash." (this was the water-wheel.) "it looks very ugly indeed," said velvet-paw, "and makes my head giddy to look at it; let us go away. i want to find out what these two big stones are doing," said she; "they keep rubbing against one another, and making a great noise." "there is nothing so wonderful in two big stones, my dear," said nimble; "i have seen plenty bigger than these in stony lake." "but they did not move about as these do; and only look here at the white stuff that is running down all the time into this great box. well, we shall not want for food for the rest of our lives; i wish poor silvy were with us to share in our good luck." they saw a great many other strange things in the mill, and they thought that the miller was a very funny-looking creature; but as they fancied that he was grinding the wheat into flour for them, they were not much afraid of him; they were more troubled at the sight of a black dog, which spied them, out as they sat on the beams of the mill, and ran about in a great rage, harking at them in a frightful way, and never left off till the miller went out of the mill, when he went away with his master, and did not return till the next day; but whenever he saw the gray squirrels, this little dog, whose name was "pinch," was sure to set up his ears and tail, and snap and bark, showing all his sharp white teeth in a very savage manner. not far from the mill was another building: this was the house the miller lived in; and close by the house was a barn, a stable, a cow-shed, and a sheep-pen, and there was a garden full of fruit and flowers, and an orchard of apple-trees close by. one day velvet-paw ran up one of the apple-trees and began to eat an apple; it looked very good, for it had a bright red cheek